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hhjs · 4 years

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rewind, revive. (all that we are.)

pairing. — kim sunwoo x reader.

genre. — angst.

alternatively. — wherein letting go is all but a reminder of why he seemed to hold on.

mystery trope!

word count. — 2.8 k

note. — inspired the nbhd's 'wdywfm' and 'reflections'. (impacting characters exactly in that order of the songs.) this is unedited so bear with me lmao

Regret is a funny thing.

One can feel it approaching light years before the realisation hits. Like squinting at dim headlights in the distance, before the vehicle picks up pace, before the tires skid against wet gravel, before it finally, finally occurs that it's too late, too late to go back and walk away, to stop oneself from facing the impact head on. From having the air knocked right out of one's lungs.

Sunwoo knows for a fact what he is doing fits that criteria.

Something about the prevailing silence that comes after heated arguments is utterly eerie; being an on and off couple for the longest time indicated that you recognised that much.

"I think we should take a break. Figure things out on our own."

He looks at the little scar you'd gotten from accidentally ramming your toe into the doorframe because you were too excited to see him. (It's healing.) No, that's not right. From this position, sat atop the sofa, when he's holding his head in his palms as your tone rises mid syllable, that's all he can see. No, he can't look at you. He can't look at himself in your eyes now, dropped way below all expectations you held to him once, silhouette of his peeved face in them leaves a rancid emotion inside his belly.

"Is that what you really want?" You ask, this time with a slight hint of surrender in your voice.

Sunwoo wants to say he doesn't exactly know what he wants, what he is feeling, perhaps it's the aftermath of working too hard, taking on too much stress, or so Changmin explained to him earlier that week, he doesn't quite perceive himself as someone who could lament his problems easily - however, it's very clear to him that he is pushing you away, sealing himself off suddenly, missing out on dates, calls and falling short in the department of being his usual affectionate self.

Or maybe, Sunwoo doesn't love you anymore.

What if he's never loved you at all? What if whatever you have is all a resultant of mere infatuation and he was too young to differentiate from the start?

Whatever it is, Sunwoo isn't too sure, but you... obviously notice. He's always finding excuses to distance himself and it's changing you, who you used to be when he fell in love with you. In fact, every day is a constant evidence of just how disconnected your relationship is from how it was in the beginning, in the 'honeymoon stage' or whatever. The way he tenses up when you throw an arm around him every night he plops down against your shared bed too late, only entertaining your comforting words with monosyllabic responses; he seems to test your patience, trying to find your breaking point.

And this is it, he thinks.

What you suggested as an innocent movie night with him, trying to get him to talk to you, about anything, anything at all, soon took a bad turn when you reached out to interlock your arms and he found himself brushing you off.

It was just the same little act that piled and piled atop all of his 'little acts' and this final blow sent everything tumbling down, all at once. The way you stared at your spread out, empty palm as you asked him why he was being like this is an image he finds difficult to forget.

Albeit he doesn't hesitate, asking you to stop nagging him, to stop overreacting. To just leave him alone.

Now, with the weight of his words absent inside, all he senses is blatant emptiness taking refuge in its place, an epiphany that he can't take back what he said.

You don't say a word when Sunwoo's reply comes in the form of an affirmative nod and what's worse, he thinks, is that you don't look surprised.

As if you saw it coming all along.

...

When he agrees to put up with one of the double dates Eric set, it's because his friends are convinced that the relationship has reached a dead end. Sunwoo ignores that idea and indulges in what he perceives as newfound freedom.

Even though the excitement of getting to know someone new is momentary, replaced by a strong underlying feeling that nauseates him. Whenever Sunwoo looks over the candlelight and watches his date smile back at him, it feels like he's doing something wrong. Something hypocritical.

Recently, every day feels the same. Every hour melding into the same old routine. This is boredom, Sunwoo tells himself, though he's positive it's anything but.

It's quite a surprise not having chanced upon you by accident, given years of dating has merged your social circles.

Really, when he thinks about it, Sunwoo's known you for the longest time.

Since he was sure he would fail a calculus pop quiz and he kicked your chair to gather correct answers, you were so shy, innocent and how that sparked a sense of adoration in him for the first time ever, since you ended up becoming best friends in spite of your essentially different personalities. Sunwoo tries to remember the exact feeling of snowflakes collecting on his cheeks, in your eyelashes, his cool fingers in his pockets, while a street light buzzed overhead - not every detail is clear - but the sight of your beaming face as he timidly confessed his feelings is unmistakable. As time passes, he tries thinking about it more and more, afraid someday he'll look back and miss out the most essential rudiments of the event. Or worse, forget altogether. It's such a distant, fleeting moment that elicits a bittersweet sensation in him. Sweet because some part of him will always be entwined with some part of you, bitter because you were no longer together.

Sunwoo shakes his head, as though the gesture ought to come in assistance in ridding himself of the aforementioned thoughts. He's the one who wanted this whole break thing, right?

He pushes his trolley around, leans on the handle like he used to as a kid and paces up through empty lanes after looking around to see that the seven eleven store is mostly empty. He successfully breezes through aisles and throws in packaged kimbap, frozen fried rice and crisps to his trolley; and then, suddenly, a juice extract shelf in the distance catches his eye.

Sunwoo focuses his vision and marks his next destination, all the while imitating low humming of a makeshift engine with his mouth.

But of course, much to his dismay, his trolley jams right into another that approached out of the aisle to his side that he hadn't kept an eye on in moving only forward.

He mutters a string of quiet apologies, bowing briefly and hoping to God that the person hadn't heard him swear under his breath. "It's alright."

Sunwoo looks up and blinks curiously recognition washing over him.

It's only been a few weeks but the sight of your face, the real thing, not instagram photos, not the ones in his money bag or photo frames in his drawer, hits him with the force of a bullet train.

Your face is bare, shadows splattered against your forehead and the tip of your nose because you're wearing his - and he only realises now - ridiculously big, pink bucket hat, a hand casually positioned into a jacket pocket, there's something so endearing about this.

"Hey." Sunwoo says.

"Hey."

You stare at him for a good second and then as if realising something, you blink rapidly, fishing out a pear extract juice to dump it in his trolley. "Here."

It is an unspoken gesture, to relay that you still remember what he likes and what he doesn't like, that you've unraveled the likes of Sunwoo, excavated all the little, measly, trivial quirks, secrets and lies buried deep inside the cavity of his chest.

"Thanks." Sunwoo just stares, entranced.

It is only when he's back home, nuzzled into the comfort of his favourite blanket that still smells a little like you, does he realise he misses you.

...

"I don't care."

Sunwoo thinks he means it, like this, when he has a hoodie pulled over his head and balances a controller with great expertise, looking perfectly unfazed by Chanhee's comment about whether or not he should invite you to his party, it almost sounds true. "I just wanna see them." He settles. Time apart only reminded him just how impatient he could be when he wanted something and wasn't getting it immediately. He is seeing clearly, you're the only constant in the overwhelming vicissitudes of his life, the only one who saw him at his worst as you did at his best and stayed. That comfort, that very familiarity, is far better than the infamous honeymoon stage or any stage, for that matter.

Sunwoo realises that now. Even if it's just a little late.

Rolling his eyes, Chanhee pushes a grocery bag containing the former's snack and tears open a packet of honey crisps.

Prior to this confession, no matter how much Sunwoo insisted that he was fine, that his stare didn't linger every time he mistook a stranger for you, that he definitely didn't pretend to do the dishes even though he refused to do the chore under any other circumstances just to overhear his friends talking about a new event in your life, or just... about you, Chanhee doesn't believe him.

In retrospect, no one does. But Chanhee is least discreet about it.

"I don't suppose that's a good idea..." He pauses, swallowing, "What if things go south?"

Beneath an act of trying to untie the grocery bag, Sunwoo contemplates that he doesn't know how to respond to this inquiry, he had pictured your next meeting many a times, prepped himself to do or say very particular things, the way you always made up, time and time again forgiving each other in spite of all obstacles in your way, to a point where you friends got tired of you going back and forth, convinced that you could never really break up... - no, he is sure nothing can change, that's a blatant impossibility, Sunwoo knows you and you know him. No matter how much he fucks up - you know he'll always come back to you.

That's how it has always been.

"Figures, huh?"

Sunwoo scoffs, noting the way his friend's expression morphes to a confused furrowing of brows. He holds the yellow classic salted packet up instead whilst wrinkling his nose more than necessary, knowing the remark would prompt Chanhee to get annoyed and forget all about his own remark. “You got the wrong flavour again.”

The older male crumples a crisp in his palm and flicks it at Sunwoo.

The answer is simple, he'll never know if he never tries. Love is not chance but a decision, love is a choice, isn't it?

Well, Sunwoo chose you, he chooses you. He'll choose you over and over again.

...

"Can we talk?"

You nod slowly, a sigh escaping your parted lips. An expression on your face that Sunwoo can't put a finger on. But he doesn't have to, not when you comply so easily, joining him out into the balcony divorced from the apartment rife with noise and evidence of inebriation.

You lean over the railing, your eyes travelling far off into the impossibly dark scenery, the silence is imbued with a vague sense of eerie, the kind that ensues before something terrible happens.

All Sunwoo can think about is how beautiful you are. Suddenly, he feels guilty - see, he can't remember the last time he appreciated you, showered you with accolades you most certainly deserve. He mimics your position, turning his head slightly to take in every detail. Committing it all to memory. Things are different now. You look different.

Last time he saw you, he could map out the swollen quality of your eyes, nails bitten and chipped, the little characteristics that gave away you weren't doing well. Now, there's an indescribable glow to your face, something under the perfectly dolled up look, the red beret on your head, matched with an utterly fabulous coat that guards you from cool autums.

It's a new outfit. The discomfort is newer.

"You look great." He finally speaks and it's not the best way to start a conversation that's dangling by its last finger, akin to an inexperienced acrobat - he doesn't know what is.

You chuckle. "Is that what you wanted to say?"

"N-no...I just.." he pauses, the words all bundling up on his tongue into one big mess of sentences that don't make any sense. When you finally look at him, leaning back on your elbows now, Sunwoo gulps, this isn't a figment of his imagination, no, this is real. It's now or never. "I'm sorry." He starts, the mere utterance of those words seem to spark no change in your appearance. As if you're waiting for him to continue. Right now, apologies just aren't good enough. "This whole thing was so stupid. Baby I-I know I fucked up but... I love you. Okay? I promise I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."

You stare at him for a long second, just letting his words sink in but also just seemingly allowing yourself to think. Then you push yourself up, standing straighter. "You dont have to." You say simply, a hint of finality laced into your tone. All Sunwoo finds himself thinking is how you don't reciprocate, uttering the same I love you like you always did. Out of habit.

He curls his fingers into fists, knuckles whitening and whitening under the strain. His vision is a blurring film against which you look like a faint silhouette, secluded by rivulets of raindrops racing down windows. It's embarrassing, how he feels, all those bubbling emotions reduced to that of a child being denied his favourite candy.

"W-What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, finding that you're staring at your spread out palms. Like they're evidence for something you've done.

"Sunwoo." You say. It sounds like a warning, like a don't get any closer. "I don't like who I become when I'm with you."

At this point, Sunwoo just listens. In his mind, he hadn't foreseen this. He knew it wouldn't be easy, he knew he had to try his best but...this...losing you... that was out of question. Right?

No, he tells himself, he'll fix it, he'll get it together.

"You know, I was really angry at you for breaking up with me...but it was probably for the best." You produce a garbled laugh, lifting your face skyward, looking up at the glossy layers of pollution, of purplish clouds and the barely there moon behind, like you're reading off sentences from them. Sunwoo stares at you, he wants to reach out and trace the curves of your face without thinking twice, without holding back. "We did need time to think... and it made me realise that I've always loved you more than you've ever loved me. Heck, even more than I loved myself...and... I can't be that version of me again." You sniffle, "That's not love... That's devotion."

"Hey, don't say that!" He drags his fingers up from the railing and reaches out to touch your elbow, "Come on...we-we can work it out. We always do." These words , they come out all choked up and hoarse.

You stiffen up at the sound, "You're not listening to me." You shrug him off, adamantly piloting your gaze to linger away from him, your back's turned away from him but then you pause, just slightly looking over your shoulder and your gaze softens at the sight of him using his sleeve to dab at his cheeks. The gesture makes him feel hopeful, just for a second.

Then you sigh, shaking your head, "Don't you get it?" You say, "We can't fix this...we can't fix each other.

Inexplicably, he thinks of a perfect world, where he could go back just once, where it all started, everything before, holding his head in his hands and the little scar on your toe and is that what you really want?

This time, Sunwoo would mutter a quick no. He'd flick on the television and snuggle into your side, talking mindlessly about something that makes you laugh. To forget all about the stupid argument.

But in reality, he lets your words ricochet off of the walls, listening to the transient beats of music pouring into the balcony when you slide the door open to let yourself out.

It shuts.

Everything goes quiet.

And this soundlessness, this solitude, he knows this, he's heard this, he's seen this, he's felt this, this... this is final,

this is goodbye.

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the-real-anywolf · 4 years

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Destiel Advent Calendar 2019

Title: Tangled In Christmas Tree Lights

Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Past Castiel/Inias (mentioned), Claire Novak, AU, Christmas, Fluff, Profound Bond, Sweet, Teacher Dean Winchester

Summary: Cas meets Claire’s PE teacher Dean Winchester for the first time.

Written by: @anyreiart (anyrei)

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858049

Day 19: Tangled In Christmas Tree Lights

"Dad! We're late!" Claire yelled from downstairs, making Cas startle and nick his cheek as he shaved the rest of his scruff.

“Ouch. Sorry, just a few more minutes!” he yelled back as he pressed a tissue against the bleeding scratch, and continued to quickly shave the rest off.

He could hear Claire clomping up the stairs like an elephant, probably to check on his progress in getting ready. He always wondered how a ten year old girl could manage to be so loud on the stairs, that it equaled a little earthquake.

The bathroom door was kicked open, and Claire greeted him with an angry glare and her hands braced on her hips. “Why are you not ready? You promised you would help with building the set of our play!”

Cas cleaned the rest of the foam from his face and nodded. “Yes, and we will get there… almost in time. I just need my shirt and we can go.”

Claire squinted her eyes at him. “Your hair is a mess! You should try to make a good impression on my new teacher.”

Cas tried to straighten his hair but as always it was a lost cause. “Yeah, what was his name again? Your PE teacher right?”

“Mr. Winchester. Dean Winchester,” Claire replied with an eyeroll, holding out his shirt for him. It was moments like this when he really wished he wasn’t a single Dad trying to balance a full time job and raise a child at the same time. He was a mess at this. He was a mess since Inias had died. It had already been over five years now, and he still hadn’t found his sea legs after his husband had left this hole in Claire’s and his life.

He shrugged his shirt on and buttoned it before he nodded. “Alright. Do you have everything? The glitter, the nails we are supposed to bring.”

Claire grabbed his hand and pulled him to the stairs. “Yes, yes, now come. It’s all in the car. I borrowed your car key to pack everything ahead!”

“You, um, what?”

…. :::: :::: ….

The coffee one of those super moms had brought, just wasn’t cutting it. Cas yawned and stretched his arms over his head as he tiredly watched Claire carrying a bucket with white paint on the auditorium stage. The Nativity play had its premiere in two weeks, and a few parents had offered to help build the sets for the play. Claire had offered Cas without asking, and Cas had promised her he would do it since it seemed important to her, although he was neither skilled with handiwork nor was he in any way a social person. His people skills were more than rusty. In his line of work he rarely needed to talk to people. Working as a forensic pathologist wasn't the most social job. All of his clients were dead.

Cas yawned again thanks to only four hours of sleep the night before, when someone cleared his throat behind him, asking, "Dr. Novak?"

Cas turned around, and it took everything he had not to do a double take. What the…

The man behind him was incredibly attractive. Green eyes with golden flecks in them, a few scattered freckles over his nose and cheeks, and a smile that would make any Hollywood agent weep.

There was an awkward moment where they both just stared at each other, before the man seemed to get over it and held his hand out for Cas, "We haven't met. I'm Dean Winchester, Claire's PE teacher."

Cas shook Dean's hand, maybe a little bit too long. His hands were calloused and strong. "Um, hello… Mr Winchester. It's nice to finally meet you. Claire has talked a lot about you."

Fuck, the guy was hot. It was really hard to look away from him. “Please, call me Dean,” the sex god of a PE teacher replied.

“Cas,” He replied, hoping he wasn’t grinning like an idiot.

At least Dean was smiling back at him and oh boy , that smile was incredibly sexy. “That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s short for Castiel. We were all named after angels in my family,” Cas explained. For a short moment he felt the old familiar pain in his heart, when he was reminded of his husband. When they met, they had bonded over the fact that they were both named after angels.

Dean seemed to have sensed the mood change, because he distracted him with a beautiful smile and an absolutely messed up bundle of christmas tree lights. “Would you help me with this? I think I could really use some angelic assistance untangling this mess.”

Cas snorted and shook his head, “Yeah, I’m no angel, but I will give it a valiant try.”

Dean’s expression turned a little bit shy as he handed over the cable. “Sorry, that was a bad joke. You probably hear it all the time.”

Cas shrugged, trying to give a polite answer. Yes, of course that joke was made to an extent it got annoying, but he didn’t want the sexy teacher to feel bad about it. “It’s alright. I can try to be your guardian angel. But that’s an A level problem there, you probably would have needed demonic assistance, cuz this mess is unholy.”

Dean sighed and started to untangle the cable on the opposite side of Cas. “I was hoping I could wait for a more special occasion to sell my soul.”

“Like a certain angry orange man going to prison for life?” Cas suggested with a grin as he started to drape some of the cable over his wrist that he had successfully freed from a knot.

Dean laughed at that and Cas couldn’t take his eyes off him as his finger stroked over the cable, trying to untie it. “Yeah, that would be a good reason,” Dean replied, holding his gaze.

Cas’s heart was beating faster with the intense staring, He licked over his lips, catching Dean as his gaze flickered down to him. The tension between them was palpable, and went through the roof when Cas’s fingers accidentally stroked over Dean as they untangled the Christmas lights.

There was a little gasp from Dean’s lips, a shy smile before Dean broke the eye contact and looked at the cable. “If I pull here, maybe I could wrap this around me so it doesn’t get entangled again,” he explained thoughtfully.

“It’s worth a try,” Cas suggested, lowering his voice on purpose. He wanted to see if flirting with Dean would get him somewhere.

It ended up being a great idea. Not because they had successfully untangled the cable, but instead somehow had managed to both get entangled in it, basically being bonded together.

Dean hummed and gave Cas an apologetic look, his beautiful face just inches away from him. “That didn’t work.”

“Unless your goal was to trap an angel,” Cas chuckled trying to free at least one of his hands.

He stopped when he noticed Dean staring at him. “Maybe asking you out for coffee is a better method?”

The shy look was incredibly endearing and Cas couldn’t believe his luck. “Um, yes. I happen to know that angels really like going out for coffee.”

“They do?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow as he lifted the cable over Cas’s head. Cas could feel Dean’s fingertips in his hair.

“Oh yes, especially when the man accompanying them has freckles.” He leaned closer and whispered, “It’s their secret human weakness.”

“That’s good to know,” Dean replied when Cas hung some of the cable over Dean’s shoulder, feeling how hard his muscles were. “Maybe I should try that when we’re free of this cable?”

“I’ve never had a better motivation to untangle Christmas lights,” Cas chuckled as he started to work on untying the knots a little bit faster.

Claire cleared her throat suddenly next to him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Dad! What are you doing with Mr. Winchester?”

Cas really tried not to look like a kid with their fingers in the cookie jar. “Um… we’re having a profound bond?”

Claire gave him a skeptical look, but Dean came to his rescue. “It’s all fine. He’s helping me out of this perdition.”

Claire stared at them for a moment before she squinted her eyes them, ”Alright, I’ll leave you to that. I just came by to tell you that your brother came by with the costumes. The ox costume looks like a moose. It’s a disaster, Mr. Winchester.” She threw her hands in the air and left them tangled in their Christmas lights.

Dean raised his eyebrow at Cas. “We should get out of here before she gets back.”

Cas nodded quickly and held the cable up. “You slip out. I’ll watch over you.”

Dean touched his cheek for a brief moment and it felt like sparks going through his whole body. Dean must have felt it too, because he was smiling at him in awe and surprise. “See you on the other side, Cas.

It was just one little step, ducking under the Christmas light, but it felt like a new beginning. Like change. Maybe it was the change he had been waiting for. To get his life back in order. For the first time in years Cas felt hopeful again.

Maybe it was just a nostalgic Christmas feeling, but when he looked at Dean and the way the man just reciprocated his looks and held them… it felt weird… almost like they already knew each other. Like meeting an old friend and just starting where they had left off.

It felt good.

Dean grinned at him and leaned closer, “Cas, not for nothing, but the last time someone looked at me like that...I got laid.”

“How about the coffee first,” Cas replied with a laugh. Yes definitely very good.

#Destiel Advent Calendar 2019 #fanfiction #Destiel #christmas short fics

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ancient-artificer · 5 years

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Bounties, Booze, Etc.

A Cowboy Bebop AU. Found on FF.net and Ao3

NEW* Fic

After a devastating break-up, Spike turns to old medicines to remedy the hurt. Concerned for her good friend's overall health, Faye strikes up a deal: if she can set Spike up with a good woman within a month's time, he must give up drinking and live a healthier life, for all their sakes. Leave it to a woman to beat around the bush...

Eventual Spike x Faye. Plot-driven.

ONE - Hangovers, Milkshakes, etc.

The majority of the household wasn't too thrilled with his decision-making skills of late.

