#ok boys another one for the ‘this was funnier in my head’ pile

[furtherjpg]

but like unironically. self-care queen

ID under the cut:

[Image description: a three-panel digital coloured comic about Amber Gris, a short, middle-aged brown woman with a gray messy mohawk. The headline in fancy font says “How to recover from a near-death experience: a 3-step guide by Amber Gris.” The first panel says “Step One: Throw up.” and shows a slightly ajar bathroom door. The second panel says “Step two: Sit down and stare at the wall for 30 minutes straight and breathe deeply and try to, like, fuuuucking chill.” and shows Amber from behind, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the room staring at the wall. The third panel says “Step three: get a juice box and fucking kick it in Amber's Place™.” and shows Amber in a comfy green sweater, sitting in a leather armchair, sipping on an orange juice box and reading a magazine called “Your Horse”. End ID.]

#ok boys another one for the ‘this was funnier in my head’ pile #taz #taz ethersea #taz ethersea spoilers #amber gris #long post #kinda #throwing up mention #throwing up tw

[bigbrainblue]

19th birthday

It was late.

you don’t know how late, but late enough that you hadn’t heard a car pass in well over 20 minutes, the only light around was from the distance street lamps and the reflection of the moon on the ocean that stood before you. the only sound coming from the crickets in the hills, occasional wave crashing, and your own shallow breath. 

currently you were sat on a beach. alone.

it was your birthday, you had come to the beach from your birthday party. a party to celebrate the day you were born 19 years ago. 

the party was fine, but there sure as hell were a lot of people, way more than you would have liked

you knew people there, sure, but a good portion of the party was people you've never even heard of, just coming for a party and the booze. 

you had arrived with your friends, a lot of them actually, you had just managed to lose them all one by one slowly as the night grew longer and as your vison started to blur.

the people you came with were your friends, Niki, will, toby, tom, clay, George, nick, and Alex. 

you were having fun, drinking, walking around, socializing. but soon it became too much.

the drinking had made you obsess over every thought that came into your head.

you decided to take a break, have some fresh air, and now here you are. on a beach. alone. at night.

one of the thoughts your brain wouldn’t let go was about Alex, the boy you’ve known since junior year of Highschool. you two met when you decided to do a foreign exchange year in Mexico. it just so happened to be that the parents that decided to host you for a school year also were the parents of a teenage boy the same age as you, with straight black hair that stuck to the back of his neck and with freckles scattered around his face. over the next 9 months you guys became best friends, never leaving each others sides.

you didn't know it then, but you had fallen in love with this boy, this amazing beautiful smart caring boy. 

but eventually you had to go home, but you guys never stopped talking.

Alex eventually started posting videos on YouTube, and not long after, streaming on twitch as well.

you watched him gain fame as you supported him at the sidelines, cheering him along the way.

at some point he convinced you to do it too. you spent long nights on calls with him, helping you set up your streams and giving you ideas for new YouTube videos. 

with the help of Alex, you started to gain fame too, even passing him at one point.

through streaming and YouTube, you made so many friends, and yet none of them compared to Alex. 

speaking of Alex, you wondered what he was doing, probably having the time of his life, drinking an hooking up with girls a bajillion times hotter than you

*A/N HI OK IM SORRY IF THAT PART SOUNDED MEAN I PROMISE IT ADDS TO THE STORY OK BYE*

you laughed quietly at yourself thinking about how stupid it was to think that you could pull a guy like Alex.

just then you heard it.

a familiar voice from behind you, “what’s so funny?”

you looked back startled and confused

‘Alex? what are you doing out here?”

“well y/n I could ask the same thing to you, its your party, i noticed you were gone, so I went looking for you. as simple as that”

“i got overwhelmed in there, I'm sorry. i just needed some fresh air”

“ its ok, don't apologize for something you cant control. can I sit?”

“nope” you said sarcastically, hoping he would get the joke

“too bad!” he said, plopping himself right next to you in the sand

you giggled at his humor

neither of you said anything, it wasn't awkward silence, you two had known each other long enough that sometimes, it was nice to just enjoy the company of the other person beside you in silence. 

and yet, suddenly Alex said something.

“have you been crying? there's dried tear streaks along the sides of your face”

you turned your head towards his and whipped the sides of you face, seeing that he was already looking at you, studying you and your facial expression. 

“i guess. if I did, I didn't notice.”

“how did you not notice yourself crying? that sounds like something very noticeable” he said, putting an emphasis on the very,

you laughed, probably harder than you should have.

he smiled, happy to see you happy

“do you wanna talk about it? why you were crying?”

“no, well, not here at least-” you said gesturing your hands at the ocean 

“plus, there's sand getting in my ass” you added on to your previous sentence

Alex laughed and agreed, standing up and brushing off hi pants, and then handing out a hand for you to grab as he pulled you up.

you also brushed yourself off, and you weren't lying, cause man was there a lot of sand in your ass.

he started walking away from you and as you caught up with him you asked,

“where are we going?”

“you’ll see, its a great place, I promise you will love it” 

you followed Alex to his car as he opened the passenger side door for you.

“how romantic” you commented as you climbed into his car. poking fun at him

as he got into the car he plugged his phone into the aux cord, playing a song you had heard a couple times, but would have never expected for Alex to listen to it, it just didn't seem like the type of music he would like.

he set his phone down face up as the screen flashed up at you as he put the car into gear and pulled out into the street

you saw the title of the song he was playing, “Falling For U” by Peachy ft Mxmtoon, and his wallpaper, a photo of you two from junior year. both standing next to each other awkwardly as his mom made you guys take a photo together on the first day you got there. you wondered how long it had been his wallpaper for. 

you laughed and asked him about his wallpaper

“i mean you gotta admit, we look extremely sexy in that photo. especially me”

this comment from Alex made you break out laughing, even harder than before, as he started to hum along with the lyrics of the song. joined with him actually saying a line out loud every once in a while

it was a peaceful drive, Alex played more lofi songs as you stared out the widow.

eventually he pulled the car into an empty parking lot of a small gas station 

“is this the place?” you questioned 

“nope, just a pit stop.” he said

you both went inside, grabbing snacks and drinks and piling them into the back of the car. Alex making you wait to open them until you two got to your final destination

 eventually, the car rolled into a another small empty parking lot, except this one was made of dirt and was a lot higher up.

Alex had pulled the car to the edge of the parking lot, as you finally got to see why he brought you here,

you looked through the windshield to find a view of the entire city. 

you gasped in awe as you looked towards Alex, who, again, was already looking at you.

this time he wasn't studying you, he was admiring you.

you blushed, but pushed it off.

you and him both got out of the car so you guys could grab the snacks and the blankets he had in the back of his car.

he hopped onto the hood of his car and you joined him.

-

you starred into the sky full of stars above you. 

you gasped as you pointed out a shooting star passing over head 

“what did you wish for, Alex?”

“i cant tell you or else it wont come true”

“well then couldn't you wish the opposite of what you want to come true and then tell someone so the opposite comes true?”

“you're so stupid-” he said jokingly as he laughed.

“so, do you want to talk about why you were crying earlier, or is this still not the right spot” Alex chuckled at his own joke

“yes but, I have a question first”

Alex hummed in response, curious of what the question could be

“do you believe in love at first sight?”

you could feel his gaze on you, but you didn't divert your eyes from the stars above.

“do you remember the first time that we met? at the airport when my mom forced us to hug and take that god awful photo together, and when we ended up playing tictactoe in the car for an hour while we drove to my house?”

“yes? of course i do, that was simultaneously the worst and best day of my life. but that doesn't answer my question dumbass” you said, still not giving into his gaze onto side of your head.

“I think I just did, did I not?” 

it finally clicked, him looking for you at the party, the song in the car, the story

you turned your head to meet his gaze, finally giving in

he sat up and dramatically grabbed his chest, pretending to have been stabbed in the heart, enacting a theatrical performance

“y/n m/n l/m, i am dying, and you must know, that I am in LOVE with you!” he dramatically gasped and fall back down., pretending to be dead. 

you played along as you gasped and put the pack of your hand on your forehead as you spoke

“oh my dear Alex, I love you too, and now you will never get to know how much i loved you” you faked sobbed onto his chest

“maybe a true loves kiss will help save him” he whispered, making the scene even funnier and causing both of you to bust out laughing

“ah yes, the only way to save my prince, a true loves KISS!” you said before coming down and kissing Alex on the lips. 

he sat up with a loud gasp

“I am alive! a kiss of true love saved me!” you giggled beside him as you watched him play out his Oscar-winning performance

“may I kiss you again m’lady? for saving my life of course.” he questioned

“of course, you can kiss me anytime m’lady” you said back, pulling him into a deeper kiss

he pulled way first before speaking

“WAIT DID YOU JUST CALL ME M’LADY?

#quackity #y/n #x y/n #mcyt #dsmp #alex quackity #quackity fluff #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackity x reader #quackity x reader fluff #i dont know what other tags to put

[alexiessan]

Never alone - Chapter Twenty Four - Soulmate AU - The End

AO3

Previous - Here

Master List

Last chapter! Thanks to everyone who followed this story!

After Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sanscœur got arrested, Emilie Agreste was brought to the hospital. She has been in a coma for a few years now, with no sign of waking up, and the doctors weren’t very optimistic about her.

Emilie Agreste would probably never wake up.

Adrien has been very sad when he got the news, but he had the time to grieve her mother years ago when his father has lied about her death. While he missed her every day, he had learned to move on. Still, knowing that she was alive, brought hope to the young model. He didn’t care about the doctors’ prognostics, nothing could crush his hopes.

Thankfully, Adrien has been declared innocent in the whole Hawkmoth debacle. He and Ladybug had revealed to the police that the young Agreste has been Chat Noir all along. The information didn’t make it to the news, thankfully.

Paris celebrated that night and would celebrate for a whole week, finally happy to be free of Hawkmoth. People allowed themselves to cry, to scream, to let their emotions free.

That night, Marinette cried in the arms of her soulmate, not stopping even when he carried her to his bedroom, the short girl in his arm clinging to him like a koala.

Life, without having to fight Akumas, was weird. Marinette had gotten so used to miss classes or a few hours of sleep because of attacks that she was nervous as if waiting for something to happen.

But nothing happened. Her shoulders were free of the burden of Paris’ safety.

She no longer needed to be Ladybug.

The Miraculous on her ears felt so heavy now.

It’s at the end of April, after a month and a half of peace, that the fashion designer decided to take off the earrings.

“I think we both need a rest,” she said to Tikki, a sad smile on her lips. “I need to heal from Hawkmoth, to detach myself from Ladybug, and I can’t do that with you around.” She winced. “No offense.”

Tikki laughed. “None taken, Marinette! I totally understand. It will be nice for me to be with the other Kwamis for a while,” she smiled, floating up to Marinette’s face to nuzzle her cheek. “And it’s not like we’re saying goodbye. You’re the guardian now, so we can see each other whenever we want!” She settled on her chosen’s shoulder. “But you’re right. We both need a break. So…” she fell silent for a few seconds. “See you soon, I guess!”

Marinette laughed, placing a kiss on the Kwami’s head.

“See you soon, Tikki.”

And she took the earrings off, placing them in the Miraculous Box.

It was like a weight has been lifted off her shoulder. Marinette hadn’t felt so light in years.

She almost jumped when she felt arms circle around her from behind. Sighing happily, she leaned back so she could be closer to Damian.

“How are you feeling,” he asked, placing a kiss on her neck.

“Good,” she breathed, turning around to face him. “I feel really good.”

She pulled him closer and kissed him.

Adrien was moving away. He had told his friends that he would live with his aunt and his cousin in London.

“I mean, I’m eighteen, so I could live by myself but…” he played with his fingers, embarrassed. Nino looked at him with a warm smile, encouraging him. “But, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve had a golden childhood, you know? People did everything for me, from cleaning my room to cooking the meals. I can’t live by myself yet, so I’m moving in with my aunt. Then, I’ll learn everything I need to take care of myself.”

Alya laughed.

“Try not to give food poisoning to your family!”

Adrien gasped, falsely offended. “How dare you?!”

Adrien and Alya laughed while the others just shook their head in exasperation.

The young Agreste turned to Damian. “I heard you’re leaving soon?”

Damian nodded, unconsciously bringing Marinette closer to him. “Next week.”

Alya groaned. “Finally. I won’t have to see you anymore.”

The youngest Wayne smirked. “Sorry to break the news, Césaire, but I’ll be back in August as I’ll study here.”

The look on Alya’s face made everyone laugh.

Even though she knew that she would see him in a few weeks, saying goodbye to Damian at the airport brought tears to her eyes.

She hugged Dick first, who hugged her back so tightly that she couldn’t breathe for a few seconds.

“I’ll miss you so much.”

“Aw, you’ll see me soon, I promise,” the oldest of the Wayne siblings winked.

“I know, but it won’t be the same.”

Richard ruffled her hair with a smile. “I’m only a phone call away if you need anything. And when I say anything, I mean it, ok? Don’t hesitate. That’s what siblings are for, after all!”

She almost cried at that, but he gently pushed her towards Damian, giving them privacy in their goodbye.

Marinette let out a sob.

“I’m sorry. I swear I won’t always be this sensitive,” she said, embarrassed with the amount of tears she had shed lately. She had cried earlier when she said goodbye to Cloud and Alfred the cat too.

The green-eyed boy took her hand in his, pulling her closer to him. He kissed her forehead.

“I understand. Take time to allow yourself to feel, alright? Then, you’ll be okay in no time.”

She nodded. “You’re right.”

She cupped his cheek in her hand. “God, I hate seeing you go.”

He leaned in her touch. “I know. But you’ll see me in a few weeks for Prom.”

“I can’t wait,” she said and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

With the Baccalauréat coming and all the studying she had to do, time passed more quickly than she has expected.

In no time, she was in Gotham with the help of Kaalki, in her prom dress with Damian’s family in their manor.

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes as his father and brothers insisted to take a lot of pictures. Marinette didn’t mind. She was just happy to see Damian again.

She was happy to see his siblings too, of course.

Prom was exactly how she imagined it. It was such a shame there was no such thing in France.

The look on Damian’s classmates’ faces was hilarious. They obviously couldn’t believe that Damian Wayne was there, and with a date!

Their faces were even funnier when they saw him dance with her or when he tried to discretely kiss her.

Which was discreet at all, what with everyone watching them like a hawk.

It was a very nice night, one Marinette wished wouldn’t end, but alas, in the end, she had to go back to Paris.

While it was only one in the morning in Gotham, it was already seven in Paris, and she would have only three hours of sleep before having to get up to meet Alya and Chloé for a study session.

And, ok, maybe she got back at eight in the end because she couldn’t detach her lips from Damian’s.

Marinette and Damian passed their own tests easily, saying goodbye to their high school life.

The Eurasian girl was disappointed that she didn’t get to go to Damian’s graduation — she loved how it was such a big event in the US — but Jason sent her all the pictures they had taken, so it made up for her absence.

