#I IMAGINE IN MY HEAD ONE THE BACK TIRES OF THE VEHICLE SPINNING REALLY FAST LIKE A DOG KICKING ITS LEG

[out-of-context-batfam]

Young Justice (1998) #2

#IVE ALWAYS IMAGINED THAT TIM HAS TREATED TECHNOLOGY THE SAME WAY DAMIAN TREATS HIS PETS #THIS IS SO PRECIOUS AND ADORABLE TO WATCH LOOK AT THIS INNOCENT CHILD #I IMAGINE IN MY HEAD ONE THE BACK TIRES OF THE VEHICLE SPINNING REALLY FAST LIKE A DOG KICKING ITS LEG #COULD YOU IMAGINE TIM DOING THIS TODAY? NOPE BECAUSE HE HAS SEEN TOO MUCH AND LOST HIS INNOCENCE #dc comics #batfam #batfamily #out of context #young justice #robin #tim drake #boy detective wonder #impulse #Bart allen #funny #dammit tim #he is so innocent and tiny #I love Barts reaction to the name super cycle #I re read this series all the time #500

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 1)

for @evnscvll​​‘s 3k celebration challenge, I immediately broke the rules and took only one prompt: Love, Actually.  then I made it into a series.  oops.  but she made me that lovely moodboard anyways!

summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman-- even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mention/description of infidelity, awkwardness, me teasing y’all by making this a slow burn

(quick note: I’m not fluent in romanian but I did my best to translate the dialogue as accurately as possible, rather than as literally as possible.  if you don’t speak it I would recommend not translating seb’s lines so you get the full experience of having no idea what he’s saying just like the reader in the story but I won’t tell you how to live your life)

You usually trusted your intuition, but up until now you'd convinced yourself that you were being paranoid by worrying about your husband.  Trusting him was more important than anything, and definitely more important than a strange feeling in your gut that something was wrong. 

The sad thing is, you would've never guessed that he was having an affair with your sister.  Not in a million years.  All the sneaking around, the strange stories that didn't add up… you would've put your money on a secret gambling addiction (pun unintended but welcome), or maybe that he'd secretly lost his job.

But even with all your suspicion, all your low self-esteem, all your fear that he was too good for you… nothing could've prepared you to walk in and see him with his face between your sister's legs.

He didn't even do that to you; he said he didn't like the taste.  You realized now, as you stared out the window of the train at the trees flying by, that that should've been a red flag from the start.  For a man who had claimed to be a feminist, things were never really equal in your house.  You both worked full time but you were saddled with more chores; you made more money than he did, but for some reason, you found yourself asking for his approval on large purchases; and of course, whenever you'd talked about children, he'd always just assumed you would stay at home forever and do most of the child-rearing.  He told you that you'd need to handle them when he was too tired from work-- but what about when you were tired from watching them all damn day while he was working?

God, you needed to stop thinking about this.  If you cried on this train people would probably look at you funny and you did not need that right now.  You couldn’t take any more reasons to believe people dislike you.  Even as much as you wanted to say that you didn't want or need your husband’s approval anymore, you still felt so shitty, so fundamentally worthless that he'd chosen your sister over you.  He hadn't wanted to touch you in months.  You wondered if it had been going on longer than that: when you'd blown him after that company party half a year ago, were you putting your mouth on something that had been in your sister's--?

"Something to drink, madam?" the attendant asked as she rolled by with her cart, pulling you from a very dangerous cycle of thought.

You jumped a little and looked over to her as she smiled at you-- no hint of judgment or confusion as you wiped a tear away.  In her shoes, you would be nosy and want to know more about the woman crying on the train.  Then again, maybe it was obvious to her: a woman, alone, who bought the last ticket just before the train left, carrying only a small briefcase and a few hastily-packed suitcases… a woman with nothing to lose, going nowhere as fast as possible.  Could it be anything but her having been done wrong by a man?

"Tea, please," you nodded with a smile of your own-- weaker than hers, more awkward.  You'd make a bad stewardess.

"Black or green?"

You didn't trust them to steep the green tea at the proper temperature, so you asked for black and nodded in thanks when she handed you the warm paper cup and rolled on by to the next passenger.

What really made your head spin, you considered as you sipped at your drink, was not your husband’s actions but your sister’s.  You remembered when you were both teenagers and her boyfriend had cheated on her, she’d gotten so upset with the girl he’d done it with rather than him.  You had thought that was ridiculous because the girl didn’t owe her anything.  You understood better now, and of course, your sister did owe you something.  You two had had your rough patches but overall, she’d been your best friend for most of your life.  So much so that she was the one you went to when you were worried about your husband.  She told you to give him space.  You would’ve never imagined that was her way to get you to back off, to cover her own sins and give her more freedom to shag your husband in your goddamn bed.

Yes, that was the real betrayal.  Lots of people have ex-husbands, but you couldn’t exactly turn her into an ex-sister.  You were stuck with her, but you had no plan as of yet to face her again.

The night in the sleeper car was restless, literally.  It was so dark out that you couldn’t see the trees or mountains anymore, but if you focused really hard and made sure to turn off every light in your room, you could just barely see the stars in the sky.  You hoped that you would have plenty of time to spend looking at the stars once you reached your destination.  As much as you’d loved the city lights of London for the past several years, you really needed to be somewhere that was actually dark at night.  And where the air was clean.  And, best of all, where nobody knew who the fuck you were.

You stepped out of the train and onto the platform, feeling very much like you were surrounded by people ending their stories-- reuniting with loved ones, finishing vacations-- while yours was just beginning.  Well, you supposed it made sense that most of the people travelling from London to Nyíregyháza, Hungary were probably from Nyíregyháza, Hungary.  Unlike you, who had only been here once while backpacking through the area in college and fallen in love with it.  You were lucky that the owner of the secluded cottage you’d crashed at back then had picked up the phone when you called from the train; you were especially lucky that she was willing to pick you up from the station, you not being quite dressed or prepared for backpacking.

Exiting the station and finding the cobblestone street, you were nearly tackled by a portly old woman as she tried to get your attention.

“Mrs. Alberti?!” you asked with wide eyes.

“You should at least pretend I haven’t aged a day,” she frowned, her words coated with her thick Hungarian accent.  

“I was just surprised that you’re still running the cottage!  I figured you and Mr. Alberti retired ages ago,” you explained, following her back to her car and putting your luggage in the boot.

She seemed a little crestfallen, wistfully considering your assumption.  “Well, it’s not quite what it used to be but yes, I am still the owner.  Sadly, Mr. Alberti passed away several years back.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied, hoping to be as comforting as reasonably possible, “he was such a sweet man.”

“Yes, but he had a long illness-- and before that, lived a very full life,” she smiled confidently, walking to the driver’s seat as you followed along the other side and got in the passenger.

“It’s too bad he won’t get to see you again, though,” she continued as she started the vehicle.  Considering how old it looked, you were impressed that it worked on the first try.  “He would’ve been amazed to have a repeat customer from somewhere so far away.  I certainly am!”

“Yes, well, I have great memories from staying in the villa, and decided to go in search of some of the lust for life that I had back then-- chasing after youth never backfires, right?” you joked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a smirk.

You knew you were getting close to the old house when the roads turned from asphalt, to cobblestone, to gravel, and finally to dirt.  As much as you figured trees and grass looked basically the same everywhere, you appreciated that it somehow managed to look totally different than England.  Maybe it was the scattering of blue wildflowers, or the way the wilderness was dominating the few signs of human existence rather than the other way around.  Driving it was different than hiking it, certainly, and you wondered if you would find the time or energy to climb the foothills on the other side of the lake like you had before.  Maybe you didn’t want to find out how much athletic ability you’d lost since college…

“Here we are!” she announced as she made one last turn and yep, there it was: a lonely stone cottage, with flowers all along the walls and pink wooden shutters.  

You could tell it had aged since it had looked how you remembered, but if anything it had gained a quaint charm, with its moss and ivy and old trees which sagged under their own weight.  Figuring you would have more time to take in the scenery in the indefinite time you planned to spend here, you decided to make good time and gather your things first.

As you opened the boot and reached in to grab your luggage, someone appeared beside you and pushed your hands aside, saying something that you couldn’t parse at all.  You stepped aside and realized that it was a young man-- not horrifically young or anything, but certainly… strapping.  He shot you a smile, and you couldn’t think of the last time somebody had looked at you with so much joy on their face.

“Oh, thank you,” you nodded, letting him lift your suitcases (which he did with ease, just to make it all extra cruel).

“This is Sebastian-- he lives here and does odd jobs for me,” Mrs. Alberti informed you, "Don't waste your time talking to him; he doesn't speak a word of English."

"Oh, he only speaks Hungarian?"  You turned to him again; "Szia, hogy vagy?"

He shook his head and smiled awkwardly.

"No dear, he only speaks Romanian," Mrs. Alberti explained with a laugh.  "Can't you tell I can only afford to run this place by using cheap immigrant labour?"

"Salut," he greeted.  At least you could figure what that meant.  You chuckled uncomfortably and looked to the ground.  

You followed Sebastian and Mrs. Alberti into the house, admiring how little the interior decorations had changed-- it was all macrame and flowers in old-fashioned ceramic vases, with lots of oddball Hungarian trinkets to round it all out.  Perhaps the only thing you could notice that was different was new floorboards.

“You like the new floor?” Mrs. Alberti asked, as if she were reading your mind.  “Sebastian put that in for me.”

Sebastian seemed to perk up as he set your bags down briefly, clearly aware he was being talked about.  

“Remember?” Mrs. Alberti addressed him, motioning to the floor.  “You put in the new floor, huh?  Új emelet?”

You wondered why she’d seemed to laugh at you for trying to speak Hungarian to him, when she was doing the same thing.

“Da,” he smiled, pressing his shoe down onto the floor to apparently demonstrate the lack of creaking.  “Ți-am făcut un etaj nou.”

“Alright, go ahead and take her bags upstairs,” Mrs. Alberti instructed him, motioning to the luggage and then to the staircase.  He nodded and picked them up again, starting to walk across the room.  “He knows where your room is, just follow him,” she told you.  

The stairs, unlike the new floor, did creak, and you weren’t sure how far behind you were supposed to be on the staircase to avoid having his ass right at eye level.  You didn’t want to stare at it… but either the jeans were doing him a lot of favours, or Mrs. Alberti’s ‘odd jobs’ do a body good.  Maybe a little bit of both.

He used his back to push open the door to your room, setting your bags just inside before turning to leave again, like he thought it would be rude to step inside.

“Wait,” you requested, but he kept going-- probably the whole ‘not understanding English’ thing.  God, you were going to look so stupid at least a few more times trying to get through to this guy, you could sense it.  Forced to get his attention another way, you reached out and grabbed his arm; not hard, but it was definitely a slightly aggressive thing to do anyways.  It worked, though, and he turned around with an expectant look.  “Could you help me unload?” you asked, gesturing towards the bags.  

His brow knitted with confusion as he tilted his head.  You sighed, not sure exactly how to pantomime this.

“One of my bags,” you began, pointing to one of them, “is heavy--” a lifting motion-- “could you--” you pointed to him-- “unpack it?” 

That seemed to make more sense to him, and he stepped back into the room with you.  “Voi încerca,” he said, somewhat to himself, as you opened the suitcase.  Inside was your typewriter; he nodded with understanding and scooped it up.

“Unde?” he asked, and regardless of what it meant, you were going to show him where to put the typewriter anyways.  

“Just over there, the table by the window,” you pointed to it.  He nodded again and walked past you, setting it down, and even adjusting it a little to make sure it was centered.

“Thank you!” you piped up when he turned back to you.  And just like that, you were plunged back into awkward silence.  You pointed to him, and then the typewriter as you pantomimed typing.  “Can you type?”  He seemed to understand what you meant.

“Nu,” he shook his head, “când eram mic, trebuiau înregistrați anual.”

“...huh,” you mumbled, not sure what to do with that.   

“Plec acum,” he announced as he started to step past you again.

You cleared your throat and let him walk out the doorway.  “Right, um, have a good afternoon…”

He gave a little wave as he walked down the hall, and you sighed once he was out of sight and making his way down the creaking stairs.  You impressed yourself with your ability to embarrass yourself constantly, even with total strangers.  But, all that aside, you were finally ready to settle in and properly enjoy your change of scenery.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan rpf #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastan stan x you

[fanficparker]

Under My Umbrella | Tom x Haz one-shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Tom Holland

Word count: 5.5k words

Warnings: Swearing, angst, lots of tears, alcohol

Summary: The one where Harrison did the audacity to kiss his life-long best friend or his twin sister’s boyfriend.

A/N: Life is short and this is just a piece of fiction, why stop myself from posting it on my own blog?

PART 1 ♡

(Tom's POV)

"I am so sorry. OH GOD, I AM SO SORRY!"

I hear Harrison screaming on the top of his voice. My vision is blurry, the rain isn't allowing me to see much, although I am sure there is much more than just the rain pouring down his face; his tears were also streaming down along with it.

He had taken five steps away from me after kissing me in the rain and my world has already fallen apart. He is pulling at his curls so aggressively. He will hurt himself. I take a step towards him with my hands reaching out but he takes another step back.

He is drifting away from me. And I am drifting apart from myself.

I freeze on my feet. My heartbeat feels non-existent. I am confused. Am I dead or alive? If I am dead then where am I? Is it heaven or hell? It kind of feels like both.

Harrison has just kissed me. His taste is still lingering on my tongue. My head is spinning without even a single drop of alcohol. His touch did this to me. And now I am starving. Starving for more.

"I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. Shit! I SHOULDN'T HAVE!"

"No... No... " I try to stop him but he's already running. My ankle is aching. I can't run fast, I can't catch his pace. Then, he slowly vanishes away from my sight.

"HARRISON! HARRISON... PLEASE STOP! Please stop... Please..." I scream, sinking down to the footpath. I was too late to scream. I was too late to stop him.

He's gone. He broke the promise.

***

I can hear those distinct lyrics as the soft music resonates in the air. It's the Ember Island's version— our favourite version. I am sitting here waiting for the interviewers to arrive but my mind keeps drifting off to the song.

"This is our song!" Harrison says as we are lying down on the bed.

"Umbrella? Really?" I ask, surprised.

He turns on his side and faces me, I do the same. His head rests on his elbow while my head is still on the pillow. We were looking at each other.

"Yeah..." His voice is soft. He hums and looks back at the ceiling while the music plays from his phone. He starts lip-syncing along with the lyrics, "Cause in the dark, you can't see shiny cars. And that's when you need me there with you, I'll always share. Because..."

"When the sun shine, we shine together. Told you I'll be here forever---"

"You are singing." RDJ chuckles sitting beside me. And I realise that I was actually singing. My stomach twists into a knot and my face gets warm.

"We can sing it together, kiddo!" He says, enthusiastically.

"I... er..." I try to stop him but he is already singing.

Why am I always late?

"Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh..." RDJ is singing, he is nodding his head sideways and is peaking at me occasionally.

The song is the same but the voice is different. The lyrics mean different when Harrison sang them. In Harrison's voice, they meant something but right now they are just raw. Hollow.

***

We are on the same magazine cover.

Oh my god.

We are on the same freaking magazine cover!

'The Spider-man 3 star tells us about his secret power food', The Hollywood Reporter headline reads with my gym photo-shoot as the background.

There are three more sub-headlines to the cover, placed near the right margin. The second one says, 'Harrison Osterfield: The young British actor tells us about his inspirational journey as the young face for Agent 007. (Pg. 3-4)'

The rumours were true. He has done it.

Oh my god. And I am not even there to congratulate him.

"I am so proud of you. I knew you would grab it!" Harrison bounces on his feet while I stand near him, blushing furiously.

"My mate is Spider-man! My mate is THE Spider-man!!" He proudly yells and keeps his palms on my shoulders. When I look up into his blue eyes, they are glossy and act like mirrors. I can see myself reflecting through them. Then I notice a little pinch of sadness shining through them.

"Don't forget me though..." He says slowly. His energetic voice started sounding cracked. It made me think for a moment.

I gulp, "You can be my assistant. I-It will help you... gain experience in the industry." I was planning to ask him this since my role was confirmed because how was I even supposed to step into my new, more chaotic life without my biggest support system?

He pulls back his arms from my shoulders and looks at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Yes!... Also, you know... I-I am kinda afraid going on the journey alone." I bite at my lower lip.

Just say yes, I pray silently.

"Oh, div! You'll not be alone there. You'll have big stars. All those fancy people, fancy life-style and those fancy---"

"These fancy things will never come in between us, Harrison," I cut his rambling off. He pauses and glances at me.

"I am alone without you..."

I am always alone without him.

I regret not saying always, even though it doesn't matter anymore.

My fingers flip through the pages, my eyes land on his half-page portrait. He was wearing a black and white formal suit; his index finger is pressed against his forehead as he is bent forward while his were eyes boring into the front. They are staring into my soul.

My breath hitches in my throat. It's just his portrait but those eyes. Those eyes. I avert my gaze from the picture to the text. He talks about his journey from school to landing this role. He talks about his family, he talks about his journey as my assistant and then he talks about me. I can hear his voice even when it's just plain text.

'I cannot thank Tom enough. He pushed me harder whenever I slowed down. He pulled me up when I fell down. I really look up to him.'

No Harrison, you are wrong. You pushed me harder when I slowed down. You pulled me up when I fell down. It's me who looks up to you.

"Oh em jee!" The teen girl squeals seeing me at the airport. Harrison and I were walking, dragging our trolleys. I was wearing a cap, sunglasses and even had my hoodie on yet she somehow spotted me. She ran towards me.

"You are Tom Holland! I am such a huge fan of you!!!" She is still squealing as she takes out her phone, asking me for a picture. I was really sleepy and sleep-deprived at the same time, but it still made me smile. I lowered my hoodie and took off my goggles.

Harrison was standing beside me, grinning too. I was ready for her to take a selfie with us but then she walks up to Harrison and points her phone to him.

"Huh?"

I see a little confusion appear on his face.

"Take our picture," She says almost disrespectfully. I feel a pang in my heart, I can't even imagine what he must be feeling. But then he looks at me, takes the phone and smiles.

The girl stands beside me, and Harrison is standing in front of us.

"Smile..." He whispers, looking at me in the eye, his face breaking into a bigger grin and I can't stop the smile that spreads across my own lips seeing him smile.

But I know he was sad from inside and even when I was physically present there, I wasn't still there to make him really smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle.

I am really sorry for making you feel left out when all you did was try to make me feel included. Sorry for every time I left you alone. Yet, you always kept smiling. How do you do that?

I seriously need to learn a lot from you...

***

I had stopped stalking him on social media weeks ago. It was taking a toll on my mental health. But much to my dismay, I had a notification of him mentioning me in his Instagram story. My finger hovers over the unseen story. I click to see it.

The story was completely black, he has even tagged me in black. This story is exclusively for me. The song plays in the background.

No. No.

He can't do this to me.

He can't fucking do this to me.

"Now that it's raining more than ever, Know that we still have each other, You can stand under my---"

I threw my phone at the wall and the song stops playing abruptly. I am sure that I broke the device. But at least the song has ended.

I hate him for this!

How can he do this do me? How can he go so low?

I sunk down to the floor of my room. I am not just crying, I am screaming. Just like that night when I sunk down to the footpath...

Harrison and I were walking on the wet footpath. The rain was only getting heavier but none of us cared. The occasional honking of vehicles or the whooshing sound of tires against the wet concrete didn't bother us either.

Our shoulders were bumping against each other while we talked and laughed at stupid things. We sometimes did it, went out to have an ice-cream and talked about everything. It cleared off our minds and provided us with a break from our busy lifestyles. Harrison was holding the umbrella over our head as he was the taller one. A small portion of my other shoulder was slightly wet even when we were super close to each other. The umbrella was small, so I shifted closer to him. But I accidentally twisted my ankle due to the slippery path.

"Ouch!" I stop, putting my arm across his shoulder to balance myself, lifting the injured foot in the air.

"What happened?" He asks in a voice full of concern, stopping his motions.

"My foot. I think... I got a sprain."

"Oh, Tom. I tell you to be careful." He says and hands me the umbrella while I shift towards the wall, supporting myself. He crouches down on the empty footpath and unties my sandals, holding my foot in his hand.

"At least I didn't break my nose this time." I chuckle but it ends up as a whimper when he twists my ankle.

"It looks mild," He declares, re-tieing my sandals and stands up. I smile at him in gratitude but he wasn't smiling back. My expression changes to reciprocate his'. Then I realise that he wasn't properly standing up. His knees were slightly bent and his face was at the same level as mine. We were staring at each other. He took a step closer to me and suddenly all my senses were shutting down. The only thing I could feel was how close he was to me, how the scent of his aftershave was the sweetest smell I have ever inhaled, how his eyes were staring at mine, how they flickered down to my lips, how they closed, how the sound of his shaky breath made my heart shiver, how his lips were feeling against mine, how his breath tasted of vanilla and chocolate...

My limbs lost all their strength and the umbrella fell down, drowning us both in pouring water. His hands came to hold mine as he interlaces his fingers through mine, giving them a little squeeze.

He was kissing away the water droplets off my lips. I didn't do anything. I just let him. Or maybe I was kissing him back but it was all... so natural. I have never felt so calm and protected in my life. The way his lips rolled over mine... I was completely intoxicated.