Spike's wobbly hiccuping, coming in too late and hastily leaving too early was all beginning to cause for concern; the hole-in-the-wall pub inhabitants were ready to create for him a permanent place barside, a stock brand with his name on it if they didn't soon do something about his drinking.

Jet claimed that was just how he functioned and to let him be, the old "he'll fix himself, he always does" routine. Faye had always blatantly called him emotionally constipated, for lack of better terms, but even from her opinionated viewpoint, it wasn't that simple this time around.

It wasn't that Spike couldn't let himself feel emotions.

He felt them too much, too strongly.

It had been two weeks since Julia left. No heads up and no word since. No one understood what she had been thinking or why in the least she had not decided to tell anyone her plans. The blond bombshell just up and disappeared.

And left Spike a goddamned messed, barely able to pick up the pieces in her wake.

"What a bitch," Faye spat. She stared at the lifeless form lying on the couch and crossed her arms over her voluptuous breasts.

In front of their computer searching for the next easy, potential payload, Jet hummed, his fingers stroking his beard in thought. One of his eyebrows rose as he glanced up to her. "Way to kick a man while he's down," he monotoned.

Faye turned towards him. "No, not Spike, that damn bimbo he was head over heels for."

"Yea, well, it happens."

She snorted. "Which one, falling in love with a trash can or having it dump you?"

Jet acted as if he wasn't paying attention, but his mouth twitched up in a small smirk. "Like I said."

"I guess…" Her voice trailed off.

Her gaze returned to the dingy couch with the broken man sprawled across it. It softened as she took in his expressionless, slumbering face. "It must really suck."

"Mhm." His eyes darted back and forth on the screen as he read a profile from the bounty office site.

Faye sympathized with the man. Seeing him asleep, finally buried under consciousness after hours of fighting with himself made her glad she had never fallen in love. Of course, there was the like button, the pesky infatuation that came and went as quickly as the vast amounts of alcohol Spike had no doubt thrown back, and that was only a surface level sentiment.

What Spike tried to let go of was deeper. Scarring.

His sleeping form seemed peaceful, though she supposed it would turn one-eighty once he awoke. He had stumbled in around four-thirty that morning, sloshed beyond all hope, incoherently blabbering on. It was a wonder he had made it back to the house in one piece. Spike had easily passed out with his boots still on his feet.

She stepped to the couch and pulled the folded blanket from the recliner to spread over him. He reeked of hard booze.

"What are we gonna do with you?" She murmured to herself, giving her head a shake.

"Mm… er, do what now?"

Spike's eyes were still closed as he stirred and tried to lift his head and speak. The low, cigarette and whiskey-burned groan that escaped between his dehydrated lips sounded painful.

"You look like you were hit by a train." She was ever so blunt.

What resembled a short-lived laugh tumbled out from him, ending in a cough. He winced. "You should feel it," he mumbled.

Faye rolled her eyes and left to fetch him a bottle of water.

His liver and kidneys would be working overtime for a while until his situation leveled out, those brave, little soldiers. These days she felt more like the caretaker of a twenty-seven-year-old baby than a hard-earning, semi-successful bounty hunter.

"I think I'd rather feel the emotional ass-whooping than your kind of hangovers. It'd pass faster," she replied loudly, handing him the bottle with an added sarcastic, "Your drink, sir."

Spike winced hard as he sat up. "Not so loud, fuck…" he croaked. "Trying to kill me."

One hand took the water, the heel of the other rubbed into his forehead, seeking relief from the growing ache. The pounding behind his eyes rocked his balance and sensitivity. A queasiness hit his stomach before he brought the drink to his mouth.

He heaved into the previously placed bucket below him.

"Serves you right," Faye muttered. She walked away before she heard anything else that would haunt her later.

She had never been fond of Julia. From the moment that woman stepped foot inside their abode she could tell they were in for some bad news. Spike was only now unwinding himself from around her slender fingers.

However, Faye was fond of Spike and hoped he would learn from this rather unfortunate event and the things that spurred it. She just didn't approve of his methods. It wasn't fun to tease him when he was hurting himself. If he would let her help.

"Just give it a few more hours. His wallowing's almost over," Jet announced. He stood up from the desk and stretched, his thick arms reached above his head.

Reaching into his pocket, he tossed Faye a pack of smokes as she strolled by. "Give one to pathetic over there and then suit up. We've got a job."

"Uhh, okay, but isn't he a little useless right now?"

From the couch beside her, Spike gave a rough groan and then snarled, "Cowboy up or sit in the fuckin' truck."

Jet only smiled.

"You can't possibly know how this feels," Spike monotoned, briefly closing his eyes. He plodded after the others down the sidewalk towards the pub, which happened to be the location of their next hit.

It was a first. Strolling that day into the same bar he'd gotten plastered in the night before, still hungover as hell. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in their shade of bluish-purple on the way over.

"Psht, yea, you're right, I can't. 'Cause I'm not a drunk loser," Faye replied in kind. She threw a glance his way.

"You're both getting on my nerves. Focus," Jet grumbled under his breath. "Faye, you walk in first. Spike and I will be in after you've had a look around."

They gave it a good thirty seconds.

Nausea hit Spike as soon as he smelled the alcohol.

The drink hall harbored few patrons in the early evening. It would later fill up to near capacity as the hours wore on. Smoke and other various and unique scents floated through the stale air. The place could have used a strong breeze.

As if not affiliated with the other two, Spike beelined it for the bartop and sank onto one of the many stools. His head hit the cool, shellacked wooden surface and he went limp. All but useless.

Mentally patting herself and feeling the weight of gunmetal beneath the ridiculous outfit, Faye easily slipped into a facade. The perfect trap laid before a hungry smuggler.

Remember he'll be armed, Jet's voice said to her through the earpiece connecting the three bounty hunters. Name's Merle. His crew smuggles drugs and other goods into the country through the underground. Not unlike them to enjoy the spoils.

He adjusted his sunglasses to sit further up on his nose and peered at their target as he sat down two stools from Spike's seemingly knocked out form. He raised his hand at the only bartender, who stood directly in front of him, looking oddly at him as he wiped down the bartop.

"Uh, what can I do for ya, sir?"

Jet nodded. "Iced tea, please."

"Is that all?"

Spike let loose a series of quiet snores. A drop of drool slid from the corner of his mouth.

"And a protein shake. If you've got them," Jet said.

The bartender shook his head. He dropped the wet rag into a sani-bucket. "Don't got those. But there's ingredients for a milkshake?"

Jet glanced at Spike, then nodded to the employee.

Faye said nothing as she roamed about the great hall, her gaze hitting everything that could be used as a weapon if the need arose, all of the exits should they have underestimated their target.

If Merle was easy to catch, he would already be in police custody. The profile stated he'd been on the run for four years, successfully evading cuffs and a comfy cell. Within that time, due to the extremely toxic purity of the illegal synthetic drugs he often smuggled and sold, many innocent lives were needlessly lost. The bounty on his head paid a hefty price, dead or alive.

But preferably alive to watch his freedom turn to cash.

Large, green eyes gave a sultry flash at the giant of a man sitting in the corner intent on the brown bottle in between his fingers.

His expression never faltered. His grip on the bottle loosened a bit when Faye swayed near and laid a hand on the only other chair present at his table. She made a point to throw her shoulders back and jut out her ample breasts barely covered in the low cut of her dress.

"May I join you?" She purred.

He stared at her. First at the twin fun sacks staring back at eye level, then up at her expectant, smiling expression. "I'm meeting someone," he simply stated, his voice gruff.

She gently pressed. "I could be that someone… if you have time," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a satin sheet.

"Time for you to fuck off," he said, shifting in the chair.

Faye grinned.

He played hard.

She opened her mouth to respond in the same smartass, sarcastic tone when the establishment's glass door swung open once again. Her eyes darted to it.

In strode three buff, ruffian-looking men, one right after the other. The didn't try to hide their full sidearm holsters conspicuously hanging from their clothing or the fact they all knew the dark man in the back. They sneered when they saw Faye.

"Looks like Boss has a customer, heheh," one of them chuckled. With one arm in a fluid motion, he snagged a chair from another nearby table and unceremoniously sank onto it.

The second did the same, but with the chair Faye had her hand on. "A lady friend," he commented.

The remaining man still standing peered closely at her, leaning down so he could breathe on her cheek as he inspected her.

Straightening her back, Faye loosened the hold she subconsciously had on her features. She tried not to tense. She had to act like a whore, not be one. All she had to focus on was getting them happy and cooperative, Jet -and hopefully Spike- would do the rest, with her lending a helping hand should the need arise. The moment they caught wind of her unwillingness to indulge in their scumbag needs and desires, she would be outed as a cop or worse -what she really was- and the bounty-op would be eighty-sixed.

Jet's voice was low and steady in the earpiece. "Hm. This might've turned into a four man warrant..."

The man with his face next to hers smelled like tobacco and grease. A throaty hum of approval thrummed in his chest. He turned to the man who had first occupied the table. "This yours?"

Merle took a swig of his drink. He said nothing, only his dark eyes moved to inspect Faye once again, sizing her up, himself unsure of the answer.

She shifted her weight, making sure her breasts jiggled a bit to keep their attention. Her fingers pushed some of her violet hair behind her ears, her gaze quickly shifting from all four with a mysterious grin sliding up on her red lips. "Well. How about I buy rounds for you. And you can buy for me… and then we see where we stand?"

The three disgusting bastards were instantly hooked, line and all, at her innuendo. They automatically turned to each other and then to Merle, who had yet to give the okay for the extra person to accompany them for the evening.

Jet kept his head down, seemingly staring at the bartop under the dark of his glasses and intently listened in on her conversation. He breathed from his seat in surprise at Faye's words. "Geezus, you don't have to go all out," he said quietly.

At the same moment, the bartender gave him a quizzical gaze, one eyebrow raised as he set the glass full of iced tea down in front of him. "Um. Uh, w-would you also like ah, a lemon wedge? Or two?" He stuttered in his confusion.

A choked sound akin to holding back a burst of laughter came from Spike. He wheezed, his lips turning up at the corners before going back to his expressionless, slumber-like state.

The bartender reappeared with a handful of lemon slices and a milkshake in the tallest glass he could find. He set the tiny fruit bowl and the shake next to Jet.

Jet slid the drink to Spike.

"Finally…" Spike uttered. He unfurled his limbs from his lap and inched the straw to his mouth and sucked down a large mouthful. He frowned. "Hmm, it's missing something… what's it missing?"

"Sour wedge?" Jet sarcastically offered. He dropped a small piece of lemon into his tea without looking at him.

Merle straightened his back at Faye's suggestion.

"You're pretty. Too pretty for a dump like this shithole," the bossman grunted. His eyes bore a hole through her dark red dress. He spat, "How do I know you're not a cop?"

Faye blinked. "I'm not," she replied as a confused question.

She didn't look like one, that was for sure. But they couldn't be too careful these days. Highly sought after criminals could not let their guards down, especially around a woman, no matter how pretty. They were sly. They were just as capable of manipulation as men.

Merle snapped his fingers and pointed. "Vic. Search her."

"Heh. With pleasure."

Faye swallowed.

Through the earpiece, Jet heard the demand. She had a Glock and a pair of cuffs strapped to the inside of her leg. If they found those, she was as good as dead where she stood.

"Ahh. I see." Spike hailed the bartender. With a raspy voice and a fake smile, he asked, "Do you have any eggs?"

"Eggs?"

"Yea. Eggs. You know. Chickens shit them out. Can I have one?"

The perpetually perplexed employee headed for the back with his strange request, oblivious to the growing tension in the place.

"What are you doing, Faye needs us. Now," Jet said. He was already turning in the stool to free the handgun at his side.

"Relax. Everything's fine." The hungover bounty hunter lazily sipped at the whipped cream on top of the milkshake, seemingly uninterested in the fate of his female friend. Or any of their fates, for that matter.

The employee came back and handed him a white egg.

Jet slid from his stool and took a long step in the smugglers' direction, in his hand a grey and silver Walther P99.

Faye backed away from the table as two of them approached her. A quick glance to the bar area at Jet and she reached down under the hem of the dress. One hand made a fist, the other gripped the black, fully loaded Glock.

She landed a swift uppercut into the soft underside of the ruffian's jaw and pistol-whipped the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He landed on the ground a shove. She shook her hand in the air and cringed.

Jet fired the Walther at the other man standing between Faye and the table, the explosion of contained gunpowder slicing through the previous quiet. As soon as the man fell to the floor with a shout, he shifted his aim toward the two still seated.

Distance offense strategy was now useless; Merle and his thug friend were already up and closing the space that separated them.

Merle rushed Jet. He knocked into him before he could bring his pistol around to aim. The Walther flew from his hand and a fist connected into the side of his face.

Throwing a glance towards Jet, Faye knew she wasn't equipped to fight like him or Spike. She wasn't trained in hand to hand, but in the close quarters of the small pub, the Glock was still her only defense. She didn't want to flat out kill them, they wouldn't get their money if the smugglers were dead.

"Spike! You idiot!" She called in frustration.

Hunched over his drink, Spike concentrated on cracking the missing ingredient into his shake. He was terrible at cooking anything, having relied heavily on Jet for sustenance for most of his adult life. He winced from the gunshot, which only added to the ache behind his tired eyes. Behind him, all hell broke loose, the sounds of struggles and gunfire ringing in the stale air.

Jet blocked another fist aimed for his gut and connected his own to Merle's temple in return. The smuggler stumbled backward. Jet shoved him hard in the chest and the muscled man toppled over the table and his unfinished beer.

"Faye!" Jet shouted in warning.

The woman turned at his voice, seeing one of the thugs ball his fist and advance to pummel her. She ducked and threw her shoulder into his gut, using the Glock's barrel to assist her in tagging him in the process.

He was out of the fight, down for the count, dry heaving with his hands on his junk.

The man she had earlier pistol-whipped rose and ran at her, the bloodlust apparent in his angry eyes. She promptly ducked again and stuck out her leg, which he ran right into. He was sent stumbling into the bar and smacked right into Spike.

The still unbroken egg slipped out of his hand to bust on the floor.

"The fuck," Spike barked. Anger boiled inside his chest.

The pub's door flung open and four more similarly dressed men ran in, all familiar with Merle and the two men sprawled on the floor. They looked around at the fray, briefly orienting themselves with the situation. It took only seconds, but Jet and Faye knew they couldn't hold off the newcomers.

"My egg! I needed that," Spike seethed. "Everything's so not fine!"

He jumped and shoved the stool away from the counter, standing up and tugging out his Jericho 941 from its holster. He snarled, racking the pistol and without aiming, started firing off round after round directly at the smugglers who had just entered the building.

They scattered to hide behind anything they could find, knocking tables on their sides to use as makeshift shields as he channeled his frustrations into the gunmetal.

Spike turned to the downed man who had run into him. He smashed the man's bloody face into the egg mess with his boot. "That's for ruining my milkshake," he hissed.

Behind him, Jet's left fist smacked into Merle's jaw, his torso bending in half at the waist with the momentous effort. He breathed out, struggling to catch his breath with the strain.

The drug smuggler bounded into the back wall. His head shot side to side, looking for a way out while Jet was preoccupied with the small group of his followers that had come in to join them.

When his attention returned to their main target, Merle was nowhere to be seen. Their intended target escaped.

Faye dove for Jet's discarded pistol as the newcomers began to retaliate. She threw herself back on the floor. With her own gun, she covered them with gunfire until she could return Jet's firearm to him. Her dress hitched up her legs, the thigh holsters now in full view. Vibrant green panties peeked out from the inside at the apex of her legs.

Spike barreled out of the way of blazing bullets zooming past. "Shit!"

Lying on the ground next to Faye, he ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one into his black pistol. From his position, he spied the material. "Really. Lime green, huh," he stated casually. A smirk showed up on his mouth.

Faye pursed her lips and cow kicked him in the chest. "Stop looking, pervert."

"We gotta get, fast," Jet grunted. He caught the pistol Faye tossed up to him.

"What about the bounty-" Faye started, the surprise coating her voice.

The big man shook his head. "It's no good. Let's go before we're shot all to hell!"

With Jet laying down cover fire, Spike hauled Faye to her feet, then angled his body to pop off a few rounds at their opposition. He snatched up the milkshake on his way and followed the other two out the back exit and into the alley.

Outside next to the dumpsters, Faye watched for any signs of their fleeing quarry while Jet fetched the car parked on the other side of the alley. She turned at the door opening, relaxing when she saw Spike. He made a face as he sucked up the shake.

"You went back for that?"

He swallowed. "It's not as good without some egg in it. No tip for him."

Faye tried to hide the smile he unknowingly put on her face. Though the man liked to mess around, making light of certain situations, never mind how dire they may be, he made her heart a little lighter. Every day. His presence settled her. His lack of emotional awareness, however, would get him into serious trouble someday.

Jet drove the car up to them, skidding to a halt.

Pulling at Spike's shirt, Faye dragged him to the car, pushing him through the now open door. She shoved him further to climb in herself.

The junk car didn't look like much, though it got them from point A to B with no hesitation. The engine's rumble turned into a roar as Jet sped away. "Watch for that slimebag," Jet said.

They entered the main, busy streets, blending in with the locals. People walked along from one area to another. Other vehicles on the streets passed by in a rush. There were so many, Faye couldn't distinguish after a certain distance. "I don't know, Jet. I don't see him. Sorry."

"Hmm. Well. This blows. Not what I expected." Jet made a sound with his mouth and flicked the air freshener hanging under the rectangle mirror.

Faye nodded. "We'll try again. Another day, sometime."

"Sometime," Jet repeated. He looked at her in the mirror. "You mean another year. That guy's evaded the cops and bounty hunters alike for half a decade. He's not stupid."

There was an empty, sipping sound.

They both turned to Spike, who had finished his mediocre milkshake. He seemed to be doing a little better than earlier in the day. His eyes were a little brighter, almost back to normal.

From the other side of the backseat, Spike peered at Faye from his position, his head resting on the armrest. He took in her ragged appearance after their small bar fight.

Bounty work did a number on her.

He licked the whipped cream off the straw and said, "Yea. Next time it'll be a thousand times harder 'cause he knows who we are."

#cowboy bebop #cowboy bebop fic #spike spiegel #spike x faye #AU #bounty hunters #ff.net #ao3 #CapAleran2 #andyswrite #im terrible at tagging things

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cigarettesnsex · 5 years

Photo

cigar no. 22

"to drown in your ocean..."

00:30

To be honest, I'm unsure of where to start with this. Do I tell you how we met or what happened afterwards?

Okay, well now that I think about it that wouldn't make much sense so I'll tell you how we met. He was a transfer student. Typical cliche I know but nothing about him turned about to be cliche.

In fact, they way we met was quite tragic really. He almost hit me in the face with a soccer ball he'd kicked during gym class. Maybe I should've known then. Though you can't possibly judge a person by the way the kick a soccer ball right?

(a chuckle )

Through high school we were the perfect couple if you will. A couple that only a few people at school knew about and of course my mom.

She was always accepting of me. Dad however...

Anyway! Back to the story. We were a classic Bonnie and Clyde if you will with a Titanic ending. Not that I'd seen it coming but it came either way. Just like every day after that.

Now, you may be wondering where this really all began seeing as my vagueness isn't helping anyone.

I believe it was the day he came home and asked me, "If I left you today would you still love me?"

taehyung sits in the living room. he stares ahead blankly at the tv with the black headphones atop his head.

the yellow walkman is right next to him looking more lifeless than taehyung felt. yoongi has left him with this about thirty minutes ago and he had ignored it until curiosity got the best of him.

well, curiosity wasn't exactly the right word to use. a burning desire to know was more like it.

and maybe burning wasn't the right word for it either when in reality he felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head.

jimin's voice had sounded so...lifeless that taehyung was afraid to continue.

The more I know the more chances I'll have of helping Jimin.

that's what taehyung had convinced himself of but he was unsure if he'd be able to stay still once it was done. yoongi said it'd taken him three whole days to get through the whole thing but taehyung has a feeling he'd be done before then.

sighing deeply through his nose taehyung grabbed the walkman and pressed play.

Of course, when you hear that you think, "What type of question is that?" And at the time I was too naive to even question it. I could only respond with a, "Wherever you go I'm sure to follow."

Oh, what a fool I was. The way his eyes flared at me his lip set in hard line should've told me then. Hell, the way he smiled right after should've raised the flag.

But like a sap I was drunk off love and high on my emotions. So, I brushed it off though the question came to visit me again soon thereafter.

"If I left you today would you still love me?"

"Why would you leave if you love me so much?"

That response is what I believe triggered him. I can still feel the way he'd wrapped his hands around my neck squeezing as he yelled at me for asking such a thing. Said someone like me shouldn't care about whether or not someone cared about me cause I was just another body to them.

A space in which was being wrongly occupied. Said that if I were to disappear that day no one would miss me. In a way, I suppose he was right. Who would miss someone like me.

From there I guess it only went up in spirits you know. He didn't get physical with me again but the condescending words never stopped or the disgusted looks.

To look at someone as if they are just vile is worth than baring a physical mark around your neck.

To think I was so weak.

"you're not weak Jiminie. you've never been weak."

taehyung speaks out into the darkness even though jimin is just down the hall. though the jimin he speaks to us one trapped on a cassette tape. his words reaching no one's ears but his own until now. to think that jimin carries this much inside him both amazes and terrifies taehyung all the same.

he continues the tape listening to the tone of jimin's voice each time he mentions something worse.

the degrading, the neglect, the headaches, the sleepless nights, or the overstimulation and rough handling.

it was a cruel and wicked play. a romeo and juliet type ending without the romance. oh, how the words jimin uttered stirred something inside of taehyung's gut that had him gasping for air.

a sinister, wicked, and unrelenting tale that sounded more unreal as it continued.

