#anyways the plumber never showed up so i had to do his job and turn off the water valve

[nerpafied]

soda update: house flooded and i have become a novice plumber

[regular-lord-reckoner]

welp, we got scammed by a plumber today, lol

we suspected that we had a leak but our most recent ridiculous water bill confirmed that, so my mom reached out to a plumber to come out and take a look

one of the mechanisms inside the toilet on both mine and my mom's were broken so that was part of it, but there's also apparently a leak under the house as well

some guys came out to look at it and said they'd be back out to replace those parts and then get under the house and fix that one so okay, great

except when the guy shows up today he's like, "oh, the other guy actually fixed the one under the house when we were here last" which like...??? why didn't you just say that, then??

but okay, whatever, maybe it somehow slipped his mind?

in any case, our family friend went behind him today and pretty quickly realized he didn't replace any parts in the toilet at all and actually made the problem worse!!

all he did was turn the water down so that it didn't seem like it was leaking anymore so thank fuck for our friend who checked and then went to the store to get the parts and replaced them himself

he was watching him at one point but got distracted because he got an email about a job offer on his phone so he was trying to set up that interview and wasn't observing him as closely, but dude definitely just brought in pieces to supposedly replace the broken ones and yet it's still the same broken ones that are in the toilet; you can tell because they've got wear and tear damage and our family friend said that when he was looking at them in the store that the design doesn't even look like that anymore so...yeah. total shitshow.

i know at one point during both "repairs" he had to go out to his vehicle (which wasn't even a van or anything, it was a fucking mercedes sedan) to get something (and hilariously at one point he came back with a tool that was way too big for the job he was doing) so my guess is he just ditched the new parts back in his car right then and left the old ones in place and called it a fucking day assuming we wouldn't take the tank off and have a look for ourselves or that we wouldn't know the difference, i guess??

i also don't know what the fuck he did in my bathroom but my bath mat ended up soaked and he also grabbed one of my towels i had hanging up to mop up the rest and claimed it was "already there on the floor"

no the fuck it was not, but just goes to show how much of a liar this dude is (which as an aside like...you can use my towels, it's not really about that, it's just the audacity to lie like that when i know for a fact that fucker was hanging up on the door)

in any case, we've been blowing his shit up on yelp and wherever else and my mom knows people who are from where he is and would be delighted to tell everyone what a piece of shit he is and to not do business with him. i hope to god he never gets to rip another person off ever again

hilariously, their yelp page didn't have any reviews on it before today and when we mentioned that on the phone he claimed it was because he doesn't want to pay for them (as if he's sooooo honest he would never!!) but now since my mom left a review all of a sudden there's a bunch of reviews from i'm assuming his friends and family all like "great business, you guys helped a lot!!"

pretty sure you're not allowed to falsify reviews to boost your 1 star rating so i called that out in my own yelp review and now i'm not seeing those as recommended comments anymore and it's back to 1 star so...that's funny

anyway, i wish this bitch the absolute worst in life and best of fucking luck to you, dude, because if there's one thing my father couldn't stand in this world it was men who do shit like that.

and i know my dad's up to some shit in the afterlife as well because our family friend had some family he hasn't talked to in over a decade reach out to him out of the blue and it's been a really positive and good thing for him and it's just like...what are the chances, y'know? (and it wasn't like, "oh hey, man, haven't talked to you in a while!" it was like...a door that had closed that he never thought would open again and now it's just...wide open! thanks, dad :3)

a lot of good things have been happening to people he's cared about, actually, so i just cannot wait for this dude and his scam of a business go down in flames

makes me sick to my fucking stomach to think of how many people he's probably taken advantage of and who just didn't know any better. that trick he pulled on us probably would have worked until it inevitably got worse but that could take a while and by then we wouldn't automatically assume it was him but rather just our rotten luck, y'know? just absolutely despicable.

[sporco-filth]

slob sitcom

I've had this story idea thing for a sitcom where the main characters are slobs. it's like, a regular comedy show, right, but they all just happen to be slobs. i say that but most of the plot lines I've made up are sorta slob-related.

Anyway, here's the cast:

We have like the main four here, who each focus on a different aspect of slob.

Kyle: the gassiest one. He enjoys being rude and grossing people out. He’s a writer of a popular series of adult novels. Fed is his boyfriend.

Fed: the fattest one. He loves eating and makes lots of weird concoctions. He writes restaurant reviews for an online newspaper. Despite his strange tastes in food he is very discerning and a good cook in his own right. Kyle is his boyfriend.

Tom: the laziest one. Used to be a star athlete in high school. He is now a pro gamer. His hobbies include sleeping, watching TV and playing video games. He can fall asleep anywhere. He's lactose intolerant.

Felix: the messiest one. He’s a bit forgetful and clumsy. He’s a plumber who specialises in jobs most plumbers would deem too disgusting to handle.

then there's Kevin: the thin, clean guy who works part-time as the waiter at the local cafe and has dreams of becoming a chef. He has a crush on Felix. He starts out as a bit of a germaphobe and stuff but eventually relaxes things a bit. He gets embarrassed easily. (I love Kevin, he's my fave. low-key self-insert but not 100%)

i typically prefer guy-focused slob stuff but I like female characters so i had to include a few too:

Jessica: a pretty and clean girl when it comes to her appearance but her place is always a mess. Though she’s cute and all, she has some other slobbish tendencies and is a surprisingly loud belcher.

Amy: she’s a tomboy and can often out-slob the guys.

Brittany: the fattest of the girls. She’s sort of a generic slob type. I feel sorry for her because I sort of ran out of inspiration by this point and I'm not sure what else to add to her character.

And finally, Bob: the guy who owns the building. He’s kinda old and surly and is usually supposed to help around the place but he never does. He is a slob too and lets the others do as they please.

The main character has sort of ended up being Kevin, but it's only because he is the most fun to write since he's the 'normal' one and kinda the audience surrogate. and that's fun because he is always so weirded out by gross stuff (but also secretly turned on by it), but he's also really really embarrassed about sex stuff and learns to feel less ashamed thanks to meeting Felix and the rest.

[evafrechette]

I hope you're a plumber because you’ve got my pipe leaking

↠ seokjin x jungkook | smut | golddigger!jk, plumber!seokjin | 18+ | 3.8k

↠ Summary: Gold digger Jungkook is frustrated his decrepit husband can't give him good dick. Enter plumber Seokjin who is slightly oblivious to Jungkook's invitation for sex and just thinks the whole house has bad indoor plumbing if the constant calls to their office about a leaking pipe is to go by.

↠ Warnings: rimming, anal sex, creampie, cheating, butt plugs, size queen jk, bottom jk, top seokjin, loads of plumbing jokes, mario reference, spanking, anal play

↠ Written for the BTS Porn Cliche Fest ↠

Jungkook sighs as he plonks down onto the lush gold velvet Chesterfield sofa. His long blond hair falls into his eyes and he puffs it away dramatically. This wasn't how he pictured his life when he married one of the most powerful and rich men in the city. Jungkook thought it would be lavish cocktail parties, expensive cars, jet setting around the globe and attractive half naked pool boys. What he got was a grumpy elderly workaholic husband who forbids him from staying out late, a pool cleaner who looks like John Wayne Gacy and a husband who can't get his dick hard. At least he gets free reign of the black card!