There was something intimate about rain. Something soothing. Your ears are drumming with the pitter-patter sound that you can't hear the regular hustle-bustle. For once I felt like Harrison and I were absolutely alone in this world. I liked that feeling.

But we weren't.

That's when the reality hit him and he panicked.

I was dating his twin sister.

PART 2 ♡

(Harrison's POV)

It's 5 am and I am still not sleeping. My headphones are plugged into my ears while I feel like an absolute piece of shit. Not just I have done the forbidden audacious task of falling for my best friend but also the heinous crime of kissing my sister's boyfriend.

Lily doesn't even know why Tom broke up with her after a relationship of over a year and that too, over the phone. She has no idea that the person she trusted so much for consoling her, the one she chose to cry in front of, the one she chose to hug, the one she chose to share her pain with was actually the sole creator of the pain. Her twin brother was nothing but a snake.

The day after I kissed Tom, there was a knock at my bedroom door in the middle of the night. As soon as the door opened, I stumbled back with what force Lily hugged me. She was crying into my t-shirt. Her behaviour confused me and an instant fear of something bad happening to her settled at the bottom of my heart; my brother instincts made my fists clench. I wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who had hurt her this way.

"Tom broke up with me," She utters in between her sobs. Her words acted like salt being rubbed over my open wounds.

Turns out I was also a hypocrite. I didn't kill myself.

I was helpless. I felt both like the criminal and the victim at the same time.

I hugged her back tighter, hiding my face in her hair.

"I am so sorry, Lily. I am so sorry," I whimpered and kissed the top of her head as she snuggled closer to me.

She thinks my sorries were of sympathy. No. They were my apology. But they feel hollow just like my heart and existence...

***

Out of so many editions, The Hollywood Reporter apparently, chose to put me and Tom on the same one. Seems like nature has decided to pull me inside the deepest guilt trap possible. I lock the magazine in my cupboard. I no more have any desire to look inside of it.

I haven't slept for the past twenty-four hours. I am so nervous. I feel so insecure. I want to talk about me landing a significant role to him. I know it's just me playing James Bond's younger version in a long flashback and not the real James Bond, but still...

He is the only one capable of calming my nerves after my mum. But sometimes mum couldn't, sometimes it's not her field of expertise. Sometimes only a friend could help you.

Tom was roasting marshmallows in this garden when I entered and sat beside him.

"What's up champ?" He says, not even looking at me.

I was quiet and looking down at my lap when he finally notices and turns to look at me.

"How's it going?" He asks. I look up to meet his soft brown eyes, instantly melting at the sight.

"Not well... I dunno... I feel weird. I don't know if you will want to hear my rant but--"

"Just vent to me. My ears are always open..." He says, patting my knee.

I nod my head. He knows exactly what I want. He listened to all my rambles with zero interruptions even when my mouth was stuffed with marshmallows, without judging me or passing any opinion...

Turns out the asking for help from Tom option doesn't exist anymore, considering he had blocked me after me mentioning him in that blank music story and now my and his names are bouncing all over- #1. The old fashioned, not being used for what it was first designed for: Instagram; #2. The infamous, super political, the lifeline of democratic announcements: Twitter; and #3. The safe from boomers, modern version of fanfiction dot net: Tumblr.

The fans think they know better about our situation then what I and (probably) Tom knows.

'Tom Holland and Harrison Osterfield have unfollowed each other on Instagram!!!' reads one of the fan posts.

I didn't unfollow him, it's him who blocked me and that's how Instagram works. Our mutual following, likes, comment and tags on each other's posts are automatically removed.

'No, they haven't unfollowed each other. One of them has blocked the other!!!' reads the reblogged version.

Holy Shit! This user is far more observant (or a stalker) and knows how Instagram works. I know Tom isn't very good with the working of social media, but it also turns out that he doesn't know how this tabloid fan culture works too.

P. S. All these triple exclamation marks on the fan posts are making me freak out.

Also, I am so grateful that they all are unaware about Lily and Tom dating and their break-up, else they would have dragged her into the controversy too.

Thank God.

I have blocked the supposed tags they tag me with and limited my comment section, so I don't have to deal with any kind of questions, speculations or hate in general.

I feel bad for Tom, he hasn't done that yet. I don't even know if he knows there's an option for it. It can seriously degrade his mental health.

I wish I could tell him.

***

It's kind of awkward when people are watching you eat and in my case, my mum and my two sisters are gawking on me instead of eating their own food. Woman's stare is always intimidating and I am blessed with three female pairs of eyes on me.

"You know... You don't have to block Tom just because he broke up with me." Lily says, sitting across the dining table.

That almost made me choke on my food and drop the fork on the plate. I could already feel the glimmer of interest sparking in mum's and Charlotte's eyes. It is as if they all were planning to have this conversation with me for a long time.

But wait... Does she think that me deleting Tom from my life is because of her break-up?

Oh my god!

Was there too much miscommunication between us?

Wait...

There was no communication from my side.

"Harrison?"

It was my mum this time. She keeps her hand over my shoulder, her voice sounds super worried.

"What is it, Hazza?" She asks, lovingly. She speaks as if she knows it is more than Tom and Lily's break-up. But I don't know how to tell her...

The next moment, mum has shifted her chair near me and had engulfed me in a side hug. Soon Charlotte and Lily walked up to me and were covering me from all sides. That's when I realised that I was crying. No. I wasn't just crying, I was sobbing. It was even difficult for me to breathe.

I need air.

I excuse myself and got up. They don't ask anything, maybe in an attempt to go slow with me. I really appreciate the gesture.

***

That's how I end up in this pub, pouring my heart out to a stranger. He's carefully listening to me, while occasionally sipping his drink and nodding his head. It really feels good to be listened to. I am telling everything to him from the exact beginning and how I fell for my best friend and then he started dating my sister and then how everything came crashing down...

"That's really fucked up, friend!" He comments in his Indian accent.

He was a trans-man who found me sitting in the corner with a cigarette in my hand. I wasn't even smoking but lost in thoughts. The stick was almost going to burn my fingers when he came and slapped it away and now he was listening to everything I was saying.

And then he's narrating his own sad love story to me and oh my god it's so much worse than me, yet he's pretending that I am the worse affected.

"And that's how she killed herself and I couldn't do anything..." He finishes as I blink. Like a fish, my mouth opens and closes, I instantly gulp my beer in one go in order to not look like a fool who has nothing good and uplifting to reply.

"That's really sad..." I somehow manage to say.

"Yeah. It is..."

I seriously need to go, else I will breakdown crying. I excuse myself and leave, I am not even drunk enough which sucks.

***

There is a guy walking in front of me on the pavement and he's really really drunk, unlike me. I really want to reach home fast and lay under my soft blankets but this guy is walking, occupying the whole pavement, stumbling on his feet with every step. He stumbles harder this time, about to fall face-first on the concrete. I rush forward and catch him.

My hands feel as if they were made of hard ice when I see his face.

He chuckles, "I know you are not Harrison... but I am seeing him everywhere. So funny... haha..."

"Tom..." I whisper and he starts to cry. He seriously looks like shit. His shirt is all wet and hairs are super messy. It's hard to even see him like this. I throw my arm around his shoulder and place his hand around my neck and get him straight on his feet. I try my best to walk him to my house.

Mum was terrified of seeing Tom like this, so were Charlotte and Lily. Although, Lily helped me carry him to my room, while he was babbling some unintelligible stuff.

We lay him over my bad.

"You should change his shirt, it's really dirty," Lily suggests and walks out of the room, giving us privacy. I intake a sharp breath as I drag the half-asleep, completely drunk Tom to sit up on the bed. And before I could pull his shirt up, he's puking over my chest. I back up.

"Sorry..." He mutters and falls over the mattress.

I gotta' change my shirt too.

My hands reach to the edge of my shirt as I try to pull it up but then I see Tom, and suddenly it feels wrong. Hasn't he seen me shirtless like thousand times before? And he's not even completely conscious... Yet, I turn my back to him and change into a new jumper. Then I struggle to get Tom changed too, making him wear one of my hoodies and then throw both our dirty clothes to my laundry basket.

"You should wash your face and brush your teeth. It will feel nice..." I suggest, not sure if he was even listening to me. I again get him down on his feet and carry him to the bathroom where I splash cold water over his face. He drinks some water too. And then he's brushing his teeth, a little messily though.

As we complete, he refuses to go back to my room and instead, tries to sit on the bathroom floor, too tired to walk back. The next moment I find myself lifting him up with my arms tucked below his knees and the back of his neck. He's heavier than I anticipated but when he holds my shoulder and snuggles close to my chest with his warm breath hitting directly over my neck; my knees feel like noodles. I try my best to not look down at his face or fall down and successfully carry him back to my room and get him back on the bed.

"Haz, I need to talk about something..."

I flinch hearing Lily's voice. I turn on my feet and see her standing by my door. Warmth rushes to my face, realising- she must have seen me carrying Tom in my arms...

I swallow and walk towards her as she walks outside the room and shuts the door behind us.

She takes in a jitterybreath, "I really think..." She hesitates for a second, "Tom likes you... more than a friend and more than how he likes me..."

"I-I-I---" I try to speak but only a ragged stammer comes out, not expecting this conversation at all.

"He always talks about you and when he finds me wearing your clothes..." She fidgets with her fingers, "He gives me extra attention and... asks me not to remove them while we have... sex..." She pauses, looking embarrassed. I try not to react and stay still, listening carefully.

"I think the only reason he was dating me was that I look like you..." She finishes, knocking out all the air from my lungs.

"Why-why are you telling this to me?" Out of a million things I could say, I chose this.

"Because..." She looks straight at my face, "No one looks at a person as you look at Tom unless they are madly in love with them."

"But then why did he date you?" I ask with a heavy heart.

"... Cause it's easy to be... straight?" She speaks, her lips pressing into a thin line. I think for a moment.

"B-but what about you---"

"It's all about you and him right now. And anyway, he loves you and not me. You don't want your sister to end up with a man who doesn't really love her, right?" She asks, hopefully.

I inhale and nod.

"And I won't want my brother to not end up with the man he really loves..."

***

For the first time, I don't feel guilty, rather I feel some burden lifting off my chest. I walk inside the room, remembering my conversation with Lily. Tom was fast asleep on the bed and that makes me smile. I take out a blanket and cover him with it, switching off the lights. As I was trying to move away, his hand grasps my wrist making goosebumps rise over my skin.

"Can't we even... not share the bed anymore?" He speaks, sounding tired.

Suddenly, I am again feeling guilty. I turn on my feet, his hand was still gripping my wrist when I get into the sheets beside him. I prevent looking at his face. I am too weak for that stuff, especially when he sounds already half-sober.

His hand slowly slips off me and I clench my eyes shut.

***

I am sure that I was lying on the bed unable to sleep for several hours now. It's raining outside, pouring heavier with each passing minute. But it's better than the silence because seriously when the raindrops weren't tapping against my windowpane, all I could hear was my jittering heartbeat, heavy breathing and the sound of Tom's own breathing.

I shift underneath me, turning on my side to finally look at Tom.

Now that he's sleeping, he won't catch me staring, right?

He was sleeping on his side with his arm tucked below his head, facing me. My fingers slowly slide across the skin of his face as I breathe in deeper and rest my palm over his cheek. My thumb softly strokes his smooth skin while my pinky was playing with his ear.

His eyes flutter open, lashes resembling butterfly wings. Those freaking pools of chocolate. Once again, I was frozen on the spot.

How fair it is that people can be naturally born with eyes as soft and as brown as those?

"Haz..." He whispers my name and I feel the knots in my stomach tying.

"Why did you run...?" His voice is quiet but sounds serious. He seriously demands an explanation. But I am just staring into his eyes, not speaking anything.

Because I did some outrageous friendship destroying shit and running away was my way of escape, albeit, it just made everything much worse...

"I am sorry," That's what I say, finally. He huffs at my words.

Then he shifts closer to me, my heart clenching tighter than ever, my armpits sweating disgustingly.

"That's not the question I asked..." He says, wriggling a hand out from under the covers and putting it over my face, stroking my skin and playing with my ear, just like I was doing a few moments ago.

I lick my dry lips, swallowing softly.

"Okay, wrong question..." He smiles lightly, "Why did you kiss me?"

His grin appears to tease me. I am already overwhelmed by the closeness when he's asking me such questions. I try to divert the question as I avert my gaze, suddenly unclear of how long an eye-contact should be maintained.

"I thought you would be mad at me... You blocked me and---"

And then Tom shoves his head forward, pressing his lips against mine. My mouth splits open at the contact, an embarrassing puff of air escaping.

Tom's other hand is quick to find my arm from below the sheets as he slips his fingers through mine, while his other hand is busy tracing a thumb across my jaw. It's weirdly soothing. The sound of the rain tapping against my window makes it even better.

My eyes are shut as he tilts his head, pressing his lips tighter, his tongue licking at my bottom lip. He squeezes my hand, making me gasp. He sees the perfect opportunity, sliding it inside my mouth while I am a whimpering mess. His breath smells and tastes of mint from the toothpaste, eliciting tingles in my abdomen.

I lurch forward, trying to kiss him back but he's swift to pull away, lips separating with a soft popping sound. My eyes flutter open at the loss of contact.

"Ask me why I kissed you?" He mumbles against my lips with a big, confident smirk.

Son of a...

How can I ever forget about the surge of confidence levels in him after there is some alcohol in his system?

"Ask..." He repeats, more forcefully this time making me look directly into his eyes.

I breathe in, "Why..."

He raises his eyebrows and I fight the urge to roll my eyes back.

"Why did you kiss me?"

He chuckles and softly pats my cheek, pulling away his hand from my face but the other one continues to hold my hand in his.

"... 'coz I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you."

"Did... Did you think of Lily?"

His face turns serious at the question, almost sad. He shakes his head.

"No..." He pauses, looking at me sternly. His Adam's apple bobbles in his throat, "When you are with me I forget about everything else."

A tear escapes his eye, sliding though the side of his eye and falling directly over the pillow. He clenches his eyes shut, squeezing my hand tighter.

Drunk Tom is also emotionally unstable...

"I am sorry Haz. I can't love her when I am already in love with you." His voice sounds so wrecked, so broken... I just pull him to my chest, pulling my hand out of his grip and wrapping it across his torso.

"I understand why you ran... And yet I kissed you again," He speaks in between his sobs.

I don't know why but his words made me smile. Maybe because he understands, yet he did it. It's so courageous. He's so brave. Like it's us against the world.

"Lily understands," I tell him. He stops sobbing abruptly, his body freezes as if he's unable to comprehend my words.

"Huh?" He asks in disbelief, pulling away from my chest and looking into my eyes.

"Yes. She does. She just told it to me." I smile wider, swiping the tears off his face while he blinks.

"Really?" He utters, voice creaky.

"Yes!"

He keeps staring at me like a frightened animal. He is still not believing me. It made me chuckle.

"Yes, div! Come 'on just believe me!" I insist.

His mouth parts, tongue poking out. He's silent for a minute as I notice the changing expressions on his face.

"She did not!" He exclaims.

"She did!"

"Oh god. Am I this obvious?" He laughs, probably assuming my conversation with Lily to be something funny. Not his fault though. I cut him some slack, considering all life he's been surrounded by three brothers in an easy relationship not the complicated and competitive one I share with Lily. Although with Charlotte it's all super smooth.

Still, the sound of his laughter feels good. I can't complain.

This time I pull him into a kiss interrupting his giggles. I am going to keep kissing him till his lips swell. But all we both are doing is smiling into the kiss, unable to hold the contact even for a few seconds.

But then again, now I have plenty of time to kiss him like that later. Right now, it's this moment that matters. It's Tom who matters.

No more holding back...

_______

Taz taglist: @hazmyheart​ // @justasmisunderstoodasloki​ // @tommysparker​ // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything​ // @thenoddingbunny-blog​ // @calltothewild​​ // @viagracex​ // @httplayer​ // @slytherin-chaser​ // @perspectiveparker​ // @catkeeperthetall​ // @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​ // @its-a-leap-of-faith-kid​ // @emmaloo21​ //

#hollerfield #hollerfield fanfiction #taz #torrison #tarrison #harrison osterfield #tom holland #tom x haz #tom holland x harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #tom holland fanfiction #harrison osterfield fanfiction #tom holland imagine #harrison osterfield imagine

[anika-ann]

The Line between Respectful and Stupid - Pt.1

God Bless Office Rats

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader       Word count: 1610

Warnings: swearing, gun violence, blood

Summary: First mission as a SHIELD agent. With the Captain. What could possibly go wrong?

Story Masterlist

Being one of the newest recruits-finally-turned-agents, you didn’t expect to be more than a paper-pusher honestly. You couldn’t say you were exactly content with that, but hey, at least you left the imaginary nest of baby to-be-agents relatively soon, actually feeling a bit proud. A bit.

As it turned out, you were about to be a paper-pusher; for like a day. And then Agent Kirski – big fella, in all senses if the word, one of the big fishes, a legend – casually walked into the office where desks of agents on duty were barely divided into boots to create an illusion of their own private space, stopped right in front of your desk, crossed his arms on his chest and with serious eyes told you: “Agent 19, you’re up. Wheels up in thirty.”

And your whole mind was a one huge what the frack with three question marks alternating with exclamation marks and you stared ahead of yourself for at least five minutes until Harry, the good friend of everyone in the office space he was, nudged you with a gentle smile, excited and a bit worried.

“Don’t get yourself shot, Little One. You’re too young to retire,” the man with grey hair said to you with a grin, thinking how funny he was since he was the one who actually was supposed to be retiring like two years ago.

You chuckled self-depreciatingly to humour him and let a quiet “Don’t worry.” slip out.

Which was clearly a serious mistake, because ten minutes after your team – under the strict command of Captain Steve Rogers aka Captain America, how the fuck had you got to this mission again? – landed its quinjet, things blew up.

Literally.

Because it was a set-up.

Seemingly an abandoned base was in fact full of members of terrorist organization which was inspired by Nazi’s HYDRA and they apparently developed a new tech to mask themselves from SHIELD’s radars, because suddenly there were tens of people versus your barely coordinated group of seven.

You didn’t even have time to take cover.

“Look out!” a male voice you couldn’t place yelled from your right and you frantically scanned your surroundings, not sure if it was a warning meant for you.

When bullets started raining around you, miraculously avoiding your body, you were suddenly more than confident that the speaker – whoever he was – definitely wanted to address you.

You crouched behind the nearest tree, peeking to find a target, the quinjet still open few feet from you. Not that you checked because wanted to run back into it and then fly away, happily returning to paper-pushing. Not at all.

Maybe a bit.

When the insane fire, making splinters and leaves looking like they had been through a smoothie machine, stopped flashing around you, you got out of your cover just for an inch to return few bullets to the enemy.

“Shit!” you hissed under your breath when the joke turned out to be on you, a bullet going straight through your arm.

The shocking pain came like a tide-wave only few seconds later when you were secured behind your poor natural shield of a tree. You felt tears in your eyes at the gnawing agony, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from screaming.

Yeah, sure, alert more people to where you’re hiding. Great plan, Miss Grown-Up Agent.

You huffed and with your right hand unfairly shaky, you tried to reciprocate the fire once more. You barely managed to empty the magazine of your gun by the time you heard the ominous beeping that was haunting you in your nightmares due to the excessive use of that distinctive sound in your training.

The ticking of the bomb was too fast. It was about to explode any second and you had no idea where it was coming from and where you should hide.

The answer offered itself. It came in a form of a huge figure springing your direction. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself and a man slammed his body into yours with a deafening sound of an explosion in the background that felt way too close.

A shockwave smashed into you, sending you sliding through the grass and mud, but not as burning as it should.

It was because your body was basically wrapped in another one, very male, very huge, and very much hid behind a vibranium shield.

Your brain finally caught up. Captain America just probably saved your life. And fuck, make that definitely.

You didn’t thank him; before you could open your mouth, he pulled you to your feet by your arm – the injured one – and sent a wave of throbbing agony through your whole body. You gritted your teeth and didn’t let out a sound.

Your feet moved on autopilot.

Your ears were still ringing from the explosion, dirt flying away from under your feet and yet you blindly followed the man you owed your life and soul. You noticed his lips were moving rapidly, but you gave up on trying to understand what he was saying.

Before you knew it, you were basically shoved into an all-road vehicle that appeared out of fucking nowhere and suddenly you were driving away, crouched as you were taught to, hearing the bullets raining against the bullet-proof glass.

“If you hear me, get the hell out. I don’t know where each of you is so I can’t get you – you’re on your own. Retreat and use the distress signal when safe. Repeat, use the distress signal.”

You were still covering your head, trying to ignore the sharp turns he was taking, making your body sway from one direction to another.

“Keep pressure on it!” he barked then and you winced, surprised by the urge in his voice as much as the relative calm.

You blinked your eyes open, not realizing you had had them squeezed shut. He was talking to you, wasn’t he? Your arms eased the cage you held your head in – and fuck, did it hurt to move your right arm, how could have you not noticed it when covering yourself – and you obediently put your palm over the wound.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied automatically, only to shook your head. Way to go, Miss Agent. “Yes, Captain.”

You were very hesitant to actually apply any pressure despite knowing it was necessary. The thing was, you also knew that if you did so, the pain would send your head spinning-

A sharp turn right and suddenly you were applying pressure while using your injured hand to prop up your body against the dash so you wouldn’t end up in your commander’s lap. The spray of bullets fell silent, only a stray hitting the cracked glass.

