#pettins box

[radwolf76]

Right Before He Heard I Had I Had An Empty Soda Bottle, Woke Up, And Demanded To Be Bopped With It

#cats #my cat #Lucky #cat nap #cozy cat #pettins box #he loves getting bopped with empty soda bottles

[lonelyasawhisper]

If Queen Won't, Brian May

Sylvie Simmons, Creem, 1st March 1984

SO HERE I am back in the giant Ajax can on Vine Street and waiting for Brian May. I look at my watch; the little hand and the big hand are sticking up like a peace sign; almost noon and it's hard to believe I'm up at this ungodly hour after last night's festivities, let alone the star. (Capitol threw a party to welcome Queen into the Ajax Can family — Elektra won't be getting The Works when it comes out early next year. There were hors d'oeuvres, aperitifs, and talking of a pair of teeths, Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, John Deacon and Brian May.) This is not the usual fluorescent-lit room where Duran Duran posters smirk cheekbonely from the walls. This is a cozy chamber tucked around the back somewhere, through convoluted corridors and up and down staircases — couldn't find it again even if you threatened me with a night at Plato's with Steve Perry — dark and small as a confession box...

I confess! I know I shouldn't; I know there's a reputation to consider; I know Mötley Crüe told me just the other day that they're "the opposite" of this band. But I LIKE QUEEN. There, I've said it. Not only do I have all their albums (except Hot Space; I'm not that daft) but I sing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in its entirety at the slightest provocation. And the Brian May-penned 'Flash' is probably the best sci-fi theme tune in the Universe.

Though Brian may not agree. For one, the title track on the first album he's ever done outside of Queen just happens to be a sci-fi theme tune called 'Star Fleet'; for another he's so modest and understated you virtually have to beat the bloke with rubber truncheons to get him to admit that Queen are pretty big.

Anyway, the Star Fleet Project is a mini album — as May's own liner notes say, it's "not your normal kind of album; not an album which has been 'thoughtfully pieced together by a coordinated band as a balanced and polished listening experience.' Not a Queen album." Certainly isn't. All three songs — 'Star Fleet', the theme from a Japanese Saturday morning sci-fi program that shows on English TV that Brian got hooked on thanks to his young son Jimmy, 'Let Me Out', a song Brian wrote for Queen years ago that was never used, and 'Blues Breaker', dedicated to Eric Clapton, the man whose axe-work with Cream inspired a 15-year-old May to build his own electric guitar — were recorded over a two-day period back in April during a break from the year-around Queen boxing match. At loose ends, Brian called up some music friends in Los Angeles and jammed. Yes — jammed. What they used to do in the old days when musicians spent more time with each other than their accountants. Anyway, after much thought — and a bit of persuasion from Heavy Pettin', a British rock band he was producing on the side who heard the tapes and drooled — and more red tape, the jamming session got put out as pure and untouched as Michael Jackson, and credited to Brian May And Friends. His friends? Neighbor Alan Gratzer of REO Speedwagon, Phil Chen, ex-Rod Stewart bassist, Fred Mandel, the former Alice Cooper member who showed up on Queen's last tour, and on co-lead, Eddie Van Halen. (The two met when Brian caught Van Halen's set on a Black Sabbath tour and got friendlier when they met up again in Germany and confessed to being mutual fans.)

Brian May has just walked into the chamber, right on time. He's tall, got the same hairdo he's had for years, an intent expression on his face and a soft, very English voice.

"We had some time off from the group which we forced on ourselves," he's saying about why he's just done a record that sounds like it could have been made any time in the past 11 years Queen's been together. "We felt, Queen, that we'd got too close to each other and we needed a break. We all do different things — Roger's been making an album, Freddie's been doing stuff with Michael Jackson, John's been doing all kinds of stuff with computers and weird machines, and I thought, 'Why don't I do something?' Most of my favorite musicians were around L.A. where I was, and they all said 'yeah, great, let's go and do it.' Which really surprised me; I thought people would say yeah great, but we're busy.' So I booked the Record Plant and we went in and tried it, and it worked out better than I could ever have dreamed. One of the best times of my life, really."

He doesn't have too many friends in the business, he says. "They are pretty well my best friends, but also some of my favorite players." They're also veterans of some of the most commercially successful, richest mainstream rock bands around. By doing this project, did they reckon they'd show us they weren't in it for the money alone?

"I don't think anything like that was in our minds. There was never any talk of it coming out to begin with — it was just to be in there playing really, and I was quite prepared to leave it that way. Possibly to prove something to myself — that I could play with other musicians and enjoy it, and make something worthwhile."

If he's saying Queen hasn't been making anything worthwhile lately, there's a lot of people who couldn't agree more. Like Hot Space frinstance.

"There's a lot about Hot Space I didn't like. But at the same time," Brian covers himself, "it was probably, in retrospect, the right thing to do at the time, because we had to investigate all those different avenues and get all those bits of R&B influence out of our systems. No, part of the problem with us, the group, was we got so close to each other that familiarity breeds contempt, and we didn't like the way each other played anymore. That was one of the things that happened six months ago. And now, having got outside it and seen a lot of other people. I realize that the other three are pretty good. And I think they've had the same experience. We appreciate each other a bit more now. After this record I came back to the group much fresher. You get to understand how other people play, and you realize that everybody has their own style, and I found that I was a bit more patient with John and Roger and Freddie. Also what I got from stepping outside was realizing what other people think of us as individuals and as a group."

And did he kill himself? "Well, they thought we were pretty good — which surprised me!" He obviously didn't get to poll the people who dismiss Queen as a pretentious sort of band. Brian chuckles. And this Star Fleet Project has to be one of the most unpretentious records a superstar musician has ever made, casually put together and released without the usual sheen and polish a Queen album goes through before seeing the light of day.

"Well it is very different, and that's part of why it was a release for me. I wouldn't agree with you that Queen are pretentious, but I know what you mean. Queen are a group who've always been — everything has to be perfect before it gets out. It's worked on and worked on and argued about and talked about and torn to bits and put back together. We work to keep the spontaneity in there, but nevertheless it was nice in this case to do something which worked immediately, the adrenalin from the fact you'd never played with these people before, and everyone feeling good. I had no desire to interfere with it."

Has Queen lost its excitement? When you've got so many followers and so much success that you can even put out an album like Hot Space and it sells, when you can flash a credit card and get a record co. employee to go out and charge up anything your little heart desires, doesn't it all get a bit boring?

"It's funny you should say that because that never goes through my mind. I certainly don't feel we could do anything. For instance, last night at the party — I suppose everyone's very up about a new deal and a new album, but I was very depressed underneath it all really because what I think about is still the music. And we'd just had a play-back to the record company, and I was really desperately unhappy about the way it sounded. And I couldn't even think about we're a huge rock group, all the things you're saying. All I could think about was I'd hated what I'd heard and I was ashamed of it. I don't really think about what Queen looks like to the outside world very much. I think about what it feels like. It has had its good moments and I think we can play some good stuff; but it also has some really awful moments."

A lot of the Outside World who do think about Queen probably think it's Freddie's band. He thinks of a direction, everyone fights a bit, but generally follow meekly behind. True?

"It's a continual fight, because we all have very definite ideas of what direction we want to go in, and none of them are the same. It's a continual battle and it's very democratic and it's very painful. Most of the time when we're recording, it's hell. You have this constant dividing line between being up and positive about what you're doing, and the other side is that you may be trying to push what you want down someone else's throat, and maybe the other three will take it for a little while but in the end they'll say, 'No, this is rubbish, we hate it, stop pushing.' And that's what's happened a lot.

"I had a very clear idea in my head of what I wanted [the new Queen album] to be. It's an oversimplification, but I wanted it to be more of a rock album. But I obviously pushed too hard in the early days, and everyone got very angry with me and said 'Look, stop. Don't tell us what to play.' And then you take three steps back and try and work it out again. That's happened with all of us. We all feel that suddenly we can see a path ahead and the other three can't see it at all, and that makes it really hard.

"The plus of it is that after you've had your arguments and found an intermediate course at least you've already been through a vast political process, and the stuff which does come out has been through a gigantic sieve. So I think in the end you come out with stuff which is a real group product, and it's better than any of us could do as a solo artist. I honestly think that, and that's why I'm still in Queen. I think the group is still better than any of its component parts."

So is the next Queen album going to be a rock album? (Bumped into Roger Taylor at the party and he slurred that it was definitely "very heavy — one side of the album especially will definitely give you brain damage")

"So far," nods Brian, "I think, in spite of all the shouting, it is."

When a group member leaves the fold to do his first album, it's usually "OK, here I am. Me, the Star." But Star Fleet isn't a flashy guitar album or ego showcase. What gives?

"I don't think I am a flashy kind of person really. When I come to do a solo album — maybe one day I will — I've no idea what it will be like. This isn't it. This is just an event of some people having fun together, and that's the way it should be looked at. I don't know what is me, if that's what you're asking. That's one of the difficulties I've had in thinking about a solo album. Because on the one hand I would like to do all heavy stuff, because I don't feel I've got enough outlet for the heavy stuff in Queen; on the other hand I'd like to do some guitar arrangements and continue the guitar-orchestra direction, which again we've sort of left alone for a while in the group. Then again I like to sing songs that have a lot of personal feeling for me, which also sometimes doesn't fit into the group framework."

Hasn't he ever had the temptation to leap out onstage, push Freddie into the wings and grab the limelight, just once?

"No, I'm very happy with how it is. I get my bit to do. As you say, I can be flash for a while and then blend into the group, and I'm very content with that."

That's the one thing Brian and Eddie Van Halen have in common. They're both pretty low profile guitarists in bands with the most outrageously flashy frontmen on earth. Do they feel any kinship there?

"Yes, a lot. There are parallels, obviously. The whole business of what roles people play in groups is something which interests me very much for its own sake, because you do find that the bass player is always a certain kind, the guitarist is usually a certain kind of person. I don't know whether it's the selection process or whether it's an environmental change process [I forgot to mention; he has a degree in physics!] — you can see those elements in the component parts of groups. Guitarists do tend to be like that, people who feel they have a lot to say but don't really want to be in the center of the stage doing it; they want to be at the side doing their bit and enjoying it and getting into it and not having the responsibility for what the singer does."

And if you're expecting any guitar duels on this album, forget it. Instead of playing superstars, trying to outdo the last lick, they're like a couple of polite gentlemen going "After you"; "No, after you."

"I think we're very alike, and there's no feeling of competition there because we both love what the other person is doing. Particularly in my case. My first reaction to seeing Edward was I didn't want to play with him because he's so great. And then my second reaction was I wanted to pick up the guitar and play with him. Because we're so different in playing, but we're very alike in the way we think. There's no duel there, and I'm glad you said that because I was frightened people would think Guitar Battle kind of rubbish. Just people enjoying each other's company really. And it's not just me and Edward — it's me and Alan and Philip and Fred. We were all in there, and it was a good interaction all round.

"I still think, sometimes, am I being foolish putting this out? But then every time I listen to it I get this great feeling about it. It's so real and live and personal that I hope that other people will get that feeling about it."

With all the members of Queen going their separate ways, there's always the risk that they might forget to get back together again. Does Queen still feel like a real band?

"It does again now. There have been a few crises in our history, and one of them was about six months ago, when we could have easily said, 'Look, we hate each other, let's forget it.' And it almost was that. But instead we said 'look, we're all getting very intense with each other because we haven't had a break for ages, and we've been in this endless make-an-album-tour-the-world-make-an-album cycle; so let's get out of it for a while and maybe we'll appreciate each other.' And it's worked pretty well. We got back together and we feel like a real band again."

Retrieved from The Creem Archive

#article #interview #brian may #creem #star fleet project #1984 #queen band #bri

[wpdariacutnes]

🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴

Erita: * lafing bit on frends* canda a stella bit redpiter on X because See so pettine self

Reli: yeah is been true erita * giggle same a good one*

Erita: yo lifi why so none lafing is good one

Lifi: because a dont see fun oso guy why so rudeless enifing like onesly X none dill a make self so nagitret * been X side a points is so jerk say it*

Erita: what is you lovely idiot * bit knok chest self a hand*

Lifi: no but dont she get porster in you mean * points das levan both alone had self*

Reli: why play a her skiter lodert save back

Erita: * giggle* because is love spice bitchless

🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛

* sowing stop giggle bit so loud because See more coming for both*

Erita: * cotroling self a none get enifing gags on X or sowing*

Reli: * look a box* so Is dys been more idevrit?

Erita: Idk is green one oso why so wet

Iona: * woking hollway a both finks a X woking* hi grils what doing been a more erity finks

Reli: well enifing *cofing*

Erita: well look sorry a been jerkass enifing past a been a jerk frends enifing a you get a zero besriting knows queen dush lines but enifing heppend little bit like me *👉👈*

Iona: well enifing not say a cut your head like enifing one love cake soo hopeless is canda take you like you a none your level yet

Reli: * enifing more iona toking a erita a her look a dublet canda look a canda angry lest days das ingnoring a follow hem*

🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴

Reli: suber, I'm still sick because of some syrup or something * chraing clining up self hands*

🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛

🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴🧋🦴

Offical epic note: 09.05.2024.r

🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛🐊💛

#megamancomunity #mereal #wpexpleing #parents take rule #youtube

[msmercury84]

"I Double Dare You," Chapter 8: It's Showtime!

*Author's note: Yes, I shamelessly stole the dance routine, costume idea and song from Bette Middler in "For the Boys." When I saw this video clip, I knew that my OC had to do this song.*

Fort Benning, Georgia, January, 1943

The night of the show, Leigh was the last contestant scheduled to perform. She was in the dressing room ensuring that the seams in her stockings were straight. The USO gave each contestant a pair of stockings so every woman could look her best.

Since the beginning of the war, silk and nylon were taken off the market and primarily used for the war effort. Women had to make due with rayon, which proved be loose fitting compared to nylon or silk. Sometimes women purchased makeup to use on their legs to give the illusion of wearing stockings and eyebrow pencils were used to create the illusion of a seam up the back of each leg.

Once the stocking seams were straight, Spencer opened the box containing the corsage Bill purchased for her and carefully pinned it to the left lapel of her uniform. The USO donated the red, white or blue uniforms. She was also wearing the angel necklace, her Christmas present from Guarnere.