They didn’t get to see each other much during the summer. Just a trip here and there to Gotham thanks to Kaalki. Damian had to figure out a lot of things about Robin not being in Gotham for at least three years — five years if he decided to get a master degree — and all the paperwork needed for an American student studying in France.

Plus, his friend Jon was forcing him to spend time with it as it would be a long time before they would get to see each other.

Marinette has been accepted into the Fashion University of her choice and had immediately filled all the paperwork needed to finalize the registration.

Her summer has been busy with helping her parents in the bakery and going on a trip with Claude, Allan, and Allegra, and then on another trip with the original class from middle school. Even Lila was there and was actually pleasant.

All in all, August was there, and Damian and Marinette had finally moved in the Wayne’s penthouse. They had redecorated to make it their place and were exhausted after two weeks of painting and Ikea trips.

They were cuddling on the couch, Titus, Cloud, and Alfred the cat sleeping in a pile at their feet.

The couple was exhausted, but happy and ready for the next step in their life.

Marinette turned slightly so she could face her boyfriend. She smiled at him as he raised an eyebrow at her, and kiss him softly.

“Hey, I love you, you know?”

Damian kissed her cheek.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, bringing her closer. “I love you, too.”

Tag List:

@bigpicklebananatree​ @animegirlweeb​ @crazylittlemunchkin​ @northernbluetongue​ @cutechip​ @justafanwarrior​ @iloontjeboontje​ @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood​ @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff​ @toodaloo-kangaroo​ @mikantsume​ @dast218​ @amayakans​ @zestyzealot​ @lunarwolfspn​ @corabeth11​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @olynix​ @aestheticnpoetic​ @hot-neighbour-nextdoor​ @thehufflepuffranger-blog​ @k-poplunardreams​ @tis-i-beanbandit​ @bluesimani​ @laurcad123​ @notmycupoftea26​

#maribat #daminette #maridami #damian x marinette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc

[nardaviel]

Part 8 / ?. You know that time in December when there are too many holidays all squished together? That’s this part. Nothing else I promised at the end of the last part has happened yet, but soon! Soon.

Once again some new packs have come out. I’m not sure I want them to do Strangerville, but I’ve already done some stuff with Get Famous and Island Living, either in this part or the next one, which is also complete and just needs to be edited.

Winterfest morning dawns at Ibushi’s new house.

That greenhouse is way, way, way bigger than he needs, but I don't care. I just got so sick of his miniscule greenhouse at his starter home.

On the inside, the house is extremely green, and where it's not green, it's full of mismatching wood tones. You can blame that on me, if you like (except for the mismatching wood tones, that’s 99% EA's fault). I blame myself. I built this house ages ago and I judge my past self real hard when I look at the interior decorating. But it's funnier to blame it on Ibushi's own tastes. He has a favorite color, okay? He knows what he likes.

In any event, he wanted to have a gathering for Winterfest. Just a little one, with his three best friends and the little bit of his family who he's on good terms with. However, while Atsushi obligingly chats with him in the kitchen...

Atsushi: No, honestly, Ibushi, I'd love to help, are you sure you don't need anything?

...his workaholic cousin Sora closets himself in Ibushi's tiny office and smiles down at the laptop...

...while Sora's daughter Antigone makes a beeline for the bookshelf in the otherwise deserted living room.

Not unlike I would have done as a teenager, I guess, except I'd have brought my own book.

A brief introduction of the OCs: Sora is Ibushi's older cousin, featured in this Ibushi fic that I wrote if you're interested. His wife Sarah is mentioned a few times. As of the end of the fic he hasn't had time to have kids, but in the canon verse he has three. However, the Sim Yumura family is based more on a Harry Potter AU than on canon, so Sim Sora has five. The blonde teenagers are Auden and Antigone, the green-haired child is Caelan, and there are two toddlers who you won't meet for a long time, if ever, because I can't be bothered with them.

Do any of them look like the actual characters look in my head? No, not really, so if you have read that fic, please don’t replace your existing mental image with Sim Sora. But the canon third years don’t really look right, either. They’re recognizable, and so are the OCs.

Listen, the trio needed friends, and I never care enough about random townie Sims to try with them. The OCs will only be supporting characters in these posts, I promise. Party guests, that type of thing.

Anyway!

En is pleased to see Atsushi when he at last wanders in.

While this is sweet, Sora and his two teenage children are still over in a far corner of the house away from their host...

...possibly because Caelan kicked his dad off the computer in order to play Tetris Blicbloc badly.

You might be wondering where Kinshirou is. If you've read that fic, you might also be wondering where Sarah is. I have no answers for you. Maybe they're just going to be really late?

Look at all the food Ibushi made :D and the pretty flower arrangement! With flowers that he (mostly) grew himself. What a talented guy.

Ibushi: Dinner's ready! Come eat! (If the rest of them don't show up now, I'll just give up.)

You might have noticed in the last screenshot that Woody grew up! He looks like he's sad because he has no food, but in reality he has no food because he just ate.

Sora, in the meantime, has started opening presents on his own. What a rude guy. No wonder he's raised such rude children. This is all so OOC all I can do is laugh tbh

It worked lol. Welcome, Sarah and Kinshirou.

Also of note: Antigone went straight for the cake, she didn't even bother with the ham. Maybe if Sarah hadn't been so late, she could've told her daughter not to eat dessert first.

She feels guilty, I can tell.

Sarah: So how has it been going? You’ve been keeping the kids in line? Sora: Yes. Definitely. They’ve all been very well-behaved. Sarah: ...sure, Sora.

This game is so weird about sitting down... not just when eating but in so many contexts. Let the Arimas sit!!!!!

ok but joking aside though this warms my heart.

Ibushi: Kinshirou, it's Winterfest! Lighten up. Kinshirou: I'm perfectly content, thank you. Ibushi: Try to laugh more! It's the spirit of the season. Like this! Kinshirou: Ibushi, no—

Ibushi: HO HO HO!!!!!!

Ibushi: Come on, it's only once a year. Try it.

Kinshirou: No.

He looks like he's still in a pretty good mood, though. I guess it’s Winterfest spirit.

The kids get sent home (it's literally just across the street lol) so that the adults can open presents. Makes you wonder what kinds of presents they're exchanging...

... oh :C

It was En's present, wasn't it? Wasn't it, En?

It totally was. En, how cruel.

This is one of the most perplexing and worrying screenshots in the entire series to date. Ibushi stares at Sora in disappointment while Kinshirou, who disappeared with Sora a few screenshots back, tries to exchange a smug and meaningful look with him. However, Sora is smiling (nervously?) at his wife, who, in turn, is staring into space, smiling obliviously, probably thinking about work.

Sora, what clandestine political plot have you dragged Kinshirou into? He might have family connections but he's a pure innocent bby, don't corrupt him! You know Sarah would never approve!!!

Sarah: *whispering* Yes, Sora, this is the right time to open presents. Sora: (Oh, god, she knows... how does she always know?)

Eventually, even the lure of presents isn’t strong enough. En can't help himself: He finds Atsushi again and grabs him in another passionate embrace.

Finally, once night has fallen...

Father Winter shows up! :O

...even though the fireplace is lit. Must be a tough job being Father Winter.

He's about to laugh, but it looks like he's got cramps. Too many cookies?

Despite his agony, however, he replenishes Ibushi's present pile. What a nice man. Not like you, Sora.

He's a much better gift-giver than En, too.

Just casually chatting with Santa, as you do.

Don't give Ibushi a hard time about his hygiene, okay, he's been working hard all day.

Finally, the holiday comes to a close. It's just Ibushi and Woody again, both passed out in Ibushi's extremely green bedroom.

:D

But now it's back to Kinatsuen. We have to switch households now or else we'll miss

En's favorite holiday, Pretty Boy Day. Look at all those hearts around the traditions I can't believe it

Atsushi has decided to be more thoughtful in choosing holiday decorations from now on. No more going to the store and grabbing the first thing he sees! He's going to think carefully about what'll look good and where.

Meanwhile, En has dragged Kinshirou onto the couch to set the mood early.

En: Look, what I was talking about earlier, with the tongues. Isn't it weird? Kinshirou: Yes, En, this is all very strange. (Oh, no, this is too vulgar, I can't watch... how is this even permitted on television... yet I can’t give En the satisfaction of reacting too strongly...)

Atsushi... you tried your best.

It’s actually not awful, for the most part, but the ribbons on the fences make my eyes hurt. The colors clash too much.

As Kinshirou flees the house to escape from that TV show...

...Atsushi comes downstairs to take his place.

Atsushi: Good morning, En-chan. What are you watching? En: ...you'll see. Atsushi: All... all right then...

At least they both get invested in the same plot points.

As an aside, Kinshirou has come back and started a fantasy novel, and the game suggested that I name it Cat Lord, Cat Counsel which is absolutely a book I would read.

Don't remember the last time I showed one of these so these are the books Kinshirou is currently getting royalties for. I don't even remember what some of these titles are based on? What AU would inspire a title like Forever Quiet, that sounds depressing.

Or that’s what I was thinking when I was typing this commentary as I played. Now, going through it again to post, I have an idea for what AU it might have been, and I was right. It’s depressing. Kinshirou, sometimes your books are real downers, you know that?

The sun has finally come out. Perfect weather for Atsushi to show the world his smuggler costume, right?

...well, En sold a painting and I got the Get Famous notif, even though the option itself didn't have the (+Fame) next to it when I clicked on it. So I guess this is the first step down the path to En Yufuin, famous artist.

I sound reluctant but actually I'm kind of excited haha. I even thought about having him not quit his job, since I think that would give him the chance to get things like fame chance cards, which would let him get fame faster... then I realized how OOC that was and changed my mind. En and Kinshirou, Atsushi's famous artist boyfriends.

En: Atsushiiii... Hey, Atsushi. How do you like my costume?

Atsushi: I like it, En-chan. It's subtle. I can barely tell you're in costume at all.

En: ...hey, what's that supposed to mean? Atsushi: Anyway, are you coming in for lunch? En: ...no. I was just showing you my costume. It's probably not getting any warmer than this, so I'd better do the best Pretty Boy Day tradition now. Atsushi: En, really? It's the middle of winter, you'll freeze!

En: Pretty Boy Day is still Pretty Boy Day even when it's snowing! Atsushi: Yes, but... you know what? You go ahead, En-chan. I'm going inside. En: You won't even stay and keep me compa⁠— Atsushi: Have fun.

En: (Well, fine, I'll just go by myself... what did that even mean, "I can barely tell you're in costume at all"? God, it's fucking cold. ...I wonder if they're watching, heheh. Although, actually, it’s so cold I’m not exactly at my best here.)

Atsushi: Hey, Kin-chan, don't look outside. En-chan is⁠— Kinshirou: *averting his gaze, his eyes barely open* YES, THANK YOU, ATCHAN, I CAN IMAGINE

Your sense of propriety is fooling no one, Kinshirou.

That's okay. They can have their own Pretty Boy Day in here while En is out having a good time.

Kinshirou even reprises his grim reaper costume.

...for just enough time to realize he feels stupid and take it off again.

Kinshirou: Yes... this is much better.

Kinshirou: What is that... ensemble. En: Do you like it? Kinshirou: No.

En does his best to change Kinshirou's mind.

In the background, Atsushi listens and laughs to himself. I would say he's watching, except, of course, he isn't wearing his glasses.

Have you ever looked at a character and just thought, "Yes... he is perfect"?

A happy ending to PBD. Is Kinshirou entranced by En's beauty, or is he annoyed that En fell asleep in Kinshirou's own bed before Kinshirou could even lie back down after the WooHoo? (The answer is: both.)

But then, he thinks, how sad will it be for Atchan if he comes home after a long day at work, after having to work on Pretty Boy Day, and he finds us both asleep?

So he goes down to wait for Atsushi instead.

Cute.

All right. The time has come. En wakes up and realizes he has no more vacation days remaining.

Employer: En, hello. Are you finally ready to come in to work? En: Ah, actually, no, I'm quitting, effective... now. Employer: You're quitti— En: Bye!

Bye.

This is the second time in a row he's painted this exact painting. He painted it, sold it, and started a new painting which is also this painting. I guess he just really wants to go to the beach.

Then, fuelled by black tea, he decides to improve his logic skill by observing the sky. I was laughing to myself at how slowly it was progressing when I remembered that he actually had several points in it already for work. That's how long it's been since I've paid attention to En's job lol

Who brings food to the computer and puts the bowl ON the keyboard, though? En is a madman.

It begins...

That was fast, though. Only two books. Maybe it made a difference that they were both bestsellers? Either way, congrats, Kinshirou. Although actually, I'm not sure he's going to be thrilled about the idea of fame.

That unsettled, perturbed stare as he gazes into the distance, imagining his growing fanbase massing on the horizon...

Okay, here’s a bit of a text wall, by the standards of these posts: I'm going to be honest, none of the fame perk trees are aimed at any of the Boueibus, but in particular not Kinshirou. Half of why this idea is so funny to me is that I love the idea of them getting famous through their writing or their art (or their cooking? celebrity chef Atsushi??) but being completely unenthusiastic about it and just wanting a chill life.

I think with Kinshirou and En, I'm going to go at least halfway up the tree that gets you more money from crafted objects, for obvious reasons. You also get some neat stuff in the mail every day! And, unfortunately for them, you gain fame faster from skill-based actions, which I assume includes writing and painting. If Kinshirou was still trying to be a villain, he could put points the negative reputation tree too, where being a douchebag in public makes you famous. But he is reformed now, thank you very much.

Anyway, all that is to say, here's Kinshirou's first fame perk (and En’s, once he gets to this point):

Now on to the story.

En: En, you're an artist, he says... En, Atchan's ribbons looked so horrible for Pretty Boy Day, he says... I don't have time, he says... Jeez, give a guy one success and he thinks he can order anyone around. After I'm done, he'll never ask me to decorate anything again.

I would probably have done something like this for New Year's Eve, left to my own devices:

Sadly, En wanted to repulse Kinshirou so we are instead left with this:

As many flashing lights and tacky prints as possible, all in different colors, none of which are New Year’s Eve colors. The anti-Kinshirou decorations. It’s actually not completely horrible. Maybe En was incapable of making something that looked completely horrible. But it is not great.

...and now I've found En's least favorite holiday. He doesn't like to decorate, as Kinshirou will soon discover, and he doesn't like to party. That's half the things you do on New Year’s Eve.

Maybe this will cheer him up, though. No more having Kinshirou boss him around. (Ha. As if. Kinshirou will always boss him around.)

Kinshirou: Good morning, Atchan. Atsushi: Good morning... Kinshirou: What's wrong? Atsushi: Oh, it's just... last night, when I got in from work... Kinshirou: ...yes? Atsushi: ...you really thought that was better than my Pretty Boy Day decorations? Kinshirou: What?

Kinshirou: Kinshirou: At least Ibushi's moved. ... Oh, no, Ibushi’s visiting later. Yumura-san is visiting later. We’re having guests.