“Sorry,” the captain muttered and you, surprised by the rather sudden freedom of the immediate danger, straightened yourself in the seat, managing to fasten a seatbelt. It meant few more moments without touching your wound, which was perfectly fine with you.

You even had time to check out your driver, whose glorious uniform – and doubtlessly handsome face, mostly hidden by his helmet – was covered in dirt and a bit of blood. His half-gloved hands were both firmly clutching the wheel, his gaze darting towards the rear-view and wing mirrors.

You had no clue what possessed you to answer to his unexpected apology. What was he apologizing for anyway? For saving you from being blown up and getting you to safety? Yeah, sure, deadly sin.

“That’s quite alright, Sir. You’re driving for our lives.”

He shot you a strange look, effectively stopping your heart, but then he shook his head, unfastening the strap on his helmet. He tossed it on the backseat, right next to his shield. Huh, you hadn’t noticed that baby before. Of course he would take his shield to safety. He was clearly very attached to it.

And you were getting pretty big-mouthed – good thing you didn’t say the last thoughts out loud. He was your freaking commander and you should act like it.

“Sorry, Captain, that sounded less bold in my head,” you murmured, gritting your teeth when trying to follow his instruction – and your training – and finally press against the gunshot wound in your bicep.

Maybe you just imagined it, the adrenalin and blood loss making you see things, but when his eyes glanced your direction again, a hint of a lopsided smile was settled on his face.

“Whatever you say, Agent. Just try not to bleed out even with my terrible driving skills,” he threw back and despite your better judgement, you gave him a tired smile back.

“Where exactly are you taking us? I mean… us, right? You’re not gonna ditch me on a side of the road and drive to the sunset alone?”

What on Earth am I saying?!

“I’m not gonna leave you bleed out on the side of the road. Or anywhere else,” he promised, voice serious, but surprisingly kind and patient.

Was it wrong of you to feel quite relieved at that? Should you be ashamed for even asking the supposed incarnation of justice, liberty and heroism such a ridiculous question…? That being him, apart from many things that were being whispered behind his back? You didn’t really care.

You melted into your seat, resting your head against it, slightly turning your face to look at his profile. He seemed focused on the driving, yet lost in thoughts.

“Where are we going then?”

Perhaps you should have been able to figure it out yourself, but your brain was getting a bit tired, most likely because you were still bleeding. You thought you were entitled.

“To a safe house.”

Part 2

Tags:

@mermaidxatxheart​

#fanfiction #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america fanfiction #shield #shield agent reader #the line between respectful and stupid #anika ann

[always5hineee]

Hell and Back- Chapter 14: Fast and Furious (Trial 20)

Word count: 1817

Chapter warnings: Mild language and Dangerous actions

[Please do not replicate any of the behaviors read in this book.]

-----

       "Alright, so Lay's agreed to go next." Suho was talking to the group while Y/N and Chanyeol were in the bathroom. "We'll have Y/N do that next."

       "Speaking of Y/N, we've all had one, or both turns. She hasn't done any yet." Kyungsoo said with a worried look on his face.

       "Yeah, good point, she's skipping out." Kris accused. Shaking his head, the first man amended,

       "I didn't mean it like that. Moreso that I'm a little nervous- the challenges keep getting worse, I don't want her stuck doing the worst challenges."

       "She'll be fine," Baekhyun said, "Even if she doesn't have a power, the rest of us do."

       "You all act like having a power makes you better than me." She said from behind them, causing all of them to spin around in surprise. She and Chanyeol had returned, evidently more quietly than they had expected, as they hadn't even noticed the two walk up.

       "Chanyeol, your hair-" Sehun started to say, but Tao was more concerned with Y/N's comment.

       "Y/N, no one thinks that. We're just concerned for your safety-"

       "Yeah, because you think I'm less safe than you, because I don't have a power. It's not just about abilities, sometimes you have to rely on being smart. Or talented. Don't act like you're special just because you can burn things or pick up rocks with your mind."

       "Hypothetically that would make us better." Kris muttered under his breath, earning him an elbow to the side from Lay.

       "Ugh, whatever, let's just do the next challenge."

       "But-" Suho started.

       "Who's next?" She interrupted him, unwilling to talk about it anymore. She hadn't even given them a chance to ask Chanyeol about his hair- they'd probably figure it out.

       "Um, me." Lay said, raising a hand slightly.

       "What happened to having Luhan do it?"

       "His telekinesis is the limited power, so we figured it's better if, you know... someone with..."

       "Someone with powers did the challenge." She finished for him, still irritated. "Whatever, that's fine." She pressed his name, noting that it grayed out as soon as she did so. Now that she thought about it, Kai and Baekhyun's had been grayed out as well. Maybe the app knew when each person had taken their max number of turns. The trial loaded up, offering a new task for them to complete.

       "Drive 100mph on the freeway," she read out, "With everyone in the car." Continuing, she looked at the italicized text. "You must drive one hundred miles per hour, at least, on a major road (e.g. a road with a speed limit 65 or above and at least two lanes) for at least 120 seconds. If your speed drops below one hundred, your time will reset."

       "Shit." Lay breathed in. "That's pretty wild."

       "What does it matter? You have a license, you know how to drive." Chen pointed out.

       "Yeah, wait, didn't Jackie Chan teach you to drive?" Baekhyun laughed to himself, finding it hilarious.

       "That's not what I'm worried about." Lay snapped. "I just don't want to get ticketed. We're not allowed to tell the police about the trials, or else we're disqualified. And I'm not really interested in finding out exactly what the catch 'failure' means."

       "Most tickets are done by camera now, anyway." Xiumin reassured him.

       "And we're in Kris's car, so he'll get the ticket."

       "Oh hell no, I can't afford another ticket!" Kris groaned. "Go get your own car!"

       "We're wasting time if we do that," Baekhyun pointed out in a fake-nice tone. "It's easier since we just have yours."

       "We also can't all fit, though," Suho pointed out. "If we did happen to get stopped, we'd be in trouble, in more ways than one. Wouldn't getting arrested also breach the trial rules?"

       "At this point, we might as well just risk it." Sehun said. "That's why they're trials, right? They're not gonna be easy. The faster we get through this, the faster we can move on. Plus, it's only two minutes. How hard could it be?"

       Before they knew it, everyone was piled haphazardly into a continuously complaining Kris's car, Lay at the wheel adjusting the seat and the mirrors. Kris kept whining about this, but everyone basically ignored him. Everyone who was able buckled, sometimes two or three per belt. It wasn't exactly the most effective, but it was the best they could do. As Y/N moved to take a seat, she realized that it was basically full.

       "You can have my seat." Kai muttered, moving to get out of the car.

       "And where are you gonna sit, on top of me? You'll crush me." She hissed.

       "Oh... right." Awkwardly moving the belt, he said, "Just sit on my lap, it's only for a few minutes." She looked past him into the other seats, but her options weren't exactly fantastic. She could sit on the floor, and break her neck if they crashed, and out of the boys in the middle seat, he was the biggest. Finally, she relented, wiggling her way into the car as he shut the door behind her. The belt was just long enough to buckle the both of them into the same seat, pressing her downwards and constricting her breathing slightly.

       "Sorry." He mumbled again as Lay started up the car, pulling out to make his way towards the freeway. Breathing in deeply, Lay looked in the rearview mirror.

       "Alright, I guess we're doing this. Who's gonna keep time on the drive?"

       "I have it on the app." Y/N said. "I'll let you know when you're done." They drove down the street, boys whispering under their breath to each other. She briefly heard Kyungsoo once again trying to reassure Luhan about the trials. She was continually growing more and more worried about his adverse reactions to the trials. Of course, they weren't fun for any of them, but he seemed particularly unsettled.

       Suho calmly directed him as they made their way onto the interstate. He obviously hadn't driven in a hot minute, as it wasn't really integral to their daily activities. Honestly, Kris mostly drove, just because he preferred it. Still, that wasn't the trial, so it wasn't an option. He directed the driver to the left lane, explaining the plan.

       "It's the afternoon, so thankfully their direction shouldn't be backed up at all. Going out of the city will be crowded, but hopefully the trail will be done long before we turn around or end up on the other side of the city. Get up to 100 as fast as you can, there's no reason to sit at 80 or 90. Make sure you're safe above anything. We can have multiple shots at this."

       "Of course you would say that." Kris mumbled.

       "The road's clear, get started." Suho directed, leading Lay to slam his foot on the gas pedal. Lurching forward a bit, she tried to keep from looking out the window, simply staring at her screen and waiting for the timer to start. As soon as it did, she swallowed, notifying them,

       "Count is going, maintain at least this speed." The seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly, Kai bringing his chin up over her shoulder to try and see the phone. As they continued at the rate they were driving, Sehun shouted something about the RPM meter that she was too stressed to comprehend. Watching the timer, they passed the thirty second mark, the car began vibrating slightly more violently than usual. As Kris had expensive taste, they weren't worried about the car being able to handle it, but generally if you don't run a car at those speeds consistently, it can be a little stiff. Even so, Kris seemed less concerned about the car breaking, and more concerned that Lay was the first one to be able to drive it so fast.

       As they approached one minute, she was starting to calm down, almost forgetting what was going on. They were still progressing far slower than she could have ever imagined seconds to be, but they were progressing nonetheless. That was, until he slammed on the brakes. The car lurched forward, causing Y/N to hit her head on the back of the seat, kai quickly trying to maneuver to make sure she was okay. She watched as the time paused, then clicked back down to zero.

       "What the hell, man?" Kyungsoo growled.

       "I'm sorry! There's someone in front of me! I can't-"

       "Start again." He demanded. "And this time don't stop. We don't have leeway to deal with this." As the car in front of Lay pulled into the right lane, (too little too late), he was given the room he needed to start again. The timer started again - Thirty seconds came first. The shaking was less severe this time, serving her hypothesis on the car's workings. They passed one minute. One twenty. When they were about to reach a minute and a half, Lay began to make stuttering noises once again.

       "Uh, there's- two car's, I have to stop, I-"

       "Don't stop." Kyungsoo demanded from the back seat.

       "I don't have a choice! I can't rear end a-" Leaning over into the front, Baekhyun grabbed the wheel with one hand, jerking it to the left. The tires spilled over the edge onto the shoulder, crossing over the rumble strips and vibrating the entire vehicle. If not for Lay's quick adverse reaction, they would have smashed into the concrete wall. Missing the other car by mere inches to the right, they managed to pass, barely maintaining their hundred-mile speed.

       "What the fuck?!" Lay screamed, the whole car unsettled by the occurrence, Y/N practically covering her eyes aside from glancing down at the timer.

       "Two minutes!" She shouted suddenly. "That's two minutes! You can-" She hadn't even finished her sentence before Lay slammed on the brakes, pulling off into the shoulder, intentionally this time. As he pressed on the brakes once more, Kai anticipated her falling forward this time, grabbing her by the waist to make sure she didn't slide and hit her head. As soon as they had slowed to a stop, he put the vehicle in park, leaning back and breathing out heavily.

       "What is wrong with you?!" He asked Baekhyun in a loud shout. "That was fucked up!"

       "But we won!" He said with a smile, pointing at Y/N's phone.

       "We could have died!"

       "But we didn't!"

       "But we could have."

       "You could have healed us."

       "Not if I were dead."

       "Okay, then Tao could have reversed time."

       "Not if he were DEAD-"

       "Look, we're fine," Baekhyun held his hands up. "That's all that matters. Let's just keep moving and not think about this too much! Now you don't have any more personal challenges." Breathing in deeply, sweating slightly, Lay looked over.

       "Kris, you're driving us home."

Go to Chapter 15

#exo #exo x reader #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #kris #luhan #tao #suho #sehun #chanyeol #chen #baekhyun #kai #xiumin #lay #kyungsoo #kpop #x reader #Kpop x reader #Kpop fanfiction #Kpop fanfic #trials

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Author’s Note: For @angel-with-a-pipette (since for some reasons my fault one of the things we’ve talked about when we PM each other is Twilight. LOL). It’s not the drawing idea I had--I may still try and do that for you--but here’s a scene of Sora and Kairi in Twilight (the book) as Edward and Bella, but with my own SoKai spin on it all.

Basically? It’s right after Edward (though Sora in this) saves Bella (Kairi) from those guys in Port Angeles--when she’s already figured out he’s a vampire and a mind reader, though they haven’t had that conversation yet--and before they go to dinner in Port Angeles (which actually doesn’t happen in this fic, for reasons I’ll explain in a minute).

Also, I went with the “Life and Death” version of the Port Angeles scene. No one was trying to rape Kairi here--thank God--but rather when she got dropped off at Forks in the beginning of the book, she saw something shady going on with these guys at the airport. And in Port Angeles, she runs into those same guys from before, who want to kill her because they remember her from that day and think she was a witness to the event.

I also changed some of the Twilight vampire lore here. I’m having Sora be able to blush, as human blood lingers in his tissues. I’m also making him less strong, so that he thinks getting into a car accident--if the car blew up and there was fire, that is--could actually kill him.

And I tried to give Kairi a tiny bit more agency here--as Bella (who I do love. Don’t get me wrong)--by having her drive some, and Sora actually appreciating her driving and whatnot. IDK.

But anyway, I’ve rambled enough. Here’s the story.

Kairi’s PoV

"Have you always been so... empathetic, as to understand everyone's emotions the way you do? I mean, not to be mean, but you seem a bit staggered around me... so I feel there has to be something going on to make you to be so intuitive around everyone else," Kairi said, in trying to get the boy beside her, Sora—who she knew was a vampire—to admit that he was that… as well as a mind reader.

Sora gripped the steering wheel a little harder at Kairi’s words and blushed—the only indication he gave to Kairi at all, that what she was asking somewhat bothered him. But then he was so calm and pleasant when he faced her afterwards—as he always was—that Kairi had to wonder if she’d imagined his discomfort. “…O- of course I’m not that suave around you, Kairi. I- I like you, so it makes me feel nervous... So I’m sorry if I maybe seem less poised with you, that way, than I do with other people. …But you really think I’m that good with others? I don’t.”

Well, now it was Kairi’s turn to flush and feel a bit nervous, wasn’t it? Kairi sent a small smile Sora’s way, trying to show him that she liked him, too… Though she was irritated that he was trying to lie to her about his abilities now …

But she also understand what insecurities he might have that could drive him to do so. So as gently as she could, Kairi leaned ever closer to Sora and gently put a hand atop his. “Sora, I- I know that you’re a vampire, okay? And that you can read minds… except for probably mine. it’s okay. You can- you can tell me all about it.”

…Aaaaaaaaaand Sora nearly drove them off a bridge at Kairi’s words—something that almost made her regret she’d ever said a thing. Almost.—but he regained control of the vehicle again, fast… and Kairi found herself falling even more in love, as Sora saved her life once again.

“Wh- what? Why would you even say that, Kairi? Of course I’m not! Now, let’s stop thinking about ridiculous things and join Selphie and Naminé for dinner, shall we? Ehehehe.” But it was clear by the edge in Sora’s voice—and how he was speaking in a pitch much higher than Kairi had ever heard from him before—that she had stumbled upon the truth.

The redhead shivered as that information really hit her. Yes, she knew for a fact that Sora would never hurt her—she could just feel it in her heart; and more than anything, he’d been helping her lately. Hadn’t he?—but it was still something else, to have the information that Seifer had eluded at proved to be true.

And seeming to realize the jig was up, Sora gave up the front of acting like Kairi was wrong, and slumped in the driver’s seat as he let out one great big sigh. “Kairi, I- I’m sorry. You must be scared right now—and you have every right to be!—I- I wanted to keep you from danger as much as I could. But I was kidding myself in thinking anything’s more a threat to you than I am. Here: I’ll drop you off with your friends and then I’ll leave your life forever.”

But all of that was the opposite of what Kairi wanted!

And while Sora may have been doubting himself here, Kairi knew the kind of heart he bore. Sora was so good to everyone! His siblings, for example, that Kairi got to witness him being amazing to on a daily basis… He was there for her for sure, in saving her both from that van and those guys who had just recognized her from the airport…

And even when Kairi had been pushing Sora into telling her what was going on with his powers, he’d only ever been sweet to her… even while he pushed her away, sometimes literally (though always gently).

And he’d also signed himself up to go on a date with anyone who would pay a lot of money to charity for his being their date… even if he’d clearly hated the idea of going out with Larxene.

Sora was kind through and through, and Kairi just wished that he would see that!

“Sora, why don’t you- why don’t you let me drive? You seem too emotionally spent to do so yourself right now—and that’s my fault, and I apologize for it—but we both want to get home safely, right?”

And wordlessly, Sora acquiesced to Kairi’s request. He pulled over somewhere—something that Kairi knew should have been terrifying her, but wasn’t—and then switched seats with her.

Then, when Kairi was driving and they were fully back on the road, Sora leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes and smiled… He seemed to be liking her driving. Maybe he’d actually gotten tired of driving so fast, but hadn’t realized so until now?

“Sora, I want you to know I’m not afraid of you,” Kairi told her dear friend—though how she wished he was more—as she tried her best to focus on the jerk driver behind her who wanted to rear end her, and not on the fact that she was really laying her heart out on the line here. “And no, before you protest… I don’t think that’s me being stupid, or anything else. If it was anyone else- a vampire who really seemed to want me dead, for instance, I’d be running for the hills right now.

“But you- if anything, you’re the opposite of that. And I want you to know how much I appreciate that: how you seem to fight tooth and nail against your very nature to be able to be someone to write home about. It’s like how I went against what I want—who I really am—in moving here for my mom’s sake, not my own… But you’re probably more selfless than I even am, because you don’t complain every second about the choice that you’ve made. But I- I do.”

Kairi thought Sora would protest some of her self-loathing words here, because, if nothing else… their encounters together had told her that Sora thought she was pretty unselfish and special in that way.

But Kairi right now was trying to show Sora, that… really, he was a lot like her. And that they were two outcasts together in this world. And maybe that could mean something for them.

And Sora seemed to latch onto that, and chose not to dispel the image she had created: something she would be thankful for later.

“Kairi?” Sora asked now, as he opened one beautiful eye and peered at Kairi with it, as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world. “Do you- do you mind if we ditch your friends and go to a candy store or something? I swear I’ll tell you everything you want to know there.”

“I’d very much like that, Sora,” Kairi replied bashfully, to which Sora smirked and told her she didn’t have to be so uncertain around him—since, in his eyes, if anyone should be doubting everything they knew in this situation, it was him. But even while he said that, it was his hand that found Kairi’s this time.

Author's Note: So, like I said, they don't actually go out to dinner in this. Why? Because having the "vampire" talk happen early changed some things. And also because it's Sora and Kairi and not Edward and Bella, so they're a bit healthier. Because of Kairi's words, Sora's willing to try and trust himself to be alone with Kairi (unlike how Edward would have been)... something they both really want to be, and NOT with others right now, as they want to be a couple and give it a go. But they go to a candy shop, because Sora (like Edward) still thinks Kairi needs to eat. But he's not overly pushy about it like Edward, so he's fine with her just eating something small like candy on a date (as long as she's eating something at all. As Sora thought she'd refuse in getting food-food, since HE doesn't eat). You can see the candy shop date as the substitute for the Italian restaurant one in some ways, if you want.

#my writing #mine #my work #Shanna writes #sokai #gift #gift fic #present #present fic #also way moreso twilight the book than the movie #because. like. I still like the books... well mainly the first one. but I really can't say the same about the movies anymore tbh

[lazyfox411]

Out of the Woods

this awesome little piece is a collab with my bestie @hastalalaterkeith7152!!!! Awesome job buddy :) go check out her blog guys!!!!

Summary: Lance is going through a breakup. Keith is running for his life. As fate would have it, their lives intertwine very quickly.

“I hate you and I'm leaving and nothing you say can stop me!”

“Good! I wouldn’t want to stop you!”

Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Lance jabbed a finger at the end call button on his phone. He wanted nothing more than to roll down the window and throw it across the parking lot. Why did he have to say those things? Of course he wanted to stop her. He loved her. But she had just become another part of his past, all with one phone call. It was becoming a pattern. Everyone left him.

“Why does everybody have to leave?” he mumbled into his hands.

As he reached for the dashboard to turn up the heat, fingers shaking against the cold, Lance picked out a sound over the thrum of the car’s engine. A loud slapping, feet pounding on wet pavement. The bright lights of the car interior flicked on as the passenger door was yanked open and someone leapt in.

It was a total stranger. Lance had never seen him before, he was sure. He would have remembered the wide, striking eyes, such a deep blue they were almost violet, framed by a mane of thick raven black hair. The stranger’s face was flushed, and his chest heaved with exertion.

Before Lance could utter a single word, the stranger yelled, “Drive.”

A pair of headlights flashed in the rear-view mirror and a horn blared. Lance kicked the car into gear and slammed on the gas before the offending vehicle could slam straight into his bumper. Dirt and rocks stirred under the tires and flew in the air behind them as the car sped out of the lot and onto the main road. He thought better of slowing for the red light, instead speeding through the deserted intersection as the car behind him got steadily closer. It was early in the morning, leaving the streets vacant and easier to maneuver.

The little red needle of the speedometer ticked far past the posted limit, and every instinct inside Lance told him to stop, pull over, get this guy out of his car. He didn't need to be wrapped up in whatever this was. His heart beat like the hooves of a racehorse going full tilt, adrenaline flooded his veins with the rev of the car engines. He looked in the mirror to see the other car still on his tail. He gunned the engine.