Leigh was pleased to see Bill in the audience occupying the seat the USO reserved for him. Spencer was standing in an area backstage that allowed her to see the audience without the audience seeing her.

Guarnere, like the other enlisted men in attendance, wore his dress uniform. He, Bull Randleman, George Luz, Shifty Powers and Don Malarkey stood out in the crowd wearing their trousers bloused over the tops of their meticulously shined Corcoran boots. Colonel Sink was also sitting with the Easy Company men and he was eager to see the performances of Spencer and Adams.

The emcee stepped up to the microphone and said, "Last, but not least, Miss Leigh Spencer!" Leigh's uniform was sapphire blue and the jacket looked like a short dress, shorter than the dresses and skirts women wore, but long enough to provide modest coverage.

Spencer's shoulder length hair was coiffed to perfection and she wore it down, the waves and curls framing her face. She sported glossy red nail polish that matched her lipstick and she accentuated her eyes with eyeliner, an eyebrow pencil and mascara. The mascara American women used in the 1940s was a cake of brown or black mascara in a small plastic case. The mascara was applied with a tiny brush that fit into the plastic case. Spencer also wore a hint of rouge and some powder on her face.

Leigh walked onstage confidently and took her place at the microphone. Guarnere thought,

"Holy Christ, my baby looks beautiful! Just like one o' them bombshell dames in the movies."

The band played the opening chord to Leigh's number. She looked demure as she sang,

"I was alone on a shelf. In a world by myself. Oh, where could my Prince Charming be?" She turned slightly to the right, smiling as she sang,

"But a man came along, made my life like a song, and taught me these words of ecstasy. Tenderly."

Bill felt that his heart was nearly bursting with pride and love for his girl. Guarnere knew that he had been hit by what his father called "the bolt of lightning" the day he met Leigh.

He had liked and lusted after girls before, but he had never been in love before. Guarnere thought,

"Ain't no doubt about it. I love this angel." Bill knew that Spencer cared about him a great deal. He decided to take a risk and tell her how he felt after the show was over.

The orchestra struck another chord and Leigh raised both arms. She started snapping her fingers and doing a slight shimmy to the boogie woogie rhythm, singing,

"I want some huggin' and some squeezin' and some muggin' and some teasin' and some stuff like that there. I want some pettin' and some spoonin' and some happy honeymoonin' and some stuff like that there." She moved forward, still snapping her fingers, the smile never leaving her face,

"I used to think that love was just a lot of rubbish" she turned to her left, "a mess o' cabbage," she turned to her right, "a mess of cabbage." Spencer stood in the center of the stage,

"But now my attitude is wholly lovey dovish. And Baby you, you've done it." She resumed snapping her fingers and doing a slight shimmy,

" I want some kissin' and some hopin' and some missin' and some mopin' and some stuff like that there. I want some leapin' and some chasin' and some weepin' and some pacin' and some stuff like that there."

The men in the audience, Colonel Sink included, were now standing and clapping their hands in time to the music. Spencer sang,

"And when I get a certain feelin' I confess it. There's really only one expression to express it. I want some kissin' and some hopin' and some missin' and some mopin' and some leapin' and some chasin' and some weepin' and some pacin' and some stuff. I want some stuff like that there!"

The band began an instrumental portion of the song. Spencer danced backwards on stage for a few measures, clapping her hands. Then, she strutted up to the microphone and quickly took several steps backwards to her left.

She then stepped in front of the microphone, moving it closer to the end of the stage. Leigh felt nearly giddy at this point and exihilerated. Bill wanted to shout,

"That's my baby!" but he didn't want to detract attention from Spencer's performance. He thought,

" I never knew she could dance. Look at her go! She has this entire audience eatin' out of the palm of her hand." Leigh sang,

"I used to think romance was bunk. A double mickey for the icky. But all at once my heart was sunk. And Baby, you," she pointed at Guarnere and winked,

" You've done it." Bill returned the wink and he had a big smile on his face. She sang,

" I want some kissin' and some hopin' and some missin' and some mopin' and some," (She said in a sexy voice) "stuff like that there. I want some leapin' and some chasin' and some weepin' and some pacin' and some (She raised her arms up over her head and bumped her hips to the right and to the left) stuff like that there."

Bill shouted out,

"That's my baby!" A soldier sitting in the next row heard Bill and gave him a look of disbelief, saying,

"You wish!" The soldier's friends laughed, but Guarnere didn't hear them. He was too caught up in the moment. Spencer sang,

"And when I get a certain feelin' I confess it. There's really only one expression to express it. "

She stood in the center of the stage,

"I want some huggin', squeezin', muggin', teasin' and some stuff," Leigh raised her arms over her head,"I want some stuff like that there!"

After the last note faded away, Spencer was surprised by the loud applause from the men who were still standing up. She thanked the audience, took a bow and walked offstage.

Leigh knew that she had done her best, no matter the outcome. It took a few minutes for the men to sit down and be quiet, then the emcee returned to the stage.

He announced,

"The judges are making their decisions. While we wait, here's some music to keep things moving along." Backstage, the contestants had the option of remaining in the wings of the stage or sitting in the audience if they had significant others who were watching the show.

Spencer and Adams decided to sit with Guarnere and Randleman. The women carefully made their way to a staircase that led to the auditorium.

Leigh noticed that there was an empty seat beside Bill when she was performing. Melissa and Leigh opened the door and walked into the auditorium.

Although the house lights were still down, they had no problem locating their boyfriends. Adams sat beside Bull, who hugged and kissed her.

Spencer walked up to the seat beside Bill and whispered in his ear, "Excuse me, Sir, is this seat taken?" Guarnere was on his feet in an instant, embracing Leigh and kissing her.

"Baby, ya done one hell of a good job! "

"Just look at ya, drop dead gorgeous! You're every bit as good as Judy Garland an' those other music movie broads!"

Leigh smiled, enjoying Bill's review of her performance and his compliments. Guarnere realized that the show was still going on. He took Spencer's hand and they sat down.

The soldier who doubted that Leigh was Bill's girl was proven wrong as he witnessed the couple embracing, kissing, sitting together and holding hands. Once they were seated, Spencer told Guarnere,

"Thanks so much for the beautiful roses. You're so sweet and thoughtful!"

"It was my pleasure, Sweetheart. He kissed Spencer's hand, telling her, "I swear to God, you could make a livin' singin' and dancin'."

"Thanks, Bill." Before anything else could be said, the emcee returned and announced,

"The judges have made their decisions," Guarnere took Spencer's hand, saying,

"It's OK, Baby, you've got this thing won."

"I hope you're right." The emcee told the audience,

"Due to a special circumstance, the USO judges would like to call Colonel Sink onstage. Sink got up from his seat and walked up some stairs at the right side of the stage. Once he was onstage, the emcee and Sink conferred away from the microphone and with their backs to the audience.

Leigh thought, "Could it possibly be..." Sink stepped up to the microphone and stated,

"It gives me great pleasure to announce the name of the first woman selected by the USO. She got her start at Camp Toccoa and she works here at Fort Benning, the talented comedienne Melissa Adams!" The audience applauded. Bull hugged a very stunned Melissa. Bill whispered to Leigh,

"It ain't over yet, Baby. You've gotta be the next one." After a dramatic pause, Colonel Sink continued,

"It gives me great pleasure and a sense of pride to announce the name of the second woman selected by the USO. She also got her start at Camp Toccoa and she also works at Fort Benning, the singing and dancing fireball Leigh Spencer! The audience applauded again.

Leigh jumped up from her seat, shouting,

"Oh my God, Bill, I made it!". Guarnere quickly stood up, embracing Spencer and giving her a passionate kiss, telling Leigh, "I am so goddamned proud of ya, Baby," he grinned, adding, "I knew ya had this thing won. Old Guarnere ain't never wrong."

He put his hands on Leigh's waist, lifting her and gently spinning her around. Spencer had a radiant smile on her face and she giggled as Bill literally swept her off her feet.

A quick thinking reporter with a camera took pictures of Leigh jumping out of her seat, plus two pictures of Guarnere kissing her and briefly spinning her around. He approached the happy couple, telling them,

"I'm Roger Anderson from the Stars and Stripes newspaper. I just took some pictures of you two. Would you please pose for one picture together in case the other pictures I took didn't turn out well?"

Bill replied,

"Sure, that's fine wit'me." Spencer gave her consent. Anderson told Bill,

"Sergeant , you have red lipstick on your lips. You might want to get that cleaned off before I take the picture. Bill got a handkerchief out of a pocket in his dress uniform jacket and wiped off the lipstick returning the handkerchief to his pocket.

Then he and Leigh posed side by side. Guarnere had his arm around Leigh's shoulders.

"Sir, if it isn't too much trouble, would you please send copies of the newspapers and copies of the pictures to our families? Also, would you please get some copies of the paper and the pictures for us?"

"That's a good idea, Sweetheart." Anderson said,

"I'll be glad to get pictures and papers to everyone you mentioned, including yourselves. All I need are names and addresses, plus the correct spellings of both of your names." He handed a reporter's notebook and a pencil to Guarnere.

As he wrote, Leigh commented,

"Bill, you have exquisite handwriting. Mr. Anderson, I will do my best to make my handwriting legible. It usually looks as if I held the pen with my toes." Guarnere chuckled at her remark.

Spencer filled out all of the necessary information. Bill told her,

"It looks fine to me, Baby." Anderson added,

"It looks good, Miss Spencer. Thanks for posing for the picture Sergeant Guarnere and thank you, Miss Spencer. I promise to get everything delivered as soon as possible."

During this time, the show officially ended and the audience began to leave the auditorium. Shifty Powers came up to Melissa and told her,

"Congratulations, Miss Adams. I declare, you are a born story teller. If it wouldn't be too much of a problem, would you please write down your jokes? I'd like to send them to my daddy. He would really enjoy them."

"Thank you, Shifty. I'd be glad to write my jokes down for you. I bet your daddy is proud of you earnin' your jump wings." Powers shyly replied,

"Thank you, Miss Adams, I reckon that he's proud of me." Powers then went to Leigh, telling her,

"Congratulations, Miss Spencer. You did some fine singing and dancing and you looked like a movie star up on that stage," Leigh replied,

"Thanks so much, Shifty. I really appreciate your nice compliments." Meanwhile, George Luz stepped up to talk to Bill, telling him,

"You should've left the red lipstick on. It made you look beautiful." Guarnere chuckled and told George,

"Shaddup!"

Malarkey congratulated both women and headed out for the NCO club. An informal gathering had been planned for the small group. A middle aged USO female volunteer walked onto the stage asking,

"Will all contestants please return their uniforms to the dressing room before leaving the building? " Melissa headed for the dressing room. Randleman promised to wait for her.

Bill embraced Leigh, tenderly kissing her, saying,

"My baby's gonna be a star." He lowered his voice, telling Spencer,

"I wish they allowed ya to keep that dress. You have no idea what it does to me." Leigh also kept her voice low, saying to Guarnere,

"Maybe they would let me borrow it for one evening. Then, you can show me exactly what that dress does to you."

"Sink was right. You're a fireball. My little fireball." Leigh replied,

"Damned straight I'm yours." Guarnere commented,

"Don't forget that, ya sassy, sexy dame." Spencer said,

"I never want to forget that, you sexy dream boat. I'll be back as soon as I can."

@lizziebitch3. @alluringmoonlightbabe

#bill guarnere #easy company #william guarnere #how-are-those-nuts-sarge #band of brothers #wild bill guarnere #band of brothers imagine #valhallavalkyrie9 #mrsalwayswrite #bill guarnere imagine #vintagelavenderskies #bill guarnere smut #ethereal-jumpwings #ethereal jumpwings #rogue-barnes-durin-main #Youtube

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

i seriously will not be able to stop thinking about your Daddy Clyde holy hell you write him so beautifully. ugh Daddy's so gritty and dirty and just the right amount of meannnn ugh i hate you and love you at the same time. that piece stressin' me tf out ugh i really n e e d more of it lmao

A/N: @ohdamnadamm AS PER YOUR REQUEST DARLIN’ I COOKED UP A FILTHY ASS FUCKIN’ NUGGET FROM THE INNER MECHANISMS OF MY MIND (AND THANKS TO @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather FOR HER DAD BOD FIC FOR THE LOVE OF PETE IM SO HARD FOR THAT AMAZING THOT, BLESS YOU ITS BEEN RUNNING THROUGH MY MIND FOR 48 HRS STRAIGHT AND IVE READ IT UPWARDS OF TWENTY TIMES) IM NOT SORRY IN THE SLIGHTEST. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, SWEET BABE! 

Warnings: Daddy kink, BJ’s, ball-sucking, choking, cumshots, cum eating, unprotected sex, dirty talk and LOTS OF IT, teasing, marking, breeding kink, hair pulling, scratching, just pure fuckin’ hot sweaty porn, no plot whatsoever, SMUT SMUT SMUT AND MORE FUCKIN’ CLYDE LOGAN SMUT. 

The hot sun beat down in the small trailer located in the boonies of West Virginia, the AC had decided to take a shit early that mornin’, sendin’ your big bear to go to the Home Depot for some tools to fix it right up for his baby doll. 

You sat, perched on the couch in nothin’ but your little pink thong, and laced up bralette, sweatin’ to high heaven as you waited for your tin foil knight to return and save the heat stroke you had been sufferin’ since damn near five in the mornin’. 

“Jesus fuck,” you exhaled, rubbin’ more sweat off your soakin’ tits, pullin’ your hair into a sticky mess of a bun as you fanned yourself over the hot August fog that settled in the small quarters. 

“I’m just fuckin’ parched as all hell,” gettin’ up from the couch, makin’ your way to the fridge to stick your head in the freezer for some relief, only to find your savin’ grace for the next twenty minutes or so, a box of red-white-n-blue rocket pops. 

“Oh fuck me!” reachin’ for them as you tore the box open like a feral cat, rippin’ the packagin’ and shovin’ that popsicle into your gapin’ mouth, a moan emittin’ throughout the room as you savored the icy cold of the frozen delicacy. 