One night out of the many I've successfully stowed away he spoke to me with calmness in his voice.

I was sitting on the bed. Right hand cuffed to the bedpost wearing a shirt that was two weeks overdue in need of wash. If I close my eyes I can still smell my dried up tears and his cum.

He was wearing the gray sweater I bought him after our first month anniversary. It was a knit sweater made of wool that caressed you in the softest ways.

Something I used to wear back when the sun still shined. He looked at me with a look akin to remorse though I doubt it was anything of the sort.

" You know Min I don't think you're all that bad. The little naive look in your eye has dissipated and I' don't know whether I'm proud of it. You always held this childlike aura around you and to say I wasn't envious would be a lie."

I'm unsure of why I find this to be one of my most vivid memories but something about the way he regarded how I used to be struck something within me.

I could handle the degrading and all the yelling, however, when he brought up the person I'd once been it hurt worse than anything I'd experienced up to that point.

I had to wait three days before he finally decided to uncuff me from the bed and I was gone the next.

When I tell you sunlight never felt so-

taehyung stops the tape snatching the headphones off his head in the process. his mind is spinning like a top his heart of the edge of beating right out of his chest.

to think jimin endured a lifestyle- no imprisonment such as that was beyond him. he no longer felt compelled to finish the tape for he had listened to all he needed to hear.

leaving the walkman on the couch he stepped out on the balcony cigars already between his lips.

he had no intention of lighting it just the presence of it comforted him.

jimin's tape had him thinking back to jungkook wondering if the younger had ever felt neglected while with him.

and if he did he hopes he made up for it in some way. no one deserved what jimin has been put through.

to have someone build you up only to tear you down slowly, taking you apart piece by piece until only your skeleton remains.

though taehyung supposes it wasn't about the physical aspect of it at all.

it was more centered around the mind. having an indescribable want to take a person's conscience and grind it til it was dust.

to have them completely unaware of who they were taken from them while it rests in the palm of your hand.

taehyung couldn't fathom why anyone would want something like that in their possession. why anyone would crave such a feeling of hierarchy.

though power was like an addiction to some. you give them a taste and they won't stop until the well runs dry.

or when their cup hath runneth over.

#love #Long Reads #Wattpad #kpop #kpop icons #kpop ships #kpop fanfiction #bts #BTS v #bts ships #bts fanfic #btssmut #reading #read #gay #bts jimin #bts jungkook #BTS suga #Namjin

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soobin-sweetheart · 5 years

Text

When The Day Met The Night (Bang Chan)

warnings: possibly sensitive content, mature, swearing.

wc: 1.1K

AN: Any chapters requiring a warning for sensitive content will be labeled as such. Thank you for reading.

Chapter One: Christopher Bang, you idiot.

The shrill ring of my alarm clock cut through the silence of my bedroom. I reached over and shut it off, having already been awake for nearly two hours. Another sleepless night.

My bare feet hit the chilled hardwood, sending a shiver through my body. I grabbed the clothes I had laid out the night before and crossed the hall to the bathroom. Sam met me there, taking his place on the toilet seat and happily wagging his tail. I smiled softly, giving him a good stratch behind the ears before changing into my work uniform and beginning my day.

“You’re late,” Macy spoke, glancing at the watch on her wrist.

“I know, I’m sorry. The subway was running behind this morning.” I tied my apron around my waist and started the caramel macchiato pinned on the order board.

“You better hope Jerry lets this slide. This is the third time this month.”

I frowned as I poured the caramel into a measuring cup. “It’s not the third time.”

“Layla,” Jerry called from his office. “Can you come here for a second?”

Sorry, Macy mouthed.

Out loud, she said, “I’ll finish this up for you.”

I abandonded the drink and met my boss in his office. He gently kicked the door shut and gestured for me to take a seat on a stack of milk crates from the break room.

“Layla,” he began, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the third time you’ve been late this month.”

“Sir, I was only late today because the subway was running behind.”

“Yes, and that’s perfectly fine, but I can’t just act like the other times didn’t happen. What’s been going on?” The concern was evident in his eyes and I had to turn away to find my voice.

“Things have been... rough lately. But that’s not an excuse. I understand if you want to fire me.”

“Fire you? Layla, you’re my best barista. I’m just worried about you. It’s clear that you haven’t been sleeping. Are you taking your medicine?”

I shook my head, brushing back the dark locks that feel in my eyes. “I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

“And how is that?”

“I… Well, it doesn’t make me feel anything at all. I’m just numb, merely existing.” I picked at the frayed edge of my apron, watching the loose strings flutter to the floor.

Jerry studied me carefully before coming to his conclusion. “You’re suspended for a week. You can finish your shift today. And then go home and get some rest. I’m doing this for your own good.”

I nodded and stood, bowing to him. “Thank you. I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Layla. I’ll text you the new schedule when I make it.” He stood and opened the door again, gesturing for me to return to my post.

Macy was propped against the counter, twisting her long blonde ponytail around her index finger. As soon as she spotted me she straightened.

“What happened in there? Are you fired?”

I sighed. “He suspended me for a week.”

“Oh, dude, that sucks.”

I nodded, pulling the rag out of the sanitizer bucket and wringing it out. The water sloshed out over the side and small drops soaked into my jeans, sure to leave little white bleach stains in the fabric.

The bell above the door rang, signaling another customer. However, this customer was followed by a chorus of shrill feminine screams.

“Lock the door!”

My ears perked up at the familiar voice and I stood up to see two panting men, frantically trying to turn the lock on the front entrance. When the lock successfully clicked into place, they both turned, sucking in deep breaths.

I gasped, opening my mouth to speak, but Macy beat me to it.

“Bang Chan and Lee Felix? I don’t believe it.” She braced herself on the counter, sucking in deep breaths as well. I hope to god she doesn’t freak out.

“What’s going on out here?” Jerry asked, stepping out of his office. The two boys snapped their attention to my boss, advancing toward him. Chan stopped, however, as soon as his eyes locked with mine.

“Layla?” A smile spread across his face, creating a warmth inside my chest I hadn’t felt in a year. I rushed to the other side of the counter, pouncing on him. He wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

The familiarity of the embrace left me breathless. I didn’t, however, forget that the stupid boy had ignored my exisitence for the past seven months. I pulled away immediately, repeatedly slapping him across the chest. “Christopher Bang, you idiot! How could you not speak to me for so long?” And then I was hugging him again.

“I’m sorry.” His grip grew tighter as I broke down into tears. Hearing his voice alone was enough to make me weep, let alone actually touching him. My mascara left two black stains on the left shoulder of his white shirt and I laughed, pulling away.

“I think I just ruined your shirt.”

He glanced down at the stains and shrugged. “I have more.”

Someone cleared their throat beside us and it was only then that I realized we weren’t the only ones in the shop. Lee Felix awkwardly stood beside Chan, flashing me a friendly smile. I returned it, holding my hand out for him to shake. “I’m Layla.”

“Felix,” he responded, wrapping his hand around my own. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. I’ve heard alot about you.”

“Have you?” he smiled, glancing at Chan.

A second person cleared their throat. I turned around to see Macy staring daggers in my direction. She arched her eyebrow, silently questioning whether I was going to introduce her or not. I sighed. “Guys, this is Macy. She’s my… friend.”

“It’s so nice to meet your guys. I’m a huge fan. Could I possibly get a picture?”

The two nodded, wide smiles spreading across their faces as Macy thrust her phone into my hands and moved to stand between the two. I snapped a few pictures before she snatched it back, scrolling through the photos.

“Are you staying in America for long?” I asked Chan.

He shook his head. “Only a few weeks or so.”

“Ah. Tour?”

He nodded. The atmosphere drastically changed from light-hearted to tense and Chan and I stared each other down. He had changed quite a bit, hair now a light blonde. I couldn’t look away from the beautiful boy in front of me.

“Are you busy later?” Felix asked, breaking the silence.

“No, not at all.”

“Let’s get together!” he beamed, looking back and forth between me and Chan.

I smiled softly at his enthusiam and nodded. “I would love that. 7 o’clock alright with you guys?”

#stray kids #stray kids chan #skz #skz chan #bang chan #chris bang #christopher bang #stray kids imagines #when the day met the night #darling-doyoung

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xathia-89 · 5 years

Text

A Wolf in Disguise

I was positively beaming as I was walking through one of the nearby parks with my husky, Yuki. He was bouncing on his leash, as usual, determined to try and pull me. My parents were concerned initially about my move from the family home, but after graduating successfully as a fugu chef, I was determined to make my own stake in the world. Yuki was barking at someone in a white coat, eager rather than aggression in the way he was pulling on the lead as I decided to go a little closer. He was pushing his glasses up his nose and muttering about something I couldn’t hear. Yuki startled him and rubbed against his leg and hand to indicate that he wanted some fuss and attention from the stranger.

“I am so sorry,” I blurted, pulling my husky back and trying to ignore the strength of the wag in his tail. “He loves people,” I flushed.

“It’s okay miss,” the man bowed slightly. “Sasuke Sarutobi,” he smiled.

“Natsuki Sanada,” I replied, “And this is Yukimura,” I ruffled the fur of my overly excited dog as he beamed up at me.

“That would make you Yukimura Sanada,” the man chuckled, as I blushed at the implications. He was kneeling in front of my husky, the pair of them tilting heads at each other as a heavy rainstorm came from nowhere, and then a crack of thunder and lightning.

It was thick with smoke and flames as Yuki was sticking to me like glue as I tried to navigate the scenery. Then he started barking, and pulling me towards a slumped over figure. He wasn’t very responsive as we pulled him from the destruction. Breathing was easier in the open air, and I didn’t realise that Yuki had taken to cowering behind my legs.

I quickly learnt that something major had happened, the arrival of horses had startled my dog into bolting, and I was not losing him. I followed him swiftly into the forest, ignoring that they had been staring at my attire and that it was possible they weren’t entirely sure what Yuki was. I practically ran into another man as the husky had found a clearing, and nearly fell over the edge of the cliff in the process. I was as flustered as he was and then I wasn’t sure who was more grateful to see Sasuke, me or the strange man.

“Yuki!” I sharply reprimanded.

“I saved you and that the response I get?” The man was aggressive in his tone but made no attempt to draw the sword at his hip as I looked up in confusion. There was a slight similarity in our facial structure and eye colour, which he didn’t pick up on as Sasuke did a double take.

“I, er, what?” I asked, looking straight to the scientist for help. “What is going on?” I pleaded with him desperately.

“Natsuki, this is Yuki,” he hesitantly introduced, as my big dog cowered behind me. “Natsuki grew up in the same place I did, that’s how we know each other,” he quickly fabricated as I heard others approaching.

I wasn’t expecting two looming individuals, as both Yuki and Sasuke quickly engaged in some updates with the men. Then the sound of approaching horses made them disappear into the forest again. I wasn’t sure entirely what was going on, nor where I was.

I had been chased through the forest, and my beast of a dog was cowering behind me as the horses approached us. I vaguely recognised their faces from where I had dragged the man from the burning building. They realised I wasn’t entirely alone and looked apprehensive about bringing my pet along.

I was picked up into one man’s arms, and he was glaring at Yuki, who was adamant about trying to get on the horse with me much to my amusement. Though the now introduced man, known as Hideyoshi, spurred his horse out of my dog’s reach and back to the site where we had originally run into the forest.

Yuki found us again, and Hideyoshi drew his sword as he was yelling about a vicious wolf.

I threw my arms around my husky, needing to protect him from the delusional man as the vassal was then restrained.

“He’s not a wolf,” I stated, I could feel Yuki trembling a little, and I was almost certain that he had relieved himself on the floor next to me. “And he’s certainly not vicious,” I fussed my husky in reassurance.

I had rescued Nobunaga Oda it seemed from certain death. I was completely stunned, it was 1582, how on earth had I managed to get here. And the vassal of Oda had been threatening to strike both me and my pet down without issue for the sake of protecting his lord.

Yuki kept pace with the soldiers, and once he realised I was okay, he was running amongst the masses and causing chaos. He was happy to be around new people, though he always ensured I wasn’t far away as Masamune Date was carrying me on the back of his horse. The ally of Oda was amused too much by my expressions as he swapped me from the back of his horse to be carried in his arms.

I was given the title as Princess, though whiling away my time on ‘girly’ things was nothing to do with me. So I argued back and was given the additional role of Chatelaine, not that I had any clue what it would entail.

Sasuke was able to break into the castle and find my room. He was amused to find out that I was given a private garden off a veranda from my room, and that Yuki was as pleased to see him at that visit as he had been at the monument to Oda’s death. He fussed my husky as he explained that we had been transported back in time and that it was roughly going to be three months before we could go back.

“Three months? Fun,” I sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to pass the time, right?” I weakly smiled.

“I’ll pop in when I can,” he reassured me and then left after a quick goodbye.

I was surprised when not long after that, Masamune broke into my room and was holding a sword to my neck.

“Is it true you come from 500 years in the future?” He demanded, and I was struggling to breathe with the metal pressing into my neck.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, scrambling back as I was pressed into the wall.

He chuckled and did a complete relaxation of his guard, the sword being sheathed instantly and then sat opposite me. Yukimura was now being any good, placing himself between me and the insane warlord.

“You are officially useless,” I sighed at my pet, ruffling his head. “And I’m sure there are better ways of asking questions!” I scolded the amused male.

“It’s hard to lie with a blade at your throat,” he grinned. “And you’re a bold one anyway with a wolf for a pet.”

“He’s not a wolf, he’s a dog, though he’s useless at doing anything except being friendly,” I smiled fondly as Yuki flopped onto his back and demanded belly rubs.

“I’ve never seen a dog like him,” Masamune was looking thoughtful.

“I don’t even know when his breed was introduced to Japan,” I admitted. “I rescued him from a family who didn’t know how energetic he could be. And he gets a little rough to be around children too much,” I added on, continually fussing the overly large husky as he put his head in my lap.

It was a few weeks later when the kitchen staff were having a little panic about something. I sighed as I dived in to the work, I had an idea of the dishes they were trying for as my chef training automatically kicked in and I was slicing vegetables as they needed to be for the various dishes.

“Huh, looks like kitten can cook,” Date’s voice surprised me.

“I’m a trained chef,” I smiled. “And that’s Fugu in that bucket. The staff couldn’t identify it,” I sighed, wondering if they even had the equipment, and then spied something with a glimmer in my eyes.

“I’m not sure about that expression kitten,” Masamune was looking serious and reacted a little too late as I withdrew his sword and grabbed the tail of the fish.

The whole staff looked on in fascination after I yelled for silence. I needed to be so careful with every movement. The poison in the fish was fatal and it even had no known cure in the modern era, you simply got lucky and survived it. The blade was clean and sharp after I had scrubbed it much to the disgust of Date. Every piece was virtually transparent and arranged on a plate delicately before I looked up and feeling triumphant. And went red as I had the whole room watching me.

“Kitten, that’s a highly poisonous fish,” Masamune frowned as I picked up the testing piece. It was a small piece on purpose, and I swallowed nervously. The idea was to leave the trace amounts behind to give the thrill as I put the raw fish into my mouth. Everyone was watching on with bated breath, and then I smiled at them all.

“I trained for three years to become proficient in that specific fish,” I admitted quietly to Date whilst I was scrubbing the area where I had prepared the fugu before anything else could be prepared on it. “Unfortunately your sword was the closest thing I had to what I needed,” I grinned. “So your enemy’s might die of the poison,” I shrugged.

“That’s not a bad idea if you like to backhand people,” Masamune was looking serious, before a grin cracked across his face. “Say, that dish aside, whoever gets the most eaten tonight, wins a favour from the other?” He offered.

“Oh, honey, challenging me on a cooking contest?” I tilted my head to the side.

I wasn’t sure who had won. The whole hall was in a food coma, as I slipped another piece of the fugu. Masamune and myself had mostly been bullying people into trying our dishes, and there were only scraps left.

“I’m thinking it’s a draw,” I offered a hand out to Date, who shook his head whilst highly amused.

“Bonus round tomorrow with desert, one each,” he grinned and offered his hand out.

I brought Yuki out with me to the market. Most of the locals were used to seeing a ‘wolf’ with me on my outings, it made Hideyoshi a lot less of a worrier as well since the imposing view of Yuki was a great visual deterrent at least. I was buying some sugar candies for the Lord of the manor when my husky disappeared into the throes of the crowd. I thrust the payment into the merchant’s hand and ran off with the goods after my wayward dog.

“Yuki!” I yelled and found him with Sasuke, and the other Yuki. And then I spied another male with them who was looking on with an amused look. “I am so sorry,” I gushed, holding my energetic overgrown puppy between my legs.

“That’s cute, she has a wolf too Yuki,” the strange man chuckled, and Yuki blushed furiously.

“He’d love to think he’s a wolf, but he’s far too friendly for that,” I deflected away. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” I lifted my head up, pushing my long hair out of my face, and found that the handsome stranger was staring at me.

“This is my boss, his name’s Shin,” Yuki blurted out, as I saw that I was now effectively blocking his stall from the market.

“I am so sorry, I think Yuki has an affinity for you,” I apologised, and tried to move my overgrown puppy out of the middle of the market. I was trying to ignore that I was being stared at by Shin before looking to Sasuke. “Can you see if anyone has any rope, please? I can’t get him to stay by my side for once,” I asked with a gentle smile. The ninja nodded and disappeared as I sat on the ground with an ungraceful sigh. Yuki was trying to sit on me, despite that he was clearly too big for my lap, much to the amusement of the merchant’s boss.

It was a stifling atmosphere between the three of us, I was keenly avoiding both men’s gazes, whilst the locals were always stopping to check on the princess, and it was making the others nervous for some reason. Sasuke reappeared with some borrowed rope, and I was able to fashion a collar and lead.

“So, you’re the Princess of Azuchi?” Shin asked as I stood up to leave.

“Yes,” I replied, a slight frown. “Why does that matter?”

“You look like Yuki’s little sister is all,” he casually shrugged. “Must be my sight going in my age,” he chuckled.

“Have fun with the goods,” I shook my head and left to get to the food stalls.

I managed to get all the Manjū made without a lot of fuss. It was always something that went down well, and I had sugar candies as decoration as well. I had seen that Nobunaga had a sweet tooth that meant he would be strictly rationed by Hideyoshi. And then I had a bag of them in my pockets for bribery anyway.

The warlords were all grateful it wasn’t turning into a dish bonanza again the following night as the two dishes were passed about. I had already slipped the candies to Oda and had a back up in reserve. I had been praised for my strategy quietly before I started circulating my deserts. Masamune had made some dango, and it was also making its rounds. Hideyoshi wasn’t pleased with the amount of sugars we were all consuming, but both plates were empty, and it was frustratingly turning into another tie again.

“Neither of you will win,” Mitsuhide chuckled as we left the hall, attracting both of our attentions. “They either want Natsuki’s affections or Masamune’s side in battles,” the serpent smiled in explanation and then disappeared into the corridors.

“I don’t think my affections are being competed for,” I snorted derisively before going to leave for my room. Masamune placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me and drawing my attention to him.

My head was tilted upwards and our lips crashed together in a sizzling passion. I was gripping to him as we couldn’t get enough of each other in that kiss. Our bodies were pulled together, our arms wrapped around each other as my world was turned on its head.

“You are completely oblivious to anything that’s not food,” Masamune chuckled once we parted for breath. He kissed my forehead and wished me goodnight before I was released, and left to go back to my own thoughts.

The wormhole would be here in a few weeks. It was easy enough at the beginning to say that I wouldn’t get involved with any of them and cloud my wish to return to the present. I was stroking Yuki’s fur as I was thinking about my life. I had been content in the future, I was always under someone else’s expectations to succeed, and most recently to settle down and start producing grandchildren for my parents to carry on our lineage. There was no escape for me, I was an only child, which made it all the more impossible to avoid. Here, I was largely free to do what I wanted, I was never feeling unwanted or anything was ‘expected’ of me. I had dove into the role of chatelaine with gusto and enthusiasm, which had warmed Hideyoshi to me as he saw that I clearly didn’t think above scrubbing floors with the maids, or helping out in the kitchens to prepare vegetables or clean the dishes.

I barely slept for a few nights. I was weighing up the pros and cons of staying and leaving. I would definitely miss the warlords, and they would miss me, but was I going to be fulfilled in this era if I stayed? I had an entire career waiting for me in the present.

“But it doesn’t have Masamune,” I murmured to no one in particular as I stared out over the private garden, watching my husky bound about with endless energy.

“Ah so that’s what’s been bothering you,” the familiar voice made me jump a mile, and I scowled whilst turning around to see that Date was loitering at the entrance to my room. “You’ve barely been seen since our little encounter, I was curious as to what was stopping you from being yourself. You’re considering not leaving us then?” He took a seat on the opposite side of my table, a serious expression on his face.

“It’s not too long until it comes, and then if I don’t go, there’s no guarantee of me ever being able to go back,” I explained. “I was trying to see if there was a way of me making my decision,” I blushed and felt like a kid who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Me aside, why would you stay? It’s a lot more dangerous, there’s a constant threat of war, and we go to battle on a regular basis,” Masamune was frowning in concern.

“Because it feels like home,” I was finally able to pinpoint what was bothering me. “I never fit in to anywhere in the present. Here, the point aside of marriage and having children, I feel like I have a purpose and use.”

“Marriage is something that happens when you’re ready,” Date shrugged casually. “Or when children start appearing,” he smiled. “Right now, Hideyoshi has a sixth sense that you’ve not been sleeping, so off to bed with you,” I shook my head at the one-eyed dragon, and then tugged on his sleeve, catching him off guard.

“I could just do with a cuddle,” I smiled.