En admires his own animal painting. He's feeling very pleased at the moment, and he's not sure why...

Turn around and you'll find out, En.

Atsushi has an ambition. A burning ambition. His goal is to make three fancy dishes and serve them all during a single event. And since they're planning to have people over for New Year's Eve, this is the perfect opportunity!

...or so he thinks. Ibushi, who has randomly come over without being invited or let into the house, is distracting him, making the whole thing take twice as long as necessary. Kinshirou is just cheering him on, deeply impressed as always by his boyfriend's kitchen skills.

But if they're going to have company, I need to remember that they own a thermostat so that everyone isn't stuck wearing jackets in the house.

As the sun sets, Atsushi calls the other two over.

Atsushi: Okay, guys, before Ibushi and his cousin get here... you know what time it is, right? Kinshirou: Yes, En. You know what time it is, don't you? En: Huh? What time is it?

Atsushi: It's time to make our resolutions! I wonder what I should work on next year... Kinshirou: *pointed look* En: ...he doesn't actually think I'll make a resolution, does he?

Kinshirou: Yes. I must focus on self-improvement. En: (They seriously think I'm going to do this.)

Atsushi: All right! I can do it! This year for sure! Kinshirou: Yes. I will be sure to... where is En?

Please appreciate my dedication to characterization over gameplay. Kinshirou could have chosen to write a book, which he does all the time anyway, and Atsushi could have chosen to complete an aspiration milestone, which he is about half an inch from doing. Forget the week-long time limit, he's going to do it in a few Sim hours. They were both so tempting.

(Also: "Kinshirou wants to work on a skill for his resolution! Start working on a skill to get this done!" Thanks for the tip, that clears up a lot.)

Everyone is here!

Kinshirou: I've been making progress with your request, Yumura-san, and I think... Sarah: Sora, what are you talking about over here? Sora: *thinking fast* A book we've both read. Kusatsu-san isn't a fan. c: Sarah: Hmm...

A nice, low-key New Year's Eve party. Except that Atsushi wasn't satisfied with his fancy salad so he's scrambling to make some extra. (That is to say, the gourmet dish counter for his aspiration reset unexpectedly lol)

Congratulations, Atsushi!!!!! That reward trait is incredible, too. Way better than En's.

Kinshirou is lagging behind a little with his aspiration but that's okay. I'm working on it behind the scenes.

Unlike some Ens I could mention, Atsushi already knows what he wants to focus on next. He wants to hone his nerdy instincts with the Nerd Brain aspiration, which focuses on logic, books, rocket science(!), and handiness. The video game-focused one would require him to change careers, sadly, so we're going with this.

As of right now, though, Kinshirou is the resident repairman. I guess Atsushi will have to slowly take over. Even though Kinshirou is already at 6 skill points... oh, well.

:D There they all are. And now Atsushi can finally eat his sparkling excellent!-quality food.

Ibushi and the Yumuras head home after dinner. Atsushi waits for the countdown to start on TV, but if En wants to stay up for that, he needs to take a nap while he can...

Then, once the clock ticks over to 11pm, the three of them commence the creepiest thing I have ever seen in The Sims 4.

Kinatsuen:

Kinatsuen: *in eerie unison* Shushoobie!

Kinatsuen:

Kinatsuen: *in eerie unison* Shushoobie!

Kinatsuen:

Kinatsuen: :D

It was honestly like watching a cult ceremony. Very scary. Happy Sim New Year???

Atsushi: Thank you for staying awake, En-chan. Or for waking up again, I guess.

Okay, well, that's cute. But is it cute enough to justify all the creepy chanting...

That’s all for today. Part 9 begins at the start of spring, the start of the new year, &c. &c. I can absolutely 100% guarantee this time that part 9 is the wedding episode, and I suffered so much to make that wedding happen that I’ll probably post it soon just to get it out there and away from me.

#boueibu #kinatsuen #kinshirou kusatsu #atsushi kinugawa #en yufuin #ibushi arima #sora yumura #sims 4 kinatsuen #honestly ........... these posts are a labor of love with a strong emphasis on ''labor'' #i cant even express the horror of getting 90% of the way thru and realizing ive edited all the screenshots to 540p instead of 500p #it was much easier to fix than i was afraid of but g o d #ill come back later and proofread but i have a physical therapy appointment in 20min #(edit: i have come back and proofread it) #i wonder if this is going to be immediately flagged? #in any event this is dedicated to the anon(s?) who was/were nice enough to keep me posted on whether these posts were showing up #idk if youre even still interested in these posts but ty anyway anon/s!!! #it warmed my heart

[shadeofazmeinya]

Solar (5/?)

Chapter Summary:

“Let’s start with a color. What’s your favorite one?”

Gavin blinked, having not really thought of that in a long, long time. He tilted his head back, looking to the ceiling until a faint memory came to him.“Green.”

A/N: yay update! Good thing that I’m ahead on chapters cause man this past few weeks were hard. Again reblogs are really, really appreciated because tags aren’t allowing this to spread. Thank you so much!!

[AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319107/chapters/42228863 

“I can’t fucking believe you haven’t been to the candy shop here,” Jeremy beams as he leads Gavin and Michael along, winding through the city. The bright sun warms their skin, the chilled breeze comforting as they pass through hurried people and reflecting buildings.

“I told you, I haven’t been here long,” Gavin laughs, shifting the few crumpled bills in his pockets, following as the boys were determined to take him on a good shopping spree.

He’s been living with them for a few weeks and Gavin’s never known what joy a simple life like this could lead. The little flower shop is quaint and gets a lot of business, which Gavin hadn’t expected. He never really thought so many people would buy so many flowers. But he likes working there, Jack is very patient in teaching him how to arrange bouquets and how to care for the plants that rest in pots. And he enjoys the work, learning from him all the different types of plants, all their names and colors. Most of his time so far has been helping Jack arrange them and wrapping neat little bows around the wrappings and pots, but he enjoys every minute.

He’s learned that Jeremy mostly works with supplies. Partially because he can easily lift the crates of pots and fertilizer that comes in, but also because he seems to enjoy the role of keeping track of all of it. He knows the name of all the delivery drivers and Gavin can hear them chatting for a while outside with each shipment.

Geoff and Michael work with the customers most often. Geoff helps the customers that come in person, while Michael claims the phone every chance he gets. Geoff is a pretty friendly bloke, even in the short time Gavin’s lived with them he’s noticed quickly that he’s a people person. With a big smile and an entertaining story always on his lips.

Michael was a bit of a surprise, Gavin picked up that he has an absolutely rancid mouth but is bloody hilarious. Especially when they play games together at night, watching Michael get more and more furious only made him funnier and funnier with the insults he pulled out of his ass. Despite all of this, he still did well with customers. At least most of the time.

Most of his time so far has been spent at the shop or the apartment, the work taking up their time until they’re eating dinner and sprawling across the couch at the end of the day. The weekends were busier too; the shop open still on Saturday, but Sunday was just for them. And recently, mostly for them to spend time getting to know Gavin.

Last Sunday was spent with Geoff and Jack, who decided to pile into the one car they all share and take him to a thrift store to get some extra pairs of clothes. Geoff insisted on it, claiming Gavin needed to not smell, but they seemed excited about it all the same.

“What kind of t-shirts do you want?” Jack had said as they roamed through the shelves of color and cotton and strange designs.

Gavin shrugged. “I don’t know? What kind of t-shirts are there?”

“It’s not exactly a wide variety. Usually just really strange graphic Ts,” Geoff hummed as he went through the pile. “Let’s start with a color. What’s your favorite one?”

Gavin blinked, having not really thought of that in a long, long time. He tilted his head back, looking to the ceiling until a faint memory came to him. “Green.”

Geoff smiled and nodded and it didn’t take too long before they were handing Gavin a pile of shirts and jeans to try on, earning a small collection of clothing for him to wear and keep. Jack would laugh every time Gavin found something ridiculous to try on and laughed even more when Gavin actually took a shine to the salmon shorts and mismatching rainbow shoes that he found concealed in the back. Geoff would comment about how fucking weird it looked, but let Gavin add it to the ‘to buy’ pile when he flashed his big eyes to him.

Gavin beamed as it was all topped off with a nice jacket. Geoff and Jack didn’t seem to think it was that great, but Gavin loved it. Even if it sat a little loosely on his frame, it gave him something warm to cut out the chill. The last item was a soft, knitted green scarf. Gavin loved it on sight as he wrapped the scarf around his neck, burying his nose into the fabric. It still smelled like the store, but it was warm. In the end, they had bought a pretty nice starting pile of clothing and shoes for him. Gavin thanked them the entire drive home as he held the plastic bags sitting all around him.

During the time he’s spent with them, and the somewhat ominous way he came to them, they didn’t pry into his history. Which made Gavin glad, as there was a lot he didn’t want to talk about. Or know where to even start. But it didn’t stop the curious glances from them every now and again. Like when Gavin didn’t know some of the video games they’d play, even ones them claimed were popular. Or when he doesn’t have any understanding of how to cook. All the little things Gavin realizes slowly he should know but doesn’t. If they’d ask, he’d just say he’s lived a sheltered life. Until then, he’ll just ignore the looks and keep learning quickly what he needs to. Hoping they never dig further.

Now, however, they were walking through the streets, big, excited smiles on their faces. The two other boys had found out the day before Gavin hadn’t visited this apparently world-renowned candy store and wanted to show Gavin everything about it.

“Jeremy will deny it, but he has the biggest sweet tooth,” Michael laughs as they finally slow, approaching a bundle of stores. “And all the chocolate here is made from scratch or something like that. It’s almost too sweet, but I’ve seen this prick eat three large bars in like a minute.”

“Hey! It was at least like five minutes,” Jeremy chuckles. “But it’s seriously good. And you need to try it, Gav.”

The store itself is small, Gavin notices first. A store like many other of the city, shoved and squished between others, buried at the bottom of the skyscrapers that loom over. It’s distinguishable still, a pastel sign with cursive writing of the name that Gavin couldn’t make out. A rainbow of lollipops and gumdrops sat in the windows, rows of more stretched out behind it. Gavin’s never seen so many sweets gathered in one spot. He doesn’t realize he stopped walking until Michael’s patting his shoulder. “It’s even better inside,” he grins.

Gavin nods, letting him lead them past the heavy doors. The bright colors hang all around them as they step in from the street, twinkling music echoing through the store. Gavin’s mouth hung open as he looked around, eyes scanning as he tries to take in every sight. He hears Jeremy laugh besides him, nudging him lightly in that careful way he is with touching people. “Chocolate section’s this way,” he points.

It isn’t hard to find, Jeremy groaning already as they glance through the assortment sprawled across the shelves. Gavin plucks a simple milk chocolate bar as Jeremy sweeps through a bunch, earning bright laughter from Michael. Gavin quirks a smile back, glancing through the rest of the store to see if there’s something else he wants to try.

As he’s looking around, something catches in the corner of his eye. A familiar color, familiar shape on someone’s clothing that makes him stiffen and mouth go dry. Blue, distinct curled letters, a swirl. A logo shaped in an orb with wind swirled inside it. An image Gavin remembers in painful flashes.

He blinks and then it is gone, the shopping crowd changing around him and he can’t spot it again. It pulls a frown from him, the feeling of ice running down his spine. He surely had gotten away. He’s hidden enough. Gavin pulls his scarf up to cover more of him, turning to stand closer to the other boys, hoping it was just a trick of his mind.

Michael’s eyebrows furrow as he looks to him, following where Gavin’s gaze had been. “You ok? Is there something we need to worry about?”

Gavin shakes his head, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had held. “No. It’s nothing, just thought I saw something I recognized.”

Michael narrows his eyes a moment, and Gavin dreads that he was going to ask, but he doesn’t, shrugging. “If you say so. Now, if all we’re here for is the chocolate, we ready to pay and go? We need to show you the rest of this city.”

They buy the candy, Jeremy chomping down on one of his bars as they slip back to the street. He gives an exaggerated groan, head falling back as he eats. “Fucking hell, these are so good.”

Gavin giggles, opening his as well to see what all the hype is about. And Jeremy is right, it is sweet, the flavor hitting him the second he takes a bite. The chocolate melts in his mouth and a groan escapes him as well. “These are really good, J.”

“Told ya,” Jeremy mumbles through a mouthful.

“Oh my God, if you’re both hooked on these…” Michael sighs, shaking his head.

They tour the rest of the city while they’re out and off for the day. It seems brighter when Gavin’s walking around with them from when he was hiding in alleys and digging for food to eat. They boys point out various things as they go around, parks Gavin had avoided, now filled with birds and people walking dogs, a gorgeous marble water fountain that sits off with the colder weather, and a few more common stores and restaurants the others have been to that Gavin had dug through the dumpsters behind them but never been in.

It’s another great day that shows to Gavin he’s gotten lucky to be here. The familiar symbol from the candy store is already forgotten as he grins and laughs and enjoys his new favorite sweets. His heart soars and he can’t help but feel that life is going to go right from here.

That feeling only lasts two more days.

It’s early afternoon, a quieter time in the shop, and Gavin’s sitting in the back working on tying a bow around a new tiny pot. He doesn’t look up as the bells jingle from the front door. Geoff’s the one up front after all. He greets the customers and Gavin can hear his voice coming through as he does so for whoever it is. Gavin doesn’t hear what’s said, biting his lip as he fumbles with the bow, trying to make it bend just right. But Geoff’s voice stops and another voice answers, a voice that makes Gavin’s heart stop the second it reaches his ears.

He recognizes that voice. He knows that voice, a rough voice he had thought he had gotten away from. A person he thought he was hidden from. Gavin jumps out of his chair, a need to hide, or run or something filling every sense. He presses against the wall, ducking behind where the door would open as he more of their voices start coming through.

“--should have a British accent, blonde hair, big nose, about this tall. Have you seen anyone like this?”

Gavin swallows, ice running up his spine. They are looking for him. Oh bloody hell, they’re looking for him.

“You know,” Geoff’s voice comes next and Gavin’s breath is punched out of he lungs. He can’t will his feet to move but they should. He should run. Before Geoff turns him in, before he has to go right back. Geoff would, he has no reason to keep him safe. Maybe he can get out before it’s too late-

“I don’t believe I’ve seen someone like that come in here,” Geoff finishes and Gavin stills as he needs a second to have the words repeat over in his head. “There was a British old lady a few weeks back if you mean that. Not many other British people, I would’ve noticed the accent.”

The person sighs and there’s a long moment of no more words being said where all Gavin could hear his blood in his head, chest in pain as he pants. “Alright,” the voice says, sounding disappointed, skeptical. “Well, I’m going to give you a card with a number to call if this person comes in. He’s a dangerous man, you’ll be doing a duty to others by reporting him.”