Just then, the door shuffled open to let your hulk of a man in from the blisterin’ heat of the day, his white t-shirt stained in tit sweat, and his brimmed ball cap sweat covered too. He dropped the bag on the floor, airin’ out his shirt as he looked around for your pretty little figure. 

“Baby girl?” concerned you weren’t in his line of sight, inchin’ towards the kitchen, “where ya at?” peerin’ around the partition to see the hottest thing he’d seen all damn day. You perched on the kitchen counter, tits completely sweat covered, legs spread open like a porn star, and a bomb pop slidin’ in and out of your perfect lips, the colored juices drippin’ down your chin into the valley of your chest as you eyeballed him from the livin’ room. 

“What’s ma perty lil’ baby doin’ on the counter, huh?” movin’ over to you as he wiped his sweat covered face with his t-shirt, exposin’ his precious belly and shinin’ tits. 

“Ya know it’s dangerous ta be on the counter like that baby doll,” panderin’ as he rubbed your soft thighs, bendin’ down to kiss and suck on the skin as you thrust the popsicle in and out of your mouth, not losin’ the slightest bit of eye contact, “wouldn’t want daddy’s precious baby girl ta get herself hurt, now, would we?” ghostin’ his lips over your succulent and swollen cunt. 

“Mhmm,” whinin’ out at his touches on your sensitive skin, forcin’ the treat down your open throat even more, “‘m sorry daddy,” moanin’ as he lifted his head to smirk at your fuck me face. 

“I don’t think yer sorry in the slightest darlin’,” gigglin’ as he stood to his full height, leanin’ in to grip the empty stick from your mouth, tossin’ it on the floor, “I think ya like bein’ a lil’ brat, don’t ya baby girl?” tiltin’ your chin to meet his searin’ gaze as he pushed his lips onto yours, sighin’ as he pulled you flush to him, inhalin’ your sweet scent as the kiss deepened. 

“Ya know what kinda punishment lil’ brats get?” he pulled away, grippin’ your hair to wrench your head back up to his, suckin’ marks on your neck as he gathered you in his huge arms. 

“No, daddy, I don’t,” bitin’ your lip at the pain of his ministrations on your pulse, “p-please tell me what I get,” moanin’ as he pulled your hair tighter and tighter. 

Liftin’ his head back up, starin’ into your eyes, “get off the damn counter and assume yer position in front a the couch baby girl,” lettin’ go of your head as he watched you slide down off your perch to slink into the livin’ room, your ass red from the duration of your stay on the linoleum lined top as he watched it sway with your hips, completely entranced. 

“Like this daddy?” bendin’ down on your knees, as he slid himself in front of the lip of the couch to gaze at your pretty little face beggin’ to be fucked. Your hands behind your back, head cocked up to meet his stare, tits pushed out, nipples peaked, and your vision on him and him only. 

“Stick that lil’ tongue out baby girl,” fumblin’ with his belt and zipper as he watched you present the organ as requested, “daddy wanna see his lil’ cumbucket,” releasin’ his half hardened cock to sit on the couch like the king he was. He reached his hand to pull on the appendage, a moan emittin’ from your throat as he motioned you closer with it. 

“Yer gonna suck ma cock until yer cryin’ for air baby girl,” musin’ as you lowered your face to his large balls, nuzzlin’ your nose in the softness and musk envelopin’ them in his aura. 

“Yes, daddy,” whisperin’ as you pecked tiny kisses on them, “I wanna be a good girl fer you,” lickin’ the skin like a kitten. 

“Mhmm,” he moaned out, his balls twitchin’ at your movements on them, “yer such a good girl fer yer daddy,” praisin’ as you sucked one into your mouth, tuggin’ on the skin and rollin’ your tongue around the sac. 

“Mmm, ya taste so good daddy,” movin’ to the other testicle to mimic the motions just as good as the other, savorin’ his manly scent as you made out with his scrotum, his cock wavin’ like a flag in the sky as you tugged on the other ball. 

“G-god d-damn,” he cooed, grippin’ your head to lift you up from his sac, “that’s enough a that baby girl,” lust blown as he rubbed the sides of your temples, causing your eyes to roll back in your head as he lowered your lips to his weepin’ tip. 

“Now yer gonna take this cock baby girl,” gazin’ at the sight of you foamin’ at the mouth under his larger than life dick, “go on ‘n suck yer daddy,” shovin’ your perfect little mouth onto his achin’ dick, revelin’ in the gaggin’ sounds you made as he pushed your head completely down on him. 

“Open up fer me baby girl,” gaspin’ as your jaw went slack over his throbbin’ cock, “there ya go darlin’,” praisin’ as you sped up your sloppy gyrations on him. 

“S-such a p-perty lil’ cumbucket,” watchin’ as the spit fell in globs on his jeans, and the tears spilled from your eyes over his girth, “what a g-good baby girl daddy has,” throwin’ his head back in pleasure as you sucked your cheeks in, rollin’ your tongue on the underside of his veiny dick.

“Daddy’s gettin’ close baby girl,” he panted out as you adjusted your angle to hit your uvula just the right way, causin’ an animalistic moan to reverberate on the thin walls of the trailer. 

“I-I’m,” shovin’ your head off his cock, causin’ a huge gasp for air to leave your lips and wide eyes to meet your man as he palmed his red angry cock in his hand. 

“Open yer perty mouth baby girl!” growlin’ out as the largest stream of semen you’d ever seen squirt from his head, landin’ on your tongue, tits, and chin. 

“Motherfuck-k,” he palmed himself until the last of it landed on your skin, takin’ huge deep breaths as he let go of his limp cock, “ya alright baby girl?” watchin’ the color return to your face as you sucked up his spend from your face. 

“I’m just fine daddy,” crawlin’ on to his lap, thighs on either side of him as you nestled your covered pussy on his still throbbin’ cock. 

“Ya such a good girl fer me,” pettin’ your arms as you gripped the back of his head, leanin’ in for a steamy kiss as you gyrated your hips on him. 

“Mhmm,” he chuckled, “does ma sweet baby need somethin’ from her daddy?” watchin’ as you bat your eyelashes at him, “use yer words darlin’,” he pandered once again, bringin’ a thumb to tug at your bottom lip. 

“I need ya to fuck me, daddy,” bringin’ the digit into your mouth as you moved again on his dick, the hardness comin’ back in a wave at your friction, “please, I’ve been a good girl fer you,” suckin’ on it like a pacifier. 

“Ya right baby girl,” he cooed, “I can’t say no to yer sweet lil’ pussy anyways,” watchin’ as you lifted your hips to line his cock up with your achin’ slit, rubbin’ your built-up slick around on the head. Pushin’ your hips slowly down on his length, swallowin’ every single inch like the popsicle you’d been devourin’ minutes prior. 

“G-good god darlin’,” breath hitchin’ as he took in your tight walls clenchin’ on his cock, “ya so damn tight, no matter how many times yer daddy fucks ya,” musin’ as you started your little dance on his lap. 

Hips in a death grip by his flesh and blood hand and his metal one as you gyrated your body, tits bouncin’ in his face, sweat buildin’ up in the heat of the trailer as skin slappin’ emitted through every room in the house. 

“F-fuck big bear!” you cried out, feelin’ his head pokin’ your cervix with every thrust he was makin’ upwards, completely sendin’ you into another dimension of pleasure, “ya stretch me out so damn good daddy!” moanin’ into every knock he made on your open womb. 

“Ya gonna cum on daddy’s big cock baby girl?” watchin’ your mouth gape open as your tits fall out of the sorry excuse for a bra you’d chosen, “daddy wants ya ta cum so damn bad!” speedin’ his movements up until tears fell again from your face. 

“Daddy!” grippin’ on his shoulders, drawin’ blood as he pummeled your hole with everything he had, “d-daddy I-I’m g-gon-,” the friction from his jeans rubbin’ your clit for him as you unraveled and released your sweet sticky spend on him. 

“F-fuck!” cryin’ out in unrelentin’ waves of bliss as he rode you out to pound town. 

“Such a perty baby girl,” musin’ as he thrust his cock in and out with more fervor, “daddy’s gettin’ close baby,” he praised once again, gritting his teeth as he set an ungodly speed on your overstimulated body.  

“D-daddy’s c-close,” he grunted, thrustin’ in once more before unloadin’ his spend into your gapin’ slit, shovin’ it further a further as he kept thrustin’ into you. 

“J-Jesus f-fuckin’ C-Christ,” hips still in his grip as it tightened from his orgasm, “ya feel s-so good darlin’,” stillin’ himself as you both gazed into each other, takin’ in the heat that had built over the last hour. 

He brought you into an embrace, smellin’ your hair, as you pet his sweat covered back, kissin’ the moles on his shoulder and rubbin’ the scratches that had built up. After a few more seconds, you went to hop off him, only to be stilled back in your spot. 

“Clyde, baby!” you looked at him, irritated and sweaty, “what the hell? It’s fuckin’ hot an’ I have ta pee,” tryin’ to pry his hands off your hips still. 

“Nah baby girl,” he tsked, “yer gonna sit here with ma cum in your pussy for a minute,” musin’ and rubbin’ your lower belly, “I wanna make sure ya keep it nice n’ safe up there,” eyes dilatin’ as he watched your expression change too. 

“Oh really?” movin’ a hand to slick his mop of hair back, “ya think this is gonna do the trick ta knock my ass up like ya want me ta be big bear?” gigglin’ as his toothy smile appeared as a result of your words. 

“Well, it’s a damn start innit?” nuzzlin’ his cheek in your hand, “need ta make sure ma swimmers explore all parts a the cave darlin’,” chucklin’ as you rolled your eyes. 

“Yer lucky yer the cutest thing on the planet,” softenin’ at his precious face restin’ in your fingers, “that jus’ makes me wanna have as many babies as possible so they get yer perty lil’ features,” rubbin’ his cheek as a tear welled up in his eyes. 

“I ain’t as precious as you are baby girl,” rubbin’ more little circles on your lower tummy, “I can’t wait ta see the perfect lil’ ones we do make,” the wetness rollin’ out of his eyes as he thought about a little Logan joinin’ the trailer. 

“Oh shit!” he jolted, scarin’ the crap out of you as you stood up, “I totally fuckin’ forgot!” he jumped up from the couch. 

“Forgot what big bear!” clutchin’ your chest as you crossed your legs to avoid the liquid from fallin’ out of your bladder and your pussy. 

“I have ta fix the fuckin’ AC!”

_____________

IN CONCLUSION, 

🖤, 

ray-nal-beads

#tw: daddy kink #tw: choking #tw: breeding kink #pure smut #clyde logan smut #clyde is daddy #clyde and his horsecock #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan #clyde logan x you #clyde logan x female reader #tw: unprotected sex

[cryptidcrew]

Some chinchilla pettin’ to a music box lullaby song to soothe the soul

#song is ‘connect’ from PMMM by Relax A Wave #relaxing #calming vibes #calming video #music box

[theramseyloft]

4/9/21 Loft Notes

WARNING!!!

Todays loft notes contain an extremely graphic description of animal death.

The 'Khou demands pettin's.

Patron: "Is that not the default state of the world? The truest constant that science should use to create a reality metric?"

That and Bird-Bird demanding her daddy pet her.

House vacuumed, house pets and quarantine cleaned.

I'm hungry and mad about it.

We have an appointment this afternoon, so I have until 4:20 to bust as much ass as I can.

And of course, as I'm about to step out to the loft, the bottom falls out of my stomach and it demands I stop and make a satisfying amount of food and take the time to eat it.

Bitch, we got shit to do!

I just fed you breakfast!

Mats, mesh, and bricks washed.

Oh, wow, Houdini super didn't make it.

The body was practically liquid, like it had died last week.

Guessing Leonard and Elliot knew something I didn't.

Poor little guy...

Patron: "His lack of growth was really making me feel like there may have been something wrong"

Yeah.

Pippin and Cookie's second has arrived.

And by the look of its mostly white beak, may not be Pippin's.

We'll have to see as they develop.

TM5-2 is doing well, at least.

I checked Tandy's egg.

It's just beginning to pip, so we'll see it tomorrow.

Patron: "Why do you give some babies name names, and others serial number names?"

They all start with a number.

Dad's first initial, mom's first initial, clutch number, dash, first or second laid.

Patron: "I see, that's very organized. What's the threshold for them getting a name?"

Patron: "the ones being kept permanently eventually get names"

"the ones who are also reserved and the future owner gives a name, they also get a name so they get trained that name"

Yep

Babies available to the public who aren't claimed get a name around 2 weeks.

Sometimes a pun on their initials.

Amiga is the first hatch of PC clutch 3.

A peep out of a pair named Mia and Cara was named Escher.

Some are after family personality traits.

Lucy is named after the Avenue Q character; Lucy the ----.

Because she's Farthing's daughter.

Patron: "Thistle and his child Nettle being plant names themed"

Patron: "Well also MJ cause uh... April baby lol"

I didn't name her. XD

Patron: "i don't know what MJ is for"

Mary Jane.

Hatched in 4/20

Indica and Sativa were hatched on 4/19/20 and 4/20/20, respectively.

The eve and day of 4/20 in the year of our lord 2020.

Patch was named for the black streak on his beak that was a tiny patch on his hatch day.

He now has a white soul patch under his beak.

Nettle was named along the stinging weed you damn near can't kill theme of their Father, Thistle.

Leonard came with the nickname Leo, that his rescuer lamented wasn't as fancy as he looked.

I joked with her not to worry. It's short for Leonard. She loved it.

Ginger is a very vibrant red.

Ect.

New LE egg dropped.

Window, mirror, swing, and weight stones washed.

Mats, bricks, and swing replaced.

Dirty mesh and bricks set out.

Back third nest boxes mucked.

Thistle and MJ both took baths at the same time and left their peep uncovered...

It isn't in danger of hypothermia just yet, but it won't take long, so I'm going to be watching it like a hawk.

Patron: "when the need for feather maintenence overtakes parental instincts"

Thistle came to check on it, and then laid down in the nest box next door to dry off.

Patron: "At least he didn’t sit on the baby while he was wet"

"I feel like that wouldn’t be great"

Patron: "It depends how wet he is lol"

Patron: "At this stage, any amount of wet would probably be less than ideal."