Why was he doing this? His girlfriend wouldn’t like him doing this. But she’d left. No one cared what he did anymore.

Lance kept his attention to the road but spared a glance at the stranger in the passenger seat. His thin frame suggested he was still young, not much older than Lance himself, repeatedly twisting his head to look over his shoulder at the car chasing them. His pale skin glimmered with sweat, and the whites of his eyes shone when he caught Lance looking at him.

“Take the highway,” he told Lance, pointing to the fast approaching entry ramp.

“Why?” Lance demanded. He hoped he didn't sound as nervous as he was.

“Just do it.” The guy’s voice was gruff, the sort of voice that commanded and didn't leave room for objection. The kind of voice that was dangerous.

Lance’s blood ran cold. He might have imagined it, but he thought he felt something press against his side, prompting him to weigh his options in the short distance to the ramp. He decided to follow the order, white knuckled grip shifting on the steering wheel as he pulled onto the highway.

The speedometer rose as high as Lance dared to let it. Maybe a police officer would catch him before he lost control of the car and then he could leave this whole crazy situation to the cops. Maybe the car would break down first. Maybe he would break down.

They were still being pursued, but the other vehicle didn't seem to be gaining any ground. Trying to put as much distance between himself and the crazies that were after him, Lance put on his turn signal and zoomed past the few other cars that were in front of him.

“Did you seriously just put your blinker on? This is a car chase! Haven’t you seen any of the Fast and the Furious movies?”

“Well, since I’m breaking almost every single road law right now, I figure I might as well lessen the risk of my bank account’s imminent death. You know, if we live.”

“We’re gonna live. Stop complaining.”

“Stop complaining? You-”

Lance pressed himself firmly against the back of the driver’s seat, taking deep breaths through his nose. Fighting with this stranger was getting them nowhere.

“Okay,” Lance breathed. “Okay. Who the heck are you, what are you doing in my car, and who are they?” He jerked a thumb behind his head. He had lost track of who was chasing them after passing a string of cars, but he knew they were still back there somewhere.

The stranger sighed, as if he'd been dreading this very moment his whole life. “I’m Keith,” he mumbled. The assertive, fiery attitude from seconds earlier was gone. His head was down, bangs hanging in his face, fingers tapping relentlessly on the armrest of his seat.

“Oh, yeah, that’s very helpful,” Lance retorted after several moments of silence. “Thanks, man, glad we could clear that up.”

The stranger, Keith, scoffed. “You asked.”

“I asked a couple other questions, too, so if you want me to keep driving, you'd better start talking.”

More silence answered. Lance groaned and rolled his eyes, only to feel the wheel being wrenched to the left underneath his hands.

“Eyes on the road, idiot,” Keith snarled, his slender hand guiding the car back to the center of the road and away from the ditch.

Lance’s eyes narrowed as he leveled a glare down the expanse of highway. “Explanation,” he ordered. “Now.”

Keith’s knee bounced up and down and he chewed his lip. “Those guys chasing us don’t like me,” he began.

               “Yeah, I got that.” Lance felt compelled to cut him off. “You're lucky I’m not thinking straight or else your ass would be way back there on the side of the road.” No one had asked him for that justification, but he felt more in control of the situation now.

Keith growled at the interruption, but continued, “They don’t like me because I kind of might have sort of stolen something from them, and now they want to turn me in, or more likely take care of me themselves.”

Lance’s eyes widened and the pressure on the gas let up slightly. “Turn you in? You mean that I’m trafficking a criminal?” he cried indignantly.

“What? No,” Keith blanched, “I'm not a criminal.”

“You just told me you stole something.” Lance continued to drive, but he didn't feel the same sense of urgency. Maybe it would be best to just pull over and kick this guy to the curb. Then again, what if he hadn't imagined that poke in the ribs?

“It isn’t like that,” Keith insisted. “I'm not the bad guy. I guess I just got in with the wrong crowd. I made a mistake. Haven’t you ever made a mistake in your life?”

Lance opened his mouth. He paused. He thought of the phone call.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I have.”

“Will you help me fix my mistake?” Keith asked.

Lance looked at him, really looked at him, trying to decipher what was going on in his head. He was frantically craning his neck to see behind them, and both of his hands were in his lap, which meant that, no, he wasn’t holding a weapon to Lance’s side. It must have just been his imagination. He met Keith's eyes again, and the guy’s face looked so similar to one he had seen countless times before, the one he loved, the one he wished he could see right now.

This guy wasn’t dangerous, Lance decided. He was just scared. Maybe someone had left him, too.

Lance barely hesitated before he said, “Alright.”

Keith didn’t give any indication he heard, instead moving on to their current predicament. “They had some sort of sports car. It was a weird colour,” he added, “almost purple.”

A glance in the rear-view mirror held no purple sports cars.

“Maybe we lost them?” Lance said hopefully. He wasn’t sure how much more reckless driving his old Chevrolet could take.

Keith shook his head. “Not likely. These guys won’t quit.”

Lance’s reluctant mumble of agreement was cut off by a squealing of tires.

“Shit!” he screeched, the sole of his shoe connecting with the brake pedal to avoid ramming into the purple sports car that shot in front of them. He wasn’t fast enough. The front end of his Chev clipped the rear of the sports car. Metal clashed, glass shattered, and engines whined as both cars were thrown off course. Lance fought with the wheel to keep his steady. It didn’t work.

The car spun out of control and hurtled towards the side of the highway. Lance heard Keith shriek beside him and he did the same as the car left the road with a sickening thud. Tall grass brushed the sides of the car as it bounced along the rough ground and the two boys inside were tossed around helplessly, waiting for it to stop.

Crash. All Lance saw was the white of the airbag that flew in his face. His body snapped forward and he flailed to find something to hold on to. He heard Keith curse, then all went silent.

Lance groaned. His head was spinning. He sat up with a sharp inhale at the ache that shot up his spine. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, scanning, assessing, where was he and why? The foggy haze lifted from his mind when he heard Keith groan beside him.

“Keith,” he panicked, “hey man, are you okay?”

No answer.

“Talk to me,” Lance pressed.

“Dude, what the hell,” Keith grunted hoarsely, “who taught you to drive?” There was a nasty gash on his forehead, but he seemed otherwise alright.

"Alright, guess that answers that question."

"Ugh," Keith groaned and rubbed his head, wincing as he brought his hand down to see crimson blood covering it. "Well, with any luck, the crash knocked them out.”

Lance paled at the sight of the tree sandwiched in his windshield. No way this old car was driving anywhere any time soon. He looked over, still dizzy and disoriented, and decided the purple blob close by was the other car.

“Assholes! You wrecked my car!” Shouts rang out, and they weren’t happy.

"Yeah, our luck's run out. Looks like we aren't out of the woods yet."

Lance shouldered his door open. As soon as he stepped into the night air he was checked to the ground by a massive boulder. He soon realized the boulder was a man, a very angry man, towering over him like a bull about to attack. Lance struggled to catch his breath, still reeling from the impact. He sent a poorly aimed kick to defend himself. His foot hit something soft and fleshy and he heard a cry, then the guy’s big disgusting face was in his, muttering, “You’re gonna regret that.” Light from the moon glinted off something shiny in the man’s hand.

He’s got a gun, Lance thought in agony. He clenched his eyes shut, expecting the worst. What he got could only be described as a battle cry, and the weight of the man on top of him disappeared. Lance scrambled to his feet to see Keith rolling on the ground with his attacker.

“Run,” Keith yelled, “I’m right behind you.”

Lance didn't need to be told twice. His head was pounding, and he was pretty sure the stars he saw weren’t the ones that were in the sky. At this point, he couldn’t tell which way was up or down, but he made his feet move somehow, away from the ruined vehicles and into the woods that ran along the highway.

His back hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt, but worst of all was his heart. What had he gotten himself into? None of this would have happened if not for that stupid phone call.

Footsteps sounded next to him, and he heard Keith ask if he was alright.

“Less talking, more running,” Lance huffed.

They were still being chased. A loud bang shook Lance’s eardrums and he realized too late that it was a gunshot. A sharp pain radiated through is shoulder, adding to the current pain in his back as the bullet ricocheted within the joint. His legs gave out from under him, and he went down, the exhaustion and agony making any movement on his own impossible. A pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders, causing the teen to convulse from the dull throb of pain. Moments later and the gun was pointed in his face. He was caught.

Lance was hauled to his feet, and he knew his captors were saying something to him, but he didn't care. He watched Keith, still running, arms pumping, away from the gunmen. Away from Lance. He was leaving.

“Keith,” Lance called. No, pleaded. He was begging now. He didn't want to be in the hands of these people. This wasn’t his penance.

Keith faltered, steps slowing as he turned to look back. Lance caught a glimpse of the sorrow in his eyes, but it didn't make him feel any better when Keith decided to just keep going, as if Lance had never existed in the first place.

“Everyone leaves,” Lance whispered before he was dragged away.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #klangst #angst #tag warnings for guns car crash and super minor swearing i guess #langst #kangst #collab #hastalalaterkeith7152 #my writing #au #whump #injury #hurt lance

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 2

SUMMARY: “Connor read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.”

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3

---

[...RECHARGING…]

[...RECHARGING…]

[...100%]

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL. VISUAL FEED NORMAL. TIME: 3:09 A.M]

‘Yea, the diplomats are doing their thing.’ Hank, eating a burger. ‘But they aren’t here with us. Doing the work on the ground, you know? It’s never gonna be...quite the same.’

‘Here with us.’

‘Life’s that way.’

‘You’d miss me.’

[RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC…..ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

Androids do not dream. Connor understands this. But the thoughts circle, endlessly. He processes and scans the color, texture, and sound of his memories until they are a grainy nonsense of variables that shouldn’t be there. Voices stop sounding right. Freckles are in the wrong place. Lips are the wrong size. The recollection is perfect; his sensor scans are absolutely complete.

The wrongness persists.

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

He opens his eyes. Moonlight and the white glare of streetlamps shine through the dusty windows of Hank’s spare room (“You live here, you live like a civilized human man. Android man. Fuck it, you know what I mean.”). Sumo snores softly in the hallway and his owner snores louder still in the bedroom across the way. All things normal.

Don’t tell me you were working this whole time.

I was at Dan’s.

A smile, and a strange look in Hank’s eye -- uncategorizable. No statements of clarification. Continues to watch television.

Connor could get up and work. Read one of the books Hank suggested. But the thoughts spin on, so many of them, and he’s not sure he’s willing to leave them be.

She’s interfacing again. Stress level: 55%. Monitor your life signs.

Incorrect prioritization. Monitor her life signs.

Mouth open, face uncharacteristically inexpressive. Eyes (dark brown -- dark dark brown, where do they go?) out of focus. Extremely minor shivering.

Why?

His eyes fly open and he focuses again on the chilling brightness of the moon, if only to stop this thought cycle before it can begin. The street is silent. He read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark of the sky gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.

[TIME: 3:15 A.M.]

--

Emma steps out of the client’s house, wiping sweat and grit off her forehead with the back of her glove. Clouds obscure the weakly setting sun, casting the neighborhood in a downcast gray. Materials she’d need for tomorrow’s drywall installation cycled through her head, hammering out all curious thought. A litany of the most boring items imaginable.

Nothing like exhaustion to beat the worry out of you.

Sleep or stagework? She hesitated outside her Taurus, testing the tires with her boot. If she had to ask, maybe she should just go home...

Her phone softly chimes.

Who could possibly want to call me now ?

She digs it out of her thick coat with a furrowed brow, suppressing a sigh. The number was “unknown,” but that was hardly unusual in her line of work. Androids were buying their own phones, but the savvy ones were understandably wary of tracking.

She clicks it over. “Emma Ibori.”

“Emma. Are you free?”

She blinks at the voice on the line. “Speaker Markus?” Well, that explains the blocked number. “...how’d you get my number?”

“It’s in the Corps files,” he says. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” His voice is warm but straightforward, plodding along pleasantries as if by rote.

She raises a brow in interest, but her gut sinks. The leader of the preliminary Android government probably didn’t just call people to chat. “Sure, no. What can I do for you?”

--

Hank taps his empty coffee cup on his desk and stares at Connor. He checks his watch...he’s been staring for a good three minutes now. Connor doesn’t even seem to notice.

Hank leans back in his chair, making it creak, and sighs heavily.

“I think we’re off the clock,” he finally says.

Connor is staring at his computer like he’s Atlas, holding the world up. His brow is furrowed as he scans through files that Hank knows too well will reveal nothing new, not even to a top of the line prototype detective. Connor has a single hand on his forehead, fingers reaching up through his hair -- a curious gesture of humanity that makes him seem much younger than he pretends to be, even if he is still sitting up ramrod straight.

“You can go home if you want,” Connor says politely. His eyes don’t leave the screen.

Hank frowns. He’s too well-worn to know how to break through the miasma gathering around the young man. He just tries to be there.

Tough being a prototype.

A rough guitar riff plays -- Hank’s phone. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the number. An opportunity.

“Anderson.”

“Hey, it’s Emma. Does Connor have a direct line to Markus, you think?”

“Emma, I'm at work.”

Lo and behold, Connor finally looks his way. Hank stifles a smirk at Connor’s attempt to make it look nonchalant by casting his gaze lazily to the side a moment, but Hank doesn’t buy it for a second. They had to get Connor his own phone soon.

“I got a weird call from him. He said he had a job opportunity come up at the old East Yard Elementary for me but, uh...the number he used won’t work.” He can hear the wind crackle through her phone speaker.

“Markus called you?”

“Maybe.” He can hear her shuffling with a door. “One reason I wanted to confirm with him. I’d just demo this place.”

Hank leans forward. Connor does too. Hank gives him a look -- eavesdropping is rude, how many times do I gotta tell you that? -- but his detective instinct yammers like a mad dog. “Go back to your car.”

A long pause. “...all right then.” He can hear her breathing as she begins to walk. “I didn’t go in far.”

“You really shouldn’t be on that side of town,” he says quietly. “Are you alone?”

She doesn’t answer. His gut clenches. The girl was tough, a wicked good contractor who’d fixed up a number of things in his old house, and a presence that flitted in and out like a fly he couldn’t chase away. But she, like a lot of the youth around these parts, was both too stubborn and too trusting. Connor was nearly out of his seat trying to listen in now, dark eyes intent upon Hank, all pretense gone.

“I have a gun.”

“Emma--”

“Look, can you just ask Con if--”

A loud, unmistakable bang.

“Emma?” He pulled his phone back and looked at the call connection.

The line was instantly dead.

“Oh, fuck. Connor--”

Connor was already running full speed toward the exit. Hank grabs his radio and follows, fast as he dares.

“Dispatch, we have a situation. Door! Connor, use the door!”

--

Emma’s ears ring. Fear blooms in her stomach like an orchid. In a thoughtless moment, she reaches up to touch her ear to check for bleeding, but her hand is embedded with glass and already slick so it’s useless. She can feel the blood trickling down her jaw. It’ll probably stain her coat, she realizes with a bizarre amusement.

All she can really think about is running, away from her car where they'd ambushed her, zigging and zagging between vehicles, between houses, through any path that could break up their beeline on her. She expects them to shoot again at any moment -- a thought that keens bright as lightning. But they don’t, despite the fact that they had the wherewithal to shoot her phone from her hand.

What was stopping them?

She chances a look back. Two figures in nondescript dark clothes chase her with stocky, athletic movements and a uniformity that felt too exact to be human.

Fear bottoms her out. All her breaths feel like flame.

Her bag drags down on her shoulder, even as she tries to keep it from smacking her side too much with her left hand. But it’s no use. It’s slowing her down and they clearly aren’t tiring. While she hears sirens wailing in the distance, she decides to buy time by -- God and Universe please fucking forgive me, I’m never gonna be able to buy tools again at this rate -- throwing the bag as far as she can at her pursuers.

But not without grabbing her gun first.

--

“It was a mistake to let you drive!” Hank wheezes, but Connor knows the man can’t mean it. At the speed they are going, only an android could have prevented their untimely death via crash.

[FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA]

Text flashes red in his eyes, constant, and he blinks hard to try and erase it. There is no erasing it.

[CIRCULATION ELEVATED. RECOMMEND DEEP BREATHS FOR SYSTEM COOLING.]

The dispatch chatter was up. Connor only slowed when he saw the flashing lights of other patrol cars in the distance, parked on some abandoned street where single-family housing met the blockier apartment units of inner Detroit. Police were exiting their cars, guns up.

He nearly slams the car into park. Hank grumbles something obscene but they both near tumble out of the car. They bolt toward what the other police are examining.

A bag…

Instantly, he enters analysis mode, the mind palace thrumming to life. Contents spilled out of the bag as if it was thrown for distraction. A measuring tape and a Laserlite level flung a few feet out of the bag from the force of the toss. One hammer, a smattering of nails and screwdrivers [multiple head types] are scattered on the pavement in an arc akin to spraying water.

Specks of fresh blood.

[MISSION: FIND EMMA.]

She loves this bag.

[PROCESSING: PROJECTING RUN BASED ON BAG LOCATION, THROWN ITEM DISTANCE, EAST YARD SCHOOL.]

“Connor, we’re going to find her, you just gotta--”

[RE-CONSTRUCTING]

“--take a second to breathe--”

[POSSIBLE DIRECTION: NORTHWEST?]

“--listening?”

Connor can hear Hank saying something in the background, but his processors burn too hot. He has a mission to do. He doesn’t have time for anything but analysis--

Two gunshots, 467 feet northwest.

His mission parameters squeeze his chest. Something lances his core biocomponent.

[DIAGNOSTIC UNDERWAY.]

He runs, fast as his feet will go, but the neighborhood is starting to blur around him. He leaves the other officers in the dust, not weighed down by patrol gear or a biological need for aerobic exercise. He vaults over parked cars and old trash bins and rounds the corner of an alleyway--

[RECONSTRUCTING PRECONSTRUCTING RECON--]

Two dead bodies litter the ground.

[THIRIUM -&*^&*CORRUPTION.]

What?

And Emma stands at the alley’s end, gun outstretched.

He stumbles to a stop at the sight. His entire vision shakes a moment.

Blood stains the side of her face, and one of her hands claws unnaturally around the gun, clearly injured. She stands with feet shoulder-width apart, arms straight. A near perfect shooting stance. One pursuer was downed with a shot to the head, the other with a shot to the chest. Executioner style.

Something hot burns in Connor’s ribcage. She had been cornered. A chainlink fence blocks the alleyway behind her.

She suddenly takes in a sharp breath.

“Emma!” The word feels torn from him as he skitters across the alley. Now he can see she’s close to tears, teeth barred, breath coming in shaky waves. “You’re all right,” he says, hands up. The softness of his voice comes at a shock considering the magma filling his midsection. “You’re safe now.”

[MISSION SUCCESS]

She takes in another sharp, shaky breath and the tears finally roll down her face. Her whole body near vibrates with stress. He moves until he is close enough that he can whisper.

“Give me the gun,” he says softly.

“No.”

His chest compresses further. “Please. You are not in a state to hold a weapon.”

Even if her shots were perfect.

She hesitates, but then thrusts the gun into his palm with her good hand -- much to his surprise. He sticks it in his extra holster on his waistband and then leans down slightly to level with her gaze. Without thinking, he tentatively rests his hands on her shoulders. His fingers wrap around her shoulders and his palms settle against her collarbones. Only then does it feel like she’s real.

Alive alive alive alive.

He scans her face, unwilling to miss a single detail. A gunshot wound to her right ear. Thick, coiled hair caking against the sticky blood. Scratches along her jawline from glass shards. Old smears of makeup under her eyes, now just black specks thanks to time and tears. But the constellation is still there -- a single smear of blood disrupting the map of freckles on her face…

“Connor!” Hank and the other police finally arrive, feet loud against the pavement. “Shit...”

Connor doesn’t turn to look back at them. He’s watching Emma’s dark brown eyes, waiting. Waiting. She stares at the middle distance between them, as if rebooting -- until suddenly she blinks and she isn’t. She’s looking right back at him. Searching his face.

“I’m--” A hiccup disrupts her sentence and she takes in another rough, shaky breath.

Another lance through his core biocomponent. He suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything at all. Something in him rumbles and roars -- a creature that he’d not witnessed since he broke the command to Stop Markus.

“Emma, hey, it’s gonna be alright.” That was Hank, breathing hard.

“Wh...why the fuck were they chasing me?” Emma looks between Connor and Hank, breaking eye contact finally. “They were by Tulio.” Her car.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hank says, stepping up next to them. He taps Connor’s shoulder once, a signal to move. Connor’s systems feel sluggish; he finds he doesn’t want to let go. But after a moment, he takes a step back, releasing her shoulders.

Hank places his scarf around her neck. “You said you could shoot but you never said you were a goddamn Olympian.”

She squints, looking away. “I dunno.” She gestures outward. “Got lucky, I guess.”

Luck?

Two programs go to war.

Analyze the variables: Markus’s involvement. Did someone use his voice? The supposed job. How did they obtain her number? Why did they chase but opt not to shoot her again? How did they find her? What did they want? Who are these androids and what was their purpose? Why was the reading of the blue blood returning corrupted data? Why is she shy about her gunshots? Find more information. Solve this now.