“Oh kitten, what are we going to do with you?” he chuckled, wrapping me up in his arms after we had gotten into my futon.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #Ikémen Sengoku #masamune date

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godseyegalaxy · 6 years

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Candle and the Wax Flame- 2 - The Start

“You’re wish is futile, how hard is that to explain?” The mermaid’s silver tail kicked up water directed towards the pirate standing on the rocks. Then, she added, “Now, stop pestering me. It’s been a week, Icora, take your crew and leave this island behind.”

The pirate, Icora, took off her hat and shook off the water droplets. The thin smile on her face never leaving. Cere pushed her tail through the water again and thought about leaving the pirate alone in the outlet, she probably would have, if the bitch wasn’t dangling her sister’s necklace just out of arms reach. With any other bastard she would have killed them and taken back what was hers, but Icora was a benefactor, and Cere had no intension of losing an asset.

Shards of red and green light bounced brightly off the neckless as it dangles casually midair. The lights flashed in her eyes and painfully reminded the mermaid how trapped she really was. Cere watched the neckless sink as the bastard woman knelt to her level.

“Come now, Cere, ‘Futile’ is a harsh word-”

“Because you don’t know what it means?”

Icora paused mid-sentence, then started to laugh. She had a whole-hearted laugh, one of a seasoned mother or a well traversed clerk, not one typical for a pirate. Cere always hated the sound.

“No, no, my friend, oh my... Simply because I know it’s not futile. With your help and my crew, I’m sure we can find the remains of the city.”

Cere scowled, with her narrow face, it took up the majority of space. Icora always found it cute. With Cere’s big pitch-black eyes and boney features, Icora always thought the mermaid was cute. As cute as an ugly fish from the sea can be.

“What makes you think there is anything left of Manora? Huh?”

“Oh, there is always something left.” She stood, taking the accessory with her. “If not proper things, say pieces of artwork, tools, and of course, metals… then ideas, traditions, and more.”

Cere snorted. “Since when do you deal in ideas? It’s always been about trinkets and gold with you.”

“Cus it seemed to be the only thing that kept you interested.” Icora gestured to all the gold and copper decorating the mermaid’s body. That is to say, she gestured to all of the mermaid, right down to the tail. Bangles, piercings, hair beads, rings and everything in between covered the creature, at it all was gifts from the buccaneer. Payments for previous jobs. “Life on land isn’t a concern for you, but for many of my crew, it is.” She continued. “Life on the islands is getting more difficult, and what would happen to my business if everyone on land moved or died?”

Icora rarely spoke about the troubles on the lands with Cere – as she said, why would the mermaid care?— however, when she did, the pained look in her eyes were bluntly apparent. Either she did care about the islands, or that was her puppy dog face. Still, it was off putting, just enough for her guard to be let down.

The land dwellers were not the only ones being affected poorly, but not many land dwellers cared about the happenings under the waves outside the fishing industry. Eventually, the sea folk would have to leave the water surrounding the islands. But, that would be long after the humans, elves and whatnot left. Still, if the fearless Icora was worried, maybe there was something to the whole thing.

Shit.

Cere met Icora’s eyes to see that ugly smile spread across her face; the smile of someone who know they had won. The same smile she had seen as she captained her ship out of a harsh take over or a storm, the kind where the wind would pick up and the sun would shine in beams across the sky.

Cere snarled at the woman. “I’ll meet you at your god damn fucking ugly ass ship.”

Icora laughed, full like the moon, or the vary waves that crashed on the rocks. “I should have never let my crew teach you curse words.”

“And you shouldn’t have fucking tracked me to a god damn random island, but here we are, Icora.” The mermaid brushed the sides of her shaved head and gathered up her hair before diving back into the turquois blue water.

A wave of warm salty water came crashing down on the pirate captain, successfully soaking her. She wiped her face and brushed back her wild hair, turning around just in time to see Maritime break through the foliage shielding the lagoon from the rest of the island.

“Martie, just in time, what is it?”

“Just looking for the captain, have you seen her?” She cocked her head to the side, “About this tall, old as shit, likes to wander off and leave the crew to her ship alone on a random island to find a mermaid with just a ‘gut feeling’ to guide her?”

“Alright, Alright, Maritime.” Icora jumped to the shore, ignoring the helping hand from her apprentice. “But you’ll be happy to know that I found our guide.”

“Really?” the girl started to follow her captain back through the trees. “How’d ya convince her to help us?”

Icora had already put the neckless in her cloth belt before Cere left. “You know me, I have a way with words.”

Martie snorted and rolled her eyes. She had been recruited, or adopted as the crew put it, as Icora’s first and only apprentice when she tried to pickpocket her in the market place. She was maybe ten at the time, but, with no memories of her name, parents or her home island, that didn’t stop the captain from extending her hand. Nothing, she learned, stopped the captain.

In the six years Martie has spent with the crew, she had learned an infinite amount of skills and tricks, not only to be a successful pirate, but also a business person, crafter, and navigator, but still she knew next to nothing about the woman who adopted her. She wasn’t cruel, wasn’t liked by those on the outside, but wasn’t hated either. She told impossible stories that happened years in the past like they were resent happenings, she spoke of gods as friends, monsters as things that really existed. Something, Martie knew, was off about her dear captain, after all it was obvious, yet that didn’t deter the crew from loyalty. They loved her just as much as Icora cared for them. Any secrets didn’t seem to matter.

“If you say so, cap’t.” Martie shrugged. “The ships next to the beach. Brinkley went around the island like you ordered, but there’s a sand bar on this side, so we couldn’t get that close.”

Icora nodded and continued to push through island flora. “I’m glad that at least one of my subordinates can follow directions.” She said slyly, glancing behind her.

Martie groaned. “Ok fine, I got bored just waiting. I wanted to see Cere too.”

Martie and Cere had grown to be what someone might call friends. Pair a child’s persistence and open mind with a creature of superior intellect but little skill in land language and there was bound to be some sort of connection. Icora enjoyed their partnership, as before it was only she that Cere would deal with, but now Cere acknowledged the other members of the crew and even worked with some of them. It benefited everyone involved, just considering the knowledge transferred.

“And what if you gave her an excuse to disappear huh?” Even though the captain was still smiling, Martie knew that she was legitimately annoyed with her.

“My apologies, Captian. I wasn’t thinking.” She frowned; she hatted apologizing, but knew when it was necessary.

That was another fun thing about their friendship; they had some of the same mannerisms.

“I’m not angry.” That much was true, “But I will have you clean all the buckets before we pull of, yeah?”

They broke through the forests into a plain of tall yellow grass and crooked palm trees. The ship could be seen a few leagues off of the shore.

“Yes, ma’am.” Martie pulled ahead and walked to the rowboat she tied to a palm close to the beach.

Icora took her time, gathering the odd coconut and flower, before settling down beside Martie and picking up an oar.

Neither of them spoke on the way back to the boat. They breathed in tandem and rhythmically rowed through the midday waves. The water grew from glacier blue to black, then back to light blue as they passed over the sand bar. Sweet beaded and dripped down their faces and backs, for a few seconds Icora thought about pealing of her leather jacket, but when she looked back to check how far the ship was, she found it looming over her. The shadow passed over the tiny boat, granting cool refuge.

Two crew men looked over the edge of the ship and down at them, they waved and Icora waved back.

“Welcome back captain!” Bo, one of the men, shouted down.

“Not back yet! Throw down the ropes!” Icora shouted back.

The men disappeared. Martie, who had grabbed the other oar, steered so the boat was almost flush to the barnacle crusted hull and underneath the apparatus. Immediately, ropes came down inches from landing inside and on top of the awaiting two.

With practiced ease, Icora tied the boat up and soon after they were being lifted out of the water and up towards the deck.

When she was finally able to see over the railing, she was met with her first mate, Brinkley. He smiled warmly and nodded. Brinkley has a colorful history as a first mate with other ships— interesting enough to catch Icora’s attention—however what really peaked her interest was the fact that all the ships under his proctor would vanish within a year or two. Crew, except for him, included. Many high-end navies lost proud vessels both as victim and while in search of the culprit. What was funny, is that Brinkley never changed his name, so it was a very easy trail to track. But of course, came the mystery of why and how? After all he was just one man.

Icora was prepared to fight him to prove that she was the captain he was looking for, however, according to legend, the moment Brinkley laid eyes on the young captain Icora, he bowed and proclaimed loyalty right then and there. Neither of them ever denied the story, but they never confirmed it either. Either way the results are the same, Icora and Brinkley have been partners in crime for years now, never been caught, and never without something to do.

Most of the crew agreed; they were as perfect as a captain and a first mate could be.

“Welcome home, Captain Icora.” He extended his hand. “I hope your vacation was well worth it.”

Icora hopped down onto her beloved deck and scanned Brinkley. From the black braids in his hair down to his ink boots, he was soaking wet. His dark skin glistened in the sunlight, he was obviously exhausted, but his demeanor did everything it could to hid it. Icora laughed.

“It seems you already know the answer to that, Brinkley. Tell me, did she climb up and over or did she request a net.” She reached back to assist Martie.

“A net, this time, captain. She was furious that you weren’t already on board, and frankly, Icora, I am too. You know she doesn’t like me very much, and, it's not in my nature to carry sopping wet, naked women around. Tail or no tail.” He turned his attention to the young apprentice. “And you, young lady, I hope you know you will be cleaning –“

“All the buckets before we leave.” Maritime finished his sentence while rolling her eyes. “Icora already told me so buzz off.” She stuck her tongue out before leaving to go below deck.

Brinkley’s brooding was interrupted by a strong hand landing on his shoulder, he leaned into Icora’s firm frame.

“You and I think too much alike, eh?” She smiled.

“Ey, much too alike. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.” His eyebrows furrowed. As long as Martie has been aboard, Brinkley has tried to somewhat a role model. Icora always joked that it was the proper gentleman coming out of him, and that he wasn’t the father that Martie was looking for. He always denied his role, but it was painfully obvious that he wanted her to like him. At least a little bit.

“Oh? I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, you’re going to do the same thing that you have been doing for the past six years. Go down to her with some treats, hoping to talk to her, and getting the door slammed in your face.” She jostled him. “Now, before you do that, where has my catch of the day flopped off to?”

Brinkley signed. “Cere’s where she always is when she waits for you, in your office with a bottle of wine and a dagger by her side.”

The captain laughed, making the nearby crew members smile. “I guess I should give her some company then?”

“Probably, yes. Before she tears up what is left of your couch.” He looked around for a moment. “Are your orders to stay here until we know where we are going?”

“Yup. And to give Maritime the opportunity to clean.” She left Brinkley towards the bridge.

A knife flew through the air and dug itself a few inches into the side of the door. Icora sighed, as it was both a few inches from her face, and the seventh notch in her door. She opened the door all the way, confident that Brinkley said ‘dagger’ and not ‘daggers.’ The mermaid lounged across her couch, tail lifelessly handing over the edge, almost blocking the door. A bottle of wine in one hand, while her other hand now free from the knife, fanned herself.

“You know how much I despise this room; its hot, its humid, and it smells like sex and booze. How dare you make me wait.”

“I’ll have you know that I have never had sex in here thank you very much.” She slipped off her jacket and set it on her chair on the opposite side of the room. Every time Cere was brought in here, she complained about something new. It was actually beginning to be a game. The heat and humidity were always on the high up, to remind Icora that she was dealing with a creature of the frozen deep, but the sex smell was a new one.

“I never said it was your sex. Gross.” She tugged at a clump of still dripping hair and pulled it over her body. right now, her long black hair was the only thing keeping her cool. Icora didn’t think that was the intention of mermaids having long hair, but it was a feature.

Icora ignored her guest’s comment and went through the stacks of miscellaneous things on her shelves. Mostly mapping equipment, keys, photographs, but also special items that she kept just for Cere’s visits. And by special; a fan, piece of patterned cloth, two cups and a canteen with the ocean’s water.

She wasted no time with idol chit chat this time around, which put Cere on edge. She had seen Icora in tense moments before, times where one on one became one on four or ten, times where the storms howled its loudest. This was not that close, but playtime was over. Icora carefully placed each item on the table before her and went back to her desk. Cere poured wine for the two of them and gladly helped herself to the oriental fan.

She came back with a large scroll of paper, trading the wine cup for the map, she rolled out the map. Tons of markings cluttered the once pristine paper, red circles and tiny holes riddled the paper, marking all the old expeditions that the pirate had been on. Cere glanced over the map, the hand drawn islands and dark stains reminded her of all the time they used to spend together, and the time Icora herself tossed the mermaid over her shoulder and dove face first into an uncharted jungle. It was all ridiculous, Cere doubted the shenanigans would end soon.

Icora placed one final pin through the map and sat down. A total of 8 pins marked places that she, personally, has not explored. If Cere was anyone else, it would have been impressive, given the thousands of archipelagos throughout the sea, but it was Cere.

“Well.” She took a sip of wine. “These are all the places a hidden civilization could be. Not visible with regular trade routes, not in the dead zone, and were all the surrounding islands can support life. What do you think.”

Cere leaned in to study the islands closer. They did meet all of Icora’s standards. A place to hide, supported by life, not protected or colonized by other countries and, of course, not explored. However, there were a few problems.

She picked a pin out of the map and set it down. “This island is in the Witch Nagga’s territory. She would not let anyone live there.”

“What if Nagga moved there after the city was established?”

“Nagga has not moved since the beginning of the islands’ creation. Her territory has never grown nor shrunk and she has never let anyone stay more than a few passing days. She would not let people thrive.” Annoyance shrouded her words. Every sea dwelling person knew about the great witch, telling someone was like stating the obvious.

“Aright, then. Next.”

If Cere had irises, she would have rolled her eyes. Instead she growled and returned her attention to the map.

“This one.” she grabbed another pin on the opposite side of the map. “Sirens frequent this area, it acts like a hub of sorts.”

Sirens hated people. Hated the touch of people, and usually killed them off immediately. Much like flies or lice. They would never congregate if the island was tainted, and never let them in either.

Icora sighed. “I wish you would tell me this stuff before.”

“Not your business, Land-Lover.” She smirked. “Don’t want you messing up other people’s lives like you have mine.”

“Oh please, your life has been enriched by me and you know it.” She took another sip of wine.

More pins were pulled out as Cere studied the map, she explained why each time and, Icora tried to remember each reason for the future. Icora knew some of the DeepSea trade route, just by Cere mentioning it in passing, but its extensions were still foreign, and truth be told, it didn’t concern Icora. It was, however, important to the merfolk and apparently, they and the members of the fae had outposts on islands far beyond the reach of others. Just that detail alone took out three from the running.

And then there were two pins left. One in the upper left at the edge of a key, just outside the dead zone, and other one by itself in the June Sea, right outside mermaid territory.

The captain set down her empty cup and leaned into the map.

“These are it? There are no more places that only you know of?”

“I’m done wasting time, Icora, these two places are the only ones a civilization like the stories depict could be. If it did exist at all.”

Icora furrowed her brow, thinking hard about any other detail that could open up other areas. There was nothing.

“Alright then.” She tapped the one at the edge of the key. “This one is closer, it has islands close to it so the beings there might have had knowledge of the city. An easy supply and travel route, and as you said, benevolent beings under the waters. Shall we start here?”

Cere shrugged. “I can swim there in less than 3 days.” She started to trace her fingers on the map. “If you travel up this way, I can meet you here.” She tapped the space that was somewhat between the two pins left standing. “And let you know if there’s anything worthwhile there.”

“You and what legs?” Icora asked out of habit.

“Fuck you.”

“Promise to meet me?” She said without skipping a beat.

“You still have my neckless, I have no choice.” Then. “You’ve… Also piqued my interest with this new fascination of yours.”

“Oh?” Icora leaned in, a thin smile stretched across her sun-tanned skin. “Do tell. How does a ‘land-loving’ civilization pique the interest of a selfish mermaid such as yourself?”

Cere let her blank eyes speak for herself. Icora leaned back before deciding to stand.

“Fine fine, it’s not my ‘business,’ I understand. I like your plan, we will set off as soon as you’re ready.” She held out a hand, adorning a few rings on her finders.

A hand shake didn’t mean anything to those dwelling under the sea, and Cere made a point to say it every time she offered, yet Icora persisted. She was a business woman and god be damned if they didn’t seal the deal with touching skin. If someone was flaky on a deal then why would a handshake matter?

Cere took her hand anyway and, wiped her hand on the couch right after. Icora laughed, took up the map and brought it to her desk to make some more calculations. While her back was turned, Cere pored another glass and dumped a quarter of the water on her face. The surface was way too hot for any living creature. The fact that there were creatures above water proved that there were monsters out there. Worst of it all, the fan was doing next to nothing to cool her down.

Cere sunk deep into the couch and sighed. She had to admit though, watching an experienced adventure work was mesmerizing. Icora weaved among piles on the ground to collect all the tools she needed to mark her course. A few minutes later, mostly due to double checking once or twice, she set her tools down and turned on her heels.

Without a word she left the room, not even glancing at the mermaid that mostly blocked the doorway. In retaliation, Cere poured the rest of the canteen on her tail, letting the salt water spread on the leather.

A few heat wreaking minuets that felt like hours later, a knock rapped on the door. The sullen face of Brinkley slowly opened the door and peered in.

“The captain has ordered me to take you to Maritime’s room.” He locked eyes with the mermaid and refused to look anywhere else. “Everything set?” He asked, out of political correctness more than anything.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Cere stared at him with equal intensity and distain.

Ever since Icora dragged him on board, Cere never spent longer than she had to with him. She hated him, hated the way the feeling of his gaze got under her skin. Only once did Cere mention it to Icora, ‘it’ being the dark aura around the first mate, but Icora simply waved her off. That was the first sign that Icora knew exactly what she was doing, and Cere hated that. Hated Icora’s confidence and hated every single thing that ‘Brinkley’ ever touched. It was annoying too, why have her around when Icora’s just going to ignore her advice?

One day Cere would find out what made Icora and Brinkly such a pair, and she would wait patiently for that day. But for now…

“Shall I?” Brinkley cleared his throat.

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Cere sighed and set down her canteen.

She opened her long arms like a child wanting a hug from a pet and allowed the first mate to scoop her up. The most comfortable way to carry a larger almost 7-foot mermaid was, apparently, over the shoulder so, that’s how Cere was carried. Like a sack of rotting potatoes, she was hauled down a level and to the other side of the ship. Neither of them speaking another word. Not even an apology when Cere tripped him up with her tail or when her head hit one of the steep steps.

Maritime was one of the lucky few that got a room to herself, being the captain's first and only apprentice and, of course, being a young girl. She lived alongside the other more important crew members down a narrow hallway, being ever so grateful for one of the cartographers eloping with a cook and them willing to move into the same room together. The rooms were small, smaller than any hidey hole she had ever slept in, but it was home to Martie.

It was also, in part, Cere’s home too. Whenever she climbed on board this deathtrap of a ship, she always found herself spending at least a few hours with Martie. Maybe it was their hatred of Brinkley that brought them together, or their willing entrapment by Icora, either way, they were friends.

Brinkley politely knocked on the door and waited for a reply. Cere might have waited except her face was against the opposite wall, and it was Brinkley.

Cere slammed her tail against the door as hard as she could without braking the wood. A startling thump sounded down the hallway, loud enough for other sleeping members to react with a start.

“MARTIE! OPEN UP!” If people were still sleeping, they were awake now.

There was a loud thump before the door swung wide open. As quickly as possible, Brinkley entered the room—which was filled with grimy buckets— dropped Cere onto the bed and left, knowing he was unwanted there.

The tiny space was barely large enough to fit Cere’s silvery- opal tail, even when it folded over itself. That paired with the buckets meant that there was little room for Martie herself, so she sat on her desk with a pile of dishrags in her lap. The two looked at each other for a moment before Martie threw a rag at Cere and started scrubbing.

#candle and the wax flame #my writing #pirates #mermaid #creative writing

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nerdiests · 6 years

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It’s like 2pm but I forgot to put this on tumblr earlier so. Here we are. I’m doing todokami week!! Here’s day 1!

Check it out on ao3!

prompt: cuddles/quirkless/idol/confession

This... Is the story of how I died. How I managed to kick the bucket, and at 19 too. But, it isn’t really my story, and it definitely doesn't start with me. It all started a long time ago, when a drop of sun fell from the sky and caused a magic flower to grow where it had fallen…

A man, with red hair peppered with grey pushed his way through the brush. He'd been on his own for years now, but his goal he'd had for multiple decades still hadn't occurred. Couldn't a man want to rule his own kingdom? No? Oh well. He'd get there someday. Enji would manage. He’d even recently found a place that would work to develop it, too. His only problem? He hadn’t seen another human being in probably seven years. It’s not like he’d come across a group of people he could impose himself on.

Enji continued to walk, half of his time spent pushing tall grass out of his face. Although he somehow managed to not spot a rock - which wouldn’t be all that hard, considering all the grass - and he faceplanted onto the hard packed dirt. Enji started to get up, and put up a hand to his face, poking at his nose gingerly. That hurt. Oh no. He’d probably broken his nose, that wasn’t good. He continued to sit up, being careful as to not jostle his most likely broken nose. If he was going to be a king in his lifetime, he needed to not have a broken nose.

As he continued to walk, Enji could hear a… Humming noise? Hm. If he didn’t know better he’d think that was another person. Maybe this would be the start of his reign right here. Enji Todoroki, finally getting to start his life’s goal at 52. He quickened his pace, hearing the humming get louder as he continued to almost-jog towards the source. When said humming reached its loudest, Enji was stood in front of a curtain of tall grass. The grass was roughly shoved aside, and Enji straightened up, attempting to look as regal as he could manage. Then he noticed no one was there. Then what was humming..? Enji whirled around, attempting to spot the person he knew was there, but. The humming began again.