And to be fair, they had both sat their peep in the unrecognizable mush that used to be Houdini.

I can DEFINITELY understand wanting that unspeakable rot stench off.

Patron: "I'm still trying to puzzle how did the body decompose that quickly... even without pictures it sounds horrifying"

Aaaand wanting the nest box to have a moment to air out.

I legit thought about taking some pictures.

I honestly probably should have.

But that will legitimately haunt my nightmares.

He was a grey liquid that had mostly dissolved around a distressingly intact cropload of fresh milk. The skin was the only thing holding him together.

He must have started (to rot) the night before last while he was alive.

He had grown just a little since going out...

Very literally nightmare fuel.

Aaaand speaking of that, Angel lounged next to the uncovered TM peep and thought he was gonna be sneaky about trying to attack it.

He was not.

I had to damn near throw the sifter at him to deter him, but deterred he was.

And Thistle is back on it.

No Angels were harmed in being deterred from infanticide.

[not-a-crow-i-swear]

I dunno how to make this into a funni, so I guess I’ll just tell y’all. I love my cats. The big one was sittin in a box, and left her comfy spot to join me on the couch to watch Jujutsu Kaisen. She sat right next to me, but tried to look inconspicuous. I know her though, so i got to pettin. Animals are so pure.

#animals #love creatures #animal appreciation #appreciation post #cat love #babey #love love love

[joi-in-the-tardis]

list 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of 10 people who reblogged something from you. get to know your mutuals and followers! (≧▽≦)

1. Extraordinarily schmoopy Christmas fluff in fics.  Seriously, chapter 11 of @forineffablereasons‘ The Grinch Who Sold Christmas still has me floating.

2. When Guinan is in the other room and meows for me (I think sometimes she thinks I’ve left) and I call her and she comes trotting over, already purring and looking for pettin’s.

3. The seat warmers in my car.  Seriously, how did I live before this with such a cold behind?

4. When I went to the liquidation sale AC Moore I got an archaeopteryx figure and it just makes me stupidly happy.  I got a bunch of sharks, a coelophysis, and a coelacanth too!

5. Surprises in the mail.  ‘tis the season! :D

#thanks for the ask! #apologies that it's taken some time to get it #joi rambles #happy things #5 happy things #somethingmoreclever

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: Cat Update Mostly

Thanks to this month's benefactor, I have ordered Livia's Special Girl Goosh.  The Fish Equipment trip is Saturday.

I made it out to forage late and in heavy rain.  The bread isn't ideal, but it is bread, so winning.

Things have calmed down dramatically.  Tavy has stopped disputing Elder Kitty's Right to her old spot on the sofa. (She has been sleeping on this sofa for most of her life, but she goes through periods where she doesn't want to deal with Tavy's bullshit. Every time she comes back after a hiatus she has to fight for her share from scratch.)  She's been napping most of the night on there, and coming for pettins and to graze kibbles when she wakes.  There's been no pee since the really bad one that led to me yanking two cushions.  Though I spotted him thinking about it today, he decided to wait until i put the box back and went in there instead.  I stand by my pissing contest theory.

I'm sill doing a lot of laundry as the three of them are taking turns with blerping up hairballs.  I's the second biggest grooming season of the year, so I m not particularly surprised.

#Personal #My Cats #Livia #Tavy #LM

[nyckie]

yeah i'm not getting anything done so long as this dude's under me bumming for pettin's lol He's pretty good about using the litter box and getting along with the cats and being non-destructive, so he's spent practically the whole day outside of the cage.

#Ny's animals #Ny's rabbits #Clunker

[boston-and-slartibartfast]

It's a gross, cold, wet day. But Slarti only ducked into his box for the heaviest bit of rain - pettins are better! 🐱 https://www.instagram.com/p/BsJaalLA_Je/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=hs9jxm9ypthj

[dolltrash-etc]

So, this little gremlin followed me home yesterday. Literally! He was in the parking lot of my apartment complex, looking lost, and came running up to me, meowing and purring when I squatted down and called to him. I petted him, and he was just SO enthusiastic for pets and scritches, and kept headbutting my legs and hands for more. Then he followed me to the mailbox, and back, and I decided just to let him in and give him food! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

 I ended up setting him up in my dog’s (very large) travel crate, with a kitty bed, litter box, catnip mouse, food/water bowl, and cardboard fort (all leftover from my own kitties). He’s not neutered and has some fleas, but otherwise seems pretty clean. 

 Honestly I’d be surprised if he’s not an escaped pet. I’m gonna keep an eye out for “lost cat” posters before I decide if I should take him to the vet for a checkup, shots, etc. I’m kind of poor at the moment, so the cost will have to come into consideration, but I have SO MUCH stuff leftover from my kitties I used to have. 

Anyway, it’s fun having a kitty in the house again after my poor sweet Kona died last year. He’s so talkative! And whenever I let him out, he follows me around and yells for pettins. 

 (And if I do keep him, I’m gonna give him an embarrassing Overwatch related name, lol)

#cat #kitty #kitten #stray cat #rescue cat #personal #my photo

[theolddarkmachine]

Sheith Secret Santa

Dedicated to: @takashiroganeofficial for @sheithsecretsanta

Prompt: Keith is a dead man, roaming the living, looking for someone to love. Shiro is that person, 50 years later (in the 2040’s. I like the idea of 90s Keith).

Death caught Keith quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized what had happened to him until he’d woken to the sound of police sirens and the sight of his body being carted away in a black body bag. There had to be some sick cosmic joke in there somewhere about how his life had been ended nearly exactly when he’d finally decided to start living. Even more sickly comical about the whole ordeal was that he was now stuck forever at the age of 23 in a hand cut crop top that read:

Flower Sniffin Kitty Pettin Baby Kissin Corporate Rock Whores

He was certain there was some sort of symbolism to be found in the Nirvana shirt that life, death and every other philosophical concept in between just could not resist. Maybe if he wasn’t dead, he would have even found the humor. Be that as it may, he found himself on the business end of a panic attack. At least, as much of a panic attack as he could have when he didn’t even need to breathe anymore.

AO3 

I AM SO SORRY THIS IS AFTER ACTUAL CHRISTMAS! It ended up being a LOT longer than originally planned. (The original notes for this thing had been like 4.5k words on its own D:) I did send you a PDF version that is all pretty with a personalized note, but in case you see this version first, I really hope you like this and this was the type of thing you had been hoping for. Also, MERRY belated CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!  

********************************

1994

10...

9...

8...

Keith didn’t even know why he bothered with the party, knowing full well it would just end up a sea of bodies colliding together, melting into euphoric chaos fueled by the ecstasy that was still dissolving on their tongues. His own tab had long since worn off, leaving him sweaty and nauseous as he tried to fight his way through the crush of dancers on the floor. All he wanted now, was a fucking cigarette.

And to get away from the mouth breather that had left a trail of heat on the back of his neck that seemed to linger.

7...

6...

5...

Rubbing his palm over the wet, sticky sweat that had collected at the collar of his red, leather jacket, Keith attempted to wipe away the phantom tickle that had made his skin crawl. His elbow found the soft space between someone’s ribcage and hip as he pushed against the stream of partygoers that all tried to get to the center most point of the club at the exact moment it became 1995. The gleam of a street light through the ever open club doors signaled his salvation as he drew closer, shoving a hand deep into the front pocket of his acid wash jeans in search of the zippo that was tucked there. Cool metal brushed his finger tips as he finally broke free of the crowd, the horde that had been around him falling away and replaced by the biting cold of the outdoors. His first breath outside of the stuffy club froze his lungs with the sharp bite of near metallic air, causing him pause as he fumbled to pull the lighter free of his jeans and the pack of cigarettes from his jacket.

While everyone else was mere moments from celebrating the start of a brand new year, and some archaic notion of a brand new start, Keith was moments from finally getting his next nicotine fix.

There was something almost poetic about the way he was starting 1995 the same way he’d spent the entirety of his 1994: alone with red leather hugging his shoulders and a cigarette dangling from his lips. This was how he liked it. Alone, he wouldn’t need to worry about the ever cloying sense that he was about to lose something. Alone, there was no one to be disappointed in him when he inevitably fucked up. Alone, he didn’t need to pretend like everyone didn’t just leave in the end.

4...

3...

2...

Grasping the Zippo between his middle and forefingers, he tapped the pack of Marlboro Slims against his palm, shaking a stick free of its cardboard prison before tucking the box back into his pocket. Thrusting the filter between his teeth and ignoring the way his hand trembled slightly with the brisk night air, he flicked the flint wheel and watched the blinding spark as it lit the tip of the cigarette. Inhaling, he dragged the smoke deep into his lungs, holding it there as its burn cleansed him of the anxieties the crowd had dredged up in his chest. It felt almost if all the tension in his limbs was pulled out by that single puff of carcinogenic smog, replaced by nothing other than the calming effects of the nicotine that laced the paper lining of the stick.

Grey tendrils danced upwards into the starless night sky as Keith exhaled, the smoke evaporating as the frozen air blew the opaque fog away. Taking another drag and blowing it up into the sky, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged the corner of his mouth upwards as the distant pops of fireworks and cheers alerted him to the start of the next year of his life.

Maybe this year, he would actually do something with it. The thought was a small bubble of hope hidden amongst the anxious fumes swirling within his gut. For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what he could do with his next year. He could stop hiding behind the dead end job at the comic store and actually pursue his own career as an artist. He could return his dad’s phone calls from time-to-time. He could find someone that would be more than just a warm body.

Keith imagined himself finally being truly happy as he looked up into the inky darkness that stretched above him, illuminated by nothing but the faint glow of the lights from the city below.

Maybe, just maybe, Keith would allow himself to be a cliché and say that this year was going to be his year.

1...

***

Death caught Keith quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized what had happened to him until he’d woken to the sound of police sirens and the sight of his body being carted away in a black body bag. There had to be some sick cosmic joke in there somewhere about how his life had been ended nearly exactly when he’d finally decided to start living. Even more sickly comical about the whole ordeal was that he was now stuck forever at the age of 23 in a hand cut crop top that read:

Flower Sniffin Kitty Pettin Baby Kissin Corporate Rock Whores

He was certain there was some sort of symbolism to be found in the Nirvana shirt that life, death and every other philosophical concept in between just could not resist. Maybe if he wasn’t dead, he would have even found the humor. Be that as it may, he found himself on the business end of a panic attack. At least, as much of a panic attack as he could have when he didn’t even need to breathe anymore.

A strange hollowness had spread through his chest as he’d watched his body get wheeled away while he stood there on the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers. One girl in particular had sobbed mercilessly as if she’d known the young man she’d discovered face down on the concrete. If he had been alive, he would have told her that her false sympathies weren’t appreciated. Biting back against the aching void that had sucked out his major organs, he walked right up to her, focusing on the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks in a vain attempt to root himself to something to keep from floating away.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Keith asked, saying the words straight into the woman’s ear as she ran a bare forearm under her nose and leaving a thin trail of snot and tears over her skin. A small part of him had expected— no, hoped for— her to turn to him with a vehement gaze and tell him to fuck off.

Someone died, you asshole. (Yeah, me.)

Where’s your heart, you bastard? (In my chest that just got carted away by police.)

There’s a special place in Hell for you. (I think I might already be there.)

Keith would have taken any of the above options, already prepared with the snarking remarks that would serve as his salvation. Anything would have sufficed to prove that he wasn’t walking free of his body that was now being driven away in the back of an ambulance. Of course, they never came, his words and questions lost to the living as he trailed anyone within the vicinity, babbling everything from his opinions on President Bill Clinton to Sir-Mix-A-Lot lyrics in an effort to get anyone to pay him any mind.

It wasn’t until the crowd had dispersed, the excitement of the new year and death wearing off quickly, that Keith was left with nothing but the black hole trapped in his ribcage and the silent streets. Solitude had always been something he’d yearned for, sought out even. But as it was forced upon him in the form of his own untimely demise, Keith realized for the first time he didn’t want to be alone at all.

Typical.

His feet began to carry him before he even realized he’d begun to move, one stepping in front of the other as he worried the meat of his cheek between his teeth. Where there should have been the sharp sting of his canine in the soft flesh, he was only met with a strange pressure as if his mouth had been numbed with novocaine.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest in some vain attempt to hold it together. A suffocating lump had grown in his throat with each step that carried him away from the alley his body had been discovered in just outside of the club. If only he’d just stayed at that damn party instead of going outside for a cigarette.

You should quit that, son, those things will kill ya.

A small sob tore from his lips as his dad’s voice echoed in the silence of the street. Keith wondered if his father would think of those exact same words when the police finally contacted him to tell him the news. That damn kid, he could almost hear him say through sobs that sounded suspiciously like his own.

Keith wasn’t even sure where he was walking anymore, his vision clouded by the tears that had begun to race down his cheeks. What did the dead even do when they got left behind? Would he meet other lost souls? Was there some kind of support group for ghosts?

Was he a ghost?

What was the politically correct term for what he was?

His own thoughts grew more and more absurd as he blindly walked, trying to convince himself that he could feel the night air cooling the hot tear tracks on his cheeks.

Where am I even supposed to go?

Almost as soon as he had the thought, the ground dropped from under him, the blurred city falling away into pitch black as he was sucked into a vacuum. Panic ate away at the void behind his sternum as he screamed into the void.

I’m not ready to leave!

Then, as quickly as it had disappeared, the world came back as he was dropped onto the carpeted floor of a familiar apartment. His apartment. License plates and stolen street signs stared down at him while old comic books and scraps of paper littered the floor. The carelessly sketched eyes of random passersby watched him as he pushed himself off the ground, ignoring the way his arms shook with the residual fear that had filled him.

Keith didn’t understand what was happening, but he understood enough to know he wasn’t ready to be done just yet. When he was alive, he’d been apathetic to his future, certain he’d always have more time. More time to try harder, more time to do things, just, more time. His apartment was deafeningly quiet as he shuffled his way to his bedroom, eyeing the sparse bedding of the queen size mattress that lay on a box spring on the floor. He was suddenly very tired. All of his limbs felt as if they were weighted with concrete as he fell down onto the mattress, rolling over the thin red comforter and pressing his face into his pillow. Even the feeling of the down felt muted as he nuzzled into the black pillowcase.