If you look away from her something else might happen you never know there are no proper odds for this anymore not in this city where nothing has a precondition another shooter could appear anything could come out of thin air so keep your eyes on her at all times don’t you dare let her leave your sight how did she shoot them like that was it luck was it just luck that left her alive was it just luck that she’s here at all--

“Connor?”

Emma is staring at him, moisture on her face glinting blue and red as the last of the backup arrives.

“He’s fine,” Hank says with his usual gruffness, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her away. “Owes me some new tires. Drives like a maniac.” His tone is heightened. He’s trying to obfuscate something, but Emma doesn’t break her stare. Hank bites his lip, concerned.

Connor looks down. The pavement flashes red. He tucks one hand behind his back, as if that can stop the feeling building inside, and another to the coin in his pocket.

What if what if what if what if?

[DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING.]

But that can’t be right. Because his vision is blurring -- breaking into prisms of light as all the magma in his chest finally reaches his optical components.

He turns away so Emma won’t see.

#dbh connor #connor rk800 #detroit become human #dbh connor x oc #dbh connor x reader #dbh #kathryn writes #long post #hope the read more works D:

[iamachildofgod]

China Adventure

by: KIMSON JUDE T. DE LAS ALAS

Day 1 Philippines  – China

From Legazpi, our family took a private car going to Iriga. We went there to fetch our cousin going to Manila. We took private car. We slept at the car and the moment we open our yes we were already in Manila. Of course traffic was really exhausting. Everyone was tired. Even my butt hurts a lot because of almost sitting down for almost 12 hours. When we arrived at our condo, we rest for a day. Everyone was excited because on that day, we are finally heading to the airport.  We arrived early at the airport. It was 5 am because our flight is at 7:30 am. Everyone was patiently waiting, our parents checked in our luggage and other staff.  While waiting for our parents, we ate our breakfast at the hotel. I was amazed because there is a television on the plane at the same time I was surprised because there is a tracker, we can easily locate if we are near or far from Beijing Airport. Finally, we arrived safe and sound. I was really happy because it was my first time in China. I never felt happy knowing that I am Chinese and it is my first time to be in China. When we landed I thought that it was a sunny day but when we stepped outside it was really cold. I ask my ate to give me my jacket at night we saw the great wall of china in the dark because there was lights. We ate dinner at a restaurant and when we went out of the restaurant it was so cold. We went for a walk and since it was getting late so we asked the tour guide how far are we and he said 30% so we asked him if we could go back to the hotel to get some sleep and I think he said yes so we went into our rooms and went to bed.

Day 2 China Great wall of China

I was amazed of how the people in china live. Their houses were made out of concrete stone and strong wood and I was also shocked to know that The Great Wall of China was made in the Qin Dynasty. We tried walking up and my cousins made it up but I didn’t, I was kinda close. It was kinda steep and it was harder to climb down the stairs and we used a zipline capsule thing to actually get to the great wall of china. After we went down the great wall of china we hopped on a mini bus and went to eat lunch at a restaurant we went back to the hotel to rest a little bit and after toured around and at night we went to another hotel and checked in, ate dinner, went in our rooms and got prepared to go to sleep.

Day 3-5 Touring around Bei Jing

We went to the forbidden city and you might ask what is the forbidden city it was the imperial palace and the political heart of China during the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368-1911). Now, also known as the Palace Museum, it’s a top attraction throughout China.  oh and it is constructed from 1402 to 1420 which means now   it is 600 years old and it is a very large it runs 753 meters (823 yards)  from east to west, and extends 961 meters ( 1,051 yards ) from north to south and it has an area of 72 hectares so we walked a lot. Well we didn’t walk through all the parts of it but a lot of the parts and you can see a lot of exquisite decorations there. After we went to eat lunch we continued touring and after we went to eat at a restaurant and went back to the hotel and went to sleep. The next day we toured around the city. We went to the temple of heaven and we got in and we walked around I was amazed of the buildings and we saw some trees that were more than a hundred years old. It was a tiring day but it was full of fun and adventure. On our third day in Bei Jing, we went to where the 2008 Olympics where it was held. It was a surreal experience. I felt like we were on the 2008 Olympics as walk through the stadiums. It was very big. After touring around, we bought souvenirs for our friends and family so after we went to a restaurant to eat dinner and we went to our hotel. As we head to the hotel all of us were excited because we were going to shanghai at the next day.

Day 6-7 touring around shanghai

We prepared for another adventurous day. Same routine ate our breakfast, went to the train station, hopped in the bullet train. It was a very cool experience for me because the train was really fast. It was about 350 km/h.  During night time, I was amazed with the lights. We saw one of the tallest buildings in the world. Yes! Indeed, it was really tall. We were all happy. After we went to the hotel to take a rest. On the next day, we prepared ourselves. It was a fun experience because I met some new friends. Sad to say I wasn’t able to ask his name. They are actually brothers. We talk and play for a bit. After we head top the restaurant. It was really cool because it spins. It is a revolving restaurant. One of the most memorable experience was Me and my cousin were lost in the restaurant. Terrified we were, good we are together that time. I couldn’t imagine myself if I were alone that moment.  We were just lucky that our parents found us.  After we went to a carnival and saw a big ball and motorcycles would go around the ball it was cool. After we went to eat dinner and went back to the hotel and take a rest.

Day 8 going to Shanghai Disneyland

We were excited for this day. This is the most awaited part of our tour. When we arrive try the different ride. There are many people at the Disneyland because it was Holiday The line was really long. We only managed to ride 2. I was really excited to ride the TRON but I wasn’t qualified because I wasn’t able to reach he height limit. I was really sad because that ride has a speed is 60 miles per hour or 97 km/h. After we ride on motorcycle like vehicles. It was fast, I really wanted to back out but it was too late. It already started. I just enjoy the fun ride. It was sometimes scary so I just close my eyes for a bit. The other ride was a slinky dog. It was not that fast but its ok. After we watched a movie. After a very thrilling, adventurous and fun experience at the Disney land we went to our hotel. I must agree that Disney Land is the most wonderful and happiest place on earth.

Day 9 going to manila

I was kinda sad because we were going back already. I still wanted to tour but mom told me that it was fine. We went to the train station and soon we went inside another bullet train. My dad’s friend was actually an engineer. He said that he wanted to have this kind of train in the Philippines. The train would only take 3 hours from Legazpi to Manila. When we arrive at the airport, it was a bitter sweet feeling for us. We said goodbye to our friends in China. I took a nap in the plane and the moment I open my eyes, I was in the Philippines. Welcome Back. Lot’s of love. See you in my next blog. XoXo KIMSON  

#fun #adventure #family is love

[girl-next-door-writes]

A Happy Accident

Characters: Steve x Reader

Summary: After a chance meeting and the best night of your life you leave your future up to fate only to find that sometimes fate takes her sweet time getting her shit together.

Word Count: 1432 words

Prompt: Serendipity.

A/N: Okay people. This is it.  The final part!  Thank you for sticking with this even though I have been crap at posting it.  I blame Steve entirely for that.  

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6

Sitting on the bench in Central Park you felt like your entire body was on fire.  Shrugging off your jacket you sat there with your face in your hands.  All your plans had just disappeared.  You had just broken Pietro’s heart, and for what?  Was the grass really greener?  Should you have just married him instead of chasing this ridiculous fantasy?  Taking a deep breath you stood up and made your way back to the hotel.  A bath and a good nights sleep was in order and then you would just fly home tomorrow.  This whole trip had been a disaster from start to finish.  You needed to give this up.

The flight back to New York was silent between the pair and as Steve made his way up the stairs of his apartment, book still in hand, he felt old and tired.  This whole experience had drained him.  This wasn’t how love was supposed to be.  Tony’s words had been echoing through his head, ‘you don’t want to be standing somewhere else.’ Did he have a point?  Taking a deep breath, he entered his home and prepared to get at least a little sleep before his wedding.

 Maria had been incredibly understanding about the whole situation and when she offered to fly home with you, you had told her to enjoy the wedding.  You just wanted to be alone right now knowing you’d have to return home and start to separate belongings.  With a heavy heart, you took you’re a seat in the airport bar as you waited for your flight. Ordering the strongest drink you thought you could handle you slid the money across to the bartended with a sigh. He returned with your change and smiled sadly at you, sensing something was a little off. “Hey, whatever it is that’s got you down, these things all seem to get a little easier with time.” You looked up at his kind face and glanced down at his name tag.

“Thank Scott.  Just been a long few days.” And as he leaned on the bar you found yourself opening up and telling him the whole story.  His chin resting on his hands he devoured every word and when you finished he looked at you in disbelief.

“And that’s it?  What if this guy is out there right now looking for you?” He looked almost distraught at the thought and you shook your head with a soft smile.  You were just about to tell him that maybe you didn’t believe in fate anymore when your eyes landed on your change that was still on the bar.  Blinking you frowned as you picked up the $5 bill, carefully, as if it might disintegrate in your hands.  Looking from the note up to Scott your eyes grew wide and his expression mirrored yours as you slowly turned the bill for him to see quite clearly the name Steve and a telephone number.

Thank the lord for directory enquiries!  You had hopped into a cab and given them the address and then promptly got stuck in traffic.  Maybe this was another sign, maybe the universe kept giving him to you with one hand only to snatch him away the next moment.  The cab driver obviously picked up on your irritation and desperation so when he got a little closer and it looked like the traffic was gonna continue at a snails pace he gave you directions and told you that you’d be faster on your feet.  Thanking him profusely you paid your tab and bolted out of the cab.  Your feet pounded the hard concrete and you were thankful you’d put sneakers on today.  Rounding the corner you saw your destination and paused for a second, running your fingers through your hair and smoothing down your top.  As you approached the door an old man appeared from the next building. “He’s already gone.  I take it you’re a guest at the wedding?  If you’re quick you could still catch him.  The Plaza. Good luck sweetie.”  His gruff voice had a twinkle to it like he knew something you didn’t but you didn’t pay much attention, there was one word that had caught your ear and that was wedding.  He was going to a wedding.  He was going to a wedding at The Plaza.  Spinning on your heels you sprinted back the way you had come and set eyes upon the same cab you’d recently left.  Yanking open the door you tumble into the back and lean forward on the drivers seat.

“The Plaza, fast as you can.”

 Throwing your money at the cabbie you almost fell out of the vehicle you were in that much of a rush.  Skidding into the foyer your eyes darted around to find some clue as to where the wedding was happening and you spotted a sign at the far end and your heart stopped.  The name of the groom was Steve.  This was just too cruel, surely fate couldn’t be that evil?  Following the signs you burst into a function room to find it empty but for a man quietly stacking chairs.  “You’re too late.  It’s over.” His words resonated within you and you felt your legs give way.  Sitting heavily on a chair you took a shaky breath as you tried to hold back the tears which were threatening to fall.  “I’m sure they’ll be sending all the gifts back though, that’s the usual thing when these things happen.”  Your head shot up and you looked at him curiously.

“When these things happen?”

“Yeah, groom got cold feet, called the whole thing off this morning.” The guy shrugged and turned to look at you but you were already out the door. New York was a big city and you had a Steve to find.  

  Steve had been wandering aimlessly for the past few hours.  The look on Sharon’s face he knew would haunt him but he also knew it had been the right call.  Tony was right, the whole dream girl thing had been about him trying to avoid making a commitment he knew was wrong.  Rubbing the back of his neck and sighing he felt like such a jerk.  He’d broken Sharon’s heart but Pepper had reasoned that it was better now than after the wedding, nobody wants to be trapped in an unhappy marriage.  His feet had taken him to Central Park and along a familiar route.  His heart ached at the memory of the two of you walking along here in the freshly falling snow that night long ago and he pulled the soft blue scarf a little tighter around his neck, a reminder of the time you two had shared.  As he came up to the ice-rink he sat down on a bench and noticed a discarded jacket. He didn’t know what made him pick it up but he sat there caressing the material as he stared out over the ice, not really looking or thinking, just existing in that moment.  

  The sun had long since set and the once busy ice was now empty apart from a few persistent skaters.  Steve stood and, taking the jacket with him, wandered out onto the ice.  Sliding a little he made him way to the centre of the rink and just lay back on the ice.  There was something soothing about the coldness, the wetness, the solidness as if he could just let it engulf him and freeze him in this moment.  He was tired and drained and sick of the heartache.  Closing his eyes he let out a sigh. “Hello Steve.” Your voice was soft and for a second he thought he had imagined it until his eyes snapped open and there you were, standing above him, smiling down at him with that blue hat pulled down firmly on your head against the cold.  Getting to his feet he simply stared at you, afraid to blink in case you disappeared.  “I see you’ve found my jacket.” You indicated to the item of clothing he was still clinging to and he immediately offered it to you.  Taking it from him you smiled shyly and he realised that the woman standing in front of him was definitely not the one he had seen getting down and dirty the night before and his heart leapt.  Cupping your face his eyes searched yours for any indication that what he was about to do would be unwelcome.  Finding nothing but eager anticipation he closed his eyes as his lips found yours and in that moment, he completely believed in fate.

Tag: @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester, @nea90sweetie @knittingknerdy @feelmyroarrrr @vintagevalentinexx @cojootromuelle @palaiasaurus64 @littleblue5mcdork @littlenerdgirl16 @iwillbeinmynest @buckyhawk @almondbuttercup @canumoveyourseatup-no @callamint @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @amarvelouswritings @ancoowner @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19

#myfic #something i wrote #Steve x Reader

[folklore-musings]

If I Can’t Have You Part 1

Summary: Very AU. Archie Andrews is dead. The only leading suspect is one of his oldest and dearest friends, Jughead Jones. Betty Cooper is forced on a mission to find Jughead and bring him in, getting herself kidnapped throughout the process. Everything is a lie and nothing is the truth in this twisted tale of love and death.

Read on AO3 here

A/N:  So I’ve been playing around with this idea in my head for a while now. You can all thank @jandjsalmon for this side of Jughead. She introduced to me a world of Dark Jughead that I wasn’t aware I needed in my life. The prologue here will be the only chapter to include graphic scenes of violence. From here on out it will be a little easier to read I promise. I hope you like it! Side note - this whole first part is in italics because it happened in the past, just in case you were wondering why I wrote it that way.

It was like any other Friday night. Archie Andrews sat along with the other cronies at the bar, nursing a half empty beer bottle. His ginger hair was pushed back in a way that screamed, “I’m trying too hard to make it seem like I’m not trying at all.” His hand was on the knee of the leggy brunette beside him, their heads bent together in a private conversation. The woman threw her head back and laughed, and the man in the beanie at the corner booth wondered what was so incredibly funny.

Red hot anger coursed through Jughead Jones’ veins as he watched the scene unfold before him. He wanted to take the ginger out then and there in the Starlight Bar, but he had to hold himself back. ‘Just a few more hours’ he would remind himself. Jughead made sure the waiter kept the glasses of coke and the fry baskets coming. This was a stake out unlike any other he’d been on before.

Usually Jughead would never let himself be caught dead in the Starlight. His domain was the Whyte Wyrm, back in their home town of Riverdale. But he had more important things to do than toss back a few beers and play some pool. He had only one thing on his mind and it was getting Archie alone.

Jughead took a break from staring sulkily at Archie and went to the bathroom. Three cokes later and he couldn’t hold it any longer. He held his head low, staring at his shoes as he walked past the ginger hoping Archie wouldn’t notice him. Just when he thought he’d cleared customs Archie called over his back, “Jughead! What are you doing out here?” His voice was higher than normal and he quickly removed his hand from the brunette’s leg.

“Hey Arch.” He started out, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I just decided it was time for a change of scenery.” Jughead’s eyes flickered to the brunette in the tiny black dress. “I guess that makes two of us, huh?” He turned on his heel and continued for the restroom, not bothering to hear Archie’s reply.

“Wait Jughead, I can explain!” Jughead ignored his old friend and kept on walking.

When he returned from taking a piss Archie and the nameless girl were gone. Swearing under his breath he left more than enough cash on the table to cover his bill and headed outside, hoping he could catch them before they left.

Thanking his lucky stars Jughead watched with livid eyes as Archie held the door open for the woman, giving her ass a tight squeeze before shutting the door behind her. Jughead snuck around the building to his beat up old Cadillac and hopped in, waiting a few minutes and following them into the night.

They parked outside an old brick house and let the car idle. Jughead was careful to park one street over, attempting to stay undetected by the pair. He imagined what they were doing; probably tangled up in each other’s arms as they fucked on the curb outside her house. It figured she’d be a cheating whore. And to think Jughead thought opposites attracted. Definitely not in this twisted storyline.

He tore his thoughts away from Archie and pulled a book out from his glove box, wondering how much longer he’d have to wait. His fingers started to shake and he reached for the pack of smokes wasting away in the pocket of his leather jacket. He couldn’t risk the jitters. Not now when literally everything was on the line. After tonight there would be no going back to the life he lived before. But it was worth every promise that was yet to come. Jughead would finally have a chance to be happy. He took a few relaxing puffs from his and threw his head forward on his steering wheel, trying to steady his racing heart.

The squealing of tires on the asphalt pulled Jughead back to reality. “Fuck.” He muttered, turning the key in the ignition and racing after Archie, desperately trying to catch up. He couldn’t have gotten far, but the sooner the dirty deed was done, the better.

Familiar taillights of Archie’s mustang soon appeared in Jughead’s windshield and he breathed a sigh of relief. His heart was hammering away in his chest, refusing to let up. He could hear the blood flow in his ears and his fingers began to throb. In need of a distraction he turned the volume up on the radio, anything to drown out his thoughts.

Was he really about commit the worst felony known to mankind? To take the life of another living, breathing human being? His world was spinning, turning upside down and his stomach clenched in thousands of tiny little knots. He cursed himself for eating two baskets of fries. Ketchup was not going to taste very good when it undoubtedly came back up.

Jughead sped up to Achie’s vehicle, the brake lights gleaming like rubies under the dark night sky. He took a deep breath and grabbed the police light he’d nicked from Kevin Keller down at the sheriff’s office. Opening his window, Jughead stuck it to the roof of his car, igniting the surrounding trees in shimmering flashes of red, white and blue. He found the irony of the entire situation hilarious and threw his head back laughing. There was no turning back now.

Archie pulled off to the side of the road and Jughead followed, leaving a few feet between their bumpers. He flipped the switch on the light of justice and stepped out of the car.

Jughead grabbed a pair of black leather gloves from the back pocket of his jeans and slid them on over his fingers, surprised to find the shaking had stopped. He walked over to Archie’s driver side window with a smile on his face as he reached for the handle. “What the fuck?” Archie said, Jughead surprised to find the door unlocked. “You’re not the cops.”

A deep chuckle escaped from the back of Jughead’s throat. “Obviously. But you were speeding.” Jughead sniffed the air. “And drinking and driving too. Not so smart Old Sport.”

Annoyance gleamed over the curves of Archie’s face. “Can I go now?” he asked. He tried to close the car door but Jughead forced it open wider.

“Not so fast. Who was the girl?”

Archie’s eyebrows shot up and he choked on his next words. “J-Just a friend from work. We met up for a couple of drinks. What’s with the third degree?”

“No degree. Just natural curiosity, its human nature to be curious Arch,” Jughead paused and inhaled deeply. “So tell me, does your fiancé know about your friend in the little black dress?” Jughead swore he could see Archie pale before his eyes. He was already of a ghostly complexion, but now he was almost transparent.

Archie gripped the door handle tighter, trying harder to force it closed but Jughead refused to budge. “No. And from one friend to another, I’d really like to keep it that way Jug. Please. I promise that woman means nothing to me. Don’t tell Betty.”

He didn’t know what came over him but at the sound of Betty’s name Jughead absolutely lost it. He lunged for Archie, desperate to twist his fingers around his neck. If he was going to kill Archie, he was going to make him suffer.

Jughead had his knee bent into Archie’s groin. His hands were clamped around his throat and he could see the light draining from Archie’s eyes. He was doing it. He was going to kill him. “Any last words, Archiekins?”

Archie opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He was flailing under Jughead’s hold, trying to force and shove him away but the alcohol in his veins slowed down his reaction time. Finally he got in a punch to Jughead’s jaw, creating stars behind his eyes. It took every ounce of strength in him but Jughead refused to let go, tightening the grip around Archie’s neck. His arms began to shake as he forced all his weight upon his old friend. He thought Archie would’ve put up a better fight than this. It was pitiful on the brink of pathetic.

“Do you want to die? Fight me Archie! Punch me! Hit me!” Archie writhed underneath him, trying to squirm out of Jughead’s grasp but to no avail. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. Tears spilled from the corners of Archie’s eyes and rolled slowly down his hollowed cheeks. He threw a punch into Jughead’s stomach and the brunette sputtered, loosening his grip only slightly. “That the best you got?” He spit in Archie’s face. Jughead was going to be sick. In a million years he never would’ve guessed this side of him existed. Sure he’d been a rather angry kid growing up, but he never imagined he’d be capable of murder. His stomach coiled, rolling over itself but Jughead forced the feeling away. He was going to finish this.

A few more seconds dragged on and Archie’s attempts to break free slowed. The strength in his body was depleting. His eyes rolled back into his head, his limp body falling back against the leather interior.

Jughead removed his hands from around his neck. Archie’s throat was bruised and beaten but Jughead didn’t care. He needed to get the fuck out of there. Carefully, he set Archie’s leg back into the car and Jughead closed the door, running back to his car. Thank God they lived in a small town, not a single car had driven by to witness the horrifying scene.