Turning back around again, Enji looked down and spotted… A flower? Oh good riddance. A glowing pink flower, that wasn’t the start of an era! That was just a flower.

“Oh look at that, a flower all glittering. Couldn’t find anything less useful,” Enji muttered. He almost walked away, but the flower glowed brighter. Enji narrowed his eyes.

“All glowy… Must be magic,” Enji concluded. The flower only glowed brighter. He approached the flower, cautious. What Enji didn’t notice was the gray peppering his hair starting to disappear, and all signs of age slowly fading.

“What’s your power, shining?” Enji muttered, crouching down in front of the flower. He felt… More youthful. Odd. Enji crouched there for a moment, before standing up. The glow of the flower faded as he did so, and the feeling of youthfulness stayed with him as he did. Did. Did the flower cause that? He’d need to test more.

With the discovery of the flower, Todoroki Enji could finally carry his life’s wish out. After experimentation, he discovered the flower granted youth, after a specific incantation was chanted. Or sung, if you’d rather go a different route. Either way, Todoroki Enji was sufficiently immortal, and could begin his goal of becoming the sovereign ruler of a kingdom.

Centuries passed, and a kingdom grew. Corona, it was called, and its capital was on an island. Apparently it was easier to defend. That was all the king cared about. Keeping his empire strong enough to last millenia. And it would, just not under his rule. Enough about that, though. The kingdom flourished, despite the tyrannical rule of King Enji. Corona ended up developing diplomatic relationships - if rocky ones - and became one of the top exporters of all sorts of fruits and candles.

Eventually, King Enji realized he’d need a queen. After all, what king can rule without a queen at his side? And how would he have heirs to a throne he’d never give up? So Todoroki Enji made the decision to find a wife. Even if it took him years, he would find one. And she would have to be the best, because he wouldn’t settle for second best. So, he began his search. Seven years into it, he found her. Rei. The future queen.

They were wed within the year, and the eldest princess was born within two. Todoroki Fuyumi. Everyone expected her to be named crown princess upon her birth, but she wasn’t. Neither was her younger brother, two years later. The public was surprised, but most of the castle staff wasn’t. Yagi Toshinori, the king’s advisor, had expected it. Todoroki Enji wasn’t giving up his crown that easily. Which was why… A rebellion had been brewing, for over a century. They just needed the right moment.

A cloaked figure glanced around warily as they walked through the darker parts of the city. They needed to be careful. If the guards saw them, they would be arrested. And that wouldn’t bode well for them, no sirree. He’d be fired from his job, and possibly executed. Oh, who were they kidding, they’d definitely be arrested. Hence, the cloak. Although a few bits of blond hair stuck out.

The figure took a relieved breath when they spotted the meetup spot. An old and dilapidated inn. On the outside, at least. They slipped inside, and took their hood off. Yagi Toshinori took a breath of relief, walking to the bar counter. He knocked in a distinctive pattern, and after a few moments, a panel in the floor behind the bar opened up.

“You’re late, Yagi.” Toshinori grinned at the familiar face standing under the floor, and he hopped over the countertop.

“Aizawa, good to see you,” Toshinori said cheerily. Aizawa only looked up, before walking off. Toshinori quickly hopped into the passage and shut the entrance, walking quickly after Aizawa.

The walk wasn’t that long, but it was silent. Toshinori attempted to talk, but Aizawa shot him down every time. As he always had. As they approached their meeting room, Toshinori could hear the quiet sounds of discussion of tactics. Tactics they’d been planning for years. Tactics they couldn’t execute until King Todoroki had a moment of weakness, which wasn’t likely.

“Yagi’s here, everyone,” Aizawa said as they walked into the room. The talking quickly quieted, and everyone’s eyes were on him. Yagi took a deep breath.

“I know everyone’s been antsy for a while, since the birth of the prince six years ago, but we need a moment of weakness to successfully pull off a coup d’etat, and we have to wait patiently for that,” Yagi stated. There were murmurs of agreement, and a few grumbles of displeasure, and Yagi paused, waiting for the rest of the group to quiet down.

“Our best opportunity is to wait for the queen to have a third child, and overthrow the king once the child is born. That opportunity will be crucial, and we’ll need to strike as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

Little did the rebellion know, but their chance would come along soon. The royal family, after a nine year gap between their last child and this one, was going to have another child. But the queen, not far from when she was due to have the baby, fell extremely ill. The subjects did not love their king, but they loved their king. Day after day, there were requests for the king to do something, anything , to save the queen. Meanwhile, the rebellion prepared.

Eventually, the king’s main advisor approached King Enji after a session in court, with a request from the people.

“They want what? ” Enji asked, voice deadly cold. Yagi stood, holding a piece of paper in his hands. They didn’t tremble, and neither did Yagi. Good. Enji didn’t want a weak advisor.

“The people want permission to find a cure, whether it be medicinal or magical, sir. Some have heard talk of a flower that could cure any ailment, and they would like to find it,” Yagi said. Enji had to pause for a moment. Surely Yagi didn’t mean his flower? He wouldn’t give up his flower for any reason. But it might keep morale up to let them go on a goosechase to help his wife…

“I’ll allow it,” Enji replied, before walking away. At least his kingdom would be in higher spirits before the queen passed. That would, at least, help his kingdom stay afloat through the loss. Each person working with a hope it could save the queen, when in reality they’re chasing for a magic they’ll never find. Enji grinned. What a brilliant plan. His spawn would be devastated, though. He’d have to find a way to stop that feeling.

And so the people began their fruitless search, in pursuit of something that was right in front of them. People traveled far and wide, doctors from multiple foreign countries came to see the queen, but none could find a remedy. Nonetheless, the people were thrown into a frenzy, attempting to find some sort of cure. Meanwhile, King Enji sat in his castle while his wife wasted away. Although his undoing wouldn’t be at the hands of his people, no. It would be his daughter.

Fuyumi Todoroki was only twelve, but she knew she was going to do things in the world. That’s what princesses did, after all! Or, at least, that’s what Tensei had told her about princesses. Tensei was her best friend, not to mention her only friend. And she’d poured her heart out to him earlier that week, about how afraid she was that her mom was going to die and she’d lose not only her mom but her new sibling and she didn’t want to go through what Tensei had already gone through, and Tensei had reassured her, and given her an extremely important piece of advice.

“If you want something to change, go out and make the change. Even if you can’t help much, it’s better than being static.” Tensei had said his father had told him that when he was little. He’d taken that to heart. And Fuyumi was going to too. She was going to help, even if she couldn’t leave the castle. Which is why she had taken to wandering the castle halls. Maybe she could spot something to help Mom? It was unlikely, but possible.

Glancing around, Fuyumi couldn’t notice any of her surroundings. Where had she wandered to? As she investigated her surroundings, she heard footsteps and she walked down the hallway rapidly, attempting to find a hiding spot. There weren’t any. As the footsteps grew closer, Fuyumi’s eyes searched the hallway desperately. She didn’t want to get in trouble, she was just trying to help her mom!

“...Almost found it last week, I’ll need to move it.” That. That was Father, what was he doing? Fuyumi heard footsteps growing closer, and spotted an alcove. She quickly ducked inside, and listened.

“At this rate, those peasants will find it. They’ll find it and give it to her and I can’t have that, not at all,” her father muttered. Fuyumi was confused. What would “they” find? Who was… Was “her” Mom? Fuyumi could help her mom! With whatever Father was hiding. She continued to stand stock still, but listened more.

“I might build an atrium for it? I’d have to hide it, but the glass room is obtrusive as is… At least it’s in this wing that everyone believes is uninhabited,” Father muttered. Fuyumi perked up. Whatever could help Mom was in this wing! She’d just have to wait for Father to leave so she could investigate.

After Father passed by, Fuyumi peered around the corner, made sure he had left, and began to peek into different doors. She spent what felt like a forever going through all the different rooms, but she finally reached the end of the hallway. One door left. It had to be in here. Fuyumi opened the door carefully and was immediately in awe. There was a shining pink flower in here! Wow!! This must be able to help mom. It had to.

After Princess Fuyumi found the flower, she brought it to the royal advisor, who gave it to the queen. Not even a full day later, the last prince of the Todoroki line was born. Todoroki Shouto. Who, surprisingly, had a dusting of pink hair when he was born. Not red like his father, or white like his mother. Something wholly unique.

The queen didn’t make it through the night, but the prince did. King Enji didn’t grieve over his wife, but he did declare Prince Shouto to be the crown prince and heir to the throne. The kingdom rejoiced at that announcement, for they finally had a crown prince. In the midst of their celebrations, however, there was an announcement that the queen had died. And so the kingdom grieved.

The rebellion knew they had a golden opportunity, morbid as it sounded. The queen was dead, and King Enji was reportedly spending each minute with his newborn son. The third day after the announcement of the queen’s death is when they struck, taking down the palace. The only problem? King Enji had gone missing.

Enji was running frantically from the wing the flower had been stored in. The flower was gone. The flower was gone . As he’d stood in the Flower Room, utterly shocked, his mind made a connection. Rei had healed just enough to have Shouto, but she hadn’t made it past the night. She didn’t have a strong constitution, after all. And Shouto had a shock of pink hair… Wait. That association had led him to where he was currently, running across his castle.

The nursery almost passed him by, but Enji managed to grab onto the doorframe. He needed to test his theory. Quickly, he picked up his son and held him, specifically with one hand touching his hair. Enji muttered the incantation under his breath, reaching for a pair of scissors on the bedside table. In the midst of said incantation, he snipped a small lock of hair from his son’s hair, and immediately felt the rejuvenating feeling leave him. The lock was equally red and white, no longer the pink it should be. Then the explosions started.

Shouto began to cry. It was annoying. Enji looked around the room, seeing if there was anything at all useful in the area. Nothing. The crying continued, and as Enji attempted to calm his son, he heard thundering footsteps closing in on the bedroom next door. They assumed he was there. Well. Enji would just have to get out of this situation, albeit in a… Less traditional manner.

The only problem with the king’s disappearance was the disappearance of the crown prince along with him. Some assumed that both had died that night, while others thought the king had escaped, baby in tow. No one knew for sure. And along with the king and crown prince’s disappearances, the eldest prince was also gone. Ran away. Princess Fuyumi was the only member of the royal family left. And, as the only member of the royal family left, she would have become the de facto ruler, if she hadn’t declined the position out of belief that her baby brother was alive.

As leader of the rebellion, and as the previous royal advisor, Yagi Toshinori became the king regent, acting as a ruling monarch. Fair, and just. Exactly what the kingdom of Corona needed in a sovereign. And as the king regent, Yagi put a festival in place, on the birthday of the prince. Lanterns were released into the sky, to commemorate both the queen that Corona had lost, and the prince they gained.

And far off from the center of Corona, in an isolated tower, Prince Shouto watched the lights each year from his window, curious as to what they meant. They were released on his birthday, they must be special. After all, Father told him he was special, a commodity. So the lights might be for him.

And me? Well, I watched the festival of lanterns like any small child would every year, and hoping as everyone did, for the prince’s safe return. Little did I know, I’d be instrumental in that return. Me, Denki Kaminari, orphan extraordinaire.

#nerdiwrites #todokamiweek2018 #todokami #kaminari denki #todoroki shouto #bnha #the todokami tangled au that no one asked for but everyone needed #todokami tangled au

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adrenalineguide · 6 years

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Volkswagen’s Golf GTI Autobahn and Kia’s Stinger GT Limited: Bringing fun back into driving

Text and Photos by Michael Hozjan

Whether you like it or not summer is over and with it comes the fall driving season. A time of year usually reserved for amateur car rallies, a last look at a vintage car show in New England, apple picking with some wine tasting in the townships, and of course leaf peeping in the Laurentians. I usually save this time of year to bring you a roadster or two but this year I’ve had so much fun with the two sedans featured here that I just had to include them as best picks for hitting autumn’s open road. Oh and of course you can bring another couple along for the fun.

Volkswagen Golf GTI Autobahn: the original hot hatch offers more than performance.

Every once in a while I come across a car that fits me like the proverbial glove, a vehicle that just feels right. Volkswagen’s Golf GTI is one such vehicle. The original hot hatch instills sporty performance, comfort and practicality but there are a number of features that separates it from other hot hatches, first and foremost is its overall feel. It’s quality personified, German engineering at a bargain price. Plant your butt in the Recaro buckets and your thighs and ribs are cradled in a way few other cars in this price range… and for that matter many pricier cars do. The thick leather steering wheel feels like you’re in control long before you even turn the ignition on.

The GTI takes the practicality and roominess of the Golf, tosses out the 1.8L four cylinder and replaces it with a 220 horsepower 2.0L turbocharged four cylinder, ten more than last year. Even better, it pumps out a whopping 258 lb-ft of torque that peaks at a low 1500 rpm so, yes it sends you back in the seat. Cosmetically the GTI adds a more aggressive front fascia in keeping with its persona that is highlighted by its trademark red stripe on the grille, and dual exhaust. If you miss the GTI badging, red brake calipers easily set it apart from the run of the mill Golf.

Two trim levels are offered starting with the base GTI at a very reasonable $30,595 equipped with a 6-speed manual transmission and the trademark plaid seating. The upscale Autobahn starts at $35,895 My Autobahn came with the same plaid seating (thankfully) which is a no cost option over the standard leather units, and the 6-speed automatic DSG. More on this $1400 option later.

The Autobahn package replaces the base car’s 17 inch tire/wheel combo with 18 inch units, an 8.0”high rez touchscreen to support the nav, cd player and other infotainment paraphernalia that we’ve come to expect from today’s rides. It is one of the most user- friendly multimedia systems on the market. Take note Honda. An 8-speaker Fender Premium Audio System with a subwoofer is included for those times you want to listen to your favorite songs instead of the sweet melody of the powerplant. Additionally, the Autobahn buyer gets LED headlights with adaptive front lights that steer into the turn as well as a panoramic sunroof. My tester also came with the $1750 Driver Assistance Package that includes adaptive cruise, blind spot and rear traffic alert, autonomous emergency braking with pedestrian detection and park assist.

Aside from the usual audio adjustments, nav controls, the infotainment screen also lets you know how much boost the turbo is churning out and even how many g’s you’re pulling on acceleration or in a corner. OK that last one may be a little mickey-mouse.

Rear seat passengers will profit from the straight roof with ample headroom and there’s enough (22.8 cu.ft.) luggage space with the rear seats up to carry a weekend’s worth of luggage for four to your destination and 53 cubic feet with the rear bench folded. And getting to the destination is what the GTI excels in.

On the road

Now in its seventh generation, the refinements just keep coming. Drivers will appreciate the larger brakes pirated from the Golf R parts bin. I didn’t experience any brake fade through my trip in the back roads of Quebec’s Laurentians and managed to scare the heck out of a Boxster driver, that ‘s how flat this car handles. If there was a weak link, it was the all-season rubber more tuned for a family sedan than a performance car.

The 6-speed dual clutch DSG automatic is a wonderful piece of engineering with launch control that will propel you down the road faster than any manual transmission, no matter how quick your shifting skills. There’s also the ability to go through the gears manually on the steering column mounted paddles. The GTI also features four driving modes, Eco, normal, sport and custom. Switch modes and both throttle and steering input response changes. I question however why the Eco mode, which lessens throttle response to the point of blandness, and makes the steering too light, why VW would include it in a car known for performance. Besides I still managed average 7L/100km even with my spirited drives.

Electronically controlled limited slip differential helps you around the essess making an already great handler that much better.

But don’t think that for a moment the car’s performance suspension jars your spine. Even in Sport mode the GTI’s ride is comfortable, soaking up all but the biggest road imperfections.

Not all is perfect

Sadly, not all is perfect in the Land of Oz, and neither is the GTI. The sunroof in my tester had an annoying squeak and the DSG (Direct-Shift Gearbox), as good as it is, would shut the engine off at red lights. Forcing me to restart the car manually as the stop/start feature deactivated. Volkswagen is already thinking of dropping the DSG trans because of complaints of hesitation when the light turns green – something I discovered is remedied by leaving it in manual mode. Lastly the tire pressure monitoring system kicked in with an erroneous low tire warning – a common ailment.

The verdict

Tough choice between the base car and the Autobahn, but having spent a week with the Autobahn, I would have to opt for the upscale model and forego the $1400 DSG. Regular readers know I’m biased towards manuals and with a car that’s as communicative as the GTI, the manual would just be that much more seductive.

The Golf offers mature styling, combing luxury, performance and agile handling like no other hot hatch. No wonder it has such a big following. Oh and while your spouse might say no way to many performance vehicles, the GTI may just be the wolf in sheep’s clothing to get you to live your dream.

Price as tested: $39,045*

Still not enough power? There’s always the 292 horsepower all-wheel-drive Golf R…. it’s only money.

* Dealer prep and destination fees not included

Kia Stinger GT Limited: Kia’s big gamble brings big smiles

Suddenly the purveyor of sensible, economical, compact sedans and SUVs, Kia, has gone ape sh…oops, stir crazy and released a sedan that goes against everything it’s been known for and in the process released a performance sedan that I haven’t had this much fun with since my first time behind the steering wheel of Porsche’s Panamera. Ya, it’s that good.

Like the GTI, you just want to drive this car. Forget about the available 255 hp, 2.0L turbocharged four cylinder available in the base GT Line, the 3.3L twin turbo V6 mill is what your soul wants.

You might laugh when I tell you that the Stinger is touted as Korea’s answer to BMW’s 3-Series, but stay tuned and you’ll see why it’s not that insane of a claim. Penned by the same man that designed the Audi TT and the ’97 VW Golf, Peter Schreyer, the Stinger brings Teutonic design and engineering to the masses at affordable prices.

While the Stinger is available in either rear or all-wheel-drive elsewhere in the world, we Canucks only get the all-wheel-drive version. Available in three different trim levels beginning with the base GT Line which other than the 2.0L four includes Kia’s usual array of more bang for your buck - like leather seating, 18” wheels, 7” infotainment screen and a wireless phone charger for the paltry sum of $41, 895. Next up the corporate ladder is the GT adding the deliciously quick 3.3L GDI twin turbo V6, Brembo brakes, 19”Michelin performance rubber, dynamic stability control and a full-width sunroof. The GT Limited adds premium Nappa leather seating, heads up display, a 15-speaker Harman Kardon sound system, eight-inch infotainment screen with multimedia interface and nav.

Schreyer has moved up the ranks in Kia from designer to president. It’s easy to say that the Stinger is his baby and you can see his signature touches in things like the flat bottom steering wheel.

The end result is an edgy four-door grand touring sedan yet mature enough not to be mistaken for something out of a video game. There’s not a bad angle to the car but my personal favorite has to be the three quarter rear view, an angle that most other drivers will see. Schreyer’s design successfully combines luxury touches with sporty and stylish accents. Incorporating a high opening hatch to the family sedan eases access to the 23.3 cu.ft of cargo space in what otherwise would have been a miniscule trunk opening.

Sit in the cockpit and you’re surrounded by metal, leather, plastic, but it all works. Schreyer’s love of airplanes is evident with the round aviation style vents on the dash and aluminum accents. Like the Sorento I reported on a couple of months ago, the Stinger’s interior is slick. The tilt and telescopic heated steering wheel has a memory feature found in pricier cars.

Luxury accouterments include air-cooled/heated Nappa leather front seats, heated rear seats, wireless cell charging, 360 degree camera system, as well as the usual gamut of items we find in today’s cars like lane keep, Android Auto/Apple CarPlay. The Stinger has the largest front seat passenger legroom I’ve seen in a very long time – think limo rear seat. Even with the front buckets pushed all the way back, the back seat still offers the adults in the back ample legroom but headroom is tight.

The open road

We’re talking autumn drives and the Kia surprises and feeds every sense of the driving experience. Schreyer saw a vision for Kia and he brought in ex BMW M Division boss, Albert Biermann to perform his magic on the Stinger.

Mr. Biermann’s input can be seen in the adrenaline inducing performance goodies which include items that are familiar to the Bavarian marque, like big Brembo brakes, 225/40R19 Michelin performance rubber and hi-performance shocks. The Stinger GT is the company’s first car to feature a continuously adaptive suspension system.

Yes we’re not getting the rear-wheel drive car but the good news is that this all-wheel-driver is rear-wheel drive biased so you can still toss the rear out, but the awd system will kick in and transfer up to 50% of the available torque to the front wheels when the need arises, so it’ll keep you out of trouble and make you look good in front of your friends.

The 8-speed automatic (with paddle shifters mounted on the steering wheel) is one of the smoothest quick shifting trannys going. Whether your climbing a steep grade, coming down the same grade, exiting the highway or accelerating to pass a slow semi, this tranny doesn’t miss a beat.

Set the launch control and the 376 lb-ft of torque will rocket you from zero to 100km just shy of 5 seconds, that’s faster than the V6 Porsche Panamera and the heads up display will keep you informed without taking your eyes off the road. Like the GTI, the Stinger’s Sport mode offers quick acceleration and crisp handling while not sacrificing anything in terms of cabin comfort. Steering is nicely weighted and the car has a nearly 50/50 weight balance thanks to the bulk of V6 being mounted longtitudely aft of the front axle.

This thing feels like a much smaller car, its agile, crisp and light on its feet. It corners flat and takes everything that you can throw at it and comes back for more. Oh the large scoops flanking the grille and the vents behind the front wheels aren’t cosmetic, they’re open to let fresh air in and hot air to cool the big Brembos and keep fade to a minimum, not that I experienced any on my road trips.

The verdict

Affordable performance sedan isn’t an oxymoron any more. Kia has successfully managed to bring us German engineering and upped the ante for other manufacturers to give us affordable performance sedans. The affordability doesn’t end at the dealer; my fuel bill showed I averaged a very impressive 9.0L/100km with mostly highway travel.