He picks up the remote and points it towards the TV. The screen flicks on to loud moaning. It's a bondage scene - some skinny twink is tied up and a big burly leather clad man is thrusting into him at incredible speed. Jungkook yawns and changes the channel. He watched that one earlier in the day. He flicks unimpressively through various channels before deciding to turn the TV off. He's bored, SO bored. He hasn't had sex all week, he hasn't had GOOD sex in years. His husband needs help via a little blue pill to even get it up and since he has been too busy with a big case load at work recently Jungkook's been left to his own devices and he's starting to get antsy. Just then a brilliant idea pops into his head. A few weeks ago they had trouble with a clogged drain and the most beautiful man alive was sent to work on it. Jungkook remembers the way his broad shoulders strained under his work uniform, his big plush lips pouting as he concentrated, and those big feet. They were huge. Big feet, big cock as they say. And Jungkook was longing to find out if that was the case with the statuesque plumber. He rushes up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and flings himself into his husbands office. He skips over to the desk and throws open every drawer to find the address book containing the mystery plumbers number. "Ugh, where the hell has that old bastard put it..." Jungkook whines throwing important documents in the air. He continues searching drawers until he finds the book he was looking for. "Tada!! Okay, now to find his number." a giggle escapes his lips, Jungkook is euphoric. He knows his husband wouldn't be happy with his sinful plans, but that's what is making it all that much more tempting to him. Jungkook is being a little brat. He misses feeling like this. Married life has well and truly stifled his exuberance for life. He reaches over to the telephone on the desk and dials the number, but no one answers. He tries again and still no answer. He slams the receiver down and pouts, with his arms crossed in front of him. This is his punishment for thinking of fucking another man. Of course it would never happen, what was he even thinking? *ring ring* Jungkook eyes the phone suspiciously, has his husband somehow found out he's in his office and is ringing to yell at him? He quickly scans the room to spot any security cameras before picking up. "Hello yeah sorry I missed your calls, who is this?" "Who is this?" Jungkook enquired sceptically. "Uhh you rang me? Is this about a plumbing job?" Jungkook's eyes go wide, he's talking to handsome plumber, oh shit this is his chance. "Oh yes, sorry, Hi, yes we have a problem with the . .  . pipe, yeah the pipe under the sink. . um in the kitchen. There is water everywhere I don't know what to do.” "Okay, I'm actually not working tonight. . . " "OH NO PLEASE I need you . . uh I mean I need your help!" His eyes roll into the back of his head, he sounds like such an idiot right now. "Text me your address and I'll be there in about 40 minutes. This will be an after hours service so I have to charge more." "That's fine! That's okay, thank you so much." Jungkook hangs up and fist pumps the air then quickly sends his address to the man. His plan is in motion, now all he has to do is cause some damage.

He runs down the stairs and straight into the kitchen, his knee high socks helping him slide to the sink. He drops down onto his knees and throws the doors to the sink cupboard open. Jungkook knows absolutely nothing about plumbing, so he starts to unscrew whatever he can find. He stands back up and turns the faucet on then crouches back down to see if his wicked plan has worked. He can see a trickle of water escaping the pipe, but it's not enough so he unscrews it more. All of a sudden water is gushing everywhere. He thinks it's still not enough to have needed to call a plumber out (and he does have a flair for dramatics), so he grabs a bowl, fills it to the brim then splashes it all over the floor, he does it again this time splashing inside the cupboard. He stands back and takes a look at his handiwork. Not bad he thinks to himself. Jungkook runs to the laundry and grabs a few towels, placing them around the floor, to look as though he had attempted to clean the mess then scrampers his way to his bedroom to get ready. He removes his sweats and puts on a cute pair of pink panties, followed by an oversized hoody. He goes to head out the door when he stops and spins back around. He walks to his side of the wardrobe and brings out a purple box. Inside are a range of toys, but there is one in particular Jungkook is looking for. A black butt plug with a beautiful glistening pink gem. Before he puts the box away he grabs a bottle of lube and then makes his way to the bed to undress. He lubes up his fingers, reaches down and slowly inserts one inside himself, he pumps in and out a few times before adding another. He scissors his fingers, stretching himself out perfectly for the plug. He grabs the butt plug and slathers it with lube before pushing it into his pink hole. Jungkook let's out a small moan when it's in and pulls his panties back up. Just then he hears the door bell ring. Shit, has it been 40 minutes already?! He pops the lube into his hoody pocket, wipes his hands in the duvet cover then takes a quick look in the mirror, brushing down his long blond locks with his fingers before making his way down the stairs and towards the front door. Jungkook can feel his heart racing, he's starting to second guess himself now. What if Mr Plumber isn't even into guys? The doorbell rings again, so he takes a deep breath and opens the heavy front door. Jungkook looks around curiously, the man in front of him has a terrible fake moustache and is wearing some kind of costume. He's seen this costume before, but where exactly . . . oh that's right! "Uhhh, why are you dressed as Mario?" The taller man let's out a loud laugh before gesturing to be let in. Jungkook's cock is as confused as he is, but he steps aside allowing the man entrance. "I was at a fancy dress party when you rang. I didn't have time to get changed, is that okay? I mean, I am technically in a plumbers work uniform . . just not my own." Jungkook studies him. He's wearing a red shirt underneath blue overalls, white gloves, an oversized red hat and that hilarious fake moustache. He's such a beautiful man, that he even makes the costume look good. Jungkook never thought he'd ever get hard over someone wearing work overalls, but here he is, swelling up already. He coughs nervously, "No that's fine, sorry for calling on your day off but I just had no idea what to do, there is so much water everywhere." The plumber smiles "Which way to the leak?" Jungkook let's out a squeak and leads the man into the kitchen, he takes small deliberate steps, swishing his hips, looking back with an innocent smile. As they enter the plumber pops his toolbox down on the bench and crouches down to see the damage. "You know us plumbers always take our work very seriously. We plunge straight into it.” the laugh that follows is the cutest laugh Jungkook has ever heard, it reminds him of windshield wipers. He can't help but laugh at the cheesy joke. "I know a good plumbing joke." Jungkook exclaims. "Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.” his attention now solely on Jungkook. "I once gave a

carpenter, plumber and a bricklayer a hand job at the same time. I guess you could call me a Jack off all trades." The plumbers ears go red immediately and he turns his attention back to the sink. Jungkook groans quietly, that didn't go down well. He thought it was a fantastic joke too, one of his best. He leans over the bench and absentmindedly twirls his hair in between his fingers. The man is truly irresistible, his shoulders are so incredibly wide, arms toned, and he has a fantastic ass in those overalls. "So what's your name anyway?" Jungkook murmurs. "I'm Seokjin, you can just call me Jin though. And you are?" "Jungkook..." "Is your dad home? I've been here a few times before." "My dad? Ooohh you mean my husband, umm no he's at work. . . late .  . again." Jungkook huffs and throws his arms down on the bench, his head follows until his torso is leaning completely on the bench top. In this position his hoody rides up showing off the pale pink of his underwear. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jin peek before looking away. A smirk appears on Jungkook's face. "So tell me another joke! That was a good one before." Jin clears his throat "I knew a plumber that was working on the side to become an artist. Unfortunately, he couldn't find a faucet for his creativity." Jungkook let's out an over the top laugh which causes his ass to jiggle. That joke was incredibly lame, but clearly Jin is into this shit so he's gonna play it up. He slowly leans up from the bench and walks over to the fridge. "Would you like a drink?" "Water will be fine thanks, if you have it.” Jungkook reaches as far back into the fridge as he can, bent over in a way that isn't necessary, drinks are on the top shelf after all, but he wants to give the attractive man a little show. He walks over and holds out the bottle of water for Jin. When he grabs it their fingers touch gently causing one another to lock eyes. "Ya know, I've been doing this plumbing thing for years, I'm used to seeing all sorts of leaks. This one though is unusual.." "Hmm really? How?" Jin stands and places the bottle in the sink, he walks over to Jungkook and stands uncomfortably close to the blond. His breath warm against Jungkook's ear as he whispers. "Well I can tell someone got under that sink and loosened the locknut and coupling nuts and I'm thinking it may have been a certain someone parading around in hardly any clothes, showing off his pretty little ass at every chance." Jungkook's breath hitches in his throat, the man smells like beer and woody fig leaves and even with that ridiculous moustache on his face his entire aura right now is intimidating as fuck, and it's got Jungkook getting harder by the second. "Does your old man not treat his little boy toy right huh? I've seen you around whenever I've been called here for a job. Always checking me out, is that why you called tonight? To think I thought you just had really terrible plumbing here..." Jungkook can't even get any words out, so he just nods his head like some stupid dog toy you'd pop on the dash of your car. This causes Jin to laugh, his fingers tracing along Jungkook's jaw. He tilts the younger man's face up and smashes their lips together. The kiss is rushed and frenzied. Their teeth knock against each others and they are left panting, but it's perfect and Jungkook hasn't felt this alive in years. Jin's soft velvety lips brush against Jungkook's earlobe as he purrs "What do you want me to do?" "Whatever you want, please, anything." Jungkook tried to keep his voice steady, but it was no use, he was desperate to feel the attractive man inside him. "Anything?" Jin cocked his head to the side, a wicked smile planted on his face. "I want you up on the dining room table, on all fours," he clapped his hands together twice "Chop chop, let's do this. And take the panties off too.” Jungkook was too aroused to even question the strange request as he walked a little too eagerly through to the dining room. He quickly removed his panties then pulled back the dining room chair and used it to step up