Once back inside his Caddy, Jughead tossed the gloves into this back seat. His palms were clammy and his forehead was dripping with sweat. He reached for the beanie on top of his head and threw it up on the dash. Starting his car he drove away, his hands slipping over the wheel as he did.

About a mile or so down the road Jughead stopped and pulled over. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Running into the trees he emptied the contents of his stomach into the grass, gripping the nearest tree trunk for support. His legs were quivering and his heart felt like a ticking time bomb, reminding him of an old poem by Edgar Allen Poe. The events of the evening would surely haunt him for the rest of his life.

His throat burned and ached and he ran the back of his hand across his mouth to remove any excess throw up from his lips. He stood up tall, desperately straining to slow down the beating of his heart.

With shaky hands he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and flipped open his phone. He pressed number one for speed dial and waited as the shrilling ring echoed in his ear. His breath hitched when the phone on the other line picked up. Everything was silent.

Jughead breathed into the receiver. “It’s done,” he whispered, and the line clicked dead.

#bughead #jughead jones #archie andrews #betty cooper #riverdale #bughead fanfiction #my writings #if i cant have you #please tell me what you think #im so nervous about this fic #archie dead

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 40/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

They had to hit the road again. Ben had no sense of urgency and he begged Rey to stay in his arms for another five minutes, but she felt guilty thinking about about Rose Tico. According to Leia, the latter had traveled from San Francisco to Winnemucca yesterday, spending five hours on the road and being forced to stay the night since Rey was trapped in Wells. She could easily imagine Rose waiting for her in Winnemucca since dawn. Meanwhile, Rey had spent her morning cuddling with Ben Solo in the motel, driving for just over half an hour, and then taking a break to fulfill some baser desires... It was past noon, she should have arrived several hours ago. Ben ignored her directions, obviously having lots of fun watching her stress, and made a stop at Ridley's to buy two sandwiches and a bottle of water. Rey placed a box of condoms on the conveyor belt too. Later, she opened the box and placed one in her pocket, emptying the rest of its contents into her bag. "Always be prepared! I’ve learned a lot in these past few days.” Ben grinned and stroked her hair. She was adorable. He would have slashed the tires himself, concocted some sort of breakdown to prolong his time with her. An hour. A day. A lifetime. But the hours passed and their car sped down the miles, bringing them inexorably closer to separation. Rey, her feet propped on the dashboard, seemed pensive. “Ben? What are you going to do in San Francisco?” She finally asked with a look of concern.

He paused to think about his answer. Not in order to hide anything from her—they were past that point—but because he really had no idea. “I'm going to see my boss. He’ll have a bone to pick.” “Is he going to fire you?”

Ben smiled at her naïveté. “Well yes, he’ll fire me, to start with. But that's the easy part.”

Rey raised an eyebrow. It was still hard to wrap her head around the underground world of the Knights of Ren and FORCE, where killing people or being killed was normal. She grimaced. “Do you think he's going to try to have you killed like me?” “Killing you was never my mission,” Ben said detachedly. “Syed Ren was being overzealous.” “And what about sleeping with me?” Rey gave him a coy pout. “I was definitely being overzealous there,”

He put his hand on her thigh and stroked it gently. Rey intertwined his fingers with her own. She looked up at him but his eyes were fixed on the road. “Joking aside, are you in danger?”

He tightened his fingers around hers. “I'm less of a target to FORCE than to Earth Soldiers, actually. Depends where the chips fall. Especially the chip in your pocket.”

Rey froze. A plan came to mind, one that made her shudder. She could throw the chip away, or destroy it. No more trials. No more consequences for Ben Solo. FORCE would celebrate him and he wouldn't go to prison. He would go back to England with her where they would marry, make love all the time, and start a family. Leia Skywalker, Rose Tico and the others would be utterly furious. But isn’t that what they deserved for getting her mixed up in their little scheme? Her head was spinning. The microchip burned a hole in her pocket. She had the urge to grab it and throw it out the window. Ben felt the tension in the air and glanced at her. “Rey, what’s wrong?” She took a breath. Her stomach twisted into knots. She could spare her love months, maybe years, of consequences. She could save his life. Here and now. It was so easy. He betrayed his people for her, he threw his life away, without hesitation, and if she wasn’t mistaken, without regret. Didn't he deserve someone to do the same for him? Didn't she love him enough to do it? It would cost her nothing, or almost nothing, frankly. She didn't know Leia, Rose, or Luke Skywalker. She wasn’t in love with them. They weren’t facing execution. She could say that Syed had taken the chip from her, a half-lie, really, and it would be over. She would be free—England, marriage, sex sex sex, babies. The thought tormented her. She wouldn’t have been able to imagine doing that, even a day ago. When Syed took the chip from her, she was devastated. It was only a handful of hours ago. Apparently, a few hours was all it took for Ben to renounce Kylo Ren and choose her side, choose her. It had changed everything. “Rey, talk to me! You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She turned to him, his eyes wide and desperation written clearly on his face. And suddenly the words rushed out: “Well, what if I don't go? If I tell them I lost the chip FORCE would win the trial, you’d be employee of the year, your mother would go back to Denver, and everything would be fine, right? No prison, no trouble, no spies, you could...you could come and see me in London. You could teach me the guitar, and meet Finn and Poe, the two idiots who started all this—it’s complicated, I'll explain later—and I’ll find a motel for the few days I have left in here and we’ll never have to leave the room and—“ “Rey. Sweetheart.” Ben interrupted and she fell silent, on the verge of tears. “Rey, you don't want to do that. You don't deserve to live with betrayal on your conscience. I can handle myself.” “You don't have to play the knight in shining armor, Kylo Ren,” Rey spat, annoyed. “It doesn’t suit you at all. I’m no princess and I can handle myself too.”

Ben rolled his eyes, a smile on the edge of his lips. “I know, Rey Ren. You’ve proven to be incredibly capable. But listen: Snoke and Hux are planning to hurt me, even if they can’t kill me. And the first thing they’ll do is hunt my mother down. Don't take their side, they don't deserve you. They don't deserve you to do their dirty work.” He tried to be calm, to be reasonable for the two of them, but his heart was hammering in his chest. It was the first time Rey had gone so far in declaring her love. She’d just offered to betray everyone, to let go of everything for him. It was something Han Solo had never done. It was something Leia Skywalker had never considered. Their duty came before him, every time. He had grown up with the certainty that he was less important to them than their missions, than success, than...everything. It had taken Rey a single day to decide that he was more important than her objectives. He felt himself blush. He had butterflies for the first time in recent memory. Damn, he loved her. Was it possible for someone to fall so hard so fast? Rey was still lost in her thoughts. Earth Soldiers were on the right side of history. They hadn’t attempted to kill her. Unlike FORCE. So why was she suddenly scrambling? Her phone vibrated. It was Leia, Rey picked up. The former general wanted to know how she was doing, where she was; Rose hadn’t reported anything at all. “We’ll arrive in an hour,” Rey assured her without going into detail. “We?” “Umm...BB8 and me,” Rey stammered, ending the call shortly after.

Ben blushed again. Rey blamed herself. I'm with Kylo Ren, so what? She was walking a fine line. Sleeping with the enemy didn’t make her a traitor, did it? It could be taken as espionnage. “Ben?” “Mm?” “You should...talk to your mother,” Rey said in a small voice. Ben did that thing with the corner of his mouth, the one that showed he was nervous. “I will, when the time is right.”

Rey didn’t say anything else. This was enough progress, she didn’t want to push him too hard. The road crossed the endless desert, punctuated here and there by hamlets spread out in the dust around the flashing casino signs. Life in Nevada was lonely. Winnemucca was their next stop. When Ben slowed down to take the exit, Rey sighed painfully, as if to hold back tears. They parked in the parking lot of the Khoury supermarket, but Rey didn't see Rose anywhere. Ben took her by the waist and placed a light kiss on her lips. “I'm going to buy cigarettes. I’ll be back.”

Rey took the opportunity to get her things out of the car, and let BB8 roam. It was the 9th of July; her flight back was in less than a week. Everything happened so fast...and she’d forgotten to go sightseeing. It would be hard to brag about her holiday to her work friends. A figure approached her, a slight woman with dark hair clad in overalls. Rey recognized Rose and smiled behind her sunglasses. But the other woman had a worried look on her face. “Are you okay? It took you a while! Did the Knights of Ren give you trouble?”

It was going to be difficult to explain. Rey stammered, “No, no. Well yes, but it's settled. I mean, complicated! Everything’s fine now.” Rose looked up at her vehicle. “What is this car? I was looking for a Lincoln, you know.” “Uh...I changed it. To fool Syed Ren.” “Oh good call,” Rose agreed, reaching for BB8's leash. The little dog bared her teeth and growled softly, causing Rose to quickly withdraw her hand. “Okay, well, you take the dog, I’ll take the bags then,” she said, raising her hands.

She went around the car to grab the bag that was placed in the trunk, when suddenly she froze. Her face turned pale. Rey turned to look around, and as if in slow motion, she saw Rose take a taser out of her pocket. She looked at Rey, horrified. “It’s Kylo Ren, he found us! Shit! Get down!”

Rey had no time to react. Rose charged, with a surprising amount of vigor, at a very unsuspecting Ben, still in his sunglasses and staring down to count his change, with a brand new cigarette between his lips. “Rose, NO!” Rey cried, a bit too late.

By that time, Rose had jumped on her worst enemy, proudly brandishing the taser and shocking him in the arm. Kylo/Ben was so surprised that he lost his cigarette, his money, and his balance as he fell to the pavement with a wordless cry. It took him a second to understand what had just happened as he lay there on the ground. He slowly began to get up, but Rose (who was still standing over him) kicked him squarely in the ribs. “Don’t move, you bastard, or I’ll do it again. The others won’t hurt you out of respect for Leia Skywalker, but I don’t fucking care. I’m gonna make you pay!”

Rey approached them, shoving past Rose to fall to her knees in front of Ben and take his face in both of her hands. “Are you okay?” Ben’s heartbeat was skyrocketing from the electric shock. Rey turned to Rose with a furious look. “What the hell? He’s with me!” “With you? It’s a trap, he’s FORCE’s poster boy!” “Yeah, well things change! He’s the one who saved me from those bastards so you guys could get your fucking microchip!” Rose took a step back, incredulous. It was like the plot of a science fiction novel. Absolutely unbelievable. Right in front of her, Leia’s handpicked “secret weapon” was tenderly stroking the hair of Kylo Ren, their sworn enemy. She took his face and—fucking hell—she kissed him, with tongue! What on earth? “That’s enough!” She snapped, grabbing Rey by the arm and yanking her away from him. “That’s enough! Leia’s going to have a heart attack! You’re coming with me!” Rey struggled out of her hold. “Okay, okay, I’m coming...where’s the car?” Rose pointed to a vehicle with her chin. It was red, like Rey’s humiliated face. Finally, Rose turned around and shouldered Rey’s bag, grabbing BB’s toys with her other hand. “Five more minutes, then we’re leaving.”

Rose walked towards her own car and began putting the objects in the trunk. Rey turned to face Ben. Five minutes. The last five. She could have done a lot with him in five minutes, but not here, in the public parking garage. Pity. She stroked his hair, contemplating his beauty marks. Her thumb ran over his lip and opened his mouth. Their lips met, and she wound her arms around his neck, savoring one last long kiss that burned through her senses like wildfire. BB8 sat next to them, tail wagging happily. Seemingly used to the new normal. Finally their mouths parted, wet and tear-stained. “Will you call me?” Rey asked, her voice ragged. “Every day,” Ben promised, kissing her again. She stopped stroking him and finally let him go, reaching for BB’s leash. “Goodbye,” she said, running out of words. “Take care of yourself.” “I promise.” She was still walking away when he yelled “I love you, Rey Jakku!” “I know.” She smiled.

In front of her, Rose had already started the car, eyes closed and cheeks red, looking straight ahead. Behind her, Ben lay on the ground, looking like an abandoned cat with his black clothes and windswept hair. She forced herself to walk the rest of the distance to the car, hoisting BB8 into the back seat and taking her place next to Rose. The car hummed to life and sped away in a cloud of smoke. Soon enough Ben Solo was alone in the parking lot, his heart broken and his future uncertain.

#reylo #fanfiction #Scenic Route #Modern AU

[blacklodgemusictx]

Snowing in My Mind  by Liz Berry

A frosty tale from the Nourallah-Miller Feb 2020 Northeast Mini Tour

The thing about a blizzard is it sneaks up on you.  At least my blizzard did.

I found myself watching one play out beyond the ticking wiper blades of our rental car as I sat dumbly in the passenger seat.  

When we left Buffalo, it was just snow.  Granted snow was a sight unfamiliar to my southerner’s eyes, but at first it was sort of pleasant.  Watching it swirl down around the car as we cut through it was like seeing it on TV.  Snow on TV means Christmas.  Though Christmas was weeks in the past at this point in February, it was still sort of nice to imagine.

What did you really expect to happen?  It’s February in upstate New York.  Just the idea of February in any place so far from home where real weather is experienced should have been enough to veto this proposed trip completely.  But this was a once in a life time opportunity.  An… adventure.

Somewhere in the swirling whiteness miles and miles behind us is another car.  This one contains Rhett Miller, described somewhere in my research of him as the “founding member of the venerable Old 97's.”  Singer, songwriter, calm, capable if slightly white knuckled driver in these unfamiliar conditions.  Sitting in Rhett’s passenger seat is Salim Nourallah.  Salim has a similarly artistic resume: singer, songwriter, respected Dallas music producer.

Right now the snow doesn’t care who we are.  Right now, we’re just four Texans in varying states of bewilderment trying to get to Massachusetts.  

Shirley, Massachusetts contains the Bull Run restaurant and what - at least on paper - should be show four of the six show run Rhett and Salim are doing on this mini tour.  Of the northeast.  In February.

Up until this moment, the tour proceeded beautifully.  We started in Rochester, NY, then up to Toronto, back down to Buffalo.  Buffalo seemed to be the best show yet: the venue was a converted church owned by Ani DiFranco.  The sound was fantastic, the audience enthusiastic.  There seemed to be no place to go, but up.  We all left Buffalo, elated, wondering what exciting things the next show might hold.

The answer?  Snow.  The entire state of New York appeared to be made of it. The wind no longer swirled the fat flakes gaily around, but seemed to blow them with gale force past the windows.  The orderly ranks of passing snow plows we watched doing their work in Toronto two days before, dwindled to just a plow or two trundling intermittently in front of us.

My husband Doug is at our helm.  He’s doing a beautiful job staying calm.  He knows I’m watching him.  If his resolve starts to fray, mine goes straight out the window.

We start to watch the wrecks.  First it appears to just be the fool hardy ones:  the ones going too fast, the ones who speed up to overtake others going at more cautious, sensible speeds.  We watch the ballet as one car after another spins in an almost graceful loss of traction.  We pass the stranded semi trucks who seemed to breeze by us earlier when the snow began to quicken and thicken.  I fear the semis most.  They seemed to speed by fastest with no regard for tiny, helpless things like rented Corollas.

The funny thing about this weird, new age we all inhabit: disasters can be live streamed.  I kept updates on our new precarious position posted to my Facebook.  Oddly enough my mother watched the whole thing unfold and seemed to sense what Doug already knew:  stay cool or Liz is going to start freaking out.  She kept her comments calm and supportive.  

I stayed in touch with the car behind us.  Check in, guys.  How are you doing? Where are you at?   Salim and I have known each other for over a year.  I would call us pen pals of a sort.  Salim knows I’m afraid.  Fear is just a characteristic. One of many:  I’m tall.  I have hazel eyes.  I’m scared of everything.

Salim says if we can make it to the show in Shirley, he will try to play one of my favorite songs of his, “Don’t Be Afraid” - a song I’ve adopted as a personal happy thought since I heard it.  I’ve carried that song with me through many genuinely scary moments in the last several months and I mentally add today to the list of those moments. In fact, it’s quickly heading for number one.  With a bullet.  The only thing between us and certain disaster is this nice, warm car. This car that I didn’t get any add-ons with.  No extra crash coverage, no road side assistance.  Nothing.

Just like that it happens.  I feel the car lose traction.  We start to skid.  Doug, still perfectly calm, tells me to hold on.  All I can think is we’re about to crash a rental car 1800 miles from home and I didn’t buy the crash coverage.  What do you even do when you crash a car that’s not yours?  

We don’t whip around 180 or 360 degrees the way we watched the other floundering cars.  Doug regains control and maneuvers us to a stop deep in the left shoulder of the road.  He goes outside to inspect, the wool overcoat we found for him at a thrift store back in Rochester snaps in the wind as his cheeks quickly turn red.  He reports back, “We’re stuck.”  The snow is too deep on the shoulders.  We were mired the minute we drifted over.

I text Salim, “We slid off.  We’re stuck.”  I can’t think of anything else to do… so I live stream it.  I put our predicament live on Facebook for my friends and family to watch.  My naturally dramatic side takes over.  I’m thinking about cold, certain death… not about tow trucks and the inconvenience of perhaps missing the show tonight.  Even missing the show was a thought I wasn’t prepared to deal with as we had all of Salim’s tour merchandise - t-shirts, cds and records - in our trunk.  The second we were trusted with the merchandise, I immediately assigned myself indispensable status.  Hand to the forehead in fine, southern belle fashion, How could the show possibly go on without ALL THE TSHIRTS?!

Suddenly, a car pulls over on the shoulder of the oncoming side of traffic.  A tiny figure clad head to toe in a snowsuit, snow shovel in hand, springs out of the vehicle and makes a run for us.  I like to imagine she is some sort of snow flurry superhero who lives for days like these where she can shoot valiantly out of her car, This is it!  This is what I’ve trained for!  No thanks necessary, citizen.  I must go.  I’m needed elsewhere.

The figure immediately starts shoveling snow away from the tires.  One tire, two, three, four.  Doug reaches out a hand like he wants to help.  The figure swats him away.  

A second person pulls over to assist.  This is insanity.  We watched countless people spin out and sit by the side of the road.  No one stopped to help.  No one helped any of the other stranded drivers - at least that I saw.  Two people stopped for us?  Two people are helping us?  

I roll down the window to hear what they are doing.  The person behind is going to push us, rock us and hopefully with the added momentum we can get free and speed away back in to the flow of traffic.  The woman is watching traffic. She will scream through the window when it’s time to go, go GO!!!!  This is attempted once, twice, three times.  The wheels aren’t even spinning (we figure out later it was probably the car’s automatic traction control trying to keep us safe).  Show Shovel Lady is screaming at us.  Why aren’t we going?  As she’s scooped away the snow, she sees we don’t even have snow tires.  WE’RE JUST DUMB TOURISTS, I wail helplessly, WE DON’T KNOW ANY BETTER.  She tells us the area is expecting 20” and to just find a motel.  Give up.

Give up?  Us?  Mwahahahahaha, a tiny voice in my frantic mind laughs.  My guys need me!  I marvel briefly at the thought.  Three days ago, Rhett Miller was just a nice man, a friend of Salim we didn’t really know.  Today he and Salim are “my guys.”  What a difference a blizzard makes.  Trauma bonding, I text to Salim.  Some day back in Texas where there are no blizzards, we’ll all reminisce about that time in New York when tried not to die.  He agrees with me.

Somehow, the plan finally works and we squirt haphazardly back in to traffic. We are shaken.  How is this even happening?  What if we really crashed?  What if that happens again?  What if we aren’t so lucky next time?  Doug says he had a plan.  He would have gotten us out.  He then admits he was the cause.  He sped up to pass someone.  Just like most of the other people sitting lamely by the side of the road now. Oh, good, so we deserved that.  Awesome.

“People are inherently good,” I text Salim with a string of sob faced emojiis.  Good Samaritans helped us!  Even though Snow Shovel Samaritan peppered that assistance with more than a little invective, I could not have been more grateful.      

Back on the road, driving becomes a purgatory of grey and white.  Endless.  Morale is low.  Gas is about to be an issue.  Dammit, it would be really nice to find a bathroom too.

We are scared to stop.  Worried to become icebound again, but we try.  The first attempt is thwarted when we turn in to the Trucks side instead of the Cars area at the next available truck stop.  There was no way for us to back up or get back over.  So we sigh and pull back out.

Next gas station, Doug manages to pull us over and get the gas pumping.  I would really really love a restroom break right about now, but I can’t even see the gas station entrance through the blowing snow.  He asks me if I want to try to make a break for it.  No, just go on.  We again rejoin the crawling flow of traffic.

Albany was the goal through this ordeal.  Albany was clear. I figured if we can just make it there, we could finally see a break in the misery.  Ultimately, though as we trekked the snow continued on its path and covered Albany as well.  No other choice, we just kept going.

Then just as quickly as it began, the worst is over.  We shook the snow off our tail and somewhere near New Canaan, New York, I got my bathroom break, a packet of banana chips and a souvenir New York fridge magnet.  Back on the road once more, I saw the sky for the first time in 8 hours.

So long, blizzard, don’t talk to me, or Doug or our rented Corolla ever again.

Crossing in to Massachusetts, I was suddenly afraid it was just a respite, just a calm pocket in between storms and we were headed back in to it again, but the road never whited out again.  It was just wet and cold.