Kia is gambling a lot on getting enthusiasts to take them as a serious performance/grand touring car company. The Stinger has won accolades from around the globe and rightfully so. Those of you who are still skeptics need only remember that it wasn’t too long ago that we never thought Toyota or Honda would be in the luxury car business going up against the likes of Mercedes. Stopping at the local shopping mall I was mauled by twenty something’s who wanted a closer look at the car.

“There’s a guy with a white one that works down the street and I saw another red yesterday.” It seems the younger generation is open minded to a Kia performance sedan and I’d be proud to have the Stinger in my driveway.

If you’re looking for driving excitement and have been visiting Acura, Audi, Lexus and Porsche dealerships, do yourself and your family a favor and run don’t walk to you Kia dealership. Oh and did I mention the …warranty.

Go ahead and book that weekend getaway in the Presidential Mountains of New England, you’ve got a great excuse to go.

Price as tested: $51,855*

*Includes freight, colour charge, and A/C tax

Oh and if you bring the kiddies to school, you’ll be the coolest mom and dad in the world pulling up in either of these rides.

#vw #vwgolf #vwgti #kia #stinger #hothatch #audi #acura #lexus #porsche #panamera

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tkmedia · 3 years

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The secret ingredient in Harlequins' title-winning transformation

4:33am, 11 July 2021 It sounds like something madcap from a science fiction movie, gum shields with state-of-the-art microchips in them relaying a whole heap of real-time data measurements about head and body collisions in matches and training, but it isn’t. Instead, Harlequins’ use of the groundbreaking PROTECHTPro system was seen as crucial in their incredible transformation from January doldrums to stunning June Gallagher Premiership champions.ADVERTISEMENTHarlequins aren’t the sole rugby users of this potentially game-changing gum shield designed by Swansea-based Sports & Wellbeing Analytics. Premiership rivals Gloucester and Leicester are also Protecht advocates as are Ospreys, the professional club that sits right on the doorstep of this sports industry disruptor. They are mid to lower table clubs where the creation of databases that can be used to decide when players should rest are yet to have the same title-winning crescendo gloriously celebrated at Twickenham a fortnight.Mike Lancaster, the head of medical services at Harlequins, and veteran scrum-half Danny Care have each spoken enthusiastically to their club’s in-house media about the invaluable data mined from the smart gum shield, but what have the champions of England done to make them so successful compared to other pioneers of this microchipped technology?

RugbyPass Fanzone on whether the Lions tour will be cancelledRichard Lancaster, who was once viewed as one of the sharpest upcoming coaches in the Welsh system when Scott Johnson was Ospreys boss, is these days head of business development and marketing at SWA and he knows well from his days in a tracksuit how tough it can be to radically change things in teams that are losing more than they are winning.That was the situation at Harlequins over the winter before the sudden exit of Paul Gustard created the perfect storm, encouraging the backroom staff to change tack and see where it might take them. “When you are losing it takes a very brave person to say well actually we are not going to do that today, we are going to do something different, we are going to give you the day off or whatever that may be,” said SWA’s Lancaster to RugbyPass.So much going on in Rugby at the moment in regard to head knocks and concussions. Fascinating to learn more about this and how this can be monitored and training adapted to help with player welfare. Have a look below @PROTECHTPro @Harlequins @mikephys https://t.co/z7QfRkOuuP— Danny Care (@dannycare) April 2, 2021“With Paul leaving when he did – and he is a fantastic coach – but when he left what it did was create a platform for the management at Harlequins, so Mike Lancaster had more of an opportunity to suggest this change and drive it. They were genuinely collaborative leaders there whereas Paul Gustard was the man. Take him away and everyone has got as much of a say in this as anyone else. That handed Mike the conditions, I suppose, to really drive this, to give it a go and be brave. There were other factors as well. There was no relegation, they were on a shot to nothing really because Paul was the accountable person and he was the one who was moved on.ADVERTISEMENT“The other guys there now at Harlequins had the opportunity to have a shot to nothing, so Mike believed in what we were doing (with the collected data), he drove it and took it probably a bit further than he probably would have been allowed to under a head of rugby.”What resulted at Harlequins due to data gleaned from the smart gum shield was that more and more players were wearing white bibs at training, the indicator for their teammates that they were not to take any contact in that session. The monitoring ultimately led to overall contacts dropping 90 per cent and coincided with a day less being spent a week on the training pitch which helped to ensure an attention-grabbing drop in the injury rate.“What we have done with Harlequins, Mike Lancaster said they had reduced contact in training by around 90 per cent but they managed to maintain match intensity. If you watched the semi-final, as it progressed Bristol fell further and further away and it was the fitness and freshness of Harlequins that carried them through. Same story against Exeter.“Quins understood where redundant contacts might happen. It could be in a game of touch, the players are travelling high velocity and if they brush against each other that is a contact. Is that the objective of what they are trying to achieve? No. Is it required? No. So they just moved stuff like that out of their training programme and in their training contact. They train at match intensity but it’s for a purpose.ADVERTISEMENT“Off the back of that at the time of the season where you historically have players out longest with season-ending injuries, they saw their injury rates being the lowest they have been for a number of years, so player availability was higher. As you know if player availability is high then you are more likely to be successful.“Rugby is a brutal sport because you are just on the treadmill. There is no breaks in it…. but Protecht allows you to find that sweet spot between making sure that they are prepared enough and proficient in technique and they can be effective in what they need to be effective in but not loading them up so much that they are likely to breakdown.”Sports & Wellbeing Analytics was founded by a small group of investors in 2016, not to make a quick buck to come up with an innovation that could genuinely aid rugby’s long-term safety. It’s taken a while to get to here from there but having now had their methods tried and tested successfully at professional level, the hope is to eventually make this product available to the grassroots at a price equivalent to the cost of a good pair of boots.

“Why the company was set up is we want the sport to be around in 20 or 30 or 50 years. Our original investors are rugby people,” continued Lancaster, who retired from playing in his early 20s with a knee injury and has since coached at Mumbles, Swansea Uni, Ospreys age-grade and Swansea.“What they wanted to do was take cutting edge science and technology and apply it to problems, and the biggest problem at the time in rugby was player welfare and concussion. They hoped to collect data around head impacts and understand the cause of concussion and that is where the journey started.“They found very quickly there was nothing on the market that was accurate and reliable. There were neck patches that the Saracens guys had worn, headbands and a few other things out there. GPS can understand what happens in contact as well but the biggest challenge of that is reliability.“There is so much independent movement that you are not actually measuring what is happening to the head and the skull and so we found the only way to do that was couple something to the skull. The next-best thing was to couple a mouthguard to the individual and from there we have seen what is happening to the head.“We went through a huge validation process, firstly at Swansea University and latterly with Stanford University that have confirmed what we say is happening in contact is actually happening. This genuinely is something that helps make the game safer and we’re hoping these mouth guards can provide reassurance to parents, to players that just isn’t there at the moment.Really pleased to be working with @Harlequins and supporting their safe return to play following the COVID lockdown #playerwelfare https://t.co/81fqCE9kz5— PROTECHT (@PROTECHTPro) June 25, 2020“We suspect a lot of the issues lower down the grassroots, because you haven’t got 120kgs professional athletes running into each other and creating a big collision, the more dangerous ones are poor technique and timing, things like that. When you understand where the biggest risk of head injury and suggest different ways of training or different techniques, it can generally be safer at that level.“It is such an ambiguous concept. The way elite professional clubs would have reported contact would be they might say a player hit 20 rucks in a game, but no two rucks are the same. You might be flying in from ten metres to one ruck and be just running up and touching another ruck but they would be put in the same bucket and that doesn’t tell the story of what is happening.“So that is the journey we took. We started to quantify the contact demands, the number of contacts they were making and the intensity of those contacts with Ospreys and then very quickly we shifted into Harlequins, Gloucester, Leicester. We have done some work with Bristol Bears ladies, more recently Harlequins ladies, some work with Salford and Toronto rugby league and are about to kick off with St Helens.“We are also looking at some boxing stuff, have done Premiership League football pilots and where we are able to provide real value is by not only showing what is happening to a player but also giving coaches and athletes a way to better manage that in training.“We know 95 per cent of what happens in a match are your typical things you train for and it’s the five per cent incidents which are the accidents, a knee to a head, someone gets their tackle technique incorrect. Those are things you don’t train for and what we want to make sure is this other five per cent of incidents are seen.”How are we ensuring the safety of our players?We have teamed up with @PROTECHTPro and @OPROMouthguards to monitor player collisions in real time. #COYQ @MJHudsonCorp pic.twitter.com/Ndxtlaks9D— Harlequins Women ? (@HarlequinsWomen) May 26, 2021Has Lancaster a telling example? “One of the worst we have seen is a player carried into contact, it was really innocuous. A No8 carrying into a tackle and went down quite easily and the ball was played away. Nothing happened but we saw a huge impact in that data so we looked at it frame by frame and what actually happened is one of his own teammates arrived and kneed him square in the head when he was in that ruck.“Nobody saw it whereas our technology will pick that up and rely it to the medics to ensure things don’t go unseen because in incidents like that you do want to help, to take the decision away from the player. It has got to be the experts because the player will always want to play on.”The smart mouthguard idea isn’t only confined to the UK. World Rugby are currently involved in a University of Otago study regarding head impacts, but the governing body knows what SWA are up in connection with OPRO, the mouth guard manufacturers they partnered with in 2019.“We have talked to World Rugby on the journey. First of all we have to seek their approval for this to be used in competition. They said this is an area where they can shed light and they are very supportive. All the conversations we have are hugely positive. I haven’t had a conversation where someone where someone said, ‘Look, this isn’t of interest to us’.“It is our ambition that this should be rolled right across the English Premiership and into other leagues as well internationally but it is also on our roadmap that this will eventually get into the grassroots in sport as well, providing that reassurance for parents, teachers and coaches about what is happening.”ICYMI @PROTECHTPro featured on last nights @BBCTheOneShow with @Phil_Vickery talking to players from @gloucesterrugby and @BristolBearsW about how the technology is helping to make the game saferYou can watch the segment here ?? https://t.co/o8BRpWTl8z— PROTECHT (@PROTECHTPro) March 26, 2021For Lancaster, who left a head of sport and corporate engagement role at Swansea University for SWA, that would be a development to savour. “I’m incredibly lucky. I didn’t play at the very highest level, had to retire at a very early age, but I owe my livelihood to rugby. I was very lucky because I coached with the likes of Steve Tandy at Bridgend, the likes of Mike Ruddock and guys at the Ospreys.“I don’t think I was ever going to be good enough to go to the very highest level. It’s such a thankless job, coaching, so I just felt that joining SWA, I feel like I can make far more impact for the sport. I feel like we genuinely can make the game safer, we genuinely can transform rugby and take it to the next level.“I genuinely believe this is something that is going to help change the game in a good way and hopefully helps secure the future of the game at well. It’s sad that we see numbers declining in rugby at the moment. A lot of that would be down to safety concerns from parents and this is something that can definitely help secure the future.“I played in the same generation as Alix Popham. His story is tragic. I’m still in contact with Alix. He says he wishes this technology had been around in his day as it might have helped in some way. Danny Care said a similar thing, he wants this to be around for his kids. That is the big difference that this can make.”We are delighted to be teaming up with the @premierleague to support their efforts to better understand, monitor and manage head impacts within football https://t.co/SUYA3mPdCn— PROTECHT (@PROTECHTPro) March 26, 2021

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icelovesfire · 7 years

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zenmasters week 2017 ** day 7 - alternate season 8

This was a dismal, unfeeling place, he thought with a glare. Sometimes people got good news behind those doors, but more often than not, they learned their stable world was suddenly off its axis and everything they had cared about only mere hours earlier was now meaningless. And his chick was behind those doors.

Or, well, his former chick, he reckoned. He knew she hadn’t slept with Kelso - the man in question would’ve gloated about it to him nonstop if he had, instead of the continuous string of denials that he had heard on replay for a month, until he successfully shut Kelso up. But they hadn’t been in a good place even before he stormed out of that shitty motel, thinking his girl cheated, chased down Kelso, got drunk and drove to Vegas - on the way to Vegas, anyway, as there’d been a major car pileup blocking the highway and he turned back around to sleep the night off in Kenosha.

He wished he could do it over, reverse the El Camino, walk back into her motel room, leave before Kelso came in and decided it was a great time for a burn - moron. Or, better yet, rewind further and stop her before she even left Point Place. But how could he? A. He was pissed at her for throwing him that damn ultimatum, B. He was pissed at her for making him think she left when she’d been hiding in the basement all that time and C. He always knew she deserved better than being stuck in a shithole like Point Place, Wisconsin, and he wasn’t about to ask her to give up her golden opportunity, especially not for him.

He looked up briefly as the doors swung open, unconcerned as he knew it wouldn’t be for them. He was shocked to see that a beaming Kitty Forman was running over to their group, waving around and shouting excitedly, a doctor at her heels.

“She’s awake! Jackie’s finally awake!“

He felt his heart constrict and his throat go dry. Jackie had been in the hospital for almost three months since the accident - the doctors said she was lucky to have lived at all. Kelso was much luckier; he’d gotten a few broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, landing himself in a hospital bed for a week, not that Kelso was complaining much when a certain gorgeous brunette stayed by his side to nurse him back to health - the same brunette the goof was already thinking of proposing to.

He blamed himself, if he was honest. Kelso hadn’t wanted to spill at first, but he’d managed to pry it out of him that Jackie insisted her ex-boyfriend take her back to Point Place immediately so she could explain what he was doing in her room half-naked with only a towel and a bucket of ice. They hadn’t counted on the icy road in-between Chicago and Point Place, or the drunk asshole careening around the shoulder. And they certainly hadn’t planned on the road trip cut short, or returning to Wisconsin on gurneys.

He knew now what Jackie had hoped to explain. Kelso had driven to Brooke’s place, seen her with another guy (who turned out to be Betsy’s teenage babysitter that Brooke was writing down a phone number for; Kelso was really such a moron,) drove to Jackie’s motel room for a comforting shoulder (he’d clearly forgotten his fling with Angie already) and saw the El Camino when he returned from the ice machine after spilling ice down his front and swiping a towel from a nearby laundry cart. And then Kelso had decided to burn him by pretending he and Jackie were about to have sex. Idiot. Worse, he had fallen for it. Who knew what could’ve happened if he’d made it to Vegas that night?

“She’s awake?!” asked his redhead best friend as she jumped to her feet. Donna had ditched the blonde hairdo when she started college in Madison last month, saying she wanted to concentrate on her studies instead of try to keep her coloring intact. Apparently, being a blonde was a lot of hard work.

“Yes! She’s awake!” Kitty said, smiling at all of them.

“Can we see her?” Fez asked, stuffing his half-eaten Milky Way into his back pocket in his excitement.

“You can,” Kitty nodded, “but only a few at a time.” She hesitated.

“Kitty, what’s wrong?” her husband asked, frowning.

“Nothing, nothing,” she assured. “Well, maybe something. Jackie might be a bit…off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fez asked before he could voice the question.

“She seems to be a tad bit mixed-up.“

“What?” Donna asked, with a frown of her own. “What do you mean?“

"Well,” Kitty said, grasping for the right words, “the doctor asked all the normal questions they ask when a coma patient wakes up and she had…well, frankly, weird responses."

"Miss Kitty,” Fez said, “Weird how?”

She shot a look in her son’s direction. “He asked her the year and she said 1980."

He balked. There were still several months until 1980, and three months ago, it’d been an even longer duration. How did she get 1980?

"There’s another thing,” Kitty said, turning to Donna. “Have you been seeing anyone since my son left?"

"What?” Donna asked, startled. “Of course not. I could never move on from Eric that quickly, and I’ve been spending all my time studying."

Kitty smiled. "Oh, good. Just checking."

"Why?” the woman who had nearly become her daughter-in-law asked.

“Jackie was asking for a Ryan - no, Roger - oh, Randy! That’s right, a Randy Pearson? She said you were dating him, but had just broken it off."

"Randy Pearson?” Donna asked. “Isn’t that the guy who’s more obsessed with his hair than Kelso is?"

"Hey!” Kelso said. “No one’s more obsessed with their hair than I am.”

“Hyde, wasn’t that Randy guy in the store the other day?“ his sister asked.

He nodded. "He keeps coming into the store, pretending he knows all about music, but then goes in the corner and listens to the Styx all day. He thinks he’s funny, but he really isn’t."

"I’m definitely not dating that guy, nor have I ever,” Donna told the woman who she knew would one day become her mother-in-law.

“Glad to hear it,” Kitty said.

“Although you deserve better than Eric,” her husband said.

“Hush, Red,” Kitty replied. "Charlie, she thinks you’re dead,” she continued, as tactfully as one could be when informing someone that another person had dreamt up their death.

“Dead?” Charlie asked. “The only dead I’ll be is when Dad figures out what happened in his warehouse. Then I’ll definitely be dead.”

“What happened in the warehouse?” Red asked.

“Nothing,” Charlie said.

“Can we see her now?” Fez asked again.

“You can, but…she’s made a few strange requests."

"Well I’ll see you all later,” Donna said, heading in the direction of her best friend.

“Not you, Donna, sorry, dear. She specifically doesn’t want you."

"What?” Donna asked, clearly upset.

“She says and I quote, ‘that lumberjack chose the stripper skank over me!’”

“The who?” Donna asked.

Kitty looked uncomfortable, but continued. “Michael, she said you can come in, as long as you don’t propose to her again."

Kelso’s eyes widened as he vigorously shook his head and frantically explained to his girlfriend that he never proposed to Jackie.

"It’s true. He hasn’t,” Fez said.

“Red, she would like to see you, and you too, Bob. And her boyfriend…” Kitty trailed off, trying to figure out exactly what to say next.

He made a move toward the door, before Kitty stopped him with an apologetic look.

“Not you, Steven, sorry. She’s rather angry with you, I’m afraid."

Well, he probably deserved that.

"But I’m pretty sure I would know if you had run off to Vegas and married a stripper."

Now it was his turn to be shocked. "Wait, what?"

"That must be the stripper skank she thinks I chose over her,” Donna said, slightly less confused, but only slightly.

“But you said her boyfriend could go in,” he told his surrogate mom.

“Right. That. Erm - you see - her boyfriend is allowed in - Fez.”

He swiveled to glare at his foreign friend. “What the hell, man?! Jackie cheated on me with you?"

Fez held his hands up in surrender. "All that time in bed has made her crazy! The most action I’ve ever gotten from Jackie is that time she ate popcorn off my lap so I kissed her!"

"I oughta kick your ass for that,” Donna murmured.

He tried to keep his calm exterior. “Then why the hell is my girlfriend asking for her boyfriend who she claims is you?"

"I’m telling you, it’s all that bed rest!” Fez said.

Angie looked at her brother. “Well, you didn’t leave her on the best of terms."

He glowered. "So she makes up some fantasy in her head about dating Fez?”

“To be fair, she probably couldn’t control her dreams while she was in a coma,” Brooke said.

“Well, she’s not in a coma anymore,” Fez said. “I’m going in there and straightening this out."

"Like hell you are,” he said, blocking Fez’s way. “But I will.”

#70sedit #hyde x jackie #zmweek17 #that 70's show #zenmasters #*amat #amat: series #amat: primetime #amat: 70s #amat: ships #amat: otps #amat: zenmasters #stories #btz

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radasadam · 4 years

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A long story about some people I used to know

We were young. It was a few days before my seventeenth birthday and I was living away from home with a mate from high school, D, working a job I thought was my passion. I had an old friend over one night, M, and she asked if it would be cool if a couple of her friends stopped by. “Sure! Why not?!” I said with glee, being able to make these decisions myself now.

An hour rolls by and all of a sudden there’s someone attempting to reverse park into my carport. Perplexed, we go outside, look over the small balcony and around the corner are two people, whom I could only describe as “young punks” are getting out a black ford escape with bright pink license plates.

“This is B and H!” M said with a demeanor as if she introducing two minor celebrities.

“Did you see that sick park job I did, first go!” B said with excitement. It wasn’t the first go, we saw her reverse in and out a few times, but M had told me she only had her license for two weeks, so we weren’t about to dim that shine. “What up, dude” says H, as if we’d met before.

M introduces D and I, we all exchange casual pleasantries and B, H, M and I spark a cigarette. D doesn’t smoke but he enjoys the banter of the smoke circle. One after another we awkwardly look for an ashtray, I grab the butt bucket and we all take a last drag, put out our smoke and head inside.

“We got you a birthday present!” yells B, having just remembered. She goes back out to the car and comes back in with a half melted soft serve cone from McDonald’s. “Happy birthday!” B and H say in unison.

I look at it for a second, look up at M, she’s holding back laughter. “I’m lactose intolerant” I say with a chuckle. B and H look at each other and we all burst out in hysterics. D, a bigger lad, swoops in and chomps it out of my hand in one bite, relieving me of dripping awkward mess that was an impromptu birthday gift. I thank them profusely as to not insult their gift, though they aren’t fazed either way.

We talk for a while, M spends an hour talking about all the cool things that B and H do and have done. Trying to cement the fact that these are two cool cats. I wasn’t sure why she did this, they were making the case all on their own. That’s just kind of what she did though, as if surrounding herself with the ‘cool’ people would make her seem more interesting. M was lovely, a bit misguided but great nonetheless.

D has been playing xbox for most of this, so the rest of us moved to the balcony so we could smoke, because there’s nothing cooler in the eyes of teenagers trying to rebel than chain smoking, even if it hurt. M is asthmatic, but battles her labored breath to keep looking 'cool’ with us. H is smoking perfectly hand rolled cigarettes, something I admired as I couldn’t roll a cigarette to save my life. B smokes hybrid cigarettes, I hadn’t seen these before but my interest drops when I realize they’re menthol.