onto the table. He got into position, his knees already aching a little as they dug into the wooden table top. He could feel the calloused hands of the plumber running over his soft ass, before a hard smack was heard echoing through the room. Jungkook yelped, not expecting to be spanked but it felt so fucking good, so he wiggled his ass in the air hoping Jin would get the hint and do it again. Jin got it alright, and gave Jungkook 5 hard smacks right across his left ass check. He could feel pre cum leaking from his hard cock pooling onto the table below and his face flushed red from embarrassment. He could feel Jin's hand on him again and braced himself for the next set of smacks, but instead his fingers lightly traced over the marks admiring his reddened handprint, slowly his fingers made their way to Jungkook's hole, where the plug was fully on display. He pushed on the gem causing Jungkook to let out a choked whimper. "Did you put this in just for me?" Jin queries as he slowly pulls out the plug before pushing back in, amazed at the way Jungkook's hole seemed perfectly made for the toy, stretching easily to fit around the the widest part and then sucking the rest in. "Y . . yes, for you." Jungkook gasped as Jin removed the toy completely leaving him feeling empty and open. He didn't have much time to get used to that feeling as Jin begin to kiss the back of his thighs, nipping and sucking sure to leave marks. His kisses trailed up to Jungkook's ass, lightly nibbling on each cheek. Jungkook was a mess already, panting and leaking pre cum, he so desperately wanted to reach between his legs and jerk himself off, but he wanted Jin to be the one to make him cum. Not his boring old, overly used hand. Jin spread Jungkook's ass cheeks apart and ran his tongue over his open hole. Jungkook's needy whining spurred him on, so he fucked his tongue deep into his ass. Jungkook was in ecstasy he'd never had anyone eat him out before. It was a feeling like nothing he had ever experienced, lost in the feeling he pushed his ass back onto Jin's mouth and begged the man go faster. Jin enthusiastically grabbed onto his ass and spread his cheeks even further apart as he added a finger beside his tongue, fucking Jungkook's ass in tandem. Jin removed his mouth from Jungkook's alluring hole, and continued to fuck him with his finger. "My mother always said you should eat every meal at the dining room table. And that was one of the best meals I've ever had." he casually removed his finger and watched as Jungkook's hole puckered open from the loss. He gave his ass a quick pat before standing back and getting undressed. Jungkook's knees were red and irritated from the pressure of being on the table, so he finally moved off his hands and knees and sat back on the table with his legs dangling over the side. His already big eyes went even wider when he saw the naked man in front of him. He was right, so fucking right. Jin was huge, massive, enormous, mammoth, super sized. It was the biggest fucking cock he had ever seen. "Why are you in plumbing? You should be in porn. Look at that thing!" Jungkook pointed directly at Jin's cock. A look of utter amazement on his face. "Why do you think plumbers and therapists make so much money?” "I have no idea?" He shook his head, blond hair flailing around his face. "Because no one else wants to deal with other peoples shit. Now lay back on the table for me will ya.” Jungkook didn't have to be asked twice, he pushed himself back and lay flat on the table, Jin sauntered over and pulled Jungkook down so they were flush with one another. Jungkook's entrance was shiny and wet from Jin's earlier tongue escapades, but he knew it might still not be enough, so he reached into his hoody and pulled out the lube. "Umm just in case." he shyly looked towards Jin who smiled affectionately and took the bottle from him. He squirted a generous amount over his hard cock and positioned himself against Jungkook's entrance. Jin pushed in slowly, allowing Jungkook time to adjust around his large size. He pulled out and

pushed back in again even slower this time, inch by inch stretching him out, making Jungkook feel so full he felt as though the room was spinning. Jungkook was speechless, he looked up at the exquisite man above him and decided he must have slipped on the wet kitchen floor, died and gone to heaven. He was being fucked by an angel with the biggest cock humanly possible. Trembling, shaky sobs left his chapped lips as the man thrust into him long and slow. Jungkook pushed down onto Jin to meet his thrusts hoping that the man would speed up a little, but Jin just grabbed onto his hips and held him down into place. He was truly at Jin's mercy. The two men were a sweaty, panting mess. The sound of their skin slapping against each other ricocheted around the dining room. Jin lifted Jungkook's right leg and hooked his foot over his shoulder. A bolt of heat shocked Jungkook's insides as Jin's cock hit his prostate over and over again with every thrust. "Oohh fuck, I'm gonna come." he cried out. Jin picked up the pace as his large hand curled around Jungkook's swollen cock, pumping him in time with his own thrusts. Jungkook's sensations were heightened the minute that tough-skinned fingers were being drawn up and down his length. He felt his balls tightening and knew that just a few more thrusts would be all it would take to reach his release. He closed his eyes tightly and let out a drawn-out needy moan as his cock pulsated in Jin's hand, spurts of his hot cum landing on his stomach and all over Jin's tight grip. Jin stopped his movement and allowed the younger man to come down from his high before he started to thrust even harder inside Jungkook's tight ass. Jungkook was oversensitive, his ass tightening with every twitch of Jin's cock inside of him. Jin didn't hold back though, thrusting hard and deep inside of him. "Ahhh fuck, you feel so fucking good, so tight on my cock." Jin grunts between thrusts. Jungkook's whines were stirring him on towards his own release. Jin grits his teeth and sweat drips down his forehead as he finally comes inside Jungkook's tight hole. He is absolutely spent and leans down to kiss the blond. Their kiss is weak and slow, but incredibly sensual. Their sweaty forheads bump which causes a giggle from both men. "Eww you're sweating on me.” Jungkook pouts. "Wow, you're worried about that? I just came in your ass! Speaking of . . " Jin reaches over Jungkook's head and grabs the butt plug, he slowly removes his sizable cock from the blonds ass and teases the plug around Jungkook's hole, watching as it flutters open and his cum start to freely drip out. He pushes the plug in easily, trapping his cum inside. "Since you clearly wanted me inside you for a while now, you can enjoy my cum in your ass when I'm gone." he playfully winks at Jungkook.

The two men get dressed, casting each other looks of utter fondness. They walk back into the kitchen and grab their long abandoned bottles of water. Jungkook gulps his down, not realising just how thirsty he was. He forgot that good sex can wear your ass out. What a workout, why would anyone go to a gym when you could just fuck instead? A noise from the foyer startles them both, it's the sound of the front door being opened and closed. Jin grabs his toolbox and looks at Jungkook nervously, the blond smiles sweetly at the plumber and whispers "Just follow my lead"

An older man with a full head of grey hair, deep wrinkles, glasses sitting atop of his wide nose and wearing an over sized suit ploddingly makes his way into the room. "Oh honey, it's so nice to see you I thought you'd be at work all night?" Jungkook says as he kisses his husband on the cheek. "Mm yes well, I got as much done as I could tonight. Did we have trouble with the plumbing again? Why is Mr Kim here . . dressed like that?" "Yes sir, sorry I was at a dress up party and didn't have time to change. Your kitchen sink had a leak. It was an easy fix though, took only 10 minutes or so. I'll email through an invoice first thing on Monday morning.... Okay, I better go now." he tensely glances in Jungkook's direction. "Let me walk you out." he smiles back sweetly. When they reach the door Jungkook looks back to make sure he's not being watched by his doddering husband before he leans in and kisses Jin chastely on the cheek. "We should do this again next weekend, maybe the pipes in the pool house will unexpectedly play up hmm?" Jin flashes him a ravishing smile and winks at him as he exits the mansion. Jungkook watches Jin's enticing firm ass walk back to his car and feels the stirring of butterflies in his belly. He's starting to get feelings for a plumber with a terrible sense of humor but with a cock so large it should be illegal. He chuckles to himself as he closes the door, his entire night could be the storyline of some cheesy C grade porno film. But he can't wait to experience it all over again next weekend.