“I’ll be sure to do that should someone come in matching that description. Now, if you need help getting flowers, I can help with that too. There’s a two for one deal-”

Footsteps sound walking away and silence fills until the bell rings again and the door is closed. Gavin slumps to the ground, head thumping to the wall as his hands shake, finally air returning to him. He isn’t going back. Not right now.

He glances down and sees his hands were bright, a glow flickering in the room from cracks spread down his hands. Gavin gasps and clenches his hands together, shoving them into his pockets to dampen it. Just as some of the light decreases, the door pushes open and Geoff’s face bursts in. He spots Gavin as he’s curled to the floor and his eyes narrow.

“You need to tell me who that is and what is going on. Now.”

#solar #ragehappy #fake ah crew #fahc #freewood #superpowers au #fahc superpowers au #please let me know if you're enjoying this #im hoping the pacing of this is ok #theres a big time jump here #hope it reads well!

[thirstyfortom]

High School Band AU: Ch. 9

Hope you like this! ^^

In your defense, you were really trying to pay attention. You really want to learn everything about Isaac Newton and the three laws of motion. Well, not everything, just… enough to pass the test tomorrow. You’re really trying, but the crumbled paper balls falling in your desk in the studying room aren’t letting you focus.

You didn’t unwrinkle any of them, if the sender notices you’re not having it, they’ll stop. Or that’s what you thought before the sixth or seventh little ball fell in your book. What the hell?

You look over your shoulder, there’s only one person sitting diagonally from your desk, but you can’t see who it is, because they are hiding their faces with a book. Well, trying, a few strands of hair at the top of their heads aren’t being covered. Red strands of hair.

So… Saeran or Saeyoung? Even though Saeran was becoming way less unbearable in the last few days - and it was about him, you’re pretty sure it has nothing to do with you trying to be more patient since he basically prevented a rape from happening with you – you two aren’t that close to the point of him trying to get your attention like this. Well, you’re not that close to Saeyoung either, you just forgot he doesn’t know that.

But it is Saeyoung, of course it’s him. And knowing the little you know about him, you better read one of these little balls or he won’t stop being a third wheel between you and Isaac Newton.

“Watchu reading?”  or… something like this, his handwriting can be a little hard to decode sometimes.

“Isaac Newton and the laws of motion.” You throw one of the balls behind you , nobody notices. Because, can you imagine, some people use the studying room to study.

“Spoiler alert: he dies in the end. Would there be more laws of motion if he hasn’t died? It’s open to interpretation.” You muffle a giggle and look at him, still using the book as a disguise.

“I know it’s u behind me and u r not really reading ‘Basic Principles of Genetics’”

“How dare u accusing me so unfairly? :O” did he really draw an emoji? Oh God…

“The book is upside down, Saeyoung.”

You look over your shoulder to see him turning the book to the right position and adjusting himself in his seat. Rolling your eyes lightly, you muffle another laugh.

“See? I’m learning EVERYTHING about Mendel and peas. In your face, MC!”

“Good, so go back to studying the peas and I’ll go back to Newton.”

You avoid looking behind you, you know it would just encourage him on keep exchanging notes. And though it’s fun, you really need to study right now!

And he apparently gets it, as the balls stop flying. You’re relieved! And… bored. Seriously, so bored… your eyelids are almost getting heavy. Where’s Saeyoung and the paper balls attack to keep you awake?

“Ok, tell me more about the peas.” You see him smirking when your paper plane lands on his desk.

“I know shit about the peas. Can I kidnap u in 15 minutes?”

“Such an improvement from when u used to kidnap me without asking me first.” Now he is the one holding his laugh, but he’s less discreet and some other students glare at him.

“I’ll be waiting for u next to the exit.” He lets the last note when passing next to your desk before leaving the room.

Well, you’ll apologize for ditching Isaac Newton. See, it’s not you, it’s him. It’s just not working and you think you should see other people. Saeyoung, in that case. He might be a handful sometimes, but he’s definitely not boring.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I really shouldn’t, to be honest. But this book is almost making me sleep. Especially now that you told me the end.” You stick your tongue out and he laughs softly. “So, where are we going, mr. kidnapper?”

“What kind of kidnapper would I be if I told you that? It’s a secret! Come on!”

You two take the bus. And you were worried about not having much to talk to him, but Saeyoung lets almost no blanks. He always has something to say about some place you’re passing by. And that is pretty comforting, actually.

“That’s our stop.”

“Usually it’s mine, indeed.” Yes, your uncle’s record store is just a few streets ahead. You noticed between all his blabbering that the way was being very familiar.

“Mine too.”

“Really? You live nearby?”

“No, I work nearby.”

“How come I never saw you before if we take the same bus?”

“Because you usually sit right there with your headphones and a resting bitch face that make people think you don’t want them sitting beside you.” Well, you really do use your phones and the… resting bitch face in order not to be bothered, especially by boys. But Saeyoung is a boy and he never bothered you. How long have you two been taking the same bus? How long has he been observing you? “And here we are.”

He stops in front of a store. A little bigger than the record store you work, the glass window and the light tones of yellow and white in the front gives even more depth illusion, but it’s an old building, for sure. And judging from the movie posters in the window, it looks old on purpose. It’s a video rental store.

You heard about this place before, actually. You passed by in your way to the record store and couldn’t help but thinking there is another shop lost in time very close to yours. You would imagine if the people who worked here were aware that the owner looks for nostalgia rather than profit, or would they really hope having a lot of customers.

“You’re not the only one in the band dealing with obsolete medias, MC.” Ah, so Saeyoung knows, just like you. “Come in.”

“Wait, it’s closed. Won’t your boss get mad?”

“It’s fine. He gave me those keys so I can come whenever I want. He doesn’t want to lose his only employee, after all.”

“And what do you do here?”

“Look at all these movies! What do you think I do?” you look around, yes, there are a lot of movies… how many of them did he watch? “I mean, I watch them, but there is another thing, come with me.”

He guides you to the back of the store, where the poster of a semi-naked lady is doing the shush gesture in a sexy way, and the warning “Do not enter if you’re under 18 years old.

“Come in, MC.”

“Ugh, the sign…”

“It’s a sign, not a cop. Come in.” he grabs your hand and brings you inside.

You look around and most of the movies are piled in the corner. Oh, thank God, you were so sure it was going to be walls stuffed by VHSs and DVDs covers of women being filled in holes you’re not sure they should be filled… instead, there is a pair of DJ pickups, a sewing machine, two mannequins, and records. Lots of records.

“Recognize some of them?”

“You got them at my uncle’s store?”

“Most of them I bought online. I must say the hip-hop’s selection at your uncle’s store is not that vast. I even wrote a note and put it in the suggestions box you have there.”

“My uncle neverreads it, sorry. So… you’ve been there before I joined the band?”

He smiles while turning on his equipment. “I was looking for Tupak and you told me there wasn’t much hip-hop, but I could look it up.”

“Then you asked me for help, but I didn’t know where the hip-hop albums were, because… it was my first day.” He nods, putting his headphones. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“We’re not that close.” Oh, so he knows that. “And I don’t want you to think I’m a yandere stalker or something like this.”

“Well, this room is very yandere-ish. The mannequins, the pink light, I mean… I think the phantom of the opera would have something like this if he lived in the90s.” he laughs loudly.

“You know what’s funnier than your joke? Saeran said exactly the same thing.”

“He did?”

“Yes, you two have a very similar sense of humor. Too bad you don’t really like each other, you would have fun together.”

“I… I don’t really hate your brother, Saeyoung.”

“I know, and he probably doesn’t hate you either. He’s just… he doesn’t know how to express his feelings too well, I… think he meant something completely different when you told us that Rika wanted to kiss you.” And you know that by now. You could tell him you do, but… you don’t really want to remember that night…

“Gosh, when you put it like that, it makes me feel really ridiculous for even considering that.”

“It’s not ridiculous. Maybe you and Rika has that… hot rivalry tension like Crystal Connors and Nomi Malone in Showgirls, you know?”

“I can’t believe you’re saying something in my life resembles such an awful movie, Saeyoung.”

“Hey! It’s a great movie! Great quotes, great dancing moves, great, uhm… breasts.”

“Of course you liked the boobs.” Even under the pink light, you can see him blushing. “But it has a pretty cool sex in the pool scene… I guess.”

“MC, you’re 15! You can’t watch things like that, young lady!” and you know he’s teasing, since he basically dragged you to the porn section of the store.

“Tell that to my uncle. I swear he has no idea how to deal with a teenage girl.”

“Especially one like you, I suppose.”

“What is that suppose to mean?”

“I mean, you’re very… well, you’re very unique, MC. You know a lot about culture from past decades, and… you’re a salty little smug, and… stupid people can’t really hold a conversation with you for too long.”

“You know you could easily be describing yourself right now too, right?” another blush under the pink light, from both of you now. “So, uhm… the pickups, huh? So vintage, do you remix?”

“I try, but it isn’t as easy as doing in the computer. Here, listen to this.” He hands you one of his headphones, and you immediately shake your head according to the rhythm.

“Public Enemy.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so cool, Saeyoung.”

“Thank you! My stuff in the laptop are better, to be honest.” He grabs his laptop in his backpack and sits on the floor, you lean your hands on your kness and bend down when he connets the headphones in the laptop. “See? I asked Yoosung to play the piano for me and I basically recreated the base in No Diggity by Blackstreet.”

“And the waves here are you singing?”

“Yeah. It’s me trying to… rap, actually.”

“Oh my God! Let me hear this!” you press the play before he can protest.

“It's going down fade to Blackstreet. The homeys got abby collab creations, funk like acne. No doubt I put it down never slouch, as long as my credit could vouch, a dog couldn't catch me straight out. Tell me who could stop with Dre makin' moves. Attracting honeys like a magnet. Giving them ig-asms with my mellow accent. Still moving his flavor with the homeys Blackstreet & Teddy: the original rump shakers”

And you could laugh and make fun of him, but all you do is:

“Shorty get down, good Lord. Baby got 'em open all over town. Strickly biz she don't play around, cover much grounds. Got game by the pound, gettin paid is her forte. Each and every day true player way”

He joins you in singing: “I can't get her outta my mind.I think about the girl all the time”

And he moves to the second part of the song: “She's got class and style. Street knowledge, by the pound. Baby never act wild, very low key on the profile. Catching villians is a no, let me tell you how it goes. Curve's the word, spin's the verb. Lovers it curves so freak what you heard.”He’s… he’s looking straight at you, like… he’s singing to you, like he means it.

Who knew he actually knows how to sing? You remember Saeran teasing him for not playing any instrument, but the thing is he doesn’t even need it. Look at what he has here, he sews the outfits for the band, reproduces beats for famous songs in modern and traditional equipment, he… knew you almost since your first day in this town. And yes, you weren’t close, and that’s a shame.

“So, uhm… pretty lame, huh?” he asks, taking you aback.

“Well, I don’t know if it is ‘ig-asms’ material… yet.” He laughs, and you chuckle from his laugh.

It’s just in that moment you realize how close you are, you can almost fell his breathing against your nose, his… exhilarating breathing, actually. Your eyes lock with his, and you’re so glad those guys couldn’t do anything to you at that party, because, if they did… this wouldn’t be your first kiss…

And it isn’t, because Saeyoung lowers his head and looks back at the computer.

“Don’t let yourself be carried by where we are, MC.”

“I…”

“You’re sorry, I know.” Oh… not really what you were going to say. “Don’t worry. I… I won’t tell anybody about this.”

“Saeyoung, I…”

“It’s fine, MC, really. Oh, it’s late, I… should walk you home, you have a physics test tomorrow, right?” what is he doing? Why isn’t even looking at you?

Of course he’s embarrassed, you would be too if someone tried to kiss you and you didn’t really want to, but… if he says it’s fine, why doesn’t he even act like it’s fine? Again, why doesn’t he even look at you? Like you’re not worthy of it?

“I can go home by myself.”

“Are you sure? It’s getting dark and…”

“I can take the bus, I’ve done this before a lot of times, you know?” he does.

“MC, you don’t…”

“Goodbye, Saeyoung.” You gather your stuff on the floor and walk out of there.

What happened? You could swear he wanted this to happen as much as you did, it’s like… it’s almost like… he was waiting for you to make a move just so he could push you away, why?

You were so close to him, but, then again… you and him weren’t really close.And he knows that.

← Chapter 8 | Chapter 10  →

#mystic messenger fics #mystic messenger au #saeyoung x mc #saeyoung choi #high school au

[hellotoomuchstuffinmyhead-blog]

TWDG Final Season AU: Fortune Favours the Bold Ch1

Hey guys, I’m new to making and sharing fanfic content. The main character is my OC I have placed in Ericson’s School for Troubled Youth. This is leaning towards my OC being closer friends with minor characters and it is a Mitch x OC ship. Will probs continue this through so enjoy!

Word count: 1722

The late spring forests had a different atmosphere from all the bricks and concrete back home. Tristen looked out the car window thinking about what this new school is like and what the other kids are like. “Sweetie, I know I have told you this before,” Tristen’s mother says sternly but with some kindness, “the kids at this new school will probably be different from the ones back home. Be careful of who you make friends with for your own good. People judge you by how you look, what you’re good at and who your friends are. It’s for the good of your own wellbeing and future.”

“Uh-huh,” Tristen sighs, “when do I get to go back home?”

“When the teachers there make you all better.”

Tristen looks down at her feet feeling slightly despondent. The rest of the car ride is silent. They finally reach the gates of Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youths. Her mother helps with getting her things to her assigned room. She is all alone, as her mother requested, in this colourless room. At least she gets a fair bit of light coming through when she draws the curtains open. She can see that her room catches the orange light from the sunset very well.

In the headmaster’s office, Tristen and her mother sat in front the man himself. Richard Ericson. His words were mostly reassurance that she’ll be ok. They walked around the school later after dinner. As they walked through, the other kids looked at Tristen as she walked on with the two adults. She ignored them. Then it was time. It was time to part with her mother. She was a busy woman and made her parting brief. Her mother left telling her to “be good.” She hears it all the time but won’t be hearing it for a while. She feels a little relief until she wonders if the adults here are like her mother.

The next day, Tristen had her first day at the school. She was mostly quiet during classes. During her free time for the day, she looked for a place to be alone to do her favourite things – baton twirling and gymnastics. It was nice to do it without her mother pushing her to be competitive and to aim to win. Some music would be nice, she thought, or maybe a proper baton rather than a stick. Her train of thought was interrupted as she spotted someone in the corner of her eye.

She turned to see who it was. It was just a small boy with light brown hair. His eyes are big and blueish-green. He stood and stared then walked closer, hands behind his back, to get a closer look. Tristen just stared back and blinked a few times. She smiled at him. “Hi…” the little boy said shyly before running away. Tristen looked a little confused then looks down a little sad. She tries to stay away from others so they wouldn’t ask her why she is here but she really does want friends. She shook the thought away and made way to her next class.