H brings up pot, because he’s heading to his brothers to smoke with him after this. B asks why he doesn’t just stay at her house, she has bud at home. H lists a few reasons I can’t remember and makes it clear he’s going to his brothers. B seems a little disappointed and shifts focus to me. “Have you smoked before?” I had only smoked pot once, a few months back but wanting to fit in, I say “Yeah! Heaps of times!” obviously lying, but no one calls me on it. “We should smoke some time” B and H reply, both with a look that says they’ll show me the ropes.

It hits 9pm and provisional driving curfews, that mean no passengers in your car, start at 10pm. B, not wanting to lose her recently obtained license, says to H that they had better go. M says she should head off too. Her grandmother, who she lives with, will kill her if she’s out past 10 again. We all spark one last smoke and say our goodbyes. “We should hang out soon” says B as they roll out of the carport “Later dude” adds H. M asks what I thought of them as I walk her to her car. “They’re rad, we should chill again” I say in a tone I thought I conveyed as relaxed but came off desperate. M picks up on this and with a smile says she’ll organise something, gets in her car and drives off. I head back to the house and D has already gone to bed, so I head off to my room and do the same. My head hits the pillow and I think to myself “These are people I want, no, need in my sheltered life”.

It’s been about a week, I’ve turned seventeen and I’m walking aimlessly through the shopping centre, looking for something to do on Tuesday. As a chef, my weekend was Tuesday-Wednesday and I was trying to make the most of it. I head upstairs to go see what movies are on and as I’m passing the boost juice counter I hear a “Hey dude!” I look around, wondering if that was directed at me. Then I see them, B and H, they’re waiting in line for their drink at boost, H knows the girl behind the counter and is talking to her. B, looking annoyed, had grabbed my attention and starts a conversation with me. After chatting with B for a minute, H walks over with their drinks. “What up, dude” H mutters through his straw. I have a generic reply because for some reason I’m now nervous. We go out to the stairs next to the cinema and have a cigarette. B asks what I’m doing at the plaza and I explain my search for a fulfilling ‘weekend’. B gets it because she works as a hairdresser and understands odd days off. She invites me to come back to her place with H and we can all “smoke up” When I say I wouldn’t be able to get home she even invites me to stay the night. I agree with excitement, in part because I’ll have something to do this weekend, because I’m making new friends and holy cow, I’m going to smoke pot for the second time. My now seventeen year old mind is going wild with expectations. I mention if M will come over too and they both snicker a little bit. “Nah” B replies while looking at H. I didn’t read into it and followed them to B’s car and off we went. B and H have been friends for years, grew up together I felt nervous as an almost third wheel, their chemistry was strong and something I strived to have with someone.

We get to B’s house and start heading down a long drive way. I let out an awe as we pass through the second set of gates and I see a massive house on acres of land with horses in a paddock with a huge body of water. I complement B’s home and she replies ever so casually “Oh that’s the main house, mines out back” as we drive around it. In shock, I ask if she rents or something and B explains that the main house is where her mum, J, lives and she has her own flat out the back then points out yet another dwelling in the distance where a man privately rented from her mum, but doesn’t elaborate.

We park in the carport adjacent to her flat, hop out of the car and walk into the courtyard. “B! H!” J yells out in a loving tone from the window clad walkway that connected the houses. “Hey mum! This is A” B says as we enter. J welcomes us all with a hug, H gives her a kiss on the cheek as if he is her son. Warm, I felt warm and welcome. We all take a seat in the cosy walkway, I complement J and B on their home and they give me a verbal tour. J leave us and heads into the main house, B, H and I make our way into B’s flat.

There are band posters and childhood artworks on the walls, instruments and amplifiers scattered and a snow board leaning up against the far wall. The room couldn’t have looked cooler in my teenage eyes. It’s getting dark and after a few cigarettes and shared anecdotes, H gestures to B and she gets up, walks through a curtain dividing the lounge room from the rest of the flat and comes back with what looked to be a water bottle and a Tupperware container. Now seeing the small length of garden hose popping out of the water bottle, it clicks and anxiety kicks in. I had only smoked a joint before and had no idea how to smoke a bong. I played it cool and just watched what they did and tried to guess the rest. It was my turn now and without asking, B had packed a cone for me, relieving me of the stress of how much to pack. At this point B and H must know that I had over played my experience because I just tried to pull a cone as one would draw on a cigarette. Pulling into my mouth, then inhaling, only being able to do it bit by bit. The jig was up as H starts laughing, B following suit. They don’t call me out though, H just starts slowly doing the motions as he smokes his next cone, I get it now, I think. It’s my turn again and I successfully pull and inhale simultaneously, finishing the cone in one go, then promptly coughing my lungs up, we all laugh.

We have another one a few minutes pass and it starts to kick in. I, nervous in my inexperience, try not to freak out as a full body high slowly moves up me. I’ve never felt this before, a wondrous euphoria crashing over my body again and again. B and H show me affection over the next few hours, affection I hadn’t truly felt before, with or without drugs. Here are two people that don’t care what I am, but rather who I am. Sharing this experience, making sure that I’m comfortable, hydrated and laughing. I won’t forget this, I couldn’t forget this. I realise that B and H, only having known them for a week, are the friends I had always longed for in my dark and confusing teen years, relative to me only being seventeen. I feel content for the first time, knowing that my life has just changed.

What followed was two years of pure friendship. High highs and low lows, no pun intended. Road trips and nights in, new additions and sour farewells. We would bicker like children and plan our lives as adults. Share all of our vulnerabilities and revel in each other’s success. Creating memories that will never fade and forgiving each other’s transgressions. I now live as a new person, feeling reborn as I experienced why, as humans, we are social. I soon come out of the closet to B, then H and am offered nothing but support, normalcy and unchanged friendship. Memories to last a life time. Bliss.

It’s now my third year with these wonderful people and only a few months later, what I felt was going to last forever, is now starting to slide from my grip. I lose the passion for my work and am let go, recoiled back into my childhood home. H has met new friends and is farther away now, we see him less and less. B is searching for a path, her mother’s health starts to deteriorate and needs B more now. B is conflicted, she now has to consider J in her life choices. J becomes less warm, she changes ever so slightly, day by day. B’s light is dim. M has taken time away from us, and us away from her. She lives a different life now, but we will see her again in the future.

We go through months of unknowing and uncertainty, desperately clasping at anything that will give us the feelings we just recently lost. Not sharing that we felt differently, but rather tried to masquerade our sadness of the situation with smiling faces. Were we just growing up?

H talks to us less and less until one day he stops, stops replying, stops answering, until he stops being in our everyday thoughts. I still don’t know what happened. Did we do something wrong or did he outgrow us? Did we not share the same interests anymore? Confusion. I say goodbye to him in my head and just remember the good times, just remember the good times A.

I have an opportunity, after months of unemployment. My sister in law offers me a new start with her company. It requires me to move to another state. I, thinking all I need is a sea change, accept without hesitation, without consulting B. When did I start doing that? I wouldn’t change cigarette brands without consulting them in the past. It hits me, we’ve grown out of the day dream that was our life for two years. Does this mean growing apart?

I leave. Days after making the announcement. Thinking that this may close that chapter and I will have to find this kind of love all over again. B and I don’t grow apart though. We call each other every day and if we miss a day, our conversation is just longer the next. We live in each other’s lives like we did before, not making the smallest of decision without talking to eachother first. This is working, were still friends and we’re still growing. I fly down to see her and she flies up to see me, we’re making it work. These feelings are still available, still obtainable, and did we ever lose them? Or did we just need to change how we sought them out. We’ve evolved in a way. B and I are in new careers, we’ve got passion and drive behind us that we haven’t felt before. We’re getting promotions, making new friends, and having different experiences but we’re telling each other every detail along the way, our bond is only growing stronger.

It’s been two years now, two years away from where I grew up and I’m coming home. I call B with the news and she’s ecstatic! I say goodbye to my new friends, knowing I may never see them again. I pack my car, D, who has remained only a message or call away through my time away, flies up to me and we share the drive down. We enjoy catching up after not seeing each other for two years and I realise that our friendship hasn’t changed, we slot straight back in. Experiencing that rekindling only makes me more impatient to get to B.

We arrive at D’s house after driving for 18 hours on day two. I thank him and hug him tightly, knowing our friendship is unique, swearing to myself that he’ll be a part of my life forever. I drive a few streets away to my childhood home, I greet my parents with affection and caffeinate my tired mind. I get back in the car, only a 40 minute drive now. It’s almost 10pm and I have a job interview the next day, but I’m on my way. I had organised with B to move into her flat when I came back, knowing that we needed to be together 24/7 for a while to make up for the two years apart.

I’m driving slowly down the long drive way and at the end, through the second set of gates, illuminated by the moon and some solar lights dangling on the wall behind her is B. She is practically bouncing with her hands over her mouth. A look I knew was excitement and anticipation. I leap out of the car, straight over to her and we give each other a hug that tells one another ‘We’re home now’.

B introduces me to HG, her new boyfriend. He seems great! The perfect mix of punk and hipster. I couldn’t be happier, because from our brief interaction I could tell he would fit in. I have a moment of reflection. Is this how M felt when she introduced me to B and H? Not that I had introduced them, but rather the feeling that someone fits. M is back on the scene, and she’s had a baby! She’s moved into the cottage in the distance with her partner.

I slot into a part time job and bide my time before moving into yet another new career, expanding on my experience up north. I feel good and have the same drive, B, HG and I are even working in the same shopping centre now. Meeting for a cigarette in between our stores almost every day.

HG and I bond in a weird but wholesome way. We share interests and hobbies that he doesn’t with B. Balance. I felt I helped him fall in love with B by sharing all of the ways I love her and how she’s changed my life. I share with B how HG and I have bonded, and the ways he loves her without her realising. B, HG and I share new experiences together. This feels familiar, this feels like years ago, this feels dangerous. Am I reliving those old days? Am I trying to hard? Will I ruin this if I try to repeat old behaviours? Anxiety. M moves out, she crossed J in a way I’m still not fully aware of, I don’t understand, but I don’t ask too many questions. I regretfully get on board the hate train. I justified it somehow, I didn’t feel bad about it in the moment. I do now.

B is striving, she’s stressed but somehow uses it to her advantage, and I admire this. HG just lost his job. He doesn’t work in the centre anymore and suddenly B and I aren’t meeting for cigarettes as frequently. Was she only making the time for him? I stop thinking this way when it becomes clear her job just doesn’t allow it anymore. I feel concerned. B is working herself too hard. The things she used to do to advance in her role aren’t being recognized anymore, she’s deflating. Losing the passion. No. Not again. Is this all breaking apart? This is where it started to fall last time, is the role just reversed?

I was wrong. We’d been through something in the past, sure, but this wasn’t a repeat. She’s stronger now than I was back then, wiser. She makes a move onto a different path, starting at the bottom again. She has the drive, the passion, it never left her. What was I worried about?

B has a long commute now, almost 2 hours. It’s her dream job though and she doesn’t let it sway her. I realise she’s powerful in her will, a lot stronger than I could ever or will ever be. I start to feel resentment for the first time. I hate it. I don’t resent her, but myself. Because I now know that it was my lack of will that derailed us all those years ago. I start to spiral.

HG is in and out of work, he just can’t land something he can be passionate about and I feel his pain. He feels inadequate compared to B, we share that feeling but we don’t know how to tell each other let alone B, who just transferred to a store close by. Her hard work paid off, quickly. HG and I start to bond in a new and unhealthy way, smoking weed. I find myself buying and smoking more, HG buys when he can but is always asking for some. I worry when stuff around the house goes missing, just before he buys. It’s just a coincidence, he wouldn’t, I tell myself.

It’s late in the year now, close to my 21st birthday. HG has been living in B’s room for a while, we didn’t really notice when he moved in though, it just kind of happened over a few weeks of him staying every night, to him bringing his stuff over, to HG being home when B or I weren’t. It feels right though, so I don’t read into it, they must have talked about it without me, no stress.

I’m moving along in life the same as I have since getting back. I’m good but I’m dealing with new feelings and new guilt about past choices, and how I can’t change, giving into my own apathy. Depression. D peeks his head in, asks if I want to move out again with him. Yes! That sound great, but we can’t really afford a place in our area, so we ask J if we can rent the cottage in the distance. She loves the idea as she needs the extra cash. Done! D and I move into the cottage. This feels good, B and HG have their space to grow as a couple, we all live together on this almost commune and it’s great. I even get a dog!

The dog brings a new meaning into my life, suddenly I’m working harder. I’m concerned for him while I’m gone though, so I set up a camera or two to watch him while I’m at work. It records everything while I’m gone and I can watch him on a live feed. Tops!

J isn’t doing great, or so it seemed health wise. But it’s odd this time. I start contemplating J’s relationship with B. I’d always stayed out of arguments between them, been a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen, but now some things aren’t adding up. We all knew of J’s injury years ago, but never questioned the symptoms that would sporadically arise.

A few months pass, B is still striving, she even got a promotion, HG is out of work again, D is happy with his new privacy away from his parents and little sister, J has some extra income now and I’m well too. J is showing concern about HG all of a sudden when I mention misplacing some things, J talks to me about things that she feels she can’t say to B about HG. J has always confined in me in the past. Usually about random things she doesn’t want to bother B about, but this was different. I kept it between us all the same and just kept my eyes a bit wider.

J would need help sometimes and we were all too happy to help, her being like a second mother to me and always referring to her as such. This changes though. During my time living with J and B, then later HG and D, her requests were getting more and more, for a lack of better words, mundane. Suddenly I realise J has been playing up her disability, in order for us to do things she just didn’t feel like doing. I realised B had made decisions in life based on J’s disability when she hadn’t need to. B was blind to J’s manipulation. The straw that broke the camel’s back in my mind was when B spent days waiting on J in her bed, because she was apparently bed ridden, we all took pity and did whatever she would ask, from simple things like getting her a cup of tea, to helping her go to the bathroom. In the morning before work, in the middle of a bed rest period, I head up to J’s room, to see if she needs anything because everyone had left already. J is crying in ‘pain’ and asks if I have any weed. I say I don’t, because I don’t. I get her some tea, some Panadol, wish her a better day and leave for work, as I was already running late. Now, a week after talking with J that morning, I started noticing odd things again. Things are going missing, but this time out of the cottage. It was a game controller here, a game there, some pot if I left it out, all signs pointed to HG, Because J had pointed it out to me. I let it slide for a few more days. Then money went missing. The rent that D and I pay to J, we put into a specific spot in the kitchen, because sometimes we would get in late and J would be asleep. With us gone the next day, J would just go to the spot and collect the rent instead of waiting until the next afternoon.

One day, J asked if we were struggling or something. I was confused and asked why she thought that. J mentioned that the rent was $100 short. Thinking I had just miss counted, I gave her another $100 out of pocket. So the next week, I counted with D, then counted again at the spot to confirm. All there, all good. J messages me at work the next day “$150 short this time, sure you guys are okay?” I lose it, but say it must be a miscount and give her the difference when I get home. I’ll confront HG afterwards. HG isn’t home though, but B and I have a talk when she gets home, not about the situation, but that HG had been accused of selling games and odd electronics at his old job, that his friends had left in his car. HG denied it and B believed him, I think.

I have an idea. I can’t prove if HG had stolen money from the spot or if J was scamming me and I don’t want to confront anyone without evidence, but I’ve had cameras in the cottage watching the dog for weeks. All backing up to my laptop. I start going through the footage after work one day, looking at days I’ve noticed things missing and see what I’m after. HG coming into the cottage while D and I are at work and going through our rooms, taking odd things, eating our food and sitting down in my room, smoking my weed. Here’s where it gets worse. I see J come into frame after scrubbing to a new day’s footage. The morning J claimed she was in too much pain to get out of bed, let alone get herself a cup of tea. I could see her going through my belonging, snooping, I thought to myself, how could someone act that way to my face, then enter my flat at a panthers pace the moment I left. J starts running around my bedroom, putting her fingers through empty weed baggies. Now I know why she was in there. I’m livid, I couldn’t believe that J had done this, I was ready to oust HG but I wasn’t prepared for what J had done. Had she only been saying we were short and pocketing the extra cash?

D said he wasn’t missing anything, but we decide to move out nonetheless. He is going back to his parents, but I didn’t know what I was going to do.

I arm myself with all of the footage, ready to confront HG and J. However I’m conflicted. B has been telling me of the trouble her and HG were going through. J was up for an operation, and things were seemed to be falling apart around B. What do I do? Wait to see if B breaks up with HG, so that he’ll be gone and I won’t have to add salt to the injury? Or Give this as a reason to break up with him? I didn’t know what to expect once B had this information. What do I do about J? B couldn’t lose HG, J and have me move at the same time, would B even want me to confront J about it? I decide to wait but made sure J was aware I was taking down my cameras and mentioned the fun ill have looking through the weird times I had in the cottage. Her eyes widen but I don’t give any more details. D and I tell everyone we are moving out, I find a room with some old friends from high school and we make plans.

Dylan has been gone for a few days now and things are deteriorating. I leave, thinking that I can just keep this information to myself, and after a few weeks, I can reassess. A week after moving into the new house, in the city now. I woke up to a house of 3 old mates and the feeling of a fresh new start in a different area. I can bring B into this life soon enough, away from these people that were tearing her in different directions. J, making B feel guilty about things out of B’s control, manipulating B into making decisions that only benefited J. Away from HG, who had reverted into a bong rat with no aspirations.

Then my phone rings. It’s B, I answer “Hey Bitch!” thinking it’s going to be a fun recap of the day before and the night I had had. “A” B barley manages to speak in a small voice “HG just broke up with me” B crackles through tears. B walks me through what happened while bawling her eyes out. I could hear the pain and confusion in her voice. “I don’t know what to do” B belts out a as she loses what little composure she has left. I couldn’t blame her, although they had problems she wanted to fight, she had a type of burning love for him that would start a fire under water. I guess I never stopped to see if HG’s love for B was the same.

It hit me. I was going to keep quiet for now. I don’t want to unload this information on B now because it would just make her pain worse, and if he came back into her life, maybe I would re-consider. As for J, I knew it could wait. I had made commitments I couldn’t get out of that night, but told B I would be there the very next morning. We stayed on the phone for about an hour while I listened to her proverbially bleed out. She wasn’t going to work, her friends there understood the severity and insisted she stay home for a few days.

Its night now when my phone rings again, an unknown number, I chose to ignore it. However it kept ringing. After the 3rd ring, on the 4th I decide to answer and to my surprise, it was J. I let my guard down thinking it was concern for B and ask “What’s up?” in an upbeat tone. But my tone isn’t matched. She starts digging into me.

“I hope you’re happy!” “This is all your fault!” “Who do you think you are?!” “You caused this!” “How can you live with yourself after this?” “What are you going to do about it?!” J belts out, practically in one breath. I pause and think “Does she think she’ talking to HG?” I interrupt to say “J, it’s A, are you okay, what’s going on?”

“I know it’s you, A! I’m not stupid! What the fuck have you done?” J screams, takes a breath and continues “You think you can just leave and nothing will change? B is a wreck and it’s all your fault!” I’m confused at this point and ask “What does me moving out have anything to do with B and HG breaking up? I talked to her just a few hours ago and I’m coming over in the morning” “Don’t you dare! You’ve done enough! Don’t dare come back to this house, you’re as bad as M! Just come and go as you please, walking all over us!” J replies, then hangs up. This just confuses me even more. What has any of this got to do with M?! And why is J calling me, blaming me for B and HG breaking up? At this point, I had excused myself from the dinner I was attending. I have a quick cigarette, contemplate calling B but decide to just head back inside the restaurant. I’ll call her on the way home.

Its 10 pm, two hours after J’s call. I’m racking my brain for reasons why I could be to blame for all of this. But in the end, I reluctantly give B a stupid excuse I regret, to reschedule our day tomorrow. The nest day I wake up to message after message of abuse from J, mixed in were messages from B. I reply to B but decide I can’t go back to that house, and make more bad excuses.

Days had passed now and I felt that B knew I wasn’t coming. I felt terrible, absolutely terrible, but how in the world could I tell B that J was the reason I wasn’t coming? I invite her to my new house, but she declines. She wants to stay in bed, and after all I should be making the effort here, not her. What am I supposed to do? J is in the back ground of B and I’s phone calls, asking for me and how I am, when am I coming to do this and that but I was still getting text messages saying “You left me high and dry! Without your rent I’m going to starve! You didn’t give me enough notice and now you owe me X amount of money!” “Come get the shit you left behind!” followed by “Don’t think you can ever step foot around my house or B ever again!” “Fuck off you c**t!”

I screen shot all of this and was ready to end J’s way of life and get B out of there when I realised. B wouldn’t do that. She would defend her mother until her last breath. No matter what I said, or showed, it could somehow be turned back on me. I talk myself out of doing this on multiple occasions.

In the end I decide I can’t do anything. Now I see myself turning into H. Not replying, not answering and eventually, sure enough, I’ll be out of their everyday thoughts. It’s now when I start contemplating the friends B and I lost. Was it some variation of this situation that caused them to exit our lives? Maybe.

Time kept passing and days kept going by, months now. I missed talking to B every day, I felt something missing from my life. Until other things took over. I was packing up the room I was living in, we were moving to a new house. When I saw a Polaroid of B sitting on her bed, with the purple wall behind her with her hand on her face like she’d always do when I tried to take a photo of her with no makeup on. I cried. It was too late now. I couldn’t call her, I couldn’t message her. The person I shared my life with for the past 7 years.