[labelleizzy]

Go. Fix things.

Six screenshots of a Facebook post by Meagan MvGovern:

Text ID:

I grew up in rental houses. Dozens of them. We never fixed anything, and I didn't know you *could* fix anything.

But when we got married, Mark owned his house, and when I moved in I was gobsmacked. This wasn't a rental! You could hang up pictures with nails? Buy new carpet? Get new flooring? Fantastic!

But when Mark went to replace rotten siding on the house, I was *horrified*. I couldn't believe that he'd do something like that to our house, that he wouldn't call a repairman. How could he know how to fix a HOUSE? A house is a specialized thing and needs a fixer.

But Mark ripped out the siding, and put in new siding, and painted it, and it looked just fine.

And then we needed a new hot water heater. And Mark took a saw to OUR PIPES IN OUR HOUSE. I was convinced he'd be dead and the house would be flooded. He pointed out that he was an engineer who designed the water systems at chemical plants and might know what he was doing. I wasn't convinced. But we had a new hot water heater in a couple of hours, without a plumber.

And so I watched Mark fix stuff over the years, but I didn't get how to do it.

I couldn't get the hang of the tools. I wanted to try carpentry, but I sucked at it. I tried fixing a few things, but didn't know how.

My dad was great at carpentry, but he left by the time I was ten, and all I knew from him about carpentry was that it was a mystical skill like glassblowing that you did as a way to show off your talent and you needed special tools and training. He liked to talk about how you had to hammer in a nail in three blows, and how the right hand tools made all the difference.

And whenever I tried to fix anything, it was all wrong. This wasn't meant for me. The tools were too heavy. I was too short for everything. I couldn't get crowbars to work. I couldn't lift the circular saw to go where I wanted it. Drills stripped out everything I tried. Nails bent, every time.

I couldn't keep track of tools, and they didn't work right anyway.

And then, slowly, I realized that the reason these tools didn't work for me is because they weren't built for me.

No, I can't use screwdrivers and hammers very well. And drills are heavy. And circular saws are way too big for my hands. And everything I want to do is always about a foot above where I can comfortably reach. Everything is awkward and hard.

And I started to see that it really is the tools, not the user. One year I got a set of lightweight, small, cordless DeWalt tools for Christmas and it changed everything.

I had a circular saw that fit my hands! One that was light enough to use everywhere, and that I didn't have to lug around extension cords for, and that I could take inside and outside for jobs.

And it turns out that you don't have to hammer in nails for every job.

You can get a thing called a driver, that's really a fancy cordless drill, but it screws in screws for you and has interchangeable bits and you can do huge amounts of work in a fraction of the time it takes to screw around with a hammer and nail.

If you get a good stepladder, all of the sudden, that screw that won't go in? It goes in like magic. You just have to know where to stand and when you're in the right place, it all works.

And there are Youtube videos for EVERYTHING, and they show you how to do it, and while sure, there is a guy who will mansplain everything to you at every hardware store, every single time, there are also a whole lot of men who listen to what you're asking, give you pretty decent advice, take you seriously, and show you exactly what you need to get the job done -- especially if you've watched enough Youtube videos so you know the right terminology and know what to ask for and how to explain what you're looking for.

People who I've asked for help with design, planning, and with tools have been patient, kind, and eager to help someone learn the skills needed to do the job.

And now I have a cordless driver, drill, and circular saw, all sorts of bits and batteries, a jigsaw, a weird tool that hammers nails into concrete with small explosions, a table saw (this one still scares me, TBH, and I avoid it, and there's no "small/inexperienced-person friendly" version of a table saw -- it's just a scary beast,) and about ten measuring tapes and squares because I lose them ALL THE TIME.

Mark does plumbing and electric.

I do all carpentry and painting.

And in the last two years, I've remodeled a storage room in my basement into a huge pantry, added a closet to the basement bedroom, put in French doors to replace sliding doors (this was a fail and they don't work right and might have to be redone but they work better than the sliding doors did!), put in vinyl flooring in two rooms in the basement, replaced the windows in the basement, took up carpet in the hallway and put down hardwood flooring, and then took up carpet on the stairs and put down oak treads.

Two years ago I couldn't run a saw.

And now I've rebuilt a barn.

Go get tools that work for you.

Use ladders to reach where you need so you can see things clearly. Having the right angle and the right perspective is everything.

Don't let tools made for other people keep you from fixing up your life to be the way you want it to be.

Go get the tools you need to do the job right, instead of thinking you're not the right person for the job.

Go fix things.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

it’s a fucking metaphor!

Titans 3.08

i’ve finally gathered the mental and emotional resources to do this thing, so let’s go! as always, i’m typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. on watching this opening scene, i was thinking back to how gar was in s1, or even the early bits of s2. the way he idolised the others, particularly dick, and his readiness to go along with whatever they said, and the way he practically bled the need for acceptance. and here he is now, openly defying dick, fully open to and aware of the flaws of the people he loves and admires, knowing he is accepted no matter what and extending that generosity elsewhere. it’s a remarkable bit of character growth that’s... sort of blossomed in the background and so rewarding to see and acknowledge. 

1.25. i guess what i really love about this conflict over how to respond to jason--as clumsily as it is sometimes written--is how their histories and individual traumas inform each character’s reaction. dick is torn between his guilt over what’s become of jason and his drive to do what batman had essentially given up on doing: he is motivated to track down red hood at all costs but there’s a sense that he’s not completely sold on the idea that the only way to stop him is to kill him. (he might go the comics route and try to put him in arkham? god, imagine if the season ended with jason in arkham.) kory’s never had much of a connection with jason in the first place, and jason has done one of the worst things he could do in her book: track and kill a member of her newfound family and is threatening to kill more. 

and gar... sure. look. the idea of jason and red hood as separate entities appeals to him; that red hood emerged when jason was drugged to the gills by scarecrow and lost his usual inhibitions. gar’s struggled with what he becomes when he’s pushed to his limits, too--he did rip open that experimenting scientist with his teeth way back in 1.07, after all, and he was brainwashed by cadmus in s2 into becoming a literal monster. he needs to think, to know, there’s a dichotomy, a line that can only be crossed under extreme duress or by outside influence. 

and he says--and we say--that he was accepted back into the titans in spite of what he’d done, but was he really? gar’s always struggled with his footing in this group; relegated to the caretaker, the tech guy, the gatekeeper, and sometimes punching bag even though everybody’s paying lip service to how much of a family they all are. perhaps gar reaching out to jason and offering acceptance is aspirational on his part: perhaps this is the effort he hoped the titans put/or will put into getting gar back, even when it would seem like he’s too far gone.

1.5. anyway my point is that i don’t think it’s worth discussing this in terms of right/wrong decisions because all of their reactions make a lot of sense given their backgrounds/personalities. gar is doing a fine job here of tracking down jason’s friends and trying to find him that way, but we the audience know that jason is ultimately going to end up an anti-hero/eventually-hero character, so with that knowledge in mind we know that gar’s reaction is the right one. it’s knowledge that the other characters don’t have, so to judge them on it is... uh, unfair.

1.8. also, molly is awesome, yay!

2. dick and barbara flirting over the phone is so cute! i love to see this side of dick: lighter, peppier, willing (even if somewhat reluctantly) to put his mission aside to go out on a date with his girlfriend. and i love how easy this makes his dynamic with kory too: it’s all very domestic and utterly delightful. 