Maybe, he would fall asleep and wake up to find it was all a dream. One of those that involved waking several times, each more violent than the last as your body revolted against the weightless feeling of falling. Keith would probably wake up in a few hours, hungover, confused and craving his his morning cigarette, unable to even recall the dream of dying.

His eyelids began to flutter shut as if they were pulled downwards by weights.

That’s it, he thought as darkness fell over him. It must all just be a dream.

***

2040

Hover cars. Every single good scifi movie that Keith had grown up watching had promised him hover cars. Being able to make it long enough to see how the future had really panned out had been one of the only things Keith had been looking forward to about being a disembodied spirit tied to the living world. Dammit he wanted hover cars, holograms coming from phones and blade runners. As far as he could tell, the only thing the movies got right were how small the phones seemed to get, and how clinical and shiny everything began to feel.

In the years since he’d died, Keith had watched the city he’d grown to love age from a gritty, worn landscape to a commercialized backdrop for the overly paid. Ten years after his death, the club that had served as a marker for his murder scene was torn down and replaced by a diner, which changed hands several times over, before finally landing on the chic restaurant that served way too small portions. His favorite cafe with the crappy lighting, the stuffy poetry readings and impeccable espressos had hung in there for awhile, only meeting its end ten years ago when it was bought out by a chain with bright artificial lights and free wifi.

Everything always seemed to hinge on there being free wifi.

Even the streets seemed cleaner, losing the grime and dirt that had made it so appealing in the first place. What was even the point of living in a city without the vague concern of tetanus lurking around every corner?

Granted, he was already dead and didn’t actually need to fear the jaw locking infection like the living that did actually live.

Rolling his eyes at the thought, Keith turned his attention from the cars that still required wheels whizzing past the cafe window to the young woman sitting on a stool and glaring down at what looked like a particularly tough calculus problem.

There were three rules that Keith had learned abut his afterlife shortly after realizing that he wasn’t, in fact, dreaming.

The first, no matter what he did, the living could not notice him. No amount of screaming, whining, touching or rude hand gestures would get someone to actually see him standing before them.

The second, he could not move anything. After a particularly nasty fit, he’d tried his best to recreate Poltergeist, only to discover that no, he could not bend any silverware.

The third, and most important, was that he could still explore the city within three blocks any way of his apartment. Any further and he would find himself momentarily tossed into a black void as he was sucked back to his apartment and dropped on his ass. Though it had been wildly inconvenient in its set parameters at first, his ability to travel had been the only thing to keep him sane. Frequenting the shops and cafes within his radius, Keith would watch the people that came and went, creating elaborate backstories for the regulars he grew to know through their one-sided interactions.

His current favorite regular, was a girl named Katie that could be found almost every morning at his cafe, doing the homework she’d put off the night before. Katie would always be at the window bar, sat on a stool with a line between her eyebrows as she would mutter to herself about whatever advanced mathematical theory she was working through at the time. That habit of talking to herself had been what had drawn him to her in the first place. While she muttered under her breath, Keith would answer and allow himself the simple pleasure of holding a conversation with someone, albeit one where his own voice went unheard.

“But would x equal 5.37?”

“Nope, Katie, you and I both know it would equal 2.98. You’re forgetting the basics.”

“How could I forget that theorem, it’s so basic.”

“It’s okay, we all make mistakes.”

It wouldn’t be until she had finished her cinnamon latte and butterscotch scone, that she would pack up her things, sling her bag over her shoulder and leave, never hearing Keith’s goodbyes.

Then, he would close his eyes, and will himself through the crushing darkness and back to his apartment. Normally, he would busy himself with whoever occupied his previous home, partaking in whatever day-to-day activities they found suitable. On this occasion, however, he had nothing to look forward to other than the silence of the empty apartment. The previous tenant, Mildred, had passed away a month earlier in her sleep with her cat Princess curled against her leg.

Keith had liked Mildred. If he was being honest, she had been the only tenant since he’d died that he had liked. She had a habit of talking to herself, an old woman’s habit to fill the quiet of her apartment, and it gave him a sense that he wasn’t the only lonely soul there. Near the end, he could have sworn she had even been able to hear him from time-to-time, pausing as if taking his comment into consideration before continuing her conversation with herself and Princess.

Of course, maybe that should have been some sort of sign.

Her death had been the first thing to make him feel anything since his own, sending a flare into the gasoline of his despair that filled his otherwise hollowed self with flames, and a small, brighter spark of hope. Keith knew it was selfish of him to hope that Mildred would join him in whatever this in-between was, but hope he did as he sat at the vintage dining room table with Princess at his side as they watched the medics cart her body away. The disappointment only added fuel to the blaze behind his sternum as the family that never bothered to visit her came to cart her belongings and Princess away.

It was inevitable that the complex would fill the vacant apartment. They always had. So it shouldn’t had surprised him when he appeared in the living room with a faint pop to see the door wide open and boxes littering the otherwise empty area. Be that as it may, a small, startled sound buried itself into the base of his throat as his gaze roamed over the leather couch that sat almost exactly where Mildred’s floral printed one had sat.

Surrounding it was a barrage of cardboard and plastic containers, each marked with scribbled handwriting denoting what was inside.

Movies. Books. Clothes. Records.

Keith knelt down beside the latter, tracing the messy lettering with a trembling finger. Even in the 90s, records had been outdated. Hadn’t this new person ever heard of a CD?

“Oh, hello.”

Two words was all it took to effectively turn Keith’s purgatory upside down. Not even two words. One confused sound and a greeting.

Oh, hello.

If he had a beating heart, it probably would have stopped altogether with the shock. With the speed and ferocity that may have snapped his neck otherwise, Keith’s head whipped to face the kind and pleasantly deep voice that had just spoken.

Don’t get your hopes up, he had enough time to think to himself as he focused on the speaker. They’re most likely talking to a neighbor. Or the landlord. Or—

Keith never got to finish his thought as the man in the doorway spoke again.

“So, do you like records?”

***

Tenants had come and gone at his apartment, each perfectly oblivious to their new and dead roommate. Not that Keith hadn’t tried. He had once even attempted recreating the entirety of Beetlejuice, only to discover that he couldn’t transform into one of Tim Burton’s creatures. At the time, he would have done anything for one of them to acknowledge his existence just for the validation of it all. But now, as he held the grey satin gaze of the stranger in the doorway, all Keith could hear in his head was the sound of crickets and a record scratch.

With a box clutched in his hands, the man was nothing but squared lines, broad shoulders and a soft smile as he waited patiently for Keith’s response. One hand flashed silver around the corner of the box he held, catching the light and contrasting with the dullness of his flesh hand. Tracing his gaze over the pinked skin of a scar that ran over the bridge of the newcomer’s nose, he wondered if the scar and the hand had come from the same catalyst. He also wondered how it only seemed to add to the attractive nature of his face.

Because, wow. What an attractive face it was.

“I know they’re old school, but I can’t help but feel like they really got music right back then,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that Keith hadn’t actually answered him. “I’m your new neighbor, by the way. Takashi Shirogane, but call me Shiro.”

Takashi Shirogane.

Shiro.

He was unlike any person he’d seen in either life or afterlife, standing there in the doorway like some kind of wide shouldered angel sent from the heavens as their apology for his existence. Standing without thought, Keith nodded as if that was acknowledgement enough before supplying his own name in a stupor.

“Keith.”

If it hadn’t been he first real interaction he’d had in about 50 years, he may have tacked on something else as way of an introduction. I’m Keith and I like shitty sci-fi movies, comic books, and your face, maybe. Instead, he stood there silently, mouth slightly agape as the man walked further into the room, box still in his stupidly large hands.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, giving his name life and turning it into something completely new. On his tongue, it sounded musical. “Well nice to meet you, Keith. The landlord did say my neighbor was really friendly and would probably offer to help out. I’m glad to see he wasn’t just saying that.”

The words Shiro was speaking should have raised some sort of alarm bells in his mind as he closed the space between them, lifting the box out towards Keith in some sort of offering. Keith knew, deep down, that he should be backing away from whatever strange fluke this was. No one should be able to see him, and yet he Shiro stood, cardboard box outstretched to him and smiling.

Instead of warnings signs and sirens, Keith only heard two syllables repeated over and over in his mind.

Shiro. Shiro. Shiro.

Dumbfounded and struck silent, he just looked at the newcomer with his kind eyes and kinder face.

“Mind taking this box for me?”

Then, Shiro dropped the box and Keith lunged for it with some sort of left over reflexes from his living days, only to see the cardboard pass straight through his hands. And just like that, the moment shattered into a million little shards of glass. Silence fell over the living room as he stared down at the box, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to catch it and yet feeling betrayed by it all the same. Whatever semblance of hope he had felt had disappeared with the thud of the box and its contents as the sound dissipated into the room.

Slowly, he dragged his gaze from the package and up towards the silver eyes that were now turned to steel as Shiro stared at him. Expecting to see confusion, concern, or even fear, Keith was instead met with hardened understanding as Shiro’s mouth set into a straight line and he stepped back, carefully folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh.” The single utterance was a bullet through water, sending crashing waves through the quiet.

It was, admittedly, not the response he expected.

Yelling would have been his first thought, followed by the threat of Ghostbusters and exorcisms. Maybe even a prayer or some holy water. Really, Keith had been prepared for just about anything other than that.

“So did you die here?”

And that.

“What?” Keith’s voice was colored a murky shade of confusion and overall stupefaction as he stared at Shiro as he continued to talk, the words pointed more towards himself than to Keith. Somehow, it made him feel better.

“I specifically asked the landlord if anyone had died here, and he said no.”

“Well, he lied,” Keith said matter-of-factly, mildly aware of the way his response caused the newcomer’s shoulders to tense slightly beneath the plaid of his shirt. “But I didn’t die here. Mildred did.”

A sound mixed between exasperated sigh and a growl worked its way out of Shiro as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his metal thumb and forefinger, eyes screwing tightly shut. As if that would change the situation.

“There’s two of you?”

“No.” The word was bitten off and small as it fell from Keith’s tongue, the sharpness of it forcing Shiro’s eyes open as he fixed his silvery gaze on him and forcing Keith to look away.

“It’s just me. Mildred didn’t stick around.” Even to his own ears, he sounded hurt.

“Well there’s a bright side.” Though the words were blunt, they were softened as Shiro spoke, the meaning somehow less bitter when he said it that way. Almost as if the fortune wasn’t his own.

“You know, you’re taking this exceptionally well. The whole, ghost thing,” Keith said, masking his curiosity with a veil of his own patented sarcasm as he gestured to himself. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that this was somehow a dream. The only flaw in that logic was that he hadn’t actually been able to sleep since that first night. Apparently, he wasn’t even allowed that luxury anymore.

“You start to take ghost things well when you’ve been dealing with it as long as I have,” he said, voice edging close to bitter while his eyes sparkled with the dry humor of an inside joke that Keith wasn’t invited to understand. A thick quiet shoved itself into the space between them and spread itself over the room as he held Shiro’s stare. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled back into a defensive stance as he waited, his new roommate’s tone leaving no room for the questions he wanted desperately to ask.

How can you see me?

How can you hear me?

Do you know why I’m here?

A breathy sigh broke through the din of Keith’s thoughts as Shiro finally broke the gaze, a sheepish pink coloring the high rise of his cheekbones as he rubbed the back of his neck with his metallic hand.

“Look, I know there really isn’t anything you can do about it,” he said, voice apologetic as he looked up through long lashes as he offered him a small peace offering in the form of a starlit smile. “Obviously you can’t just up and leave. But I have three conditions for you.”

As if Keith had a choice on if he could stay or not. He bit his tongue instead of saying as much, waiting for Shiro to list his rules. With each point, he lifted one flesh colored finger.

“One, you don’t try any funny business. Two, you don’t touch me. Three, you let me help you move on.”

They were an odd grouping of rules that only served to further pique his curiosity. The first, he could agree to because what kind of funny business could he even get up to?

The second, he could agree to because, well, ghost.

And the third, he could agree to if only because it wasn’t something worth disagreeing with.

“You’re welcome to try,” Keith said with a shrug to veil his discomfort as he agreed to the final point. “But I’ve given up on that venture. You learn after 50 years to stop waiting for those supposed pearly gates.”

Or their darker, hotter counterpart.

“Good. Glad we got that out of the way,” Shiro said, offering Keith another smile, this one easy as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “Now, I’m going to go test out that shower of ours.”

Ours. The word sent a strange sensation fluttering through his chest and if Keith hadn’t known better, he would have thought that maybe, just maybe, his heart had skipped a beat.

Without any other preamble, the newcomer made his way towards the bedroom behind Keith. Keeping his eyes on his destination, he brought a hand up only to drop it onto the top of the ghost’s shoulder. Where his palm should have passed straight through him, it made solid contact, the heat of his skin blazing over the bone. His eyes widened as he stared down at his broad hand as it folded over his shoulder. Another jolt rammed itself into his chest, as if his unmoving heart was trying to break through it.

The contact only lasted for a moment before Shiro pulled away, his fingers brushing at the collar of his jacket as he went, but it was enough to send his world off kilter for the second time that day. Everything fell away as Shiro disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Keith to stare down at the space on his shoulder that still burned from the touch.

It was the first time since he’d died that he’d felt any kind of warmth.

***

If Keith's life wasn't some kind of cosmic joke, he might have adjusted to Shiro better. He probably wouldn't be caught staring as often as he did. And he definitely wouldn't have been rendered speechless as many times as he had been when Shiro directed a question towards him.

Most importantly, he wouldn't have found himself longing for the heat of Shiro's touch each time he was pinned beneath his mercury stare.

Admittedly, Keith hadn't realized how earnestly had craved any form of touch until his reluctant roommate had dealt his winning hand. With all his cards laid out between them, Shiro had effectively won the game before Keith had even been aware they were playing one.

Of course, how could they not be?

Even without truly feeling for nearly 50 years before that death blow dealt by a well placed palm, Keith knew there was something heavy laying itself over both of their shoulders. Once upon a time, he might have called it fate.

Now, he knew better than to let his hopes get that high.