Last communique had Rhett and Salim still quite a way behind us, so we checked in to our hotel, dropped our stuff and headed for the venue.  There was parking behind the restaurant, beyond a picturesque covered bridge.  We gathered the merch suitcases and headed over the bridge.  When we walked in the back door, Salim greeted us.  I was astonished.  Somehow they made really good time after leaving the majority of the storm behind and managed to catch up with and overtake us.  He hugged me.  Today was 100 years long.  Buffalo was another century.  I was so happy to see him.  Exhausted and dazed, I almost expected to blink my eyes and suddenly be back in the car, lost in the hazy grey white again.

Salim shepherded us up some stairs, instructed us to drop our cases and go find our table.  Eat something.  We’ll worry about everything later.  

We did.  I was suddenly so thirsty.  I couldn’t stop drinking.  The waitress asked me if we needed anything else, I said water.  She pointed at a carafe already on the table.  I gulped it eagerly.  Finally, a tiny bit calm, I enjoyed some food.  Doug ate quickly and excused himself to his station where he started opening cases, removing t-shirts and arranging them to their best advantage.  I watched him across the room.  Four days in and he was already a deft hand at this.  Set up the items, put the cases out of sight, talk to any early birds who happened to wander by before the show started.  Doug hates to admit it, but he’s a natural salesman.

Calmer by the minute, dinner consumed, the lights start to dim.  There he is.  My friend Salim takes the stage.  The show begins and I know we are ok.  A moment I only hoped for hours ago, is finally at hand.  

Salim sings “Don’t Be Afraid” for his friends Liz and Doug.  He tells the audience what we went through together today.  I am grateful for the darkness because the corners of my eyes start to prick and I try not to cry.  That was a sweet thing for him to do.  I love that song.

Later, some sweet ladies, friends of Salim we met at the merch table offer to take a picture of the four of us together:  Rhett, me, Doug and Salim.  A fitting memento:  Me.  My guys.  We are blizzard proof.  I wouldn’t change a minute of that scary, amazing day for anything.    

#salimnourallah #rhettmiller #old97s #northeast #minitour #ontheroad #ontour #imwiththeband #jesusofsad #thisdoesntfeellikepeaceloveorunderstanding #bornwithabrokenheart #totaldisaster #wheelsoff #abilenebar #horseshoe #toronto #palosanto #babeville #buffalo #rochester #9thward #theheights #atbrothervics #southsalem #newyork #bullrun #blackcat #washingtondc #blizzardproof

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part IV

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

YEARS OF OVEREATING AND NOT EXERCISING had finally taken their toll on Chuck’s mom. She collapsed from a heart attack in her Indiana home — the same small, rundown place where Chuck was raised. She was recovering at the nearest hospital a few towns away. It was a massive attack requiring surgery to add stents and to repair the lining of her heart’s wall. She also had a deadly case of type-2 diabetes. Her body was crumbling. She was in a fragile state, and death seemed imminent.

“That’s not something I’m ready for,” Chuck said to Lou at Bella’s the night before Lou left town. “I’m flying out there in a few days, which means Lexi has to pretty much move in to your place all by herself. I can’t even help pay for a mover because every cent is going to go to Mom’s medical bills.”

Chuck’s family never had much money. His father Cal flew bombing missions in Vietnam. When he retired from the service, he used his military skills to become a terrible businessman. His mother Barbara never worked a day in her life but watched a lot of daytime television. His other brother Darryl was the town simpleton. The reason — although no one knew it or even considered it to be the reason for his social and learning disabilities — was that he was autistic and had Asperger’s, both of which went untreated for 26 years. Healthcare wasn’t of any importance in the Keller home. So it required no second thought when Chuck’s parents sold off their health and life insurance when Chuck was 14 to pay the bills and take the only vacation the family ever took together. To Disneyworld of all places. The lack of insurance was a recent discovery for Chuck. And it finally explained why his family could suddenly afford the trip back then.

 “Why can’t we just have socialized medicine?” Chuck said.

“That’s not very libertarian of you,” replied Lou. “Don’t put that in the magazine.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“How much stuff are you guys moving? Because I have everything you need. You’re getting a furnished home. Throw your crap in storage. Keep things simple.”

Lou was leaving Las Vegas, not unlike how the Hebrew slaves left Egypt; with little preparation, a terrible sense of direction and absolutely no idea what the Promised Land would really be like. He’d packed his Volkswagen Golf with clothes, books, his collection of clippings and a box of photographs. The first-place trophy he was awarded by the university’s film department for the short film he made back in college also made the cut.

She had money; they could get an incredible place just on her salary alone. At least, that was one plan Lou considered. He’d pitch in as soon as he landed a gig.

He left everything else perfectly in place — a collection of a decade — clothes he didn’t wear anymore, his complete DVD and VHS collection, his two TVs, his large office desk, the foosball table, his pots, pans, skillets, flatware, bowls, cups, mugs, plates, towels, bed sheets, beds, bed frames, tools and the vacuum.

He saw no reason to pack up the entire house. He had no place to put it all. There was no Chicago apartment waiting for him to bring his leather couches or his desk and certainly not the foosball table. Just as well. Lou was downsizing his entire life. He was going from a house with an office and a guestroom with its own bathroom to, well, nothing. He didn’t even plan to bring his beloved wooden hangers.

No. All of those things could stay. He’d be back for them soon enough. Just as soon as the house sold. Certainly he’d have a job and a nice apartment by then — one with plenty of room for wooden hangers. Maybe he’d get a place with Michelle. She had money; they could get an incredible place just on her salary alone. At least, that was one plan Lou considered. He’d pitch in as soon as he landed a gig.

“I think you have nice stuff, but Lexi and I want to actually live there, not just house-sit or squat until your real estate agent kicks us out,” Chuck said.

“What the hell should I do with everything?”

“Why don’t you get a storage unit?”

“A storage unit? Chuck, I’m moving to Chicago in twelve hours. How am I going to pack up my house and store everything in less than twelve hours?”

“You can keep the furniture there. We’ll use it. We don’t have much in the way of furniture.”

“And the rest of it?”

“Why didn’t you think about this before? Why do I have to think of everything for everyone?”

Chuck was right. If Lou had been thinking of anything other than fleeing as swiftly as possible, he’d have done the right thing and boxed up the last ten years of his life and put it under lock and key in some climate-controlled storage facility off the freeway. Of course, he couldn’t bring it all with him. He was taking a two-week road trip through the Pacific Northwest before pointing the car toward Chicago. And one can’t navigate last-minute route changes with a U-Haul van or trailer full of wooden hangers and World Market end tables.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Lou said. “You’ve just had a world of shit land on your head, and the last thing you need is to figure out my problems. Do you mind if I keep the stuff in the garage?”

“That would take up half of the space, wouldn’t it?”

“Most likely, yeah.”

“Come on, man. What am I paying you the market rate in rent for your place if I can’t make use of the two-car garage? And through the summer, no less when a car needs its shade.”

“Meet me in the middle. Please.”

“I’m fucking with you. That’s fine.”

“All right, thank you. I should go. Need to finish packing up the house before I leave tomorrow.”

“Quit pouting. I’ll help.”

✶

BY THE TIME THEY FINISHED MOVING all of Lou’s remaining worldly possessions, sans beds, couches, tables, desk and foosball table, into the garage, the sun was peeking over the Black Mountain Range. It was Lou’s favorite time of day. The early sun made the variegated sediment of the mountains glimmer in delicate shades of pink, purple and brown. And though he loved a beautiful sunset, a beautiful sunrise offered the hope of a great day with adventure and possibility. The day was new, nothing yet happened to spin things terribly out of control. And this particular sunrise provided copious amounts of hope for Lou, more than any other before. It also provided an equal amount of gut-wrenching fear.

Besides not having a place to live, he didn’t have a single job lead in Chicago. He’d certainly been looking and even dropped off his résumé to a few magazines and newspapers while visiting Michelle over the winter, but still, nothing was on the horizon but pretty colors. And pretty colors don’t pay. And while things were great in his personal life, that, too, was at risk. Since he left home, his parents had divorced and his younger brother became a drug-addled alcoholic with a phobia of success. And what of Michelle? What if they learned they were better as a couple seventeen-hundred miles apart? Instead of leaving Vegas as a legend and being welcomed to Chicago a hero like he’d always imagined, Lou was aborting a great life he loved. He well knew that in exchange for a fair amount of certainty there existed the terrible knowledge that troubled waters could lay ahead.

“I don’t want you to go,” Chuck said as the garage door opened up in preparation for take off. “But I understand why you have to.” The day’s first light snuck in on the hill of cardboard boxes that now contained Lou Bergman’s life, which the two friends spent all evening fitting into as tight a space as possible — like Tetris with memories. “You have to go after what you want: your career, your family, your girl. I envy what you’re able to do right now, and I want you to have it all, but I still don’t like to see you go.”

“I’m not so sure this is the right thing for me to do right now,” admitted Lou.   Chuck put his arms around him and hugged him. Lou hugged back. They stood there like that with tears filling their eyes for several minutes before Chuck let go.

“Your first stop will be Carlsbad,” Chuck said. “Don’t look back until you get there. And even then, don’t look back.”

“Take care of your mom. Give your family all my best, and let me know if you need anything. If you need me I can drive down there and help out.”

“Will do. I love you, man. Drive fast, drive safe and avoid arrest.”

“I know the rules. I love you, too. Don’t fuck up my house, and don’t fuck things up with Lexi. Just don’t fuck anything up.”

✶ 

AS LOU CROSSED THE CALIFORNIA STATE LINE, he thought about what Chuck was doing at that moment. “If he’s anything like me, which he is, he’s swimming naked in my pool.”

At the house, Chuck was floating on his back stark naked. I see why this was his favorite thing to do, Chuck thought. He closed his eyes and smiled, letting the already hot Las Vegas sun drench his body.

Before any road trip, the vehicle had to be gassed up and the tires inflated to maximum speeding pressure. All cargo had to be securely stored with careful consideration given to placing items within easy reach that the driver needed while in motion. These items included bottles of water, a thermos of coffee, cans of Red Bull, packages of beef jerky, Twizzlers, and CD booklets. Once everything was in order, takeoff could commence.

And at that specific spot where the on-ramp ends and the freeway begins is when the driver can set the trip odometer to zero, stomp the gas pedal into the floor and crank the car stereo as loud as it will go, blasting America’s “Ventura Highway.”

Those were the rules. The grocery supply is interchangeable, based on tastes and dietary restrictions, but “Ventura Highway” must be the first song played because it is the perfect song to begin any road trip. Make no mistake: it is not a song about the Ventura Freeway — that stretch of southern California road between Ventura and Pasadena — it is a song about a stretch of road that can be — and is — everywhere you’re driving, riding and hitchhiking. It is a song that is past, present and future. And it is a song with an insanely catchy guitar hook.

On Lou’s family road trips, there was an endless supply of candy and jerky. His father Benjamin was a neurotic about tracking the mileage, even using it to quiz his sons on math problems: “If we’re driving seventy-five miles per hour, and we have one-hundred-thirty-six miles to go, how long will it be until we get there?” Bergman family road trips were not quiet affairs. Freeway games like Padiddle and State Plates, where the first one to spot all fifty state license plates won, were highly competitive. The winner of the determined game would decide when and where the family ate, when it stopped for bathroom breaks or be given full car-stereo control.

While the battle over the radio could be any other family’s undoing, the Bergmans never disagreed on what to listen to. Most often, it was an oldies channel. This inspired other games like Name That Tune and Who Sings It. As Lou and Aaron got older, they grew tired of their parents beating them at the music games, so they studied the music of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s. And eventually, the kids became formidable opponents, not only knowing the song title and artist, but also who wrote the song or what month and year it peaked on the charts. This music knowledge served Lou well when he went on to work as a disk jockey.

When games weren’t played, the Bergmans were singing. And they sang loudly. And they sang in tune. And they sang in harmony. Singing only stopped at night. If someone — usually one of the kids — nodded off during daylight hours, the singing was never sacrificed. “Sleep through it,” Benjamin told his sons. “You should be able to sleep through any noise so you can always catch a good rest.” Benjamin loved proving this point every time Lou’s mom, Sarah, would zonk out. He’d poke her in the cheek and flick her legs and arms with red licorice vines until she woke up. When he did this, Sarah always woke up grumpy.

There was a moment, when Lou was twelve years old, that he would never forget. The family was on a spring-break road trip to Washington, D.C., with a stop in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The family roadster at the time was the first of several white Plymouth minivans. On road trips, Benjamin removed the middle seat, which gave everyone more room and allowed the boys to lie on the floor of the van and doze off in sleeping bags rather than risk spine misalignment from sleeping with a head against a window.

It was very late — maybe very early. Lou woke up somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. There was a bright, full moon shooting white light through the windshield and splashing it on his face. The radio was playing Barbara Mason’s “Yes, I’m Ready.” Lou hadn’t heard that song before, but he liked the way Mason’s voice was filled with such weighted anticipation to learn to love and be loved, to touch and be touched. It moved him. The moonlight made silhouettes of his parents’ faces as they so gently turned toward each other and sang the words to one another. Then, they turned their eyes back to the road and, like it was choreographed, his mom and dad reached out and held hands. With the minivan’s tires and shafts churning underneath him and his parents in the spotlight of love, Lou fell back to sleep. When he woke up later in the morning sunlight, his parents were clapping along and belting out the lyrics to “Cecelia.”

✶

BENJAMIN AND SARAH WERE NOT AN INCREDIBLY AFFECTIONATE COUPLE IN PUBLIC. There were plenty of niceties, however. They kissed hello and goodbye, they obviously had had sex at least four times — once for each kid, once for the time Lou walked in on it and once for the time they were so loud, Lou and Aaron had to sleep in the basement with pillows over their heads just to muffle the sounds — and Benjamin sometimes came home from work with flowers. They hired babysitters and went on dates, but romance was not a top priority in the young Bergman home.

Benjamin and Sarah never yelled at each other or fought publicly or bad-mouthed the other to the kids, so Lou was never sure of the exact reason his mom moved out. Or why they finalized the divorce four years later, just two months before Lou moved back. Maybe they weren’t sure about getting divorced. After all, it’s so, well, final. Just like marriage. Lou liked the idea of an everlasting love — a relationship that triumphed over the evils of the world — but these relationships were so hard to come by. But they were there. He saw it with his grandparents Abe and Adina, and he saw it with Michelle’s parents Lynn and Barry. Lou told me he saw it with me and my wife Natalie. I hoped he was right. And he was hoping he would see it with him and Michelle. I hoped he would, too.

Good relationships have never been just about love. Love won’t hold water — much less hold two people together — if the relationship doesn’t function. Lou was certain his parents loved each other, but something in the marriage just didn’t function. Whatever that illusive aspect was, it was none of his business. That’s how he saw it. He had heard the adage that divorce was not the fault of the children. And by the time Benjamin and Sarah opted to split, Lou was old enough to know that he and Aaron had nothing to do with it. Their marriage, and whatever was wrong with it, was between the two people in it. So he never bothered to ask that ever-pressing question: What went wrong?

Since his parents split, visits felt strange to Lou without the other person there. When he went home, he had to book two dinners, two lunches, etc., so he could see both his mom and his dad in equal-quality time. He hoped living with divorce in close proximity would make it easier and that he’d just get used to the split.

✶

LOU FELT A LITTLE LIKE THE BARBARA MASON SONG AS HE BEGAN HIS TRIP to Chicago and his new life. He was as ready as he would ever be — or so he kept telling himself and anyone else who asked. But was now the best time to move? Why didn’t he wait to land a job before moving? What was the rush? He knew it was Michelle. Since making the ultimate decision to leave the desert behind and be with her, she had been hitting him with every reason why he needed to be there sooner. She loved him, wanted to begin her life with him, and she was excited to see where his career would take them. An earlier arrival would mean a better job sooner, and so on. She made an incredible case for him to hurry because as a lawyer, making cases was her forte.

But because moving to Chicago meant kicking the next stage of his adult life into gear, he didn’t want to hurry home too fast. With no job waiting, he had no pending responsibility, so there was no reason in the world he couldn’t make his shift into real adulthood after a two-week adventure on the road. Being a seasoned road tripper, Lou was embarrassed to admit that he’d never properly done a tear through the northwestern states. He didn’t know when he’d have the freedom to go discovery driving out west again. Therefore, he had no trouble convincing himself that it was now or never.

So, he mapped out a loose plan. From Las Vegas, he’d head down to Carlsbad to spend a night with an old friend from Brushwood — the south suburban town where Lou grew up. Then it was up to Los Angeles for a day or two with his college roommate and fraternity brother, Eric. After L.A, he’d be on his own. No couches to sleep on, no longtime friends to catch up with. Just Lou, the Bergman family traditions and a game he made up called, Christian or Pop.

This was where the stereo scanned stations, and when a good song came up, he’d stop it. Then he’d have to guess whether it was Christian pop or not Christian pop. Out there in America, there’s a lot of Christian radio. And the music sounds a lot like secular radio. Most of it isn’t any worse than Nickelback, and there’s even some of it that’s quite good, so getting stuck with a song about Christ in your head isn’t the worst thing.

He’d move along the coastal Highway 1 to San Francisco, into Oregon and to Portland, over to Boise, Idaho, and on to Crater Lake; then take the state highways into Ketchum and pay homage to Earnest Hemingway’s final stop before blowing his brains out. Then he’d roll on through Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Sioux Falls, South Dakota; Madison and Milwaukee; Wisconsin and park the Volkswagen in Home Sweet Chicago.

 ✶

THE TRIP STARTED OUT JUST FINE. “Ventura Highway” with the windows down — and it was only four hours before he was laughing heartily with his friend and his wife in Carlsbad. He met their new baby, and he drank a shot glass full of breast milk — it tasted like person, he decided. So far, so good.

But L.A. was different. Eric and Lou were inseparable best friends throughout college and for a few years afterward. But Eric married a money-hungry, label-obsessed, E! Network-addicted real estate agent named Johnna, who convinced him to move to L.A. because as she put it, “The Las Vegas housing market is as yesterday as Paris Hilton.”

It had broken Lou’s heart when Eric stopped coming around and eventually left town a little more than a year before Lou’s move, but what could he do? He had made every effort he keep the friendship alive. When it died, Lou quietly blamed its demise on Johnna. But the truth was that it was just as much Eric’s fault as it was hers. Lou was never one to take friendships lightly, thus taking their ends hard.

In spite of the still hurt feelings, it was nice to spend a couple of days hanging out again. The visit worked out perfectly because Johnna was away for a conference. The two old pals didn’t go sightseeing or run through the L.A. streets drunk and belligerent. Rather, they laid low and caught each other up with their lives. Eric seemed to be happy for Lou, even slightly jealous of the two weeks he had ahead of him. On the other hand, Lou felt sorry for Eric. He was a shell of the man he used to be. Johnna had whittled out the best of Eric’s personality, leaving behind a bored, domesticated husk. As nice as the visit was, Lou was happy to drive away from it.

In an effort to save money and time, Lou never stayed in hotels when driving on his own. When he grew tired, he’d pull into a rest stop or populated parking lot and throw his seat back or nap under a tree. Rest stop bathrooms were perfectly suitable for brushing his teeth and rinsing out his contact lenses. And not that he was looking for it, but he never once saw any homosexual trucker activity occur, as was so often assumed by those who likely never took to the road themselves.

Lou preferred to do his driving during the day. He hated missing scenery or the chance to swing into a town at any moment for a bite to eat and a taste of the locals at a Greasy Spoon. So he’d push himself and his car until as close to midnight as possible and pull off to sleep under the light in a hotel parking lot. This was a trick his father taught him. Rest stops were fine during the day, but rest stops don’t often have big lot lights. Sleeping under a light was an exercise in safety. Most vandals would avoid breaking into a car under light with a half-bearded, mostly unwashed person sleeping in the driver’s seat.

Michelle didn’t like this idea. She wasn’t a fan of the two-week road trip at all. She kept saying to him, “Just come home. You need to find a job. You don’t have enough money to drive all over the country.” Despite all of her pressuring and the little fights, disagreements and explanations, it was clear to her that Lou was bent on making the trip and that there was nothing she could do to change his mind. To compromise, she ordered him a book of America’s hostels so he’d have somewhere better to sleep than in his car. He thought it was sweet and promised her he’d use it.

The two weeks of solitude on the road was not just about visiting states and streets he hadn’t seen, but also about the preparation for what was to come. Similar to the way deep-sea divers or astronauts have to go through pressurization before beginning their mission to the beyond, Lou had to do the same. And as he drove along the edge of America on that coastal highway, with the ocean air whipping through the car, his Best of Hall & Oates CD dancing through the speakers, San Luis Obispo the next potential stop, he began to sense the amount of pressurization he’d need.

A drink was necessary, and as soon as the 101 hooked inland past Pismo Beach, billboards for San Luis Obispo wineries sprung up. He pulled over at the first one. He didn’t have the time or the need for a proper tour; he just wanted the alcohol’s effects. The place was quiet, and the kid behind the counter seemed happy to have someone finally walk through the door.

“It’s not usually this dead,” the kid said. He wasn’t any older than nineteen or twenty. His family owned the place. “But we don’t see a lot of business on a weekday. Hopefully we’ll see more people like you come through.”

“People like me?”

“People just stopping in for a quick drink. Most of them are on their way to San Francisco. Where are you headed?”

“Chicago. Well, eventually Chicago. Yeah, San Francisco. Then up into the northern states. Depending on time, I might even sneak into Canada.”