(also, re: the water leak in barbara’s office--you’re saying GCPD could afford fancy-schmancy table-wide touch screen computers and evil-lair lighting but needs its frickin’ commissioner to catch leaking water from above her desk with mugs and fishbowls????)

2.2225. this is probably a teeny tiny thing and i’m not sure i want to bring it up at all BUT. the fact that dick feels compelled to lie to barbara about not liking fancy gala food and eating something more substantial before the date? not a terribly great sign, though i wouldn’t call it a red flag per se. 

“this from a man who forced his students to eat cauliflower crust pizza...”

3. so.... conner and kom are a Thing. huh.

in theory i really like the idea of them bonding over an innate alien-ness and longing for a place they could really belong. both of them are alien twice-over: conner a mix of kryptonian and human, practically generated in a test tube, and kom being somebody that was born different and rejected by her own people, now stuck on a planet dominated by an entirely different species. i even like them exploring this bond physically. i guess it’s the sense of... uneasiness around what we do and don’t know about kom that makes this scene land slightly left of centre to me. i think titans, especially through s2, has cultivated in its audience a sense of distrust even until the final episode, just in case somebody vital to the season is suddenly revealed to have had ulterior motives (i’m even low-key suspicious of leslie). i really want to see this kom-conner dynamic play out but the anticipation of watching the other shoe drop is sucking out the enjoyment.

4. for fuck’s sake dick, gar’s not your gatekeeper.

TIIIIIIIIMMMMM \O/

4.5. i love this nod to tim’s origins in the comics, the way he just comes in and lays out all his evidence and makes it clear to dick that he needs tim’s help as robin. the fact that he was there at the flying graysons’ last performance, he was obsessed with their acrobatic moves, and was observant enough to connect those moves with that of robin and later nightwing... all of this came together to put him where he is right now.

(i also love how he can’t contain his giddy excitement when talking about the day dick grayson’s parents died... to dick grayson. even if dick weren’t nightwing, that would be a deeply uncomfortable thing! yet tim can’t help himself, and i love him for it.)

4.8. it’s a testament to how much dick’s caught off-guard that he can’t come up with a better response to tim’s allegations other than “uh... he stole my moves! as you know, no two gymnasts in the world are allowed to do the same moves. now, let me escort you out while pretending poorly that i’m not at all shaken by this...”

4.9. i’ve talked about this before, but i find the logic around secret identities in this universe utterly fascinating. the titans don’t make much effort in keeping their identities secret: everybody seems to know that kory is starfire for instance, or that gar is beast boy. dick grayson is seen hanging out with kory a lot, especially at crime scenes. it won’t take a lot of sleuthing to find out that the titans are currently camped out at wayne manor, and to put two and two together.

my theory was that superheroes and villains have become such an integral part of daily society that it’s almost not worth it to seek out their secret identities, or that it’s just not a big deal anymore. like politicians or diplomats, not everybody bothers to look into who exactly their local politician is, but the people who know just... know. it’s a sort of unspoken social contract.

tim’s broken this contract by confronting dick about his identity, and dick’s not ready to deal with it. not entirely.

look at him! *pinches his cheeks*

5. ngl, it was quite satisfying to see jason knock the scarecrow out like that. 

5.5. i guess... the question of jason’s culpability is always going to be a thorny one and would make for a great courtroom drama spinoff. there are a number of factors to consider: jason’s personality, the rough circumstances under which he grew up, his undoubtedly stressful transition to being robin, bruce wayne being... well, bruce wayne, never feeling accepted by the titans and having most of them turn on him, being roundly defeated and almost killed by deathstroke, alfred’s death, a fuckload of ptsd, his violent death, crane’s manipulations, coming back to life, crane plying him with a drug. but there is no easy line to draw between any of these factors to his actions. i think it would be a disservice to jason’s character to attribute his actions entirely to these things and rather irresponsible to do so. i think jason has to reckon with the fact that when he took crane’s drug, he wasn’t reckless and chaotic like the thugs he gave it to; the planning that went into hank’s death was meticulous and the way hank died--dawn essentially tricked into pulling the trigger that blew her lover into bits--is so drawn out and cruel. 

5.75. it’s occurring to me that crane might have given jason a placebo. maybe jason’s dependence is psychological, and he’s externalised his fears in such a way that he believes crane’s drugs literally wipe them out, however temporarily.

in any case, the boy needs (more) therapy.

6. “he walked like robin...” fuck, tim

“gait recognition sweep” god, this show. i don’t know whether to laugh or cry. hey, once we’re done doing this gait recognition thingy, can we get a goddamn plumber in the house??? or move the commissioner’s desk so that sewage water isn’t dripping on her head or the million dollar touchscreen desk???????

6.5. oh no dick!!!!!! i am delighted that you got hurt but i feel ashamed about it! that looked like it really hurt!

he’s really not having a good time of it, is he. from being shot by a sniper to slamming at full speed into an suv, he’s got to be really fucking battered by now. and that’s just the physical side of it.

“can you believe that just over a week ago i was sitting in san francisco eating cauliflower crust pizza and feeling good about myself for the first time in five years...”

7. kory’s having visions again! now that she’s figured what they are, do you think the show’s just dropped justin? it’s curious that HPG hasn’t been brought up in a while after featuring relatively heavily in the beginning. hmmm.

8. dick’s in hospital but... he looks remarkably whole for someone who took a spill like that. you’d think he’d at least have a bruise to show for it. on the other hand, i love that the first thing he says is ‘i need to call home’. reminds me of season 1 dick and his clumsy attempts to explain away his found family as an ‘alliance of necessity’ or some bullshit. what a long way he’s come!

*gasp* dick’s hallucinating again!!!!!!!!!!!! i’m doing the dick’s hallucinating dance! can you believe that we’re carrying over these huge honking issues unearthed in season 2 onto season 3? can you believe?!!! all that time and effort i spent talking about dick’s mental health from last season has not gone in vain!!

... ahem. anyway. more on this later.

“hold on barbara, i think kory gave me the number to this therapist that she kept calling Hot Psychiatrist Guy...”

9. just an interlude to say that i’m barely halfway through the episode and i’ve already written 2k+ words... ugh. i’m going to try and be more concise.

10. man i fuckin love it when titans goes all out with its weird mindscapes and i’m extra glad that kory’s the focus this time. is that baby kom or maybe a secret sibling that neither of them knew about? was that lady luand’r? and is this place where kory was circling where the secret sibling is? it’s all very intriguing. 

(if justin turned out to be that sibling... we’ve a real luke/leia situation on our hands.)

11. aw, i knew that nice security guard was going to die, but it still hurt to see him go :(

12. this show is so bizarre. like i get the mindscape as a narrative device, but jason using sex workers to try and vocalise his guilt about killing hank was just weird. like. i have to use tamil, sorry: idhulaan yaaru pa room pottu yosikara??? some things just can’t be translated into a second language.

i guess one way to interpret jason’s reckoning with what he did to the titans as a sign of him coming off crane’s drug, but i think it’s more to do with the disillusionment of realising that he was a mere pawn in a more sinister plan, and not, as he thought, a player in control of his destiny, rising to the purpose of liberating gotham of its fears in a way batman never could. along the way, he’s done some truly irreversible damage. it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

13. another hallucination! it’s really intriguing that it’s a young dick(?), younger than we’ve ever seen him, wearing an early-era robin costume from way before he even became robin. (this is also interesting in that it gives credence to the idea that ‘robin’ is an identity that dick created entirely on his own, and as a possible homage to his family.)

“old road, old house... it’s all gone.” i wonder what it all means.