Its 2018 now. My depression has worsened over the last two years. I have dark thoughts every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to bed. I’m drowning myself in drugs and alcohol and putting on a brave face for the people around me. I make plans for a final day but never go through with them. Then I get a phone call on the fourth day of October. I’ve been made redundant from my job along with 7 others, in a corporate takeover and I’m lost. Three weeks pass and my plans keep becoming more enticing. I go to interview after interview and get nothing but rejection. A friend I’ve been living with ,L, has been treating me and our other house mate, DB, like trash, smoking our weed and eating our food. We send him the rent, and he is supposed to pay it. We find out he hasn’t paid rent in a month and instead pocketed it for his own. We are facing eviction. I call it.

On the fifth day of November I set everything in motion. I pack up everything I own into boxes, and give away any clothes that would fit DB under the impression I’m cleaning stuff out. I throw out a lot of junk, say goodbye to my dog and cats and say to DB, “I’ll be back in the morning” I grabbed anything that my family may want or that I’ve borrowed and put it into a box and headed out. I stop by my dealer, pick up a Q of hydro and 4 tabs of LSD and make a b-line for my parents’ house. I return borrowed items and leave the box in the shed for them to find after. Dad starts an argument with me about finishing an odd job for him. “I’ll do it next time” I yell back in anger, knowing I’ll probably never going to see him again for some reason wanting that to be the last thing I said to him. I come into the kitchen of the house I grew up and look around. I’ve had so many good memories here, but all I can think of are the bad ones. I give mum a kiss on the cheek and say “Love you, see you next weekend” with a whimper. She asks if something’s the matter but I don’t let it out. I shake my head with a half-hearted smile, walk out and get in my car.

I drive to the bottle shop and pick up a few long necks, thinking the more inebriated I am, the easier it would be. I’m crying but the shop clerk doesn’t point it out. I don’t blame them, he was an older gentleman who just looked confused and confronted. I leave and drive down the hill to an old camp ground, Norton’s basin.

I park my car, set up my tent, crack a beer and start rolling a joint. I go through the night drinking and smoking writing letters and recording messages for loved ones. I start writing one for B, wondering if she would even read it after how I left her. I go to write it anyway. I write out a few lines and scrap the page, start again, scrap again. There’s nothing I can write to her. So I start recording a message and just let it all pour out. No corrections, no restarting, just raw words. I spoke for an hour before realising how long it had been. I close the message with the send-off “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, because now you can’t be here for me when I need you” and cry myself into a drunken slumber.

Its morning now. I’m hung over but don’t care. I have a plan for today and I’m going through with it. I crack another beer from the poorly made esky bag and light a joint. I drop all 4 tabs of LSD and start working. I finish off some letters, get changed into my navy suit, with a floral bow-tie and clean accessories. I’m going out in style. I’ve become a skeleton of my previous self in the last year, now only 60 odd kilos, my suit is ill fitting and draping but I don’t care. It’s been 3 hours and the LSD has well and truly kicked in. My trip isn’t bad but I’m crying uncontrollably.

Some passers-by see me and my odd scenario and start questioning me, I let out a bad lie about a failed proposal, thus the suit and the tears. They buy it and move on with my saying I’m packing up now. I pack the tent into my car and move the car down the track for more privacy. Now it begins.

I pull the hose and duct tape out of a bag and start taping shut my air vents. I seal four of the five doors, attach the hose to the exhaust, feed it through a window and tape it off. I put the back seats down, get in and seal off the remaining door. I start the car and settle in. I put some music on and stare at the roof of the interior, still tripping on LSD, more so now, I have a beer and I spark a joint. I start to visualise what’s going to happen to me and am met with a wave of euphoria. What is this feeling? I remember this. This feeling that I’ve been chasing all these years. That first euphoric moment in B’s lounge room, with her and H laughing with me. I cry uncontrollably, this is fitting. The feeling I had in the moment I felt reborn was going to be the same feeling I have as I exit. I black out.

I don’t know who found me, I don’t know what saved me. I just remember waking up in a hospital with my mother crying at my bedside. It was the year anniversary of that day a last month and I can thankfully say I’m doing better now.

The only reason I wrote this was because I found out recently that B is living in Canada now, she’s living a better life, away from HG, J and I. I can’t help but wonder what our life together would be like if I had of just gone to her fucking house. Fuck you HG and a special fuck you to J. B, I hope you see this and understand why I didn't come.

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chroniclesofawkwardness · 4 years

Text

Candy Kane

I’ve never been a big fan of family pictures, or holiday celebrations. When I was about seven, my brother Derek and I had our picture taken with our cousin Kyle, who couldn’t have been much more than a year old. Kyle was smiling, but also pointing at something off in the distance (probably a prop the photographer was using to make him laugh). Derek and I had on clip-on ties that were recycled from a previous Easter. I wore thick, almost square-framed glasses. if I left the house with them on today, they would almost certainly impede my ability to successfully procreate. I had little choice at the time since I needed corrective lenses, and wouldn’t start wearing contacts for at least another six years.

By the time I’d made the switch, the photo of Kyle, Derek, and me belonged to a museum exhibit—frozen in time like the Iceman—of pictures my grandparents loved, but their grandchildren wished no longer existed. By 1999, they’d moved into a house much smaller than the one in which they’d raised their six children, and the photo had been relegated to a literal wall of shame in their basement. Along the wall were senior pictures of my mother and her siblings, and various photos of the nine grandchildren, including that of a triumvirate of boys c. 1988. I can’t think of a time anyone whose picture was on the wall expressed fondness when looking at it. Each of us probably thought about what we’d tell our younger selves if we passed them on the street, or secretly wished to remain arrested in that state of childhood development, our entire lives uncertain, unfolding, before us one day at a time.

The biggest reason I’ve never been a huge fan of holidays, family pictures, and especially family holiday pictures is because the only capture one moment in time, moments that, for better or worse, are frozen on film or stored in cloud of data and never really gone. Whenever the holidays come around, I have a tendency to cram an entire year’s worth of socializing into 48 hours, or however long I get to spend with my family and friends.

In my family, those occasions are typically when we celebrate some Puritans surviving a hard winter despite wearing ridiculous hats, and the birth of a boy who somehow managed to erase his teenage debauchery from the record. You know he had to screw up those miracles dozens of times in private before nailing them (oops) in public by his early thirties. This must be why we never hear about the zombies of Arimathea he couldn’t quite bring all the way back from the dead, or the numerous weddings he crashed around Nazareth during puberty, flexing to prostitutes about how he could turn water into wine in exchange for performing a number of sins his Dad didn’t have to know about (but would later be considered deadly because Mary Magdalene couldn’t keep her mouth shut) only to deliver vinegar.

I guarantee you Jesus promised Joseph of Arimathea eternal salvation as thanks for the years of resurrection practice, and in return for the use of his tomb one Friday night. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb three days after the crucifixion because she finally realized how serious Jesus had been about her fucking up his chances to keep holy the Sabbath day with a bridesmaid, before he hit it big and all the lepers wanted a piece (oops again) of him.

Anyway… If family pictures remind me of who I used to be, holidays remind me of things I used to wholeheartedly believe in.

My first picture with Santa was probably taken in 1982, before I had the surgery to straighten out my leg that left me with a cool scar. My enthusiasm for the holidays faded as I grew older and began to challenge my beliefs that one man could deliver presents to all the world’s children in a single night, and the three wise men could find Jesus just by following a star.

After passing at least numerically through teenage angst, I started to realize how incredibly fortunate I’ve been instead of complaining about what other people had that I didn’t. But what really got me comfortable in my own skin was volunteering, a series of activities in which I put myself in some very uncomfortable positions by surrounding myself with people and places I didn’t know. Still, my desire for the uncomfortable hasn’t weakened my ability to attract the absurd.

I recently had a chance to volunteer at Santa’s Workshop. I put on my elf hat (which I later found out had been on backwards all night) and got to work in the arts and crafts area, but that didn’t last long. Macaroni pictures weren’t doing it for me. I needed a different challenge.

Soon enough, I found my way to where Santa was. My backwards elf hat and I had to keep the line moving so every kid would have a chance to see Santa before closing time at 6 PM. Thee were all kinds of characters around me. Rudolph was there, and so was this character that had Pinocchio’s face, but looked how I imagined the Frisch’s Big Boy would if he’d been on a liquid diet for six months. “Who’s THAT?” I asked the event coordinator. “That’s the Elf on the Shelf,” she replied. “Oh… shit… I was way off,” I said. Whenever I caught the characters waving to children and their families as they passed by, they looked like those people from 80s and 90s workout videos who got stuck doing the low-impact versions of the exercises everybody else was doing at full speed. I wondered if they were secretly asking themselves why they agreed to do this, quietly cursing themselves for not auditioning to sell shit on QVC instead.

I’m not sure if the first child whose Santa aftermath I’ll remember for a long time was just really upset, had a cognitive deficiency, or both. Either way, he or she was not happy. My first post near the man of the hour was standing outside a fence they’d set up around Santa’s chair. My job was to wave the kids and their families forward once the previous family had enjoyed their moment in the makeshift winter wonderland. As the child left Santa’s lap screaming bloody murder and passed through the fence with his/her parent or guardian, they let out a sound I can only describe as a Home Improvement-era Tim Allen grunt mixed with visceral cry for help: UHHHAAHHHOOOOO!

Before I knew what was happening, the child headbutted themselves against the exterior glass of the Lazarus building, like Kane and the Undertaker from another spoiled childhood fantasy of so many— professional wresting. All the person accompanying the child said was, “Now honey… Don’t hit your head.” All I could think was, “Damn.” But as a man wearing a backwards elf hat, I couldn’t say shit to them.

Not long after witnessing a pediatric concussion, I found myself in the path of low-impact Rudolph herself. I slightly embarrassed myself by giving her a fist bump and talking to the person in the suit as though they were the red-nosed reindeer in the flesh. I came back to my adulthood while low-impact Rudolph was in the middle of muffled sentence about candy canes. I noticed had a bucket in her hands, which I assumed had been filled with the striped holiday icons. There were no candy canes in her bucket, but I did notice a set of Toyota car keys. In my confusion, I almost blurted out, “Shouldn’t you be guiding a sleigh instead of a fucking Camry?” Some things are best left unsaid.

For the first two hours we were there, the line to see Santa seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which made the next encounter I remember even more excruciating. A lady walked up and stood right next to me, thus blocking my view of the line and preventing me from doing the one volunteer task I was explicitly asked to do. To make matters worse, she started offering a running commentary on all the children she saw in Santa’s lap, like a color commentator at a sporting event who didn’t know when to just shut up and let whatever moment they were witnessing wash over them.

It didn’t matter whether they were boys dressed in identical suits for the obligatory in-lap picture with the big man (Oh, how cute!) or babies whose faces became contorted with red hot agony upon being separated from their mothers and embraced by a strange man (Oh, he is NOT having it!) The line seemed to grow infinitely longer during her soliloquy and I found myself thinking it was a shame the crucifixion of the guy whose birthday everyone would be celebrating in few weeks didn’t draw a crowd like this. In Survivor, Chuck Palahniuk observed that on some crucifixes, Jesus looks jacked enough to be modeling Ray-Ban sunglasses and Guess jeans without a shirt on. I can’t help thinking Chuck would concur that since not everyone will reach that level of supposed piety or physical fitness in a lifetime, it’s a bigger draw to remember God’s only son immediately after he humbled himself to share in our humanity the same way we all started—as a baby.

Anyway… as her commentary droned on, found myself wishing I could be the elf in the holiday classic A Christmas Story who tells Ralphie to get a move on before Santa kicks him down the slide, “Let’s Go!!!” But it bears repeating that in my backwards hat, my powers of persuasion were limited.

Not long after the soliloquy ended, I was approached by what I assume was a mother and daughter pair who were wondering if they’d ever get to see Santa. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” the older one said. “Let’s just take my picture with the elf.” “Actually, my name’s Dav…” I wanted to protest, but with my powers weakened, all I could do was acquiesce to their demands. The younger woman held a smartphone at what seemed like six different angles during our impromptu photo session. By the time they were done, I felt certain I was destined for Instagram infamy.

Eventually, the powers that be decided that I should move inside the fence and stand on the glitter-covered red carpet in an effort the speed up the queue after sunset. Before I went to the other side of the fence, someone asked me if I knew whether or not they’d be cutting people off at 6 PM. I didn’t, but I wished they would. I was growing tired of head injuries, seething, teething infants, and watching people taking selfies or recruiting the other elves to take pictures of them standing under one of the arches leading up to Santa’s chair.

I must have been distracted. The next time someone tried to get my attention, I was accused of holding up the line. The man had on a white, short-sleeved polo shirt. The woman wasn’t wearing a coat, but had on something I never thought I’d see on Santa’s red carpet: a leopard-print dress and dull pink high heels. “I used to be a Santa’s helper in this building,” she exclaimed. She said something else, about 1978, but I was too busy trying to avoid another “Damn” moment to really pay attention. “Actually, we just want our bathroom done. He’s working on our house.” “Fine.” I muttered. She proceeded to throw herself at Santa like he was Hugh Heffner, and she was Playboy Bunny. The whole scene looked ridiculous, but so did I.

After the final patrons had paid Santa a visit, the other volunteer elves and I sat for our own picture with the man himself. It was likely the first time I’d had my picture taken with him since the year the picture of Derek, Kyle, and I was taken. I wasn’t filled with regret over my evaporated childhood and its beliefs, or terribly concerned that no one said a word about my backwards elf hat the whole night. I was glad I’d put myself in another uncomfortable position and come out clean on the other side minus the glitter that will be stuck to the bottoms of the shoes I wore that night for months. I was reminded of the importance of not trying to cram everything into one season, or in Santa’s case, one night. Let the kids have their beliefs and grow up to challenge them. I didn’t have to sit in Santa’s lap to tell him that wish come true was all I wanted for Christmas. I have a funny feeling that whoever he is, was, and has been, he knew what I wanted long before I ever asked.

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the--blackdahlia · 7 years

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5 Times Sam Wanted to Come Out (And One Time he Did)

Title: 5 Times Sam Wanted to Come Out (And One Time He Did)

Summary: Sam from the age of 7 on, struggling with things

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Smut, mild language

AN: I’d like to thank @jewelsbaby98 for her help with this! You’re the best!

One

Sam was seven and walking with Dean from school. His little backpack was almost as big as him, but he wanted to be cool like his big brother and carry a backpack like his. His was just lacking a few of the features that Dean’s had, like a pocket knife and a small flask of holy water.

Sam wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going, instead opting out to look around his surroundings. There were some kids riding skateboards and bikes, since it was a nice sunny day. Sam wished he had one of those, but dad said that there was no room for it in the car. Maybe someday, but not today. Sam sighed softly, wanting that life.

That’s when he saw two guys, about dad or Uncle Bobby’s age, walking down the sidewalk across from them, holding hands. His eyes were wide. Yeah, he held Dean or dad’s hand, but he didn’t know that men could still hold hands like that. He reached up and tugged on Dean’s arm, making his older brother look down at him.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Are they brothers too?” Sam asked, pointing at the men across the street.

“Eh, probably. I don’t know.” Dean said. He didn’t want to have this talk with Sam right now. “Come on.” He pulled Sam down the sidewalk.

“But I thought when you got daddy’s age, you could only hold hands with a girl.” Sam said. Dean shrugged.

“I dunno dude. Maybe.” He sighed some. Why did Sam have to be so curious about everything? “Come on. I think there’s still a couple ice cream sandwiches in the freezer. Want one?” That successfully distracted Sam. Dean was glad.

Two

Eleven year old Sam was playing on the playground with the friends he had made since moving to this school. This was the longest he had been at one school in a while, and he was really glad. He liked it, and his teacher was really nice. And there was one boy, Daniel, that he had grown really close to. John had even let Sam go to his birthday party at the park. Of course, Dean hadn’t been far away, sitting on a park bench under the guise that he was watching ducks and totally not keeping tabs on Sam.

“Sam!” Daniel called out from their “secret” clubhouse under the slide. Sam jumped off the swing and ran over to Daniel, a big grin on his face.

“Hey Daniel!” Sam said. Daniel had come out a little late from lunch, due to having to clean up a ketchup spill from squeezing the bottle while eating and getting it all over the table. Sam settled across from Daniel on the mulch.

“Are you ready for the summer?” Daniel asked. School would be over soon and, as much as Sam longed to stay there and play with his friends, he knew that they would be moving on soon. Sam’s smile fell some and he shrugged. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll probably be moving soon.” Sam admitted. Daniel frowned.

“But you’re my best friend!” Daniel said. Sam shrugged. “Well, then I guess I better do this now. I saw my older sister do this and I wanted to try it.”

He leaned forward then and pressed his lips to Sam’s. Sam had seen Dean kiss girls all the time, but Sam had never had the chance. Their lips were parted like Dean would do, but it was still a kiss. Sam’s first kiss.

“Woah.” Daniel said, leaning back. “No wonder my sister kisses guys all the time.” Sam felt his cheeks redden.

Sam moved not long after that, but the memory of kissing Daniel was still in his mind, even when he started at a new school.

Three

He wasn’t gay. He still thought Sarah Michelle Geller was hot. Her in her Buffy gear was the object of many of his wet dreams at night. But so was David Boreanaz, and Brad Pitt. And Sam was just so confused, like many sixteen year olds would be. So Sam did what any confused kid would. He tried it out.

He met Chad in his chemistry class. He was good looking with jet black hair with frosted tips and he had soft features like Leonardo DiCaprio. They were lab partners and Chad invited Sam to his house to catch up on lab notes. Dean and John were out of town, so Sam went. And they had studied at first, and he had taken up the offer from Chad’s mom to stay the night.

That night, Sam learned how to give head. He was sloppy, but Chad seemed to like it, especially when Sam’s gag reflex kicked in. Sam had seen enough porn when Dean would think he was asleep to know the basics of what he was doing. And when Chad stood behind him and took his virginity, Sam wondered if it was supposed to hurt that bad, and if it hurt for girls too.

The worst part of the whole thing was that Monday at school. Faggot was wrote on Sam’s locker with a window marker. Sam tried to clean it off through the tears falling down his face. Chad told the whole school about Sam begging him, asking Chad to let him suck his dick. It was one of the few times that Sam had begged John to leave town instead of fighting to stay.

Dean tried questioning him as he stared out the window of the Impala. Sam was acting like he had had his heartbroken, and Dean was trying to get the girl’s name out of him. Sam made up some random name and told him it just wasn’t meant to be.

Sam would never tell Dean the real reason why.

Four

Jessica wanted it for her birthday. A threesome. She thought it would be fun to experiment some. Sam thought for a second that she had a crush on a girl in her religion class or something. But instead, when she told Sam to pick out the third, he wasn’t sure what to say. She told him he could pick anyone he wanted. He didn’t realize that this was more for him than for her. She knew he had a lot of repressed feelings about sex and she wanted to help him more.

Talking it over with her, they decided on a mutual friend of theirs. Mark was a basketball player and had a killer smile. He had flirted with Sam a few times, and they had gave each other hand jobs back before partners were involved. Sam was more nervous than Jessica was as he helped her prepare dinner for the night.

“Sam, we don’t have to do this.” She said. “We could just go to a movie or something.”

“No, this is what you want to do.” Sam said. He had secretly been looking forward to this all week, thinking about it while he took notes in class. It didn’t help he had a couple classes with Mark and he would tell him things that he wanted to do.

Mark came over a little bit later. They had a nice dinner, talking about classes and future plans for the summer. The whole time, Mark ran a hand on Sam’s thigh, making him shiver some. Jessica knew what she was doing when she cleaned up the plates and told the boys to go ahead and head upstairs.

After that night, Jessica could mark threesome with two guys off her bucket list and Sam, well Sam confirmed some long standing feelings in his mind that had been lingering for years.

Five

The first body Ruby had after being forced from her body by Lilith was a man about Dean’s height. She found Sam after he had buried Dean and held him close to the strong chest of her vessel as he cried over his brother. It was that body that gave him his first taste of demon blood. She helped comfort him in all the ways that she could, and fed him the blood that tasted like candy. She kept the vessel for about a month before Sam asked her to find another. She found her dark haired woman instead, and while Sam was a little disappointed, he soon found himself attracted to this one as well.

Six

“Dean, can I talk to you?” Sam said. Dean had been cleaning a gun at the motel table. He kept kept up what he was doing.

“Sure Sammy.” Dean said. Sam sighed.

“Dean, can you put that away for a minute please?” Sam asked. Dean looked up at him and shrugged before putting the gun down.

“Okay Sammy, what’s so important?” Dean asked. Sam bounced on his feet for a minute before sighing and looking at his brother.

“Dean…I’m bi.” Sam said. Dean just stared at him. “I think I’ve known for a long time, but I was just scared to say anything. And I…” Dean stood up and walked towards Sam. Sam was scared that Dean was going to hit him, tell him he was disgusted in him, tell him to leave. He was surprised when Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

“I had a feeling.” Dean said, holding Sam close. He pulled back after a moment. “No matter what Sam, I love you. You’re still my brother. And this is nowhere near as bad as drinking demon blood, so I can’t hate you for it.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Dean said. “And this is a good thing. Wanna know why?” Sam smiled some.

“Why Dean?” Sam asked.

“Because now you have double the chance of getting laid. Not that you will take the chance but still!” Dean said. Sam shook his head. OF course Dean would try to lighten the mood. “Come on.”

‘Where are we going?” Sam asked as Dean pulled him to the door.

“To the bar Sam!” Dean said. “And I, your trusted wingman, have a very important job of finding you a nice guy or girl to take to bed!” Sam just shook his head but followed Dean. He hadn’t expected him to be this accepting.

He should’ve said something sooner.

Tag List: @petrovadixon @theas-bedtime-stories @aiaranradnay @policeofficerdean @dekahg @crownedloki @af112992

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