It was lunchtime now. Tristen didn’t eat much. She just wanted to walk around as she sat down so much during classes. “Ow! Don’t!” yelled a high pitched voice. She saw the small boy that was staring at her previously. He was being picked on by a much bigger boy. She was scared to interfere but couldn’t stand to ignore or walk away from the poor boy. She takes a big breath and marches to the boys. “Leave him alone you big, fat bully!” she cried shielding the small boy. He whimpered and hid behind her. The larger child just glared at her and reaches for her. Tristen is pulled away by the small boy behind her.

The larger child looks frustrated, lunges forward and quickly grabs one of Tristen pigtails. She yells in pain and falls to the ground. “Cut that out, asshole!” yelled a huskier voice. Tristen looks up at as a child the same size as herself leaps forward and punches the larger child. The bully fell back and the boy who threw the punch gritted his teeth angrily at him. He had side swept brown hair, freckles and light green eyes. The bully gets up, curses at the boy and continues the brawl. The freckled boy holds up well until the teachers came running to break the fight. The two rowdy boys were taken away. “Umm, thank you for saving me,” a small voice says. Tristen almost forgot about the small boy behind her. “Oh! You’re welcome,” she smiled, “Could you tell me your name?”

“Willy,” the small boy says shyly, “What about you?”

“I’m Tristen”

“Huh? I thought that’s a boy’s name,” Willy says confused. Tristen sighs and replies, “That’s what a lot of people say.”

When all of the classes for the day were done, Tristen headed for the library wanting to read something. Science? Nah too boring, she thought. Fairy tale? Yeah I love those, she thought. She liked reading the ones about the princesses falling in love. She read through Beauty and the Beast but thought it was a little too easy as she already read this story many times. “Too easy?” Tristen looked up to see a boy carrying books to the same desk she sat at. He is of Indian decent, had short black hair and looked a little older than the freckled boy from before. “Sorry, I don’t see others hanging around here often at this time,” he said, “You’re the new girl. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Tristen.”

“Ah, I knew it was something like that.”

“It is because it’s normally a boy’s name?” Tristen frowned.

“No,” Aasim replied, “It just reminded me of a book and now I can actually remember its name. Tristan and Iseult.”

“What kind of story is that?”

“It’s about a British knight who falls in love with an Irish princess.”

“Those are my favourite kinds of stories,” Tristen looks interested.

“Really? I thought so seeing that pile next to you. Cinderella. The Little Mermaid. Rapunzel. Hold on, let me go find it,” Aasim left briefly and returned with the book. Tristen has a bit of difficulty but Aasim helps her along as they enjoy the book. “Thank you for showing me that and helping me read better,” Tristen quietly exclaims.

“No problem. You should try reading the harder books. They are way more interesting.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“There you are!” exclaims a loud high pitched voice.

“Shush. It’s a library,” says another voice.

Tristen sees Willy running towards her. Behind him are two boys: the freckled one in the fight who now has a bruise on the side of his head and the other is a shorter, pudgier boy with frizzy hair and dark skin. Willy sits next to Tristen and tugs at her sleeve. “See! She’s the pretty one that saved me!” Willy says excitedly.

“Willy, don’t just grab people like that,” the pudgy boy tells Willy nicely. He stops and apologises whilst Tristen says it is okay and nervously smiles. “Thanks for helping Willy,” says the freckled boy who then turns to Aasim, “Back to business. Are you going to help us, nerd?” The pudgier boy shakes his head whilst Aasim rolls his eyes. “This is Mitch and I’m Omar,” he says to Tristen, “Nice to meet you and thanks for helping out Willy.”

They settled at the table and Aasim helps Mitch and Omar with their work. Tristen and Willy are reading Peter Pan together. When the boys finish up, Mitch finally looks directly at Tristen and say, “Hi, uh, can we all hang out together now?” he asks in a nervous manner. She nods happily.

The kids sit around the table and Mitch starts by asking, “How old are you? Where you from?”

“I’m going to be 9 tomorrow and I’m from Washington DC,” Tristen replies.

“Your birthday’s tomorrow?!” Willy chimes and looks at Mitch, “We gotta have a party for her, Mitch!”

“We’ll think of something, lil dude but not a party,” Mitch tells Willy kindly.

“You were left here just before your birthday? Your own mother would do that?” says Omar.

“It’s not a big deal. Just another day to my parents,” Tristen says with a sense of falsehood.

“What’s your family like?”

“They’re okay I guess. Mum is really concerned about when I grow up. She wants me to be competitive and be fussy with who I’m friends with. It isn’t fun. I have a step dad who doesn’t really talk to me much. My step brother is really nice to me though. When he isn’t helping my step dad with his food truck, he spends time with me. Sometimes he is with this other boy he is really close with, he’s lots of fun too. They are the only two that do fun stuff on birthdays,” Tristen recalls fondly.

“At least you’ve had SOME fun in your life,” says Mitch.

“Why are you here?” Willy asks excitedly. Tristen goes silent and looks sad again. “Come on you can tell us! I was sent here for chron-,” Willy was cut off by Aasim who told him to leave her alone and that she didn’t have to answer. Mitch got Willy to settle down. “I think I’ll go to my room now. I’m sleepy,” Tristen says as she get ups up and walks to the dorms.

At the dorms, Tristen was about to reach he room when she suddenly heard Mitch call out her name. “Hey, I’m sorry about Willy. He can say stupid things sometimes. Could we hang out more? You can have fun with us and not worry about the things that made you sad before,” he tells her in a friendly tone.

“Yeah, you guys are lots of fun! I’ve never really talked much to other kids because my mum wouldn’t let me,” Tristen says gleefully.

“She isn’t here so fuck being worried or being told what to do! We’re going to be partners in crime!”

“Hehe… I like how you’re really brave. Like the princes in the fairy tales but you’re kinda funnier,” Tristen giggles. Mitch blushes at her remark. “Well uh goodnight,’ he says with a little embarrassment.

“Good night, Mitch.”

#twdg #twdg au #twdg final season #twdg oc #twdg fanfic #twdg season 4 #twdg s4 #twdg willy #twdg mitch #twdg omar #twdg aasim #twdg ericsons

[chimtaera]

imagine CEO kim seokjin.

you have the most handsome boss in all of creation, good luck.

first things first, kim seokjin is heir to one of the great business empires on his side of the planet.

for the moment though he’s just managing a few of the smaller branches as well as all the charities and his passion project, a moderately successful chain of restaurants.

you find work in one of these aforementioned branches, filling in as his secretary when his PA needs time off to care for their sick mother.

and he’s so stressed and busy he doesn’t even notice until around lunchtime when he bursts out of his office in a frenzy.

“assistant choi! you’re not assistant choi. where’s assistant choi?”

you remind him and he’s like “oops, i thought that was next week.”

because he can manage twelve charities and two businesses at once, he can clothe and feed himself because he’s a big boy, but he can’t organise anything. that’s what he needs you for.

also he can’t tie a tie properly.

he probably went to harvard business school, but he can’t tie a tie for shit. it’s always askew or crumpled or something, so you look knots up online because you’re just itching to fix it for him.

but you don’t actually approach him with the offer for a while, that would be inappropriate. instead you wait for him to tie it himself and ultimately fail, before you offer your help.

he accepts gratefully, and watches you concentrate in the agitating piece of cloth as if an angel just descended to save him from drowning.

later he admits that was when he knew he would fall in love with you.

and after that, whenever he has an important meeting to attend, you gotta fix his tie for him. it’s like ur lil ritual, and it helps him calm down and prepare.

sometimes he neglects to eat though. 

like when he’s trying to stay on top of events and important paperwork and running back and forth between meetings and you start to wonder if you should be organising meals for him as well.

he works so hard you end up feeling like you can’t just leave him alone in his office even if the work day is technically over, so you sit around answering emails as you wait for him to dismiss you.

eventually you just Go For It and order a bunch of food in, not knowing what he likes, because you’re hungry too dangit.

so at like 7pm you knock softly and ask him is it okay if you bring him something to eat.

kim seokjin could cry at that moment, but also he’s like “wait, you’re still here? why are you still here?”

you recite him his dinner options and by the end he’s almost visibly drooling.

“that sound amazing, do i have to choose?”

“well, one of them was for me.”

“which one?”

“whichever you didn’t want.”

“can’t we just share all of it?”

and so you and your new boss end up sitting across from one another on his plush expensive carpet, and have a virtual take-out feast.

and you’re both exhausted so you know he’s killing it with the dad jokes and his windshield wiping laughter just makes everything ten times funnier. lbr you probably peed yourself a little.

it’s late when you finally leave, so he drives you home.

the drive is nice and quiet and before you know it you’ve fallen asleep.

also you don’t know this but he was parked outside your house for like ten minutes before he mustered up the courage to wake you, like “ok we’re here!!!! hahahaha,,ha,,,ha,,,,, ah”

weeks pass, and jin’s dad is constantly piling more responsibility on him, which means more branches, which means jin has to travel more, and he takes you with him because he’s useless without you.

and you two are just so comfortable around each other from the start ??

but more importantly you really enjoy one another’s company and are constantly drawn together.

so eventually, always eating room service together turns into always spending time in the same room, which turns into eventually only booking one room with separate beds.

because more money saved is more money to charity. 

right? 

right ????

and guess what. 

eventually the hotel fucks up, but everything is so hectic you don’t even notice until it’s too late and you come back from a conference at night to find you only have one bed.

whoopsie daisy~

honestly though you’re both so exhausted because you flew in early that morning, jin falls asleep with all his clothes on and you don’t even care and pass out beside him like two minutes later.

when you wake however, he has shrugged out of his blazer and you’re snuggled up to him, head tucked beneath his chin, cheek pressed against his chest. 

to save you the embarrassment he pretends he’s still asleep while you untangle yourself. but breakfast is still awkward as heck to say the least, and he lowkey won’t stop smiling to himself the entire time.

and every time you attend a charity event with him everyone assumes you’re dating because you’re always laughing together and they’re used to seeing him with assistant choi. 

and one time he mishears someone asking if you’re his date and he says yes so you run with it and link your arm through his and call him pet names and he goes sO red and stutters and it’s worth all the death glares he sends you the rest of the night.

after that he’s kinda tense and weird and you end up apologising for your behaviour because that was very unprofessional of you and you crossed a line and you really need this job please don’t fire me.

and as you arrive back at the hotel he’s like “yeah, it’s cool, whatever, i need a drink.”

and you’re like “idk about you but there’s a minibar in my room.”

and he just stares at you until you realise what you’ve said and when you die of embarrassment he’s like “now we’re even. goodnight.”

eventually, one fateful evening back at the office, jin completely buckles under the weight of it all and you find him with his head in his hands, papers all over the floor.

he confesses to you how it’s all too much and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to keep everything together, especially as his responsibilities keep growing and without assistant choi around to help him out.

you spin his chair around to face you and sink down to his level, take his face in your hands and tell him firmly that he’s got this. it’s okay to doubt yourself and to crack under the pressure, but he’s got you and he’s got this and together you’re gonna kick this thing in the ass.

and he laughs and hold your hand, leans in a fraction but hesitates until you tell him he can also kiss you if he wants. 

and he does. 

he kisses you over and over and over until you have expensive carpet burns, wink wonk if you know what i mean.

anyway, nsfw under the cut.

your late nights at the office gets a lot later after that.

because oh bOY imagine gagging jin with his tie when he is being too vocal during his lunch break.

or him gagging you for that matter.

tbh his ties get a workout because he’s constantly getting distracted at work thinking of new and exciting ways to restrain you with it.

you two riling each other up all day.

like he’s got the blinds open and you walk in to drop off a file and just before you leave you lean in and tell him “i wish you would press me up against that glass right now, for everyone to see.”

he goes so red !!!!!!!!!!

and then you just drop the mic (or in this case a pen) and swagger out.

you guys could do this shit all day.

you’ll pretend to drop something so you can bend over for him, or spill something on him so you can lean over and grab him through his slacks.

or you’ll get handsy or even go down on him during a phone meeting, because just imagine the panic in his eyes when his voice cracks.

and he’ll walk right up behind you at your desk and pretend to look over the schedule with you while whispering the most sinful promises and vulgar compliments in your ear.

and sometimes, when he leaves his door open, he’ll just stare at you and take one hand slowly off his desk, and you just know he’s rubbing himself through his trousers and it drives you mad.

and finally, when the last person has left for the day you just fucking tear into each other like you trash his office i feel sorry for the cleaners.

but at the end of the day jin is soft and loving af. 

he adores you and the way you’ll rub yourself eagerly against him on a slow sunday morning.

and he wants to take you to all the best restaurants, or just watch netflix and eat fast food, it doesn’t matter as long as he gets to go down on you at the end of the night.

he just thinks you’re really cute when you squirm.

and you just love to watch him flush.

and so you live happily ever after :’)

#kpop smut #bts smut #seokjin smut #jin smut #kpop imagines #bts imagines #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #kpop scenarios #bts scenarios #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bts au #seokjin #jin #kpop reactions #bts reactions

[ievenranthisfar]

A Race With No End: The Sisyphean Nightmare of Big’s Backyard Ultra

It’s 6:13 in the morning. The sun is about to break over the Tennessee countryside. I’ve already run 98.8 miles. And now, I find myself passing the two giant piles of frozen burritos that have been sitting—inexplicably—in the middle of the road all night. This is the twenty-fourth time I’ve passed them. 

I may have to pass them another twenty-four times before this is all over. Or maybe not. I may have to run for another 100 miles. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Because, you see, I’m running in a race that has no finish line. And it’s starting to drive me insane.

This self-inflicted torture began three years earlier when, I stumbled across a race report detailing a crazy little race in the Middle of Nowhere, Tennessee. Its premise was so simple yet so evil: Last man standing wins. 

Big’s Backyard Ultra has no set time or distance. Just a 4.1667-mile loop that each runner has to complete within an hour, over and over and over, until they can’t. Contestants continue running this macabre, Sisyphean loop until ultimately, there’s only one poor soul left. He or she wins. Everyone else DNFs. Like it never even happened.

My mind began to swirl. How far could I run if I had to run forever? Would my body or my mind give up first? What would it be like to be one of the last two people left, stuck in a stumbling, mutually self-destructive duel of wills? Also, just in general, WTF? 

Like some kind of Phillip K. Dick fever dream, this insanity was cooked up by ultrarunning’s resident madman, Lazarus Lake. He’s the evil genius behind the even-more-infamous Barkley Marathons. And after being personally tortured by him for more than a day straight, I can say that he is a true artist. The Leonardo da Vinci of pain. The Rembrandt of mind games. The Lady Gaga of suffering. A master of sadomasochistic craft.

In 2014 the race went for 49 hours. The winning distance, 204.2 miles. Actually, “winning” isn’t really the correct term. Johan Steene and Jeremy Ebel started on Saturday morning. Saturday became Sunday. Sunday became Monday. The two dueled for so long that Johan was in danger of missing his flight back to Sweden. So, with no other option, he was forced to drop. In an ultimate sign of sportsmanship, Jeremy chose to drop as well. So both men ran 204.2 miles, which is an incredible feat. What’s even more incredible is that because of the Last Man Standing rule, they both actually lost. (Laz later told me this detail with a twinkle of pride in his eyes.)