13.5. it’s entirely likely dick’s hallucinating because of a brain injury from the accident, though just hallucinations without any other focal neurological deficit is unusual. he might’ve been microdosed with fear toxin at some point, though i wonder when... did jason do so after dick’s accident? did he get dosed at the factory from last episode? 

it’s also possible it’s a continuing manifestation of dick’s issues from last season--which, if you remember, he never told anyone about and therefore never properly addressed. maybe he was hallucinating bruce wayne in a psychotic episode accompanying an acute stress reaction and maybe that’s what’s happening now. nobody’s denying that he’s under an extraordinary amount of stress right now. another way to look at it is that this is how he externalises conflict that he can’t bear to suppress anymore; if in s2 halluci!bruce manifested his insecurities and self-loathing, then these hallucinations... something to do with his fears, no doubt.

yet ANOTHER way to look at it might be: rachel is reaching out to him through their, well, psychic bond. after all, they were able to use that bond unconsciously last season to get the titans back together; maybe rachel has learned to gain a degree of control over it in themyscira and is sending across warnings? it’s all very intriguing.

anyway:

“i hear you skipped over the discowing suit in your evolution to nightwing... how could you??”

14. can you imagine, gar did all the work of reaching out to jason via molly and jason wants to meet dick? smh.

14.5. “i’m just a regular guy doing regular things” he says, standing at the opening of a secret old tunnel, like a secret person doing secret things, confronting someone who can now officially be called his stalker. neither of you guys are ‘regular’

14.8. ‘my dad was a cop and he taught me how to investigate’ - hmmm. i guess they’re trying to Explain Tim but i don’t think that’s really necessary. so he’s smart and he’s obsessed with batman and robin--that should be enough, imo. 

15. that scene with scarecrow and his mother was... wow. i’m just laughing here helplessly, because what the hell? for a while i thought it was an extended dream sequence and i’m still not entirely sure that it isn’t...

anyway. i still love that titans is happy to throw out its plot in favour of extended character-exploration sessions.

15.5. it seems to me that this scene with crane and his mother (i have no idea if there’s anything in the comics similar to this) serves to move forward this season’s theme of harmful legacies and how parents can damage their children in the name of their mission. in a way it’s been the underlying message of the entire show but we’re really seeing it being reinforced this season. the titans, serving as a foil to scarecrow, are using the damage to rebuild themselves and actually work through their issues together, instead of spiralling further and further into the morass of their issues.

other than that... god, that scene was painful to watch. i can’t say i like this version of scarecrow or how this actor plays him at all.

16. i wonder what’s jason’s play here. i think he’s smart enough to realise that the titans aren’t going to just forgive him and let him be a titan again after what he did, and that dick agreeing to it is just a bid to pin both him and crane down. maybe it’s a ploy to trap them, get back on scarecrow’s good books so that he can have the drug again. who knows.

17. i absolutely felt dick when he said “we’ll bring him in and then re-assess the situation.” what the fuck else is he going to say? the priority is to get him.

so kory and dick are both hallucinating while potentially trying to rehabilitate their murderous siblings. CONFIDE IN EACH OTHER ALREADY

18. TIM NOOOO! you beautiful, reckless fool!

18.25. just to quickly address it here because i know it’s been brought up before: i think it’s perfectly justified to not have conner take tim to the hospital via superspeed because a) i don’t think we’ve seen conner do that with anybody so far and b) it’s probably not a good idea to submit tim’s body to that kind of stress without knowing what it would do to him. the paramedics with actual equipment and experience would be there in a few minutes, so on a risk assessment, i would say dick and conner absolutely made the right call.

18.5. i guess we won’t know what jason really intended to when the titans came to the pump to see him, but this is definitely going to set a big wedge in his relationship with crane. then again, crane got what he wanted--using starfire’s powers to blast through to the underground pipes--so jason can argue that this is exactly what he was working towards, too. 

anyway, mortal peril, hallucinations, murderous family members, creepy visions and robins sprouting left and right. time to get rachel and donna on the scene, i think.

[let-it-raines]

What a Lie We’re In (1/3)

All Emma was doing was trying to be nice. Her roommate didn’t have anywhere to go, so she invited him home for the holidays. She thought it would be fine and Killian would be a good buffer for a week at home with her parents. That is until her ex-boyfriend showed up, and while she was freaking out, Killian told him they were dating.

That would have been fine except her parents overheard it.

(A Christmas Fake Dating AU)

Rating: Mature 

a/n: What? A holiday fake dating story? So original, you say? No one has ever done it before? Especially not me. lol. Forget all of that, and let’s jump into this trope-a-palooza of a holiday story!

Big thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over this and convincing me that I still know how to write ❤️

ao3: | HERE |

-/-

“Did you eat all of my candy?”

Emma opens another cabinet, looking inside to the wine glasses and tumblers, before closing it. She’s been keeping her bag of candy in the cabinet where they keep their plates and bowls, hidden at the very top behind some reusable water bottles. Killian is a healthy eater, always stocking the fridge with fruits and vegetables and food she doesn’t think is actually real food, so she didn’t think she had to hide her junk food that well.

Hide it, yes. Hide it well, no.

Until now.

“What was that, love?”

Emma slams another cabinet closed and turns to look at Killian. He’s walking out of the bathroom, chest still damp, and only has a white towel wrapped around his waist. When he first moved into the apartment six months ago after Ruby abandoned Emma to go live with Dorothy (live with, get married to, same thing), Emma was taken aback by the lack of clothes wearing Killian partakes in. He’s an attractive man. She’s not blind. He goes to the gym as often as she does, but mostly, he spends a lot of time doing heavy lifting at his job as a contractor since he apparently likes to be hands-on, literally. His body is toned, and the son of the bitch knows it. He also knows he’s got the face to be able to get away with a lot of…well, a lot.

At first, it was all disconcerting, but now, he could walk around with his dick out and Emma wouldn’t care.

What she cares about is where her candy is. That’s the real priority. But she knows Killian will try to use his lack of clothes to distract her. Never worked in the past, not gonna work now, bud.

“My candy,” Emma repeats. “Where is it?”

He wipes behind his ear with the small towel in his hand. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. You don’t like the good candy.”

“Well, my good candy has been moved, and we’re the only two people who live here.”

Emma places her hands on her hips, staring him down hoping he will somehow be intimidated by her stare and fess up to everything. He won’t be, but Emma can try. They both have their tactics.

Killian clicks his tongue. “What about the fellow you brought home last week?”

“Do you mean the plumber?”

“Was that who he was?”

“You know I don’t bring guys back here.” Emma moves from the counter and opens the fridge, taking out a handful of grapes from the fridge. She probably needs to eat some of them and not candy anyway. As she pops one into her mouth, that’s when it clicks. “Your girlfriend ate my candy, didn’t she?”

He scoffs and keeps drying his hair, but she sees the way he scratches his ear. Gotcha, Jones. “I don’t believe I have a girlfriend.”

“What? Tink break up with you because you wouldn’t let her eat dessert on your dates? Wait, I heard it. Don’t make it dirty.” Killian walks toward her, getting in her space, and she knows him well enough to know he wants her to flinch, to move, to stop her line of questioning. That’s exactly why she doesn’t want to. Emma pops another grape in her mouth. “Did you eat my candy? Was it your way of wallowing? It’s okay if you did. I’ll take another bag for payment.”

“For your information, Swan,” he whispers as he places his hand on her hip, “we are no longer seeing each other, but it was mutual. She did, however, eat your candy when she was last here. If you really want to know, we used it to – ”

“Stop,” Emma groans, pushing him away and running to the other side of the kitchen. “Nope. Don’t take that any further. Some things should be left private.”

His head tilts back as he laughs, the underside of his jaw black with stubble, and then he’s reaching into the cabinet above the fridge and tossing her the bag of sweets.

Oh.

“I hid it after Will and Rob found it while we were playing cards last night. Will nearly went through all your milk duds before I realized what was happening.” He raises his brow. “You have something you want to say to me?”

Emma knows what he’s aiming for, and she isn’t going to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Emma says, “you need a thicker towel. I don’t think you want people seeing you when you look like…that.” She nods her head down and then picks up a handful of Kit Kats. “I gotta go to work.”

“Off to die inside at your cubicle, love?”

“Oh, you know it.”

Emma grabs her purse and unlocks the door only to hear Killian speak. “It’s December. How do you still have Halloween candy leftover?”

Emma shrugs. “I bought one bag to pass out to kids, two bags for me.”

“Bloody brilliant.”

“I do what I can. See you tonight. I’ll try not to wake you up from your nap when I come in.”