“What’s in Canada?”

“Don’t know.”

“So why go to Canada?”

“Because I don’t know. How about a glass of… that one.”

The usual cost for a flight of wine was twelve dollars, but the kid didn’t charge Lou and even filled the glasses completely instead of the customary tasting sip. After three full glasses of mediocre wine, Lou bid the kid farewell and jumped back in the Volkswagen. He was riding the perfect buzz — warm, energetic and hopeful. And he had gone less than one-hundred miles before he was pulled over by a California state trooper for bounding along the winding coast at ninety-six miles per hour.

“Of course I didn’t know how fast I was going; otherwise I would have slowed down,” Lou said dryly, trying to elicit a laugh from the trooper. It didn’t fly. He produced his driver’s license and insurance card and waited while the cop ran his information. If he’d not still been on the wine high, he’d have been in a fit of panic. He had alcohol in his system and was driving thirty-one miles over the limit — reckless beyond a doubt.

The trooper asked Lou where he was headed. “You have a long trip ahead of you,” the trooper said. “And I’m in a good mood today, so I’m just going to cite you for going ten over. That way you don’t have to come back for a court date. Just mail in the fine, or pay it online. And slow down, for Pete’s sake. I don’t want to have to clean you off the side of one of these mountains.” He handed Lou the documents, tipped his trooper hat and got back in his cruiser. As he pulled back onto the road and passed Lou, he waved, then slammed on the gas and took off. Lou took the trooper’s kind nature as a sign. Things were going to be all right.

Part I Part II Part III

#Fiction #David Himmel Author #David Himmel Fiction #Hope #Hope Idiotic #Novel #Chicago Fiction #Las Vegas Fiction

[no-ns-en-si-ca-l]

If there’s a hell below • David Bell

I knew he was lying when he said I swear to god or I put that on my life. At any social event, the possibility of him running away at a seemingly inopportune time was highly likely. I was the one that would eventually have to search for him. Always on cue: "Do you think he's okay?" I'd slowly get up, walk out the door, and head toward the darkest place in the neighborhood. He’d be sitting in the glow somewhere, throwing rocks into a pond or carving shapes into the sand. I'd sit next to him and wait for him to tell me a story.

After most athletic competitions, both teams are made to walk in a line and shake hands with players from the opposing side. We had lost this game, and my friend walked directly in front of me, single file. Clap clap, nice game, good job, nice game, clap clap. When he reached one particular player, arguably the best on the team, he grabbed his arm and pulled him close—I'll slit your mother fuckin' throat, bitch—at the same time dragging his left thumb dramatically across his neck. A brawl broke out; he was so fucking believable, and there was nothing nice about the game after all.

"Ty…Ty…Tyrr…….David Bell...you are the winner!"

Fuck that shit, your mom either wrote my name wrong or that motherfucker was racist. I won that bike.

David

Yes? Coach Mike died… okay… You want to come home? …no no… …no

"Hey Mutt, I was thinking ‘cause you two are inseparable—and you're T-Mutt—that we call David D-Mutt. What d’ya think 'bout that?"

…no no… …no

He pointed to three people in the photograph with multiple fingers on one hand. Everyone kinda looked the same in the image. Shiny blue uniforms, proud, but not smiling. See these three guys? They were all witnesses, and each of 'em saw what I did, all threw in their badges the same time I did, and each and every one of them is dead now.

You dum! He'd call his mom in the room and while laughing say, Look at David, look how he eats his cereal, he doesn't put any milk in it! "Quiet Mijo, leave him alone," she'd respond to him, smiling at me, "David let me get you some milk."

We got in our first physical altercation when we went on a trip to Florida. I can’t recall what started it, and I’m not sure in that moment if I knew what it was about. At the end of it, we each searched the interiors in our mouths with our fingers to see where the blood was coming from: tongue, lips, cheeks, gums, holding out our hands to show each other. Look Look What What You You Did Did To To Me Me! He walked out the door fuming, said he was going home. I didn't know quite how he would do it, but I didn't see it as impossible…he was headed across the country on foot.

I want to work with underprivileged kids, he said. "That’s great." Yeah, I want to teach youth how not to behave when dealing with the police, how if they just listen and cooperate they won’t get hurt. Now that I've been a cop for a few years, I know that my father could have prevented his own death.

Yo David, did you get my card?

"What card?"

I want you to be in my wedding, my brother.

"Really?"

Really.

a choke hold.

an R S V In-ha-le ex-ha-l P

I never called him Coach Mike; I never called him anything. It added to my frustrated shyness. But I wanted to be his favorite; I knew he was paying attention. I got the nickname, no other people called me by it; maybe that’s what made it feel even more special. I had quit football the year before I met my friend, but after meeting his dad and knowing that he was coaching the team, I had to return.

He named me the M.V.P. after the first game we played—maybe the first (and last) thing I ever wanted and earned in competition. The next week in practice, after a drill in which there wasn't supposed to be much physical contact, I bumped into another player at a pace no more than a jog, and my right wrist snapped in half. I ran to the only person that I knew could fix it. "What’s up D.B?" he said without lifting his gaze from the rest of the team. “My arm is weird.” He looked down, “FUCK.” The next thing I know I'm sitting backwards in the back of an ambulance with my bone sticking out of my arm, watching him through the back window in his tiny Silver Prelude: his giant frame shrunken into a small silhouette behind the wheel, with hardly enough room for the sliver of a baseball cap to fit between his head and the roof.

It was the first time I had seen him since returning from Florida. We sat in my truck in silence for a while until he spoke. Everybody at the funeral was like, where the fuck is David?

At first I could never imagine him doing donuts in the parking lot of some shopping center, he always drove so stiff, looking in the rearview instead of turning his head. Yet as time went by, I encouraged the thought of it: a little smirk on his face with his cap low, something like a Curtis Mayfield “If There's a Hell Below, We’re All Going to Go” on the radio. Spinning, trying to dig a hole in the ground with his tires, flashy show off, painting the pavement with rubber. When they arrive, he's a faint shadow veiled by a thick cloud of smoke, arm out the window waving them in, here I am for you—blood fire! Red and blue club lights reflecting off his loose silver jacket, parked dead in the middle of a black infinity sign.

(Don't worry) How do you write a scream?

We used to say he lived in the projects, but perhaps because it was one of the only apartment complexes in the city at the time, or that one’s language simply doesn't change as fast as one’s environment. When I arrived on his street, it was blocked off to traffic—fire engines everywhere, and smoke billowing from the building across. From the top floor of his apartment, my friend stood out on his porch. "What happened?" I asked. Dude was running meth out of his apartment, saw him peace out on a motorcycle right before the entire building exploded. “How do you know?" You never fuckin' believe me, I saw it all, I swear to god my fuckin' hair caught on fire from one of the embers landing in it. I looked at his thin golden-brown afro. It looked as flawless as ever.

A few months later, I received a similar phone call only to arrive and find smoke coming from the back of his building. The door was already cracked open; he's standing there with a big smile on his face like it’s Christmas. We go to the back window and I see that the dried up river bed whose width spans the length of a football field has been scorched to black. Before any words are exchanged between us, there is knock on the door. Two firefighters, in full gear, helmets and all, are standing there. ''We heard from the neighbor that a kid was lighting off fireworks in their backyard, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Naw "Are your parents home?"

Maybe he got the job by calling one of those numbers where you pull the handwritten tab off the bottom of a sheet of paper stapled to a telephone pole. I didn't know exactly what he sold or did in general, but he had a briefcase with the gold spinning combo locks on each side that you popped open with both thumbs. It was a door-to-door-to-door sort of thing. The way the sweat poured off his brow when he walked in after a day’s work, you'd think he been hiking up to the top floor of the Rockefeller Center.

Fuck Football, the only reason I played was for my pops. I agreed, we had ditched school and practice and both decided to quit the next day. I knew there was nothing left to play for, and I had already stopped pointing at the sky. But my friend was too talented for the coaches to let him walk away, no matter what the circumstances, so only I was able to go.

We called it the bullet, shiny pockmarked, and rusty, glistening with labor, low to the ground, but ready to be a star. It was made in 1983, the same year I was born. It had been sanded down to silver as if it had gone through the motions of a new paint job, except it didn't make the final step, or didn't need it. I like it like this. The first time I saw it pulled over to the curb in front of me on my after school walk home, I panicked. My friend was sitting in the passenger seat, and his dad shouted softly across him "Hey D.B, you need a ride?" Of course I wanted a ride, but my words were not consistent with my desires, "Naw, Im good." I don't know if I turned it down because I was scared or if I didn't believe there was a back seat in such a tiny vehicle. He said alright and drove off. The next day I took the ride, and the next day and the next, until finally he asked, "Why don't I just pick you up at the school instead of you walking to this corner everyday acting like you don't want me to stop?"

BUK BUK!!

He slammed the guys head onto the concrete. Party's over.

[Fuck B.U.K] written on a cement wall, FLEXIN’

authority figure out. The picture tattooed, here, here and here then the dude came out the car with a bat, caught 'em by surprise gun talk role models jail time potential

I had noticed the sound for the first time while in the back seat driving up to Las Vegas. I was next to my friend, his aunt and grandmother in the middle seat of someone else’s borrowed van. He drove cozy with both hands on the bottom portion of the wheel. He was talking about something at a level we could all easily hear even way in the back. I noticed that at the end of his words, the faint sound could be heard. It was hard to tell if it was coming from his mouth or his nose, almost like a bit of trapped air being released through a valve, a muffled punctuation that always ended his sentences.kkuchh

For my friend’s brother’s wedding, I painted a portrait of their father. I chose to paint from the picture in the pamphlet from his funeral. The day he posed for that picture, he wore a suit with a dark red tie. Smiling with no teeth, somewhere between try me motha' fucker and I’m gonna take a real nice picture; you only got one shot, that’s it, how much do I owe ya. I think he posed for the picture knowing that it would be used at his own funeral, which is why to me, his face suggests, this is how you will remember me. I stared at this image for hours on end trying to get the expression right, simultaneously wondering if what I was doing was a good idea. While painting, I had to navigate the complexity of his skin. His forehead was darker than anywhere else on his body, at least anywhere else I had seen. For the rest of his face and head, I mixed reds and ochres, brown umbers, blues, and yellows. But his forehead, I had nothing to put into the black to make it seem more realistic, so it remained the color of his suit, straight out of the tube. After the wedding, his brother told me, “damn you got him, even his forehead.”

If you held a plastic bag into the air with the words EVIDENCE written on it in black sharpie, in it an object that—to my best guess—was an inhaler, and the question was posed, Did this belong to the deceased man that you refer to as—

"Speak up I can’t hear you!?"

I would have said, NO.

What type of man could catch another man who’s falling from the sky? They would have to be large, perhaps even two times the size of the person falling; muscle like a mother that grips to the bone preventing them from bursting out of the skin while absorbing the impact. The man who catches bodies from the sky would have to know himself well inside and out; when to bend at the knees, or drop to the ground, when to put his hands up and don't move! How to be still, shoot and at the same time brace for the worst. When one’s life is on the line, who wants to ask permission to reach in their pocket/survive? I just need my…I swear to…Freeze! He would have to trust, everything is going to be okay. I got you one by one, I fuckin’ love you, I put that on my life.

#(truth)

[jonathanbelloblog]

Mountains Climbed Lions Tamed

The bad thing about starting out on your first great South African off-road driving and safari adventure is that you and your camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hat look unbelievably stupid clomping through the gleaming marble lobby of Cape Town’s prestigious Table Bay Hotel. Hmm. Those childhood “Tarzan” movies might not have been the best source of wardrobe tips.

Once outside, we blend in so much better. Lining the hotel’s circular drive are a row of rugged Land Rover LR3s, one in Zambezi silver and four in Tangiers orange (painted in the livery of the recent G4 global adventure challenge), each accompanied by official instructor/guides dressed in matching uniforms of blue long-sleeved shirts and gray trousers. Behind them is a coterie of Land Rover North America handlers, complete with camera crew ready to record the five-star safari ahead.  

This is why we’d traveled halfway around the world. Automobile Magazine had been invited to join a band of well-heeled American adventurers who’d ponied up $8995 each (not including airfare) for the privilege of being terrified into a state of adventure nirvana for the next six days and nights. They are dressed like me, with the exception of a Bottega Veneto handbag here and a pair of Gucci loafers and Prada sunglasses there.

No, you will not meet beer-swilling, skinny-dipping, Jeep Rubicon- type revelers on the Land Rover trail. Our fellow travelers are retired captains of industry and entrepreneurs in aircraft maintenance and real-estate development. But make no mistake: over the course of the next week, in between the gourmet meals and fine wines of the Western Cape, men and women alike will slip from luxurious 1000-thread-count cocoons to muscle their pricey SUVs over perilous mountain passes, to ford rivers presumably teeming with crocodiles, and to part the dense swamp- grass home of black mambas, puff adders, and spitting cobras. Then drink.

There are a few off-road paradises left in the world, and Land Rover knows where to find them, partly because its stalwart products have already blazed those trails and can still be found merrily rolling along where pack mules fear to tread. If you own a Land Rover, you have the keys to it all, and Land Rover culture encourages you to partake.   Dealerships (called Land Rover Centres) have little on-site mountain test courses to try before you buy. Afterward, you can attend one of three magnificent off-road driving schools—at the Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley, California; at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina; or at Fairmont Le Chateau Montebello in Quebec. The next stop is a full-blown Land Rover Adventure.

South Africa, a country three times the size of Great Britain, is perfect for adventure. It splits the frigid Atlantic from the warm waters of the Indian Ocean at the Cape Point, and depending on which side you’re on, offers subtropical vegetation, rugged mountain ranges, semi-desert, rain forest, scrubby bushveld, and perfectly groomed vineyards.   Its cities are modern, the political climate is fairly stable given its tumultuous past, its little towns are quaint, and the well-marked road system of the Western Cape is in better shape than Michigan’s. All that, and wild elephants in the backyard, too.

  What could be more perfect? That would be our guides, the staff of Kwa-Zulu Natal Land Rover Experience, the world’s first franchised Land Rover off-road training group, led by the irrepressible Rob Timcke, a chain-smoking, Red Bull-slugging firecracker. Timcke is a born raconteur who nevertheless inspires utter confidence in his ability to bring everyone back alive.   Not just a talker, Timcke was raised in a hunting camp in the old Eastern Transvaal on the Mozambique border, where his first language was Zulu. He spent time in the Congo during the really bad years as a South African army intelligence officer and became a professional hunter until 1993, when Communist Party leader Chris Hani was murdered and trophy hunters stayed home. Next, he set up tourist dives to view tiger and great white sharks. Without the cage.  

Timcke then jumped into teaching people the fine art of off-road driving. “I was always a bush person,” he says, “never a sea person. After nine years of getting really seasick, I found some idiot of a bank manager to buy my operation.” His cohorts include his stunning Akrikaaner wife, Carina. (“I slept my way into a job,” she cracks. “Unfortunately, my previous job paid much more.”)   Her brother Pierre Versfeld and top fly-fishing guide Antony Diplock complete the group. Diplock is not a big talker, but then he lives alone on an island near Namibia and, at the age of eighteen, participated in the tribal coming-of-age circumcision ritual with his boyhood Zulu friends. He doesn’t need to talk much.

Handshakes and hellos out of the way, we climb behind right-hand-mounted steering wheels and head south in convoy. To acclimate us to driving on the wrong side of the road, Timcke has sent us down the coast road past the rugged Twelve Apostles mountain chain flanking our left and the beach towns of Camps Bay and Llandudno on our right.   We climb the Chapman’s Peak toll road clinging to seaside cliffs and rumble through the shrubby natural fynbos (“fine bush”) habitat of the Cape of Good Hope nature reserve splashed with the bright spikey blooms of protea.

South Africans are rightfully proud of this, the densest of the world’s six floral kingdoms, counting between 8500 and 9000 species packed in an L-shaped area centered around Cape Town, no more than sixty miles wide. The camera car just misses a turtle in front of us. “Ooh, a fynbos tortoise,” chuckles Timcke. “They’re quite rare.”

The plan for a brief mountainside sojourn in the dirt is scratched due to a hard, fast storm blowing in from the south. This brings fond memories to Timcke: “Carina and I ran a safari in Botswana. We were camping when massive, massive thunderstorms rolled in. You could see lightning for miles.   She was setting the table with white linen, and I noticed the ground was alive. Scorpions and spiders. ‘You take me home and you take me home now!’ she yelled. This other time we were scouting in Zambia, and I sent her out to check the depth of the river crossing. She was chest-deep and turned and yelled, ‘What if there are crocs?’ I told her, ‘Don’t splash.’ ” What a gal.

We carry on to the mountain-ringed Cape Winelands surrounding Paarl, Franschhoek, and Stellenbosch (founded by Dutch and Huguenot settlers in the late 1600s) for a world-class lunch at Bosman’s Restaurant at Grande Roche, Africa’s only Relais Gourmand.   We taste the superb wines of Grand Roche, Boschendal, and Spier. Instructors become chauffeurs. Back in Cape Town, a native choir welcomes us to dinner at the prime minister’s historic residence. It seems that there’ll be no end to the eating and drinking. And drinking.

Real off-roading comes early the next day, and it is very, very good. Our LR3 has a 300-hp V-8 that shifts through a six-speed manu-matic and a hill-descent control system that won’t let the vehicle roll downhill unchecked with your foot off the brake—which is most helpful when it gets dicey. Terrain response allows the perfect tractive selection with the spin of a knob. I select the rock icon to climb into the pines, spotting a mongoose and a few klipspringers, which look like tiny reindeer perched on clothespins.   It looks like Colorado, I think. Baboons run out. Colorado, but with baboons. A sentry male barks and moves toward us, menacing, while the rest of the troop flees. “I raised four baboons,” says Timcke. “They ran loose at our safari lodge. The males are domineering and see humans as other primates. There will be one alpha male and lots of beta males. My mom, they hung on her leg. My dad was the dominant male. At maturity, they challenge the troop. This one, he’d demonstrate his strength to the weaker part of the troop. That would be my sister. He eventually nipped her, drew blood, and I got out the revolver and shot him.” OK, then.

Once through the forest, we dive into a thicket of grass and find that the rain has made a lake of our trail. Knowing that an LR3 can push through water high enough to break over the hood, I press confidently along, completely forgetting I am on highway tires. No problem. We come out in the fynbos, a riotous blast of purple, pink, yellow, and blue spikes, flowers your florist would die for.

Back to Stellenbosch for an open-air Indonesian and Cape Malay buffet with delicacies such as springbok saut and gnu stew. (I made that last one up.) In the city center, there’s a great crafts market, but I’ve decided to not tell you about buying the Congolese mask from the Zairian merchant, whom I somehow bargained up from 280 to 300 rand, about fifty dollars. Rob is suffused with mirth as I climb in with my precious cargo. The guy was sweating. He pleaded. I felt sorry for him. Forget it.

Luggage stowed, we head for an overnight in the coastal town of Knysna. We of course go the longest, most difficult way. There is a dirt trail all the way from Cape Town to Knysna, but we don’t patch into it until we turn off just west of Mossel Bay on Route 327, pass ostrich farms that line the road on both sides, and head into the Centre Valley of the Western Cape, the arid red earth and rocklands of the Little Karoo.

In the distance, two wild ostriches haul tailfeathers across the bleak plain. “Damn quick little buggers,” says Rob. “Sixty kph [37 mph] at full speed.” The road turns to lane, the lane to trail, and soon we are climbing past a sign that reads, ‘Men remove dentures, ladies fasten your bras.’ It’s the oxwagon autobahn, the path of Dutch settlers between 1689 and 1869. If they could do it, so can we.

We see wild Boerperds—native horses—and the most colorful birds imaginable. When we can look. Because now we are creeping downhill. The rocks are loose and have sharp edges, it is scary steep, and in some places the holes are so deep that both rear wheels lift off the ground in a pirouette straight from hell, which gives me shallow breathing. As I crawl from that horror, I loosen my sweaty stranglehold on the wheel, letting it spin free in my hands.

“You mustn’t do that or the ruts in the road will dictate where your tires will be,” Rob corrects me. I forgot he was even there, focusing as I am on the sharp rocks that line the downward slope of this path. I feel six inches too close to everything—the steering wheel, the pedals, the brakes, God. “Take the brake off,” says Rob. Huh?   I have to unhook all ten toes from their death grip on the pedal. I don’t want to. But the LR3 slowly finishes the gradual descent without my feet. We are at Bonniedale, a 1650-hectare guest farm that was named one of the top 4×4 destinations in South Africa for two years.   It’s open to the public for anything from a day’s driving fun to camping and horse trekking. Nico Hesterman, a former conservation officer, and his wife, Danette, have lived in this wilderness for eighteen years and have a traditional outdoor barbecue, or braai, waiting in camp for us. A cold, Namibia-brewed Windhoek lager would have to wait ’til that evening.  

We were sorely ready for the rain forest town of Knysna and its ultraluxurious, ultrachic Pezula Resort. Again we arrive with the camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hats, tromping through someone’s hushed art gallery of a hotel lobby.   But this time, we throw ourselves on the nearest beer bottle, nearly weeping with relief for having made it thus far unscathed. Okay, maybe that really nice lady with the Bottega Veneto bag and Gucci loafers, who rode serenely down that same awful hill, confident in her young son’s ability at the wheel, sipped white wine.  

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