Naturally, I became obsessed with the race.

Fast forward a few years to me, towing the starting line in Lazarus’s backyard. It’s a beautiful, still Saturday in October somewhere in B.F.E., Tennessee.

Three minutes before the start, Laz blows three whistles. “Oh man, you’re gonna love hearing that thang 20 hours from now,” he says with a grin. Two minutes before the start, he blows the whistle twice. “Almost time.” He’s like a seven-year-old boy about to torture a frog. One minute left, one whistle blow. “Get in here so I can draw the corral!” he hollers. Using a can of orange spray paint, he draws a box around us on his crunchy, dead lawn. At the start of every hour, we have to be standing inside this corral to begin the next loop. Unless, of course, we can’t.

The race clock ticks to 00:00:00, and Laz gives his cowbell a hearty shake. We’re off. Forty-seven human beings setting out to test the limits of our bodies and basic common sense. 

Unlucky number 85

For months, I had worried about how best to run this thing. But within one loop, I quickly realize that the most important is a single world: consistency. In a typical 100-miler, it’s a guarantee that you’ll experience rough patches. Your legs will feel like lead. You’ll get overheated. Your stomach will rebel. But you can always sit down, hit pause and sort yourself out. Hey, you have 30 hours to finish this thing. But with Big’s, there’s no forgiveness. You get in a bad place, and you still have to be standing in the corral when Laz rings the cowbell at the next hour. Razor-thin margin of error. 

After I finish each loop, I plop down in my REI chair and rustle through my bags. (Another fun challenge, no aid stations!) I refill my bottles, scarf down some food and attend to issues. But no matter where you’re sitting, you have a front-row seat for the main attraction: the race clock. It’s big and bright and just keeps tick, tick, ticking away. The seconds keep marching mercilessly towards the next hour and the next loop. Yay.

Running ultras has taught me that time is malleable; it can bend and warp. As I run from starting line to finish line, I often get the sensation I’m detached from time, floating along in my own jet stream. This race is the opposite. There’s no starting line and no finish line. No matter what you do, in one hour, you’ll end up right back where you started. It’s like a cruel mash-up of Saw and Groundhog Day. With possibly more grunting.

Pre-race meal planning: 20 pounds of gels, fried chicken, Mountain Dew and half a pie

Personal aid station or refugee camp? Really, both.

My first morning goes relatively well. I’m feeling good and running consistently. There’s a group of four of us in a front pack, choosing to run at a comfortably brisk pace. We run and chat and laugh for hours, and quickly become a weird little band of friends. It’s a solid distraction. But at the same time, somewhere in the back of my mind, I keep hearing the voice remind me, They’re the competition. A seed of Survivor-style paranoia is planted. I try to shake it for the time being.

Morning turns to afternoon. The temperature climbs into the mid-80s. People start to drop. We’re less than 50 miles in, and already more than half the field is gone. Images of WWII flash in my brain for some reason.

At the start/finish/coral, Laz and his cohorts—who are all dressed as prison inmates—crack the same joke, lap after lap. “Way to go! You’re back in first place!” or “Allllright! You were in second, but now you’re tied for first!” “There he is! First place runner right there!” The joke goes on for hours. It seems to get funnier to them each time they repeat it.

But here’s the thing. The more loops I run, the more I realize it’s not a joke. It’s the core truth of this entire race. Because everyone really is in first place until they drop. Whether you finish your loop in 44 minutes or 59 minutes, if you’re still running, you’re still winning. In fact, during the infamous 204.2-mile race, that was exactly the breakdown. Johan ran 44-minute loops consistently for 49 hours, while Jeremy ran right at the edge of cut-off each loop. There is no strategy. My brain starts to death-spiral as I realize that no matter how hard I work, I’ll always be in first place, like everyone else. Time is a flat circle.

Run, rest, repeat

In the evening, the race switches to an out-and-back stretch on 4.1667 miles of paved country road. Twelve hours and 50 miles into the race, there are only ten of us suckers left inside the corral. Surprisingly, this proves to be a nice mental break. While you run the trail, all you want to do is last until the road. Once you’re on the road, all you want to do is last until the trail. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

And while road isn’t nearly as interesting as trail, it does provide a few new novelties. Tonight, the moon is so bright we don’t even need headlamps, so we glide through the Tennessee countryside like tattered, sweaty ghosts.

During our first loop, my newfound friends and I notice two lumpy piles of something sitting in the road near what looks like an abandoned house. We wonder aloud what the piles are, and I say, “They kind of look like a bunch of frozen burritos.” Everyone laughs. It’s preposterous. And I’m sure in the back of their heads, their Survivor voice whispers, Excellent. He’s starting to hallucinate. He’s a goner for sure. On the next loop, as we near the piles I tell them, “I wanna see what those are. I really think they’re frozen burritos.” “Ha, OK,” they laugh again. We drift towards the two piles, flick on our headlamps and HOLY SHIT THEY REALLY ARE A BUNCH OF FROZEN BURRITOS. Seriously. Two huge piles of half-melted, frozen burritos. There must be 100 or so. Just sitting in the road. 

It’s by far the weirdest non-hallucination I’ve ever had during a race. (Weirdest actual hallucination: Obi Wan Kenobi in the middle of Hawaiian jungle.)

A few loops later, the burrito piles are flanked by two hound dogs sleeping in the road. Back at the start/finish, someone mentions the whole situation to Laz, and he conjectures that the owners must be out of town so they left some food out for their dogs. This makes no sense, but it also seems like the only reasonable explanation. Sort of a metaphor for Big’s as a whole.

The night marches on.

In the lull between one of the early evening laps, Laz taunts me, “You might wanna try to get some sleep. You’re gonna wish you had it when it’s this time tomorrow night.” Awesome, I think. So on top of everything else, now I have to try to sleep between each loop?? But, he did have a point. I throw a shirt over my head and try to not exist for a few minutes. It never works. Every time I’m about to doze off, I hear that “TWEEET, TWEEET, TWEEEEEET” of Laz’s three whistles.

The night creeps by, both slowly and quickly. Each loop becomes a sadistic episode of déjà vu. And each time, it becomes that much harder to get out of the chair and into the corral.

By the time dawn breaks over the Tennessee hills, there are just four of us left. Also, two piles of road burritos, mostly uneaten.

Twenty-four hour in and spirits are 👍

One hundred miles and 24 hours in, the Final Four line up for our first lap of the new day: me, Charlie Engle (famous for running across the Sahara, infamous for spending 21 months in prison for mortgage fraud), John Starpes (who’s put in a gritty performance, staying just ahead of  the cut-offs every lap) and Babak Rastgoufard (a quiet dude in glasses with a big ole mop of hair who Laz and Co have enjoyed calling “Babagnoush” all day).

With a twinkle in his eye, Laz reminds us that we’re all in first place. Then he rings that damn cowbell.

How long can this go on?

Lap 25 goes off without a hitch. Lap 26, John falters. He doesn’t make the cut-off. One down. Three still in.

Just one mile into Lap 27, I feel a pain shoot through my left heel. It’s my Achilles tendon. How cosmically ironic, I mumble. My Achilles heel. The sudden reappearance of my chronic injury means my race is over.

However, Charlie is staring to look pretty worked. Against better judgment, I decide I’ll only go back out for another loops if Charlie comes in with two minutes to spare. Pride will be the death of me.

Back at home base, Laz blows his whistle three times. No sign of Charlie. I start to get excited. He blows his whistle twice. No sign of Charlie. Thank God. And then, “There he is!” Charlie bursts out of the woods. Ugh.

I grab my bottle and trudge over to the starting corral. A minute later, the three of us set off again. This is my last loop, I promise myself.

It’s been 112 miles. As I hobble in, I tell my mom (who has been horrified for two days straight) that that is my last loop… “unless Charlie comes in with, like, 30 seconds left.” I cringe as I hear the words coming out of my mouth.

We sit there waiting. Three whistles and no Charlie. Two whistles, no Charlie. One whistle, no Charlie. Then, just like an underdog movie scene, Charlie comes barreling out of the woods. I close my eyes. “Dammit, Charlie.” I think that’s the first time I’ve cussed in front of my mom. 

Charlie crosses the line with 35 seconds left. Resigned to my fate, I shuffle into the starting corral. Now on the ground, Charlie throws up his hands. “No más. I’m done.” “Noooo!” the crowd cries. The cowbell rings. Charlie doesn’t move. It’s just me and Babak now.

As soon as we get out of earshot of the crowd, I turn to him and say, “Hey man, this is gonna be my last loop.” “What?” he’s confused. “Yeah, my leg is hurt really badly. I can’t run on it anymore. You ran a hell of a race. Congrats, man.” “Ah man, I’m sorry…” he commiserates for a second. And then, he looks me in the eyes, “You’re not fucking with me, are you?” “Ha, no. I promise.” “’Cause that’d be kinda messed up,” he double-checks. “I promise, I’m not fucking with you.” I told you, this race messes with your head.

 Even though I’m about to lose, it feels like a victory lap. I’m going to enjoy it. I say goodbye to all the little landmarks I’ve spent the last day with—the crumbly rock, Kat’s Cave, the edge of the field, the top of the hill. Forty-seven minutes later, we burst out of the woods and into the sun. The crowd cheers.

I stride across the line one last time. 116 miles in 27:48. I immediately bend down and rip the timing tracker off my ankle. “I’m tapping out,” I announce. “NOOOOO,” the crowd erupts in unison. “YOU CAN’T.”  “I have to.” I explain my injury. But they’re having none of it. They came to see a bloodbath.

I sit on the ground in front of Laz. He stares down at me with the tenderness of some sort of hillbilly Santa Claus. “You sure you wanna drop? You still got plenty of time.” He speaks with a mixture of genuine care for me and morbid interest in seeing this spectacle dragged out as long as possible. “Thanks but I’m really done.” “Alright then.”

A few minutes later, Babak is standing alone in the starting coral. We all start chanting his name “Babak! Babak! Babak!” as he takes off on the very last loop of the race, solo. I’m Second-to-Last Man Standing. 

Striding out once more

Tapping out

 Big’s Backyard Ultra asks everything of you as a runner and as a human being. It’s as fascinating and as terrible a race as will ever be dreamed up. Its genius lies in its simplicity. And the more time I spent around Lazarus—trust me, I had about 15 minutes every hour for 28 hours straight—the more I became convinced that he’s some kind of savant.

The world is a better place because of madmen like Lazarus Lake. And I’m a better person for living through his terrible genius firsthand. Because now I’ve run a race with no end.

And also someone gave me a Long Day Lager afterwards

 Epilogue 

Unbeknownst to me, throughout the race, Lazarus composed strange, little updates that he blasted out every loop. Each reads like the beautiful poetry of a sadistic Thoreau. 

if we did this to dogs, they would throw us in jail.

hour 8 just began. 25 runners are praying they can survive 5 more hours and reach the road loops...

here is what they keep saying, as they drop and drop and drop;

if only this was just a 100 miler, and i could take a break. just 5 minutes. that is all i need.

24 runners are alive, out on the trail and the whistles start again in 54 minutes...

laz

   pray for the 18

we had our clean lap. 18 finished hour 11 18 started hour 12...

this is the critical hour. the sun is setting, and it will be dark before they get back.

nobody has more than a minute or two a lap to spare. they cannot slow down. dark or not.

if they finish this hour, there are 12 hours of gravy, before we return to the trail.

pray for the 18. they need it.

laz

  nightmare under the hunters moon

tim dines and gary kaspar. refused to continue.

may god have mercy on your soul.

14 tortured souls started hour 15.

it is one thing to run a 100, and start once. it is another to run a 100, and have to start 24 times...

and you might not even be halfway through.

laz

the final chapter it was the invisible injury that won out. andy's achilles had been gradually deteriorating for many hours. after the two youngsters hammered each other during hour 28, babak pulling away, andy bowed out after the finish (to the dismay of throngs of andy pearson fans) babak is out on the deciding loop....for the first time, he is alone. in somewhere around a half hour, we will know if there is a finisher this year. we already know who it has to be. thanks for listening.

laz

#ultrarunning #race #racereport #ultramarathon

[ecotone99]

[RF][pt 3] [Final] When the Tingle Becomes a Chill

Steve called off sick the following day, saying he would work at home. He worked very little, though, as he paced around the house looking out of windows for a black Dodge Neon. He saw nothing. It felt safer with Tina at home. He figured whatever was going to happen, wouldn’t happen when she was around. She was sleeping in upstairs and he was up around 6:30, so he paced around, hoping that she wouldn’t be up early. He had been up most of the night, thinking of what his next step should be. He had thought about confronting her, or even going to the police. The fact remained, however, that he had become scared of his wife. Not for what she may physically do to him, but still the same, omnipotent feeling that accompanied Steve when he was bullied by an older boy in elementary school. He felt silly admitting it to even himself, but he felt that same feeling of dread that seemed to follow him through every moment of every day. Eventually, some time before she came down, he came to a decision about how he would handle this increasingly complicated situation. It was a little after 8:30 when Tina came downstairs in her robe. She saw Steve at the kitchen island and she smiled at him.

“Staying home today?” She wondered, still smiling as she stood beside him and rubbed his back as he sat in the stool at the counter. She noticed his back tense up but thought nothing of it.

“Yeah. Think I’ll be working here the next few days,” he replied. The smile left Tina’s face.

“Oh. Is everything ok?” She asked, legitimately concerned but perhaps not for the right reasons.

“Yeah, just haven’t been feeling well. It’s my stomach. Can’t get anyone sick.”

“Gotcha,” she said, and the back of Steve’s neck tingled and he felt an anxious burn rising in the bottom of his stomach. Tina went to the coffee pot, which had been sitting for nearly an hour and was burnt beyond the point of generally accepted standards. Steve knew this, and said nothing about it.

“I’m going to work from here, but if I’m feeling better later I want you to go with me to get a new policy for our life insurance.”

Tina had opened the silverware drawer to search for a spoon to mix her sugar and cream into the mug, but stopped herself and turned around suddenly. She smiled slightly but her eyes were wild and bright.

“Okay. Whatever you want. Any reason why?” she asked. He considered later on that he had caught a tremble in her voice when she spoke. He was quiet for a moment, thinking of what to say besides the truth.

“I was coming home the other day, and a tractor trailer almost merged into me, fast enough that I couldn’t do anything about it. He was probably six inches from my truck, and if he hadn’t swerved back in the last second it would have killed me, no questions asked. And I thought, what if something happens to me, something sudden, and you and Evan have to fend for yourselves somehow? I just can’t let that happen. So I’ll try to take it easy today, and we’ll try to go this afternoon.”

She looked noticeably worried, but quickly switched to a smile.

“Okay,” she said, crossing the room with her coffee and kissing him on the cheek, “I have some errands to run, so I’m going to get ready.”