“That would be the least you could do.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but then she’s officially walking out the door of her apartment and down toward the elevator, a Kit Kat bar hanging out of the side of her mouth.

The thing about Killian Jones is that he’s simple to her.

He likes his friends, his job, his rum, and his women. There’s not much else to him, and Emma is okay with that. While her last roommate was her best friend, this one doesn’t have to be. He can just be a guy who pays the bills so she can keep living in a nice place and who, on occasion, talks shit about other people with her while they binge watch TV.

That’s all she needs.

And all and all, Killian Jones is a…fine roommate. Yeah, fine is an accurate way to describe him at least eighty percent of the time.

Even if she does get annoyed when he brings his dates home. But that’s only because it’s always on the nights she plans on going to bed early, and the noise of other people being around keeps her from catching up on sleep.

Emma is not one to mess around on sleep.

But yeah, he’s fine. Annoying as hell over half the time, but he’s fine in the small dosages she sees him in. He works odd hours, isn’t always on the job, and she is stuck with regular hours in her office. There’s not a lot of glory in working HR for a small engineering company, but that’s what happens when you make dumbass decisions like Emma did. She’s lucky she has a stable job. She’ll try not to complain too much about it.

That’s what she tells herself every morning when she sits in her car and stares at the drab brick building.

Money. She has to make money.

And hey, she gets almost an entire week off for Christmas next week, and that’s fucking incredible, even if she does have to spend it in her hometown with her parents and their Hallmark-like attitude toward the holiday and the events it puts on. Her mom is a teacher at the elementary school and produces the Christmas play every year while her dad is a vet and outfits all his patients in little holiday bandanas and bows. He even has a tree in his office decorated with bone ornaments.

It’s…a lot. But it’s family, and as Emma stares at this building that’s sucking the life out of her, she can’t wait to have a change of pace and some home-cooked meals, even if there are as many downsides as upsides to going home. Her Kit Kat bars aren’t giving her the nutrients she knows she needs.

Being an adult is not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes, especially when going home for the holidays is seen as more of a burden than a gift with a fancy bow on top. It’s more like that turkey that dries up and falls to pieces in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

Well, that and the squirrel crashing every decoration in the house.

Happy holidays.

-/-

“Nah, mate, I don’t have any plans.”

Emma quietly puts her keys down on the table next to her front door, laying her purse down with it, and she kicks her boots off until they topple over each other and lay in the middle of the hallway. She can hear Killian talking, and it gets even louder when she walks into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker.

“No, no, well, you know, I rarely do anything, not since Liam.” There’s a pause as the coffee begins to percolate and Emma grabs another Kit Kat from her bag. “I went home with Milah once, but that was years ago…no, mate, it’s alright. I don’t mind staying here by myself…yeah, I think Emma is going home to her parents.”

And that’s when she realizes what Killian is talking about.

Christmas plans.

He doesn’t have any. Emma didn’t know that. She didn’t really bother to ask. She doesn’t bother to ask much of Killian. She picks up pieces here and there, as she’s sure he does to her, but they mind their own business.

He doesn’t have a family to go home to? She knows he’s originally from England, but still. There must be someone.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Killian says. “I promise if I need anything, I’ll let you know. Alright, bye Scarlet.”

The coffee finishes, and Emma picks the pot up and starts pouring, filling her large mug halfway before getting hazelnut creamer out of the fridge and making the coffee drinkable. Killian joins her in the kitchen and perches himself on one of their stools.

“Good day at work?” he asks.

“Eh, it was a day. You?”

He shrugs. “The same. I’m finishing up on this house tomorrow, hopefully, so tomorrow will be a good day.”

Emma nods and sips on her coffee as Killian taps his fingers on the counter, the rhythm the same as the song he usually hums when cooking. “So, when are you heading for Storybrooke?” he asks.

“Monday after work.” Killian nods and keeps tapping his fingers, and Emma, stupidly opens her mouth because despite what her exes have told her, she does apparently have a heart. “If you don’t have any plans and have off work, you’re welcome to come with me. My parents are always thrilled to welcome more people. Just be prepared, it’s like a Hallmark movie up there.”

His eyes widen, the blue lighting up, and his upper lip starts to quiver, laughter very obviously waiting to break through. Dammit, why the hell did she decide to be nice? This is going to give him all of the wrong ideas.

“Why, Swan,” he smirks, leaning forward and resting his chin in his propped-up hand, “are you inviting me home for the holidays with you? You’ve been harboring a crush this entire time, haven’t you? I can’t say I’m surprised. I see the way you look at me when I finish up in the bathroom. Don’t be ashamed of it. Most women find me attractive.”

Emma flicks Killian’s forehead, and really, he should be thrilled she didn’t dump her hot coffee on his lap like she wanted to.

“I was just trying to be nice. You didn’t have to be an asshole about it.” Emma rolls her eyes and turns on her heels to walk away. She is going to her room. She doesn’t have to put up with his shit. “Forget I even offered.”

“Wait, wait, Swan.” Emma’s shoulders tense, and she doesn’t turn around. “Are you serious about your offer?”

“I mean, it would have some conditions in that you are a slightly less obnoxious version of yourself, but yeah, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can come home with me.”

“I’d like that.” Emma twists around, trying to size him up, and for once, everything seems genuine. “I have a condition as well.”

Idiot. “What could your condition possibly be?”

He winks, and she already knows this is going to have her eyes rolling so far into the back of her head they get stuck there. “Don’t go falling in love with me.”

What a cheesy ass sarcastic line.

“In your dreams, Jones.”

What the hell has she gotten herself into? This is absolutely the last time she lets her conscience guilt her into doing something nice. Emma was already going to be miserable, but now she’s miserable with a buffer.

At least her mom will be happy getting to go into hostess mode.

-/-

In the days leading up to them leaving for Storybrooke, Emma convinces herself Killian is going to back out of the trip. He’ll realize this is awkward and not a good idea. They live together, sure, but they don’t actually know each other. They’re not close friends.

But Killian never backs out. Instead he asks her things like what the weather is like there, if her parents drink wine, if he needs to bring his own bedding. He asks a million questions a day, and they continue when they’re in her bug making the drive from Boston to Storybrooke. He wants to know what her parents do for a living, what their hobbies are, pretty much everything someone needs to know when they’re about to spend half a week in the house of strangers.

Strangers who don’t actually know they’re having someone stay at their house to awkwardly sit on the sidelines as Emma’s family celebrates the holidays and has their usual holiday arguments.

Yeah, Emma didn’t ever tell her parents Killian was coming. She knows her mom well enough to know the moment Emma mentioned bringing someone home, her mom would have stopped listening before Emma could explain that it was just her roommate. It would have been this whole big thing, and Emma knows she can handle explaining it better in person when she can snap her mom out of getting excited about nothing.

Plus, who doesn’t want a Christmas surprise?

(Emma doesn’t.)

After Killian stops being one of those obnoxious kids who never stops asking questions, they sit in relative silence for the car ride, music entertaining them, and little by little, cities fade away and more trees pop up, evergreen forests surrounding them. It’s always the sign for Emma that she’s leaving her life and going back to her old one.

That and the “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign.

Everything about the town is the same. The buildings are small and kind of dingy downtown, and when she passes Granny’s, she bets those onion rings are the same too. God, she hopes they are. This is probably the only thing that can get her through this week. She should have texted Ruby and made sure her grandmother hadn’t changed any of the recipes. If she had, Emma definitely would have stayed home.

People walk down the sidewalk all bundled up in their coats and scarves, saying hello and chatting with others they pass. It’s the opposite of Boston where Emma can go her entire day without having to say hello to someone, and a little shiver runs down her spine at the thought. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible and to the isolation of her parents’ farmhouse, even if that presents her a new set of problems.

Storybrooke, Maine is, decidedly, not Emma’s favorite place for a hell of a lot of different reasons.

Killian, though, seems to be taking it all in with the wonder and confusion of someone who has never lived in a small town like this and who is a bit shell-shocked.