Shiro had made his rules abundantly clear in the same clinically nice way that a doctor delivered bad news. It was kind enough to soften the blow of an otherwise fatal realization.

Don't touch me.

The because you're dead was nestled gently between the tissue paper softness of his voice.

So, in an attempt at self preservation, Keith did the one thing he was good at.

He threw his walls up to keep Shiro and any implications his ability to see him meant. It didn’t matter that the stunningly handsome man always said good morning to him whenever he stumbled out to fill his coffee. (With three sugars. Not that Keith was counting.)

It didn’t matter that Shiro always asked if there was anything Keith wanted to watch while he worked on a crossword puzzle on his tablet. (With his nose scrunching up whenever he reached a particularly hard word. Not that Keith was paying that close of attention.)

It didn’t matter that he always asked Keith about what music he liked when he had been alive, right before heading to his shower where he listened to some annoyingly synthetic music that was supposed to pass as pop. (With his own very awful singing accompanying it. Not that Keith was listening.)

What did matter was that, even though Shiro had made a point of keeping physical distance between them, he was still sending shockwaves through Keith’s system. While his existence remained numbed, a strange sensation had begun to fizzle and crack inside his ribcage, much like a burgeoning lightning storm. The small shocks were a constant reminder that something was different, and there was no doubt what that something was.

With a sigh, Keith curled further in on himself on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at whatever nonsense Shiro had left on the TV before he went to work that morning. It seemed that people still enjoyed watching strangers forced to live together. Though, admittedly, he remembered the Real World being a little less about fighting and fucking than it seemed to be now.

The sound of the door scraping open dragged his violet gaze from the television set and towards the entrance. Today, Shiro wore a light blue button up that turned his eyes a particular shade of steel, which found him almost as soon as he turned around. A friendly smiled upturned the corners of his lips as he looked over Keith.

“Hey there,” he said, flicking the deadlock quickly behind him before he made his way into the room. “Have a good day?”

This question was a near daily occurrence. Some nicety that Shiro seemed to deem necessary for their coexistence. Keith’s answering grunt and shrug was also a daily occurrence.

“I did too,” he continued as he walked into the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening signaling his afternoon water bottle. Because Shiro was a man of habit. A healthy one, at that.

“Do anything exciting?” Another nicety. Another shrug. The response earned him a sigh as Shiro made his way around the couch. His appraising look was a new part of their routine as storm filled eyes dragged heated lines up Keith’s body as he looked over him. In their depths, there was a question.

Watching the internal battle that flashed across his face in a hundred infinitesimal movements in a mere matter of seconds, Keith saw the exact moment Shiro found his answer.

Carefully, he set the bottle down on the coffee table before dropping himself onto the couch, arm landing on the leather back behind Keith’s head as if the pose was completely natural. Even muted, he could still feel the heat the rolled off of Shiro in waves. Lightning split the spaces between his ribs as he bit back a needy moan and the urge to push closer into the warmth.

Shiro and the feeling that he seemed to be cultivating were entirely too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, tone bordering on hostile to mask the truth he didn’t even want to admit to himself. That he didn’t want to be numb anymore. It was Shiro’s turn to shrug as he made a noncommittal sound low in his throat, instead shooting him a sly smile.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he started, arm seemingly forgotten where it rest behind Keith’s head. Once again, Keith found himself surprised by what he said. Eyes narrowing in skepticism, he crossed his arms over his chest like a shield.

“Doesn’t this violate one of your rules?” He said in a classic show of deflection, flicking his gaze towards the offending arm that was grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. Shiro, to his credit, swallowed a chuckle.

“Touché,” he said lightly with a shrug. “Rules were meant to be broken though. And I want to learn more about you.”

Honesty colored his words a soft shade as his eyes sparkled with nothing but earnest truth. If Keith was being truthful, he’d admit that it landed a fatal strike against his defenses, leaving him bleeding out before the man as he awaited a reply. A stronger person would have denied him. Told him there was nothing to know and disappear, if only because that was the only good thing about being a spirit.

It seemed, he was not a stronger person.

A smile cracked Shiro’s features in two when he noticed Keith’s acquiescence in the form of his shoulders relaxing and his head nodding quickly.

“What do you want to know?” Keith asked, ignoring the way his words shook at the ends. The same weight he’d noticed when they met seemed to come crashing down around them like shards of glass, punched through by a brass knuckled fist.

“Anything you’re willing to tell me.”

With another look filled with skepticism and a twist of intrigue, Keith started to tell Shiro anything and everything he could think of. He told him all about the way the city had been made of dust and grime, sex and drugs, and had been a living thing of its own. Had told him about how different things had been some fifty years beforehand. Told him about the artwork that had littered the walls of the very same apartment they sat in, painting him a picture of what it had looked like when he had been the tenant.

Behind his sternum, the crackling sensation continued to grow until it felt like electricity writhing behind the bone, but he kept talking, finding himself unable to stop. Shiro listened with rapt attention, continuing to shoot out random questions whenever it seemed Keith was slowing down and seemingly forgetting his own rule.

Soon, he was leaning into the ghost’s space, his head landing squarely on Keith’s bony shoulder as he sunk deep into the couch, listening to everything he said. It wasn’t until Shiro’s small hums of reply waned that his own words began to digress until silence filled the room, punctuated only by the living man’s steady breathing.

“Shiro?” He asked carefully, looking down over the top of his nose at the top of his head. The only reply was the sound of a small snore. Heat spread through him like a wildfire, burning its way through his numb veins until he was filled with blaze and smoke as the realization hit him.

Somehow Shiro had managed to fall asleep on Keith, with his head nestled in the crook between his shoulder and neck. And Keith?

For the first time in nearly 50 years, Keith felt alive.

***

They didn’t flirt.

At least, Keith didn’t think they did.

Ever since The Night, as Keith had taken to privately calling it, they had settled into a much more familiar routine. Every morning, they would both leave. Keith, to have his daily people watching escapades, and Shiro, to go work like a well adjusted adult.

Every evening, they would have dinner together.

Or rather, Shiro would have dinner, and Keith would grill him on the intricacies of his day and what his meal tasted like.

Then, they would end up wrapped up in each other on the couch, watching TV until Shiro went to bed. It was comfortable. Hell, it was almost normal. But if there was anything Keith was certain of, it was that they didn’t flirt.

That didn’t explain why there was a note attached to the fridge in sloppy script that read:

make sure ur home at a normal time ;)

It had mocked him when he’d returned from the cafe, staring back at him with its black and white face. Something about it seemed smug, almost as if it was aware of the inner turmoil it was causing. Damn note.

Even now it seemed to be saying that it knew just how the starburst in his chest was burning its way through him slowly, filling his hollow chest with soot and ash. On one hand, he was happy to have something there.

On the other, it was a far from pleasant feeling.

Brows pulling together in concentration, Keith continued to stare at the note, gaze tracing the dark ink as he memorized the exact way Shiro’s letters curved and bent. He was sure there was something poetic and romantic about the fact he noticed the way the second arch of Shiro’s m’s had a sharp point as opposed to a smoothed curve like the first.

Really, it was just sad. As sad as being a ghost pining for the first literal warm body to come along could be.

Possibly sadder.

He was certain Shiro didn’t mean anything by the note. The dot of the smile’s eye must have been pulled long by a stray marking, turning it into a wink. Most likely, he had only wanted to make sure Keith was home on time for dinner.

Maybe, he’d finally given in to his request for some French fries.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Maybe, he was also trying to prove that ghosts can be given a heart attack.

Turning swiftly on his heel, he was met with silver twinkling back at him in the form of Shiro’s eyes as he leant against the doorway, attempting— and failing— to hide the smile caused by the sound Keith made. If he didn’t know better, he would think he saw that very silver gaze travel its way up and down his body in a languid line before finally settling back on his on jeweled one.

A subtle shudder fluttered itself down his back.

Good thing he knew better.

“I’m glad you saw my note,” he continued, not bothering to move from where he stood.

“Kind of hard not to, it’s the first thing to get added to this fridge since Mildred’s photos of Princess,” Keith retorted, injecting enough sourness to hide the fact he’d been surprised. Eyes rolling upwards towards the ceiling, Shiro pushed himself away from the doorway, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

“You always go for sarcasm,” he said, voice soft as cashmere and eyes hard as silver. Heat rolled off of him in waves, adding to the thick air that was pushing against Keith’s skin.

“It’s a necessity when you wear red leather and a crop top.” The quip was accessorized with a sharp grin as he meant back against the fridge at his back, only slightly aware of the way his body melted into the metal. Shiro drew another line, more deliberate this time so that Keith could feel the weight of it stretching over him.

They didn’t flirt.

“Well its a good look on you.” He said it so earnestly, like he wasn’t aware that it had opened a writhing pit where his lungs had once worked.

“The leather or the sarcasm?”

Leaning down, Shiro braced his forearm against the freezer just above Keith’s head. This close, he could see the dark flecks speckling Shiro’s eyes, turning them into inverted skies.

“What if I said both?”

They didn’t flirt.

“I’d say that has to be some sort of breech in our agreement.” Electricity began to spark in the space between them as they held each other’s gazes. It was the kind of force that brewed between two volatile chemicals before igniting into a destructive reaction.

“I told you, rules were meant to be broken,” Shiro said softly, his breath dancing over the bridge of Keith’s nose. It was such a subtle sensation that he shouldn’t have noticed it or even felt the tickle as it smoothed over his skin. The feeling was enough to remind him of the truth in their reality, no matter whatever it felt like.

He was dead, and Shiro was very much alive.

Clearing his throat of the stone that had grown in its base, Keith did the one thing he knew would work to his advantage. He changed the subject.

“So what was so important it warranted a note?”

Pausing ever so slightly, Shiro searched Keith’s mauve eyes before finally sighing and pushing away.

Keith had prepared himself for a great many possibilities in what Shiro was going to say. Had already searched through their past interactions and growing familiarity for any hint as to what the living man had in store for him.

What he hadn’t prepared for, was what Shiro said next.

“I think I might know how to help you move on.”

The response was a bomb, breaking open his chest cavity before he began to shower it in bullets. Suddenly, Keith was in the middle of a war being waged by the conflicting emotions battling inside his chest.

“My grandma is visiting in a couple weeks, and she knows a bit about spirits.”

Shiro’s words faded into the dull drone of jet engines as Keith stared down at the rubble, preparing himself for the next airstrike. He had always known that this was coming. It had been a part of the plan all along, hadn’t it? Standing before him, tempest in his eyes and promise outstretched in his palms, Shiro had stuck to his word. He was going to help Keith move on.

Shouldn’t he be happier about it?

Instead of this cloying sense of dread that was shaking the hollowness of his insides, shouldn’t there be elation? Shouldn’t there be the same feeling he got when he looked at the sea of silver crashing like an unruly tide in the depths of Shiro’s eyes?

The deafening hum of Shiro’s voice continued to roar in his ears, imitating the sound of blood as he tried to decipher the words he was saying while desperately fighting against the darkness that was seeping into every corner of his being.

I’m not ready.

It was a sudden realization almost as violent as the first bomb Shiro had dropped.

I’m not ready.

Why wasn’t he ready?

What a stupid question. Keith knew exactly why he wasn’t ready, and the reason was still talking before him, offering him everything he thought that Keith wanted, unaware that that would keep him from what he truly desired.

Without much thought, and without pause, he found himself pushing forward and closing the distance between their bodies, crashing their chests together as he wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck. Anchoring himself with the taller man, Keith caught his mouth in a hard kiss that would most likely bruise Shiro with the only physical proof that he was there.

It was proof that Shiro was alive and that Keith existed.

That realization only made him hungrier as he opened his mouth into the kiss.

I’m not ready.

Shiro was stone against him, his arms frozen in an aborted gesture as if he was about to wrap them around Keith to hold him close. Nipping gently at his bottom lip, Keith made a feral sound as he tried to say the words that were tying themselves into knots in his head.

I’m not ready.

Licking a stripe along the flesh he’d just abused, Keith pled his wordless pleas.

Don’t make me go. I’m not ready.

With a sigh, Shiro responded with his own wordless answer. Wrapping his arms securely around his waist, the living man pushed back into the contact, swiping his tongue behind Keith’s teeth. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he heard his own thoughts echoed in the action.

I’m not ready either.

A growl tore its way passed Keith’s tongue, only to be captured by Shiro’s mouth as they stumbled backwards out of the kitchen. His elbow passed through wall as they knocked into it, Shiro letting out a small, surprised huff at the impact. Refusing to break their contact, Shiro only pressed further into Keith as they tripped clumsily across the living room and through the doorway of the bedroom. Shiro’s hand traveled up Keith’s back, tracking burning lines over their path before they settled at his neck, fingers twisting roughly in his hair.

Gasping into the touch, he pulled away just long enough to look into Shiro’s darkened eyes. Their teeth clicked together as he surged forward again, ignoring his own strangled moan as the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

It felt like Shiro was everywhere and nowhere at once as he lowered Keith onto the mattress. Several different feelings and emotions swirled through him like a raging tornado, ripping apart what was left of him on this earth, only to piece it together piece by painful piece. Bliss and anguish culminated together until all his senses were overcome, leaving him overtly aware of everything, and nothing at all. All that he knew was that Shiro was there, and so was he. It was confusing, and exhilarating, and overwhelming all at once.

But wasn’t that what it had meant to be alive?

All too soon, Shiro pulled away, looking down at him from where he hovered above Keith, eyes filled with a question and concern. His fingers were gentle as they ghosted over the peak of his cheekbone.

“Keith,” he breathed. From the way the corners of his mouth twitched downward, it was obvious there was so much he wanted to say. Looking up at him through dark bangs, Keith offered him a weak smile in hopes that it would convey that he understood.

I’m not ready.

Quickly, Shiro rolled onto his side, using the momentum to pull Keith toward him and into his side. A small sound of surprise tickled his skin where the ghost was pulled against him as he dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

“I don’t want you to go either,” he said into the dark tendrils of Keith’s hair. “If you aren’t ready to move on, I won’t force you.”

The words were said so softly that had he not felt the way Shiro’s breath had stirred his hair, he might not have thought he said anything at all. Silence settled around them after that, wrapping itself around them with its warm heaviness as Keith let Shiro’s statement bury itself into that space on the left of his chest, deep beneath the bone. He didn’t want to go. Not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

Laying there, pressed into Shiro’s chest and listening to him breathe, his lids began to grow heavy. Warmth spread through his body as his limbs felt heavy with a weight they’d been missing for quite some time. Keeping time by the steady beat of Shiro’s breath, Keith found himself slipping deep into a long forgotten darkness.

For the first time since the night Keith died, he slept.

***

If there was anything Keith had learned since meeting Shiro, it was that he somehow dredged up all those pesky feelings he had lost when he’d died. Most times, that was okay. The past couple of weeks, he was happy to find the space behind his sternum so full and warm that he could just about feel the beat of a heart there. Each morning since The Night of the Make Out— “Do we really need to call it something, Keith?”— he’d woken to find himself wrapped tightly in Shiro’s strong hold with the feeling of complete contentment coursing through his veins like blood. Every morning, he felt more alive than he ever had when he’d actually been.

Yes, those feelings, he was okay with.

The nervous feeling that had him twitching as he sat at Shiro’s dining room table, on the other hand, he was not.

It’ll be fine, Shiro had assured him right before he’d run out the door to get his grandmother. You don’t have to go if you aren’t ready.

He’d repeated the sentiment in many different ways the past few days since the feeling had reared its ugly head, but that didn’t stop the staticky flutter behind his belly button as he waited. Keith knew Shiro wouldn’t make him do something he didn’t want to, and yet he felt like there was something drawing nearer. It was the kind of feeling that would raise the hair on arms and send a trickle of unease down spines.

Admittedly, he should have phased over to his cafe, or down to the old club, or really anywhere else. But phasing had gotten harder in the past couple of days, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to come back home. Besides, he hadn’t really had a reason to leave recently anyway.

The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a crooked grin as he thought of the silvery eyes that had so quickly become synonymous with home. Shiro was the reason for many things.

And now, he was the reason he was still in the dining room, waiting for the woman who could very well send him away from all he ever loved.

Love.

Scoffing at the word, Keith shook his head, turning his eyes down to the grain of the table top. It was funny to think it took dying and being trapped in the same apartment for 50 years for him to find it.

Lost deep in his thoughts, Keith didn’t hear the door as it opened. He didn’t hear Shiro’s bright voice as he spoke excitedly to his grandmother. He hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the apartment until it was already too late.

“Takashi, you’ve done very well for yourself.”

The new voice beat through the wall of his thoughts, startling him with its familiarity. Gaze snapping up from where he’d been tracing shapes into the wood, Keith found its source standing in the doorway of the kitchen as Shiro had busied himself getting a water bottle. She was a small thing, short but not hunched with age like he had seen. Her hair was a spectacular white that she wore piled on top of her head. The woman’s almond shaped eyes were lined with former laughter as she looked around the kitchen, dark stare passing over him without pause. As it passed over him, looking through him in a way he’d nearly forgotten thanks to Shiro, he was hit by a single, crushing realization.

Keith knew this woman.

In the distance, he heard a scream that ripped through all his senses. Dark spots began to eat away at his vision, blinding him as he felt a black hole opening itself behind his belly button. With a swirling rush, he grew lightheaded as the screaming grew louder.

No, he thought in a panic, trying to grasp at anything to tether him to the world. Keith felt his fingers phased through the table as everything fell away. He only had enough time for one last thought before he was plunged into darkness.

Shiro.

*

It was fucking cold, outside. But dammit, Keith deserved that cigarette. Was owed it by every celestial being that had made him believe that going out for New Years was a good idea. Taking another drag, he let himself idly wonder what the inside of the club had looked like now that it was the first minute of 1995.

Probably a lot like it had the minute prior.

A harsh laugh escaped him in a rush of fogged breath and noxious smoke as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers.

Tomorrow, he would start his life as a better person. But right now, he was going to allow himself to be a bitter asshole for just another night. Besides, it wasn’t actually tomorrow until he woke up.

It was there, red jacket pulled around himself to hide his bare midriff from the biting cold with a burning cigarette expertly balanced between his fingers, that he heard it.

A scream.

But it wasn’t the same kind of scream that had filled the night just a moment prior. This one was full of terror. It was the kind of scream that he’d heard in Nightmare on Elm Street and in the Jason movies, not the kind reserved for the start of a new year.

Attention snapping towards the sound, Keith dropped the burning cherry to the ground, not bothering to smother it beneath his foot before he took off running to the darkened alley beside the club.

The first thing he noticed, was the woman backed against the wall, her almond eyes widened in fear. Her hair that had been piled on top of her head in an approximation of a bun, had been knocked loose, strands of it falling around her face. Before her stood a hulking man in all black.

From where he stood, Keith couldn’t make out any of the man’s features, but he knew one thing for sure.

He had a knife.

The woman screamed again, tears falling down her face as she tried to shove her bag towards the man.

“Just take it,” she cried.

If the man had any intentions of replying, they were lost as Keith ran towards him, lowering himself just enough to catch the mugger in his side with his shoulder. The force of it knocked the breath out of him, but it managed to throw the man off balance. Staggering a few steps away from the woman with a grunt, Keith shot a quick look over his shoulder.

“Run!” He cried, looking away just as he saw her nod and take off away from the alley.

The problem was, he didn’t look away quick enough.

A single, driving lance of pain shot through his back, rocketing towards the front of his chest and sending shockwaves through the rest of his body. It was indescribable in its sharpness, his flesh and bone giving way to the knife that the man had driven into his body. A slick warmth began to soak through his shirt and rush down in rivulets. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as the man ripped the knife back out, the sudden emptiness of the wound almost hurting more than when it had been plunged in.

His grip fell away from the man as he pushed against him with a snarl.

“Not so tough now, are you?” His voice was filled with gravel as he shoved Keith to the ground.

Paralyzed with pain as he struggled to breathe around the heaviness that had begun to fill his lungs, Keith tried to watch the man as he stalked off, following after the woman.

Not yet, he thought as he tried to push himself up, only to find he couldn’t move his arms. Please. Not yet.

The ground offered some relief as it numbed the otherwise searing pain that was radiating from his back. It had seeped into every corner of his body until he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Darkness ate away at his vision as he tried desperately to move. Even just to lift as hand, or make a sound to call out for help.

Everything melted away, eaten away by the black as he fought for consciousness. A single, repeated mantra lulled him gently into the darkness.

This year was going to be his year.

*

Keith was dead. And he had died for the elderly woman seated just in the other room.

More specifically, he had died for Shiro’s grandmother.

He remembered that night with perfect clarity now, having relived it in real time. Standing outside of that club, Keith had promised himself that he would finally start living, and then he had died saving someone so that they could ultimately do just that. It was a harrowing realization that left him gasping for breaths he didn’t even need to take.

The woman from the alley had gotten away. She had lived her life to the fullest. Had raised a child, had had grandchildren. That woman he had saved had lived. And in doing so, she had saved him.

Tears cascaded down Keith’s face as he sat at the dining table, the steady hum of voices from the living room serving as a backdrop as he bit back deep sobs.

Low in his gut, he felt the black hole swirling as it began to implode in on itself, its gravity pulling gently at the edges of his being as it attempted to pull him into it. Shiro had said that his grandmother might know how to help him move on, but what he hadn’t realized was that she had been the key all along.

Because, she had lived.

And in turn, so had he.

When he had been alive, Keith had never lived a fulfilled life. He had shut himself away from everyone, keeping to himself with some notion that it was better that way. That no matter what, people just disappeared in the end anyway. Why bother with people, or jobs, or anything when it was so easy for it to be lost? Life had passed him by easily, leaving him yet another one of millions that never did anything.

Then he died. And then he met Shiro.

Then, everything changed.

Keith hadn’t even fully realized how much the living man had changed him. How he had so thoroughly become a part of Keith that he wasn’t even sure where he started and Shiro ended. In the months since he’d moved into the apartment, Shiro had become so wholly a part of his existence and for the first time in his life, Keith had been happy.

Truly happy.

A strange lightness was beginning to spread through Keith where the black hole was tugging at him. It was a weightless feeling that only made him cry harder, because, in some form of another cosmic joke, everything was being taken from him just as he found it again.

First, it had been his drive to finally live.

Now, it was Shiro.

“Not yet,” he ground out through his gritted teeth as he fought against the vacant sensation in his gut. “Please. I can’t go yet.”

Minutes— or maybe it was hours, it all felt the same— passed as he fought against the strange tug deep within him that had frozen him there at the dining table when Shiro finally came in.

“Keith?” His voice was faraway. It sounded so much further than just the other side of the table. Another heaving sob tore from his lips as he tried to reply. He watched as Shiro rushed towards him, falling to his knees before him, mouth opening and closing around words that were lost to him as he tried to remember every line of Shiro’s face.

It isn’t fair, he thought as he forced his hand to move. It shook as he reached toward the man before him, fingers barely brushing over the the slightly raised edge of scar. I finally felt alive.

“Keith,” Shiro said again, his voice louder as he reached towards the ghost, ignoring the way his own face had been wet by tears. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”

“I can’t,” he croaked, watching as his own skin began to fade where it had been pressed to Shiro’s. He was certain there had to be some kind of symbolism hidden in the imagery of it all. Too bad it was lost on him.

The lightness had spread throughout him completely now. There was only one thing left tethering him to this world, and he was looking down at him with watery eyes.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, voice brusque with tears. It wasn’t fair, and they deserved more time. Keith deserved more. Shiro deserved more. But life was cruel, and death was crueler.

This is it, he thought as he leant toward Shiro, his cheek landing against the bone of Shiro’s shoulder as he pushed up to meet him.

“Tell your grandmother thank you,” he managed to whisper as he became weightless.

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice was so distant now. It was time.

“Keith!”

A feeling he could only describe as freedom rushed through his body as he felt Shiro’s arms wrap around him.

For the final time in his life, Keith smiled.

Then, he was gone.

***

For Shiro, life went on. Though less exciting now that he officially lived alone, his world continued to spin and he continued to live. Every once and a while, he would catch the glimpse of unruly black hair out of the corner of his eye. Would sometime see the flash of violet in someone’s gaze.

Sometimes, he’d even hear husky laughter echoing off the walls of his apartment.

If he allowed himself to be selfish, he’d admit that he missed Keith desperately. After he had disappeared— no, moved on— Shiro had wallowed in the pain of his chest as it imploded on itself. It was a brilliant star, going supernova and leaving a blackhole in its place. Even now, he still felt the vestiges of the dark space chilling the space inside his ribcage. The only solace he got, was that Keith had finally found the peace that he deserved.

It was bittersweet, even if the sweetness of it was lost to him.

Shiro wasn’t even quite sure why he ended up at the cafe on the day that he did. Up until that point, he’d blatantly avoided the coffee shop that he knew Keith had liked to frequent. Yet somehow, he found himself walking through the door, bell dinging above him as he pushed himself into the cafe.

All in all, it wasn’t anything special. Just another Starbucks sitting on another city corner. But the familiar espresso machines and coffee related items weren’t what caught his eye.

Tucked into the back corner of the coffeeshop, was a mop of black hair and a red leather jacket. Heart beating its shape into the bone of his ribs, Shiro couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man that looked all too much like him. As if he could feel his stare, the stranger looked up with his face made of sharp angles and violet eyes, effectively stealing his breath away.

As if pulled by an invisible string, Shiro found himself walking towards the stranger and his all too familiar face.

“Hi,” he said as soon as he’d reached it, voice held up by a wisp of air that he wasn’t even entirely sure the other man would hear. “I’m Shiro.”

Regarding him with those hardened jewel eyes, a moment passed before the man smiled at him. With a curt nod as he understood something deeper than just his name, he uttered one syllable in acknowledgement.

“Keith.”

***

#sheith #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #sheithsecretsanta2017 #voltron #THIS IS A BITTERSWEET ENDING #OKAY BUT WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT FROM GHOST!KEITH?! #honestly this deserved to be a full blown fic #there was a LOT i wanted to add that i just couldnt develop due to time #so i made due #technically major character death #again it's ghost!keith yall #RATED T FOR TEEN CUZ THEY MAKE OUT BUT NOTHING ELSE OKAY #but yeah be prepared #things get sad #its def not a HAPPY ending but it isnt horribly sad either #like i said it's bitter sweet #THIS SUCKER IS 11K WORDS LONG HANDLE WITH CARE

[maculategiraffe]

Sole Survivor Christmas Headcanons

I ganked this from @ariejul 1.      What was your soles attitude towards Christmas before and after the apocalypse? Are they religious? Nora’s family when she was growing up never made that big a deal of Christmas.  Her parents weren’t big celebrators of any kind, or churchgoers.  Nate, on the other hand, came from a family that made a HUGE deal out of Christmas (and Thanksgiving, and birthdays, and the Fourth of July), and he sang in the choir at the church he went to with Nora, and he went around all December singing Christmas carols, and wanted to put up the tree the day after Thanksgiving, and watch all the Christmas movies and specials, and he was SO excited about their first Christmas with their first baby.  The first Christmas after the apocalypse, Nora barely noticed, except to get more grimly determined to find Shaun; the next, after the destruction of the Institute, she spent blind drunk and stoned out of her mind, because she couldn’t deal with it any other way.

She still hasn’t gotten back into the holiday spirit.  The synths don’t really know what Christmas is, and Hancock doesn’t particularly give a shit.  Maybe one of these days.

2.      What was their childhood memories about the Christmas holidays? What did they get for presents from their family/friends? She spent it at alternate grandparents’ houses, with cousins she never saw otherwise, and got presents that always seemed to have been picked out for a slightly different child.  She didn’t really ever have that special night-before-Christmas feeling.  She found the idea of Santa kind of creepy and worrisome, and was relieved to realize he wasn’t real.  

3.      What was Christmas like with their spouse/partner and other members of their family? Presents they would give each other?

Nate’s enthusiasm for Christmas was the first Nora had ever really seen of this vaunted Magic of Christmas.  He loved it so much, and she loved him so much, she couldn’t help but love it too.  He got so excited about getting her thoughtful Christmas gifts: a copy of an out-of-print children’s book she mentioned loving when she was little and wishing she could reread, or a coat just like the one the woman was wearing in that old movie they watched on TV that Nora thought looked so beautiful and sophisticated.  That kind of thing.   Nora wasn’t as good at getting him the perfect present for Christmas because she’s terrible at secrets and surprises, so if she found him the perfect gift in August she couldn’t stand to hide it until Christmas, so when Christmas rolled around she’d be like “here I got you socks and a candy cane, but remember back in August when I gave you that hunting knife, and that pocket watch in October” and he’d laugh and get those things back out and put them next to the perfect things he got her, under the tree.

He decorated, and they baked together, and went to Christmas Eve service, and slept in Christmas morning, although Nate was already joking that Shaun wouldn’t be letting them do that for many more Christmases.

4.      What would sole give the companions/friends for Christmas?

She’s never actually given any of them anything for Christmas, but if she was suddenly informed Christmas was gonna be a Big Deal this year and she needed to get them all something?

Cait –  A state-of-the-art ballistic-weave upgrade for her bustier, because she says armor throws her balance off and she needs protection, dammit.  And a tricked-out swatter.

Codsworth – A nice feather duster and a kiss on the eyestalk.

Curie – Every piece of scientific and medical equipment she’s looted from around the Commonwealth, at least everything Shaun hasn’t already disassembled, and a giant hug.

Danse– Tricked out power armor, and a Christmas tour of the Brotherhood settlements so he can see how well they’re doing.

Deacon– Bookshelves, and the loan of a pack brahmin to and from the library.

Dogmeat – Pettins and a good game of fetch.

Hancock - Herself, with a bow on.  Maybe a Christmas visit to Goodneighbor and drinks on her at the Third Rail.

Macready - A tricked-out rifle, and a footlocker full of ammo.  For Duncan, a box of Dandy Boy apples and an excellent Grognak comic.

Nick – A new ballistic-weave fedora, carefully pre-battered, and a copy of Raymond Chandler’s The Simple Art of Murder.  For Ellie, a copy of The Thin Man and a nice ruby lipstick.  (Whatever they're using for lipstick in the Commonwealth these days.)

Old Longfellow – Is that that guy Michael bonded with in Far Harbor?  He seemed nice.  Drunk, but nice.  Ask Michael what he’d like.

(Michael gets him a thick pair of wool socks and resoled, waterproofed boots.) Piper – A rebuilt printing press.  For Nat, a carefully salvaged blank notebook and a pen, and a copy of Harriet the Spy.

Preston – Nora never got close with Preston, despite the fact that she really took the Minutemen thing and ran with it.  Partly it’s because she has a little bit of an avoidant thing going with Sanctuary in general– too many memories, too sad, get her out of here– and partly because he seemed so weirdly nice and sweet and gentle and– soft, and she felt completely insane when they met, and didn’t want to– wreck him.  She’d kill raiders for him, sure, point her which way, but don’t talk to her.

So she wouldn’t really know what to get him.  An upgraded laser musket?  Or, um, remember that Castle and radio station and ubiquitous network of Minuteman settlements she got him?  Put those under the tree.

Strong – Who?  Oh, right.  How’s he doing with that milk thing?

X6-88 – Weapons.  Weapons, weapons, weapons.   5.      What other sole do you know they would like to kiss under the mistletoe? I don’t know about kisses, but she’d like to give @matredaen‘s  Edith Lacks a three-day hug.  Maybe she’d blow @thisiswhymomworries’ Anna Howard a kiss from a safe distance.  And a kiss on the cheek for this Nate.

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #nora bowman #christmas #grief

[wdonnait]

Come fare i capelli ricci

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Come fare i capelli ricci

Vorresti avere i capelli ricci ben definiti?

Riuscire a farli non è poi così difficile come sembra, in quanto esistono diversi trucchi di styling, a seconda dell’ondulazione base.

Uno dei metodi più diffusi per fare i capelli ricci è certamente il ferro. In commercio se ne trovano di tantissime tipologie, anche in termini di prezzi e riescono a darvi un effetto da star in poche semplici mosse.

Infatti, la procedura è davvero semplice. Basta riscaldare il vostro arricciacapelli, dividere le ciocche (spessore di 3 cm circa) e trattarle singolarmente.

A facilitarvi il lavoro ci pensa l’apposita pinza situata sul ferro stesso, che vi consentirà di far ruotare i capelli in maniera automatica.

Allo stesso tempo, non tutti dispongono di questa chicca e per poter arricciare bene i capelli, dovrete utilizzare le vostre stesse mani. Potrebbe sembrarvi all’inizio un lavoro molto complesso: in realtà, basta un po’ di pratica ed il gioco è fatto.

Tra l’altro, su YouTube esistono tantissimi tutorial su come fare i capelli ricci in poche mosse. Una volta imparata la tecnica, riuscirete ad avere dei capelli sempre in ordine, anche per le occasioni più importanti.

Tuttavia, si sconsiglia di utilizzare quotidianamente ferri ed arricciacapelli, altrimenti la vostra chioma potrebbe rovinarsi. In alternativa, per ridurre i danni, potreste acquistare qualche prodotto specifico, come ad esempio uno spray termo protettore.

Quest’ultimo, va applicato sui capelli subito dopo lo shampoo e serve a punto ad evitare che il capello si stressi o si bruci. Sul web ne potete trovare tantissimi, sia low cost che più professionali.

Come asciugare i capelli ricci

Come molti di voi ben sanno, domare i capelli ricci non è di certo una passeggiata.

Anche le donne che hanno di base dei capelli mossi, riscontrano una serie di disagi quando devono asciugarli.

In realtà, non è poi così difficile ma basta seguire alcuni piccoli accorgimenti, a partire dal momento dello shampoo.

Ad esempio, una volta lavati, si consiglia di massaggiarli per bene con le mani e l’asciugamano, iniziando a dare loro forma. Così facendo, eliminerete anche l’acqua in eccesso.

Dopodiché, applicate un prodotto per proteggere i vostri ricci, così da evitare l’effetto crespo successivo e renderli morbidi (oppure usate un balsamo durante il lavaggio).

Successivamente, accendete il diffusore o il phon e procedete con l’asciugatura vera e propria. Durante questa fase, è importante restare a testa in giù, così da regalare ai vostri ricci volume e definizione.

Infine, la vostra chioma sarà ben asciutta, potete completare lo styling con un po’ di lacca o qualche altro prodotto anti crespo.

Come fare i capelli ricci con la schiuma

In commercio, esistono numerosi prodotti per capelli ricci che potrete utilizzare per il vostro styling, come ad esempio le maschere, gli spray, gel e la schiuma.

Quest’ultima si rivela la migliore in assoluto. Infatti, ha una consistenza a mousse e consente di modellare per bene la chioma, dandole volume. Inoltre, garantisce risultati duraturi.

Per utilizzare la schiuma, vi basterà seguire poche e semplici mosse. Innanzitutto, agitate il prodotto per qualche secondo e spruzzatene una piccola quantità, rovesciando il contenitore verso il basso.

A questo punto, mettetevi a testa in giù e distribuite il prodotto su tutta la capigliatura, in particolar modo sulle punte. Da evitare invece le radici, in quanto il capello potrebbe rovinarsi o comunque apparire sporco e unto sin da subito.

Tuttavia, nel caso in cui foste alla ricerca di una buona schiuma per capelli, vi basterà dare un’occhiata sul web e ne troverete tantissime, in diversi formati e prezzi, adatti a tutte le tasche.

Come raccogliere i ricci

Chi ha i capelli ricci sa bene che non è facile gestirli.

In realtà, a seconda della lunghezza, è possibile raccoglierli e creare delle acconciature.

Per facilitarvi il lavoro, utilizzate degli accessori, in termini di pinzette, elastici e fasce per capelli. Se ne trovano di varie tipologie e nell’ultimo periodo si stanno molto usando quelle larghe intrecciate con un nodo, che ricordano tanto gli anni ’50.

Basta fissarle in testa, creare uno chignon e far scivolare ai lati del viso qualche boccolo… effetto vamp assicurato!

In alternativa, potreste pensare di lasciarli completamente sciolti ma di dare un tocco in più utilizzando le forcine con le perle. Quest’ultime sono diventate un vero e proprio must dalla scorsa estate e si abbinano facilmente con numerosi outfit.

Le forcine sono un’ottima soluzione per chi volesse raccogliere i ricci senza troppo impegno. Optando per quelle impreziosite da strass, riuscirete ad ottenere un look semplice ma allo stesso tempo elegante.

Insomma, il segreto per creare delle acconciature particolari risiede proprio negli accessori. Basta mettere in moto la fantasia e riuscirete a creare chignon, trecce, code e chi più ne ha più ne metta!

Tuttavia, nel caso in cui doveste sentirvi a corto di idee, potreste pensare di dare un’occhiata sul web, ad esempio su YouTube. Qui ci sono tantissimi tutorial su come raccogliere i ricci in poche mosse e vi sarà spiegato tutto nel dettaglio!

Come pettinare i ricci

Per quanto riguarda la questione pettinatura, i capelli ricci richiedono molta più attenzione di quelli lisci. Questo perché essendo più crespi, tendono ad aggrovigliarsi tra di loro, aumentando la possibilità di nodi.

Pertanto, onde evitare che possano spezzarsi o rovinarsi, si consiglia di utilizzare una buona spazzola in legno o un pettine largo che comunque non abbia i “dentini” troppo stretti. In caso contrario, potrebbero rischiare di incepparsi e riuscire a liberarli diventa una vera e propria impresa.

Inoltre, anche qui si consiglia di mettersi a testa in giù. Spazzolandoli in questo senso riuscirete a non renderli piatti o indefiniti.

Tra l’altro, non c’è bisogno di stressare i vostri ricci più volte al giorno. E’ sufficiente pettinarli al mattino e la sera, prima di andare a dormire. Infatti, la capigliatura riccia si rivela spesso fragile e tirarli spesso, li spezzerebbe a lungo andare.

Come scalare i capelli ricci

Apparentemente, tagliare i capelli ricci sembra una cosa da poco.

La verità è che bisogna avere una certa dimestichezza nel settore, altrimenti si rischia di fare un bel disastro. Proprio per tale motivo, se aveste intenzione di scalare i capelli ricci, è importante affidarsi ad un buon parrucchiere.

In caso contrario, la vostra chioma potrebbe assumere una forma piramidale che esteticamente dà senso di non curato.

La prima cosa da fare prima del taglio, è cercare di eliminare un po’ del bagnato post shampoo. Questo perché il professionista deve tener conto della forma dei vostri ricci e non modificarli come se fossero lisci.

Inoltre, per far sì che venga fuori una bella scalatura, è necessario acquistare delle forbici apposite per questa tecnica. Forse molti di voi non sanno che tale attrezzo differisce a seconda dell’utilizzo.

Pertanto, non è possibile utilizzare una forbice qualunque. Solitamente, le più indicate hanno delle lame sottili, in grado di eliminare il volume in eccesso.

Adesso, si potrà iniziare a spuntare i capelli ricci (che è ben diverso da tagliare) e serve anche per eliminare tutte le doppie punte o quelle bruciate a seguito di continui trattamenti.

Per procedere nella maniera corretta, è fondamentale dividere la chioma in varie ciocche e controllare sempre che la lunghezza non venga modificata. Ovviamente, si sconsiglia di spuntare pochi capelli per volta, altrimenti diventa un lavoro lungo e complesso.

Se il vostro intento dovesse essere quello di effettuare piccole modifiche, riuscirete tranquillamente a cavarvela da soli. Invece, se aveste intenzione di stravolgere il look, è bene affidarsi a qualcuno competente nel settore (onde evitare danni) e di non procedere in maniera autonoma.

Miglior prodotto capelli ricci

A questo punto ci si chiede: qual è il miglior prodotto capelli ricci?

E’ difficile rispondere con esattezza, in quanto ogni singola persona necessita di un trattamento a seconda della capigliatura.

Inoltre, bisogna ribadire che è possibile scegliere tra diverse tipologie di prodotti, tra cui: maschera, spuma, mousse e così via.

Tuttavia, a seguire trovate alcuni esempi di miglior prodotti per capelli ricci (facendo riferimento alle recensioni via web).

Style Crema Modella Ricci

Come riportato su Amazon e vari siti di bellezza, La crema modella ricci Style 250 ml svolge un’azione modellante per le acconciature ricce, assicurando totale controllo dal crespo e dall’umidità.

Inoltre, è leggera e cremosa, rendendo vitale ogni singolo riccio e ne accentua la flessibilità e la elasticità.

Ma non solo. Nutre la fibra capillare e la protegge dalle aggressioni esterne e dal calore del phon assicurando tenuta e lucentezza a lunga durata.

Tra l’altro, è una crema senza risciacquo, non appesantisce e non lascia residui.

Si può usare sia sui capelli asciutti che bagnati. Contiene olio di Semi di Lino, ricco di principi attivi idratanti e nutritivi.

Sunsilk ricci da domare

Nel caso in cui stesse cercando un trattamento completo per capelli ricci super conveniente, c’è il Sunsilk ricci da domare.

Disponibile su Amazon e altri shop online, la box Sunsilk Ricci Da Domare è pensata appositamente per la beauty routine di ogni Super Woman. Stop ai capricci, libera i tuoi ricci!

Al suo interno, potete trovare:

Shampoo e Balsamo Ricci Da Domare, con esclusiva formula con Tecnologia Curls Lock. Il primo passo per ricci visibilmente idratati, con definiti e naturalmente elastici comincia sotto la doccia

Trattamento Intensivo 1 Minute Wow, tutto il potere degli Olii Preziosi in un trattamento intensivo ad azione ultra-rapida per onde e ricci extra-morbidi e definiti in un solo minuto

Siero Modellante, districa i tuoi ricci e migliora l’elasticità dei capelli ricci a lungo. Puoi utilizzarlo sui capelli bagnati per definizione durante l’asciugatura oppure a capello asciutto per disciplinare i tuoi ricci e togliere l’effetto crespo

Infine, è presente la spazzola Sunsilk, formato borsetta per i ritocchi on the go. Risultato: ricci perfettamente morbidi e senza nodi!

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