She went upstairs and as she showered and left home, Steve felt a palpable sense of unease where he expected relief.

———

Tina smoked a cigarette as she drove to the grocery store. She was feeling rather flustered. Her whole plan had banked on Steve being at work the next few days, and dying in a tragic and unfortunate act of senseless violence on his way home. Now things were complicated. She called Buck.

“He’s not at work today, he’s home,” he answered gruffly when she called.

“I know that. And he’ll be home the next few days. Says he’s sick, and he’s talking about life insurance. Did he see you?”

“Not a chance,” he sneered,” what the fuck do you think this is?”

“OK, calm down. I was just making sure. I don’t know what his problem is,” she said, thinking about everything for a moment.

“Could you do it at the house if I was gone?” she asked. Buck was silent for a moment on the other line.

“Yeah, that would work.”

“Ok. I’ll get back to you,” she said, hanging up without saying goodbye. She continued down the road and finished her cigarette before throwing it out onto the road. An old woman gardening in her front yard saw this and glared. Tina laughed and raised her middle finger in response.

———

It was Friday now and Steve had not left his home in two days. He had been terrified that assassination awaited around every corner, at any waking minute, from his wife’s former boyfriend. He had felt relatively safe there for the past two days, having signed the life insurance policy with Tina and stayed mostly indoors, but now his main potential witness, Evan, would be gone. And he knew that that night, probably not the next, Buck would try to kill him in his home. Tina and Evan were to leave that afternoon, and after their departure it would be just Steve and his fear of impending doom inside of the house until Sunday.

He sat in his office, steeped in anticipation for the rest of the day until Evan and Tina left. He hugged Evan goodbye, a little firmer than usual, and he placed his arms coldly around Tina’s back as they embraced. He thought about betrayal, how he had done nothing to deserve what she was doing to him. She thought about how this would be the last time she saw him, and she felt nearly tearful with joy at the thought of his absence from her life. They left in the Jeep, heading north over the Mason-Dixon. Steve watched as they drove out of sight down the road. He waited another moment before going inside, locking the door behind him. He had some preparing to do.

He went upstairs to the master closet and grabbed his shotgun, a Browning automatic that his grandfather had given him as a boy. He loaded it with 2 3/4 inch goose loads and carried it downstairs with him. This was his sole firearm. Next, he went through the house making sure every window and door was locked. He went and blocked doors with heavy furniture and chairs wedged against the floor. He turned on every exterior light and waited in the master bedroom, which faced the driveway. He suspected this would be the point of entry for Buck when the time came. He saw the sun was beginning the set and he looked at his watch. 6:45. Feeling as prepared as he reckoned he ever would be, he went to his quarters with a bottle of whiskey. He drank from the bottle and watched television, occasionally glancing out the window for long stretches of time as the shadows of pine trees grew long in the driveway. As he grew more and more intoxicated, he thought about the possibility that Buck would not come tonight, and that he may have to wait for the second night to get this over with.

———

He awoke to the sound of glass breaking downstairs. He grunted and shot up in bed. He had fallen asleep laying across the foot of the bed with his feet on the floor. He looked around, confused and sweaty in a post-sleep haze, before eyeing the time on the digital alarm clock which sat on the nightstand: 11:18. He heard the sound again, and what sounded like a door opening on the first floor. Buck. He looked at the television stand across the room and spied the shotgun propped up against, the Browning’s twenty eight inch barrel silhouetted against the light of the television screen. He got off the bed and grabbed the gun, crossing the room to the door. Before he opened it, he pulled back the action of the shotgun, feeling for a shell in the chamber. He felt the metallic cool of the primer on the end of the shell and let the chamber slide forward. He quietly opened the door.

The house was totally dark. He hugged the wall in the hallway which led to the landing at the top of the steps, leading down to the first floor foyer. He felt for the railing and quietly moved down the steps. He put his foot on a step and it creaked, and he cursed himself silently. He continued down and when he got to the bottom, he saw the kitchen light on. He looked through the doorway in bewilderment and heard the fridge close. He crossed the room silently and looked into the kitchen. There stood back, back to the door, drinking a beer at the counter. Steve watched him for a minute. His heart pounded inside of his chest. His hands shook as he raised the barrel up toward Buck. Buck put his bottle down.

“You know, this would’ve been the perfect time to shoot me,” whispered Buck. Steve felt his heart sink into his chest and his jaw fall agate, unable to pull the trigger even now, in what seemed to be the moment of truth. Buck spun around suddenly, producing a pistol from his waistband, and fired blindly as he came around to face Steve. Steve spun as well, ducking back behind the doorway and firing back as he brought the shotgun around the corner with him. He heard Buck curse as he took off for the stairs, running blindly up the dark steps for the second floor. He thought he may have hit him. He ran for the back bedroom and heard Buck calling behind him as he made his way up the stairs.

“You shot me, you prick! I should charge your wife extra for that. Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to settle for fucking her on top of a pile of the money she’ll get in your will.”

Buck made it to the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He got inside, the tv still on and casting a blue glow around the room. He panicked and hid in the most juvenile place he could, under the bed. He faced the doorway on his belly and pointed the barrel in that direction. Buck continued down the hallway. Steve could see under the door that he had some kind of flashlight.

“You know, her ex, the one I did about ten years back, it never got this personal with him. He barely put up a fight. Funnier than that, he probably deserved it more than you! He was at least a cheater, sounds like you’re just an old, boring fuck.”

The door opened and light poured across the carpeted floor of the bedroom. Steve could see Buck’s boots enter the room. They took two steps and stopped on the side of the bed. The light went to his feet and it looked as though Buck began to kneel down. Steve didn’t hesitate. He fired twice. The first shot carried most of its projectiles straight into Buck’s right ankle, shattering the fibula and nearly severing the foot. Buck let out a scream before the second shot slammed into his left knee, rendering him unable to walk even if he weren’t about to die. He fell on his side and raised his gun up wildly to meet his attacker. Steve fired a final time, this time sending the shot into Buck’s neck. Blood sprayed from the wound and quickly began to spread across the light colored bedroom carpet. Buck dropped his pistol and grabbed at his throat with both hands, as the blood spilled out from between his fingers. Steve watched, aghast, with the shotgun still pointed in his direction. He could no longer hear anything but his ears ringing and his heart hammering inside of his chest, but he swore he saw Buck trying to vocalize something for a moment before he went limp and lay quietly on the carpet.

Steve laid under the bed watching him for no less than ten minutes after that. He kept expecting Buck to wake up and try to shoot him again, but it never came. He was dead, there was no denying it. Eventually he got up, crawling out backwards to the other side of the bed. He went over to Buck and kicked him firmly in the ribs, which elicited no reaction from the dead man. Satisfied, Steve went downstairs to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer and one of Tina’s emergency cigarettes, smoking it in the kitchen without any remaining concern for the resale value of his home. He thought about his next move as he smoked, and eventually went to his toolbox in the garage. He grabbed a pair of pliers, a cordless reciprocating saw, and a tarp before returning to the body.

He found the corpse where he had left it, though for some reason he had halfway expected it to move. He poked his ribs again and was once again satisfied that the assassin was dead. He felt the swell of pride in his chest as he laid the tarp out next to the body, and rolled it over onto the blue cross stitching of the tarp. He folded the ends and drug the body laboriously to the master bathroom before unfolding the tarp and hauling the body over the side of the tub. He sat on the edge of the tub for a moment and looked down at the body, which sat upright against the white tile of the rear wall and laid against it with his neck, what was left of it, bent at a funny angle. He went back downstairs to smoke again and considered what he was about to do before returning to the master bathroom. Steve used the pliers and the saw remove Buck’s hands, and his teeth. It felt like it took an eternity, and several times during the process he thought he would vomit but he avoided this urge and finished it, collecting what he needed in a trash bag. He put it to the side and removed the body from the tub, rolled it back in the tarp and drug it back through to the bedroom and unraveled it from the tarp, placing it back on the carpet where he had left it. He then reached into the pockets of Buck’s jeans and found his wallet and keys and stuck them in his own pockets. He put the bloody trash bag and his tools inside of a larger trash bag, before taking them downstairs and going outside.

The night air was cool and foggy as he stepped onto the lawn and crossed onto the driveway. He walked the length of the driveway through the woods and came to the road. He looked both ways and saw the black neon down the road, now feeling much less intimidating as it sat empty, its owner dead by his hands. The road was empty this late and he strolled down the shoulder to the car. He grabbed at the door handle and it came open. He searched around the driver’s seat and located the trunk release, yanked it open and took the bag of his bloody tools and Buck’s teeth and hands and placed them in the trunk. He closed the trunk then went back to the driver’s seat and climbed in. He put the key in the ignition and the engine rattled to life, sputtering as he rolled slowly down the road and then the driveway. He reached the house and parked out front. He went back upstairs and showered in the guest bathroom, which was primarily used by Evan. He cleaned himself for a while, spending an unknown amount of time standing under the running water with his head down, staring at his bare legs and feet and thinking about what he had done, and how his life was effectively over now. Everything he had worked for since he was a young man would be gone. He decided not to think about it further for the time being and shut the water off.

He got out of the shower and went to his room for some clean clothes, where he stepped around Buck’s corpse on his way to his dresser. He dressed himself and went to the safe in his closet. He opened it and pulled out large sum of cash inside, which was in a manila envelope and amounted to about $18,000. He folded the envelope and stowed it in his back pocket and went back to the bedroom with the safe door hanging open. He went to exit the bedroom and remembered that he was still carrying two wallets. He went back to Buck and took his own wallet out of his pants, pulled the money out of it and slipped the leather bifold into Buck’s pocket, where his own wallet had been earlier. Content with this part of the process, he left the room and closed the door behind him. He went downstairs again, surveying the upstairs for memories of the life he would soon leave behind. He came down the stairs and stopped to look at a photo on the wall that displayed him, Tina and Evan on the beach at the Outer Banks four years prior. The thought of how this would affect Evan was what made him feel guilty about all of this. The boy was not prepared for what would soon be placed in his lap for him to deal with.

Steve went to his garage and stared longingly at his truck for a moment before he grabbed the two five gallon gas cans that sat in the corner for use with the lawn mower. He went back in the house and took one of the cans with him upstairs to the master bedroom walked, from which he walked his way out backwards while pouring the gas on the corpse, then in a wet and stinking line out the door to the top of the stairs. He poured some along the stairs and the wall as he went down, and the can was empty by the time he reached the bottom. He grabbed the other can and doused the floor of the living room and on the furniture set, then went into the kitchen and did his best to soak the the cabinets with the rest of the gasoline. The house now reeked, and he grabbed a copy of the local paper from the counter and folded it up. He put the folded paper into their toaster, which sat on the counter against the wall before going to the adjacent stovetop, and reaching into the drawer beneath it to unscrew the coupling which connected the flexible gas line to the stovetop. He heard the hum of the gas running free of the end of the pipe and he turned on the toaster. He stepped back from the counter, grabbed his shotgun and hurried out of the house to the Neon, which sat idling with its lights off in front of the garage. He climbed in without unloading his shotgun and rested it barrel up against the passenger seat. Still moving quickly, he flipped on the headlights and sped out of the driveway in reverse. He backed out into the road, turning towards the main road which would take him back to town, but put it in park for a moment to put away the shotgun and watch the house. He went to the trunk with the Browning in his hand and He sat for a few minutes and almost considered going back inside to make sure everything was still working according to plan, but he eventually saw the orange glow a rapidly growing flame on the inside and he drove away before the carnage began.

Steve drove for about an hour west on route fifty, driving with the radio off and listening to the distorted whine of the Neon’s engine as it cruised down the lonesome, after midnight road which would eventually take him north. As he began to cross the bridge over the Nanticoke River, he slowed the Neon to a stop to the right of the bridge and popped the trunk. He got out and went to the rear of the car and opened the trunk, removing the trash bag full of Nicholas Michael “Buck” Buckley’s identifying remains and he threw them off of the bridge, as far as he could into the ominous, crystalline water of the river below. He thought about throwing the shotgun in with them but he decided to keep it. He had been raised to always keep a firearm in his life in some capacity or another, and this seemed like a more apt time to be armed than any he had known before. So there he stood momentarily, gazing into the dark of the Eastern Shore marsh which surrounded the bridge. He thought it might be part of the Blackwater Wildlife Refuge, a place he had fished in the past, but he wasn’t sure. He heard the sound of a car coming toward him on the other side of the concrete divider which separated the four lanes of the bridge, and saw the lights of the approaching vehicle over the wall as he got back in the Neon and drove off. He headed North, stopping only for fuel and supplies at gas stations before he got where he was going. He never found himself south of the Mason-Dixon ever again.

———

Tina paced by the phone. It was midnight, and Buck had assured her that he would be finished by 11:30. She had told herself that she wouldn’t call, that she would be patient and wait for him to contact her. So, she paced and smoked on the back porch of her friend’s house in Somerset County. The night was cool around her as she listened to the sound of the hills surrounding the house. She listened to owls hoot and screech and thought at one point she heard the yip of a coyote in the distance. Regardless, her mind wandered toward the worst possible outcomes of the situation taking place at her home in Maryland, whatever it may have devolved to at this point.

She had briefly considered that Buck had just taken off with her down payment and would not be completing the job. She quickly wrote this off, though; if he was going to skip town without finishing the job, she figured he would have been gone last week. But he had stayed, and kept following the plan, so she felt strongly that he had at least tried to see it through. Which left the startling alternative of Steve killing Buck instead. Which, even this late in the evening, just didn’t seem plausible. Could her dull, simple husband have plotted against her just as she had plotted against him? Had he caught wind of her ruse? She had been very cautious ever since he had taken her to the insurance office to sign on for a new life insurance policy. He had made a drastic increase in the value of his own death, and it just seemed too good to be true. She had nearly called it off, worrying that she had been found out, but with Friday quickly approaching, and money already down, she decided against it.

Tina thought about what may happen when she returned home to find Steve sitting on the couch, waiting for her. He may try to kill her, or tell Evan everything. This is perhaps what she feared most. Death hardly bothered her in this case, but her son having the knowledge that she had killed his father would be too much for her to bear. Her thought was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. She nearly jumped out of her seat as she went to look at it, and was surprised to see an unfamiliar Maryland number calling her. She shrugged and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, ma’am is this Tina Ryan?” the man on the other line asked. His voice was hurried and in distress.

“…Yes. Who is this?” she replied, now feeling in distress herself.

“Hello, this is Richard Allison, with the Mt. Vernon Fire Department. I hate to tell you this, ma’am, but we’re fighting a serious blaze at your home right now. Was there anyone home tonight that you’re aware of?” he questioned.

“Yes, yes my husband was home. Is everything okay?” she asked, beginning to tear up.

“Well ma’am a neighbor called about the fire, and we’re trying to find out if anyone was inside but we’re still working on stabilizing the flames. Where are you right now, ma’am?”

She thought about it for a moment before responding.