Get used to it, buddy.

“Oh, hey, one more thing,” Emma sighs as she pulls up to her parents’ street a few minutes later. “My real last name is Nolan. I changed it after high school, so my parents’ names are Nolan. The whole ‘Swan’ thing is a sticky situation for them even though it’s my mom’s maiden name.”

Killian’s eyes narrow, and she has definitely shared too much about herself now. “Am I allowed to ask or…”

“No. just try not to call me ‘Swan’ around them.”

“Whatever your heart desires, love.”

Emma slows down as the road turns from paved to loose gravel leading up to their driveway. There are several cars parked alongside it, and either they now own extra cars or her parents have friends over. Great. Just what she needed. Other people around when she’s coming home and surprising her parents with a guest. At least Killian will likely be that buffer she keeps hoping he’ll be.

They get out of her car, and Emma pops the trunk for them to get their bags. Killian grabs the bigger ones despite her arguing with him about it, but she’s fine to just carry her purse and the bag with presents. Emma closes the trunk, slamming it shut, and squares her shoulders.

This is fine. This is all fine.

Until ten steps later, it’s not.

Her parents have this incredible wraparound porch with swings and rocking chairs, and sitting in one of them is Neal Cassidy.

What the hell?

She doesn’t…she can’t…why is he here? He has no right to be here, no business being here, and seeing his face makes her want to vomit.

It makes her want to cry, too, but Emma can’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she’d like to sink into the dirt and never emerge again.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles, stopping and turning toward Killian who is looking down at her with an arched brow. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?”

God, she can’t believe she has to tell this to him. It’s too many pieces of her past in too short a period of time. This isn’t something she ever wanted to talk about again and certainly not to Killian. She was really hoping she never had to see Neal’s face again.

Honestly, she never considered it to be a possibility.

If only.

“That guy sitting on my porch is an ex of mine. And I’m talking about a bad ex, not one of those who you can be friends with afterward.”

“What the bloody hell is he doing here then?” Killian looks over her head to look at Neal, but Emma grabs his hand and yanks on it until he looks at her. “What?”

“Don’t look at him,” she hisses. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I’m sure it has something to do with my parents. Just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Do we need to turn around?”

“No, no, that’s pathetic. Just…maybe he’s going to leave soon, and it’ll be a quick hello and then I never have to see his face again. Let’s get it over with.”

“If you’re sure, Sw – Emma.”

“I’m sure.”

She’s not sure at all. Mostly, she wants to take Killian’s suggestion and run far, far away.

Once more, Emma braces her shoulders, and she moves forward. If she stops and thinks too much, she’ll chicken out. It’s how she is. If she thinks about something for too long, it ruins every bit of courage she has. Now isn’t the moment for that when this week is one that makes her need courage.

Maybe, Emma realizes, she didn’t invite Killian here just to be nice. Maybe she needed that buffer to keep her old demons at bay, even if just barely, and that was her motivation all along.

That really makes her asshole of the year. Well, after Neal. She hasn’t seen him in years, but he still gets the asshole of the year award.

Neal sees her before she can get to the front steps. He rises from the rocking chair and moves toward her. He looks older now. He was always older than her, but she can actually see it now. There’s gray in his beard and more lines on his forehead. His features are similar, but she swears there’s an eeriness to his eyes and a lie to his smile. Maybe those were always there, but Emma imagines she was blind to it all when she loved him.

Amazing how opening her eyes to love blinded her to so much else.

“Emma? Is that you?”

No, jackass, it’s some other blonde woman walking into her parents house.

“Hi, Neal.” She forces a smile that she knows is awkward, but he was never good at reading her enough to know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve just seen me for the first time in half a decade, and your first question is what I’m doing here? Nice to see you too, Ems.”

It’s illegal to murder, Emma, she reminds herself. You don’t want to end up in jail because of him.

“It’s my parents’ house. I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. So, again, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs and ignores her. “Who’s this?”

Emma turns to Killian who is staring ahead, his jaw clenched, and he speaks before she gets a chance to. “Killian Jones,” he begins, dropping a bag and reaching forward to shake Neal’s hand, “Emma’s boyfriend.”

Emma nearly chokes on her own air and possibly her own lungs and whatever else is down there, and she’s stuck. Her brain and her feet and especially her mouth are all stuck. What the hell is he doing?

“Emma’s boyfriend,” Neal repeats, his voice incredulous like the fact that she could have a boyfriend is ludicrous to him. “Really?”

“For awhile now,” Killian lies. Wow. Has he always been this good of a liar? “It’s nice to meet you, but I think Emma and I need to get inside and put our stuff away. It’s been a long drive.”

Neal nods, but Emma catches his eyes glance over at her. What was that? “I understand. I need to get my fiancée from inside, but then we’ll be on our way.”

Fiancée?

Neal has a fiancée? Who is in her parents’ house?

What kind of upside down hell has she walked into and how does she reverse time and get back to the place where things are normal?

“Nice seeing you,” Emma lies, but Neal is already walking inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as if it’s his house to go into. She quickly turns to Killian and hopes her face conveys the “what the hell” look she’s going for. And in case it doesn’t, she hisses, “what the fuck was that?”

“Forgive me, love, but you obviously didn’t want to see that man, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in saying that. You weren’t planning on ever seeing him again, aye?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So what’s the harm in him thinking you have a devilishly handsome new boyfriend?”

Emma rolls her eyes, ready to take the piss out of him, when her mother comes running out the front door.

“Emma, you brought a boyfriend home?”

Well, that’s the harm, Jones.

-/-

Emma tries explaining to her parents that Killian isn’t really her boyfriend, that he’s just her roommate who came home with her because he doesn’t have any family, but she never really gets the chance with Neal still hanging around. That would be mortifying, so she rolls with it, hoping that she can clear it all up sooner rather than later.

But Neal never seems to leave.

His fiancée, Tamara, apparently teaches with Emma’s mom, and from the looks of it, they’re great friends. She can’t imagine any other reason why her parents would let Neal Cassidy in their house, but then again, they have always been great at doing the exact opposite of what’s good for her. It’s torture, and as the night goes on, it seems like it’s never going to end.

When are they going to leave?

When can she stop listening to Killian falsify their life?

She’s got to say that he’s fantastic at taking truths and turning them into lies. According to him, they met when he became her roommate (true) and got to know each other as friends first (eh, a half-truth). Then, slowly, feelings started to develop in the little moments, and they decided to give their relationship a chance (unequivocally false).

He’s got this uncanny ability to make everything feel…not ridiculous. She doesn’t know the word she’s searching for, but she’s sure as hell that Killian could find it and incorporate it into a story to make everyone here think they’re in love.

Emma has no clue how they’re going to get out of this without her parents being heartbroken because Emma can see the hope and happiness in her mom’s eyes. She’s over the moon. Her dad, however, doesn’t seem to be.

Of course this is how it goes. Her mom is thrilled because she’s not a spinster, and her dad is upset because she’s not a spinster.

“So what do you do, Killian?” he asks. “You need a roommate apparently.”

“Dad,” Emma hisses, wanting to sink into the couch, especially because she knows she’s the one who needs the roommate and not Killian. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m not allowed to ask about the man who my daughter is dating?”

“You are, but you’re not allowed to interrogate him.”

Killian places his hand over Emma’s on her thigh, and God, this really is the worst night. Why do people have to go home to family on the holidays? At least she didn’t automatically flinch at the feeling of Killian’s hand on hers.

“I’m a contractor,” Killian tells her dad. “I used to work with my brother. It’s his business, but I’m the head on projects now. It’s hard and unpredictable sometimes when my job is to make it predictable, but it’s good work. There’s a lot of good new housing popping up in the neighborhoods outside of Boston. Beautiful new construction.”

“What happened to your brother?” her mom asks.

Killian’s hand tightens over hers while his other hand scratches behind his ear. “Liam passed last year. Car accident.”

Mary Margaret places her hands over her chest while Neal and Tamara look at each other, obviously ready to go. Emma, meanwhile, tries not to act shocked. She