“I’m in Pennsylvania. Do I need to come home?” she asked, immediately wincing at her foolishness for asking. Allison was quiet for a moment on the other line.

“Yes, ma’am, we’re investigating the possibility of a fatality in the home at this time. I’m sorry, I have to go. Just try to get back here as soon as you can.”

He hung up the phone. She sat there, still holding her cell phone in silence. She pulled it away from her face and hurriedly went to her contacts and found Buck’s number. She called it, and sat nervously in anticipation of who may answer. She had her suspicions already that it would not be Buck. After the fourth ring, someone answered. She sat with baited breath waiting for someone to speak, but it did not happen. Seconds passed with only silence between the two lines. Tina wondered if whoever had answered could hear her heart thumping rapidly in her chest cavity. Finally, she broke the silence.

“Who is this?” she asked, and for a second she thought she asked no one at all. She heard a heavy breath on the other line transition into a familiar chuckle.

“I think you know,” the voice said. It was Steve. She was sure of it. She hung up without saying anything else.

She had been had. Steve had gotten to Buck, somehow, and she had been found out after all. She sat and lit another cigarette and thought about what would come next. She figured that Steve had compiled evidence against her, and he was currently trying to figure out how to use it against her. Once again, she thought of Evan, hearing all the things that had happened, forming opinions that he may never change. What if he were forced to testify against her, his own mother? Who had done this to get him a better life, above all else. No, she couldn’t stand to even consider living to see that. But, she knew she didn’t have to.

Feeling rather defeated, she extinguished the remaining half of her cigarette and came into the house through the sliding glass door to the porch. She went through the house and upstairs to the guest room where Evan stayed. She opened the door to his room silently and looked in on him. He slept peacefully, a young man who had grown to make her proud, and she smiled as tears streamed down her face. She fought the urge to say something to him as she shut the door and walked away from him for the final time, heading back downstairs. In the basement, she knew her friend’s husband kept a cabinet full of guns. She found the basement door and went down after finding the light switch. She found the cabinet downstairs, and stared in dreadful awe at the shine of their blued steel. She located the wide bore of a shotgun barrel and opened the cabinet door, retrieving the shotgun and propping it against the wall.

She went to a lower drawer of the cabinet and found a box of twelve gauge slugs, and loaded one into the chamber. She considered putting more slugs in the magazine tube, but decided that one would suffice. She racked the chamber closed with the lone slug inside, and now she was sobbing quietly in the unfinished basement, among the lifetime of clutter and unfinished crafts and guns. She heard only the hum of a furnace running lightly to produce enough heat to combat the chill of the night. She wondered briefly if anyone upstairs could hear her crying, but shook off the feeling flicked off the crossbar safety of the pump shotgun in her hands. Tears running like a faucet, she placed the butt of the gun against the floor, with the barrel pointing toward the ceiling. She sat in a metal chair adjacent to her, and leaned the barrel back towards her and placed it under her chin, before decided to put it in her mouth as a sort of insurance policy. She cried harder now, hyperventilating, with her teeth chattering against the steel of the barrel as she clenched her jaw around the twelve gauge opening. She reached her left hand out to locate the trigger, with her right hand steadying the barrel in her mouth. She closed her eyes as she fingers brushed the trigger guard and found the contents in its loop, and she prayed silently in her head. She prayed for her soul and her son’s future and she pulled the trigger.

———

TWO YEARS LATER

Steve awoke in his shed, his cot feeling stiff enough under his back to ease the transition from sleeping to awake. He sat up, groaning, and got off the cot, searching blindly for the Coleman lantern on the milk crate adjacent to the cot. He found it and turned it on, the soft white glow illuminating the uninspiring interior of his living quarters. He had the cot, the milk crate which served as a bedside table, a wire spool turned on its flat side for a table with a metal chair to sit at it with, a footlocker with belongings from before and after his former life, the old Browning propped up and loaded in the corner, and an old refrigerator. A small space heater ran on cool nights and kept him warm within the depths of his sleeping bag, and a hot plate provided the means to make hot meals and heat water for instant coffee. He lived in an old shed in the back corner of property of a man Steve knew only as Rick. Rick owned a farm in Oswego County, New York, right near the Salmon River. Steve had heard of this place a long time ago from a friend at work, who would come up here every year in the fall to chase the salmon run from Lake Ontario.

Steve had made his way up here straight from Maryland. He had met Rick at a local tavern, and had confided in him that he was from out of town and looking for work. That was about as much as Rick had ever cared to know about him, and Steve liked it as such. He had lived on Rick’s farm since, and had worked for him splitting wood, tending to Rick’s horses, and helping guide salmon trips during the busy seasons. Anglers and tourists from up and down the eastern seaboard would flood the banks of the Salmon or a few weeks out of the year, but other than that the area was quiet and secluded. Ever since he had killed Buck, he had laid as low as humanly possible. He was presumed dead by the state of Maryland. Tina had killed herself, and the news he had read indicated that she had been considered at fault for the incident. The police still searched for clues as to who killed him, but most were satisfied that they would never find the killer.

He looked at his watch. It wasn’t yet sunrise, so he had time to kill before he needed to go split wood. He went to get some water, and began to heat it up on the hot plate. As the metal cup began to simmer, he withdrew a pint of cheap whiskey from his footlocker. He drew from the bottle and felt the burn in his chest. After another minute or two, the water was hot enough for coffee, so he poured in the mix and stirred it with a plastic spoon. This was his standard morning routine. He woke early, had whiskey and coffee, and continued to have both as he toiled through his daily chores. Once finished with work, he would drink heavily before falling into a restless sleep. Still, he found this to be the best way for him to sleep. Sober sleep plagued him with nightmares, dreams of betrayal and of being caught. He dreamed of being chased through thick, dark woods, lights following him, the hounds of hell nipping at his heels, looking for retribution for his sins against his fellow man. Or men. At least when he went to sleep drunk, he did not dream at all. This was much more comforting. His coffee cooled slightly, he sipped from the tin cup and let this drink warm his innards as well.

There was a knock at the door of the shed. This was a first. He had never had a single visitor out at the farm, and he was almost alarmed enough the grab the shotgun. He knew it was not Rick. Rick had yet to come to the shed since Steve had lived there, and he doubted seriously that he was starting to do so at this moment. He got up off the cot and sat at the metal chair, closer to the Browning in the corner, and cleared his throat.

“Who is it?”

Silence. He stared at the door. He asked again, louder this time. Still, silence. He began to get up and make his way toward his shotgun, when he heard a reply on the other side of the door.

“It’s me, Evan. Is this Steve?”

Steve was silent in return. He was in shock, perhaps truly in shock for the first time in his life.

“Yeah… hold on.”

He got up and grabbed the shotgun. He confirmed that it was loaded, turned the safety off, and crossed the floor of the shed to the door. He opened it slowly, and as he did, he saw Evan’s face in the opening. He looked years older, though he was still a young man, just as Steve had last seen him. He opened the door fully, and Evan eyed the shotgun. Steve set it down and motioned him inside. He poked his head out the door and looked around before closing it. As the door shut and latched, and Steve turned around to face Evan, he saw the pistol in Evan’s hand, just as Evan pulled the trigger and fired a bullet into Steve’s chest. Steve looked down, shocked once again, as he stumbled back against the door and crumbled to the ground, gasping. His lungs were filling with blood, he could feel his breathing becoming thick and labored. He looked up at the boy who he had raised as his own son.

“Why?” he managed to exhale through painful, stabbings breaths. Evan still pointed the pistol at him. The shotgun still sat propped up next to Steve, but he did not reach for it.

“You ruined my life. My mom is dead because of you,” he said, beginning to cry.

Steve looked at him and shook his head.

“You ever wonder why I did that? Did you ever consider why all this happened?” Steve asked, coughing up blood now. “She tried to kill me. And that’s not all. The both of us, your mom and I, we paid some one to kill your dad in Pittsburgh. Ten grand.”

Evan lowered the gun and wore a growing look of horror on his face.

“You’re lying. Shut the fuck up.”

“Believe what you like. I’m dead, anyway. But you might not get away with this. And you’re gonna live the rest of your life knowing what I just told you, and part of you is going to know that it’s true, no matter what you try to tell yours-“

Evan emptied the other five chambers of his .38 special into Steve’s chest. He cried more, and put his head into his hands as he sat in the metal chair at the wire spool table. He cried for a few minutes, for the loss of his mother and father, and even his step father, who now sit against the wall in front of him with his head slumped over and his chest spotted with large maroon flowers of blood that stained his long johns. Evan sat here for a while, expecting someone to walk in, but they never came. After maybe an hour of sitting in the shed, he left the gun and went outside after moving Steve’s body from in front of the door. He went to his station wagon and drove out the farm road. He got on the road south eventually, and watched as he drove towards storm clouds on the horizon, hanging black and horrible in the sky. He thought about the pistol on the table in Steve’s shed, covered in his finger prints and sitting empty. He wished he had used it on himself.

THE END

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[motifsinthecity]

Bodysnatchers

Short Story (August 2008)

***

It hits me, watching House M.D., with a cold drink in my hand.

Our homes are the safest place we can be. Electronic hums and halogen bulbs blanket us in heat and artificial glows. We view the news, firmly planted in our colossal arm chairs, as it relays ugly facts about the world at large. Our mechanical trappings and constructions ward off the seemingly silent night.

White noise lullabies buzz alongside a city glow that acts like a perpetual night light.

I set my house alarm at 9:00 PM.

Invincible isn’t necessarily the right word but it’s a close replacement. Within our castles, our fortresses, everything is controlled. Thermostats, motion sensors, latches, deadbolts, are more than just the latest in home decorating. After we’re forced to invest into the drudgery of work all day long, it’s nice to have a space allowing us some lucidity.

Routine helps pass and mark my time.

30-Minute Meals and dishes that take half as long, they pacify.

I tuck my kid in and turn out the light.  

I give him his medicine so he’ll be okay throughout the night, so he doesn’t sleep walk again. The doctors have never been able to give me a straight answer as to why he does this but a statistic they like to use is something about 7% of 6 year olds having this condition.

Perhaps the adage about “out of sight out of mind” is applicable here. I have no idea what that means for him but they assure me this treatment is the proper course of action.

It kills me to hear Ronnie scream about how doesn’t want to take his pills.

However, we carry on. It’s safe for him and for us. What more could you want for your loved ones?  It makes my whiskey and soda taste that much sweeter, the TV I watch that much funnier. The freedom to let myself go in my home makes the hard work during the day seem worth it. My eyelids sag just a little bit because under these circumstances, I can allow them to. I create this world of safety for my son and I know it’s worth it.

Under plasma screen hues, I contemplate this and smile.

It doesn’t last.

The TV blacks out.

Fear hits my chest and spreads throughout my limbs like fire. This is irregular.  Sweat pours down my neck and I find my feet on the floor rather than propped up in my recliner. The sound of my heartbeat kills the deafening silence. The moon slashes through my broken shutters, casting ghoulish shadows on my carpet. Thoughts bolt to Ronnie.

“Ronnie, are you there?”

The words sound mousey past my teeth. I frantically shuffle around in the darkness to find another source of light. I pick up footsteps that are not my own as I dig out the Maglite from a pile of clutter. The electrical current sputters through the head, revealing my son standing a few feet in front of me.

The TV chord has been severed, frayed.

Ronnie doesn’t say anything at first but I can feel him look past me. His eyes are glossy and his mouth open. There’s an edge to him and his eyes are as fucking huge. His breathing is oddly sedated but I can tell there is something wrong. My neck bristles as I see his right hand behind his back. He never blinks.

Finally, Ronnie breaks the silence.

“I told the man his vacation was over and then he changed his shirt,” slurs Ronnie.

He was sleep walking. Again.  

They say you’re not supposed to wake up sleepwalkers; their bodies can’t take the shock.  The experts tell you to suggest they go back to bed. You’ve got to maintain an even keel, speaking just as calmly as they communicate with you.

“There’s the water!” exclaims Ronnie, his arm still residing behind him.

I clear my throat and decide how best to begin. I tell him that it’s cold out, that he needs his sleep for when we visit Grandma tomorrow. I tell him he’s a good boy and everything’s going to be okay. Everything is nice and warm inside the covers.

I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him or myself.

Ronnie flashes the blade from behind him. The knife glints in the hot moonlight. My hands tremor. Thoughts inundate my brain but I fail to grab onto the right one. Much like Ronnie, I’m paralyzed by forces far bigger than myself.

“R-ronnie. You have t-to p-pput that dd-own. Th-then we c-can go t-to bb-bed, ok-kay?”

His vacant stare gives no indication that he hears me. He remains upright but fluid. I’m talking to him and he can’t hear me. I’m doing what everyone tells me to do and it’s not fucking working. My breaths are short and I feel my legs tense up, just in case.

In my head, I hope that Ronnie somehow hears these thoughts.

To let me know if he’s okay.

His whole tiny 6 year old body jerks itself up on its tiptoes, suddenly raising the knife above his head and beginning to plunge it towards himself. His scream is beastial and it rattles the house, like a death howl. My legs snap straight and with both arms stretched, I wrap myself around him, pushing the knife upwards and away from him.

“THEY’RE TELLING ME THE RADIO’S INSIDE OF ME! I NEED TO CUT IT OUT! CUT IT OUT!”

I slam his hand down on the floor and the knife jumps out and away. I hold onto him, his arms flailing and catching me all over.  

His sheirks are guttural and feral, like sandpaper on skin.

I whisper into his thick head of hair that he’ll be ok. Salt sneaks passed my eyes and my heart tries to burst through my chest.  I’m hoping if I just hold on that he becomes too tired to fight. If he’s in my arms, he won’t be going through the kitchen cutlery.

I squeeze him tighter because it’s the only thing I can do.

And then he stops, like waking from a dream.

“Dd-dad?”

He begins to ball, his tiny little heart now matching mine, beat for beat. I hold him in my worn arms because I don’t know what other precaution to take. His pills don’t work and no alarm system can save him from himself.

From the things within his head.

And deep down I must have known it. I must have felt it. Like a reckless driver, I ignored all the road signs. Tonight’s head on collision shattered the glass through which I saw the world. I cradle my son and all I can do is tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t save him from what haunts him, protect him from what tortures him, and most importantly, save him from himself.  

I tell him he’s brave; I tell him this with the hope that he finds comfort in that.

I tell him what I’m not.

With the lights and the electrical hums silenced, the Maglite flickers twice and dies.

The hallway suddenly seems like an endless gaping mouths ready to swallow the two of us. The glow from the moon continues to sneak its way passed the shutters and settles against Ronnie’s pale complexion. He’s clammy and trembling from the ordeal, but Jesus Christ, he’s blinking again. The silence of the night returns but I now notice it has a life all to its own. The house creaks and calls for us, ready to gnash its teeth against our bodies with every loose floor board and ghost-like draft.  

As I sit there with my son, in a puddle of his urine, it hits me.

Any number of things are just waiting to snatch us all up.

***

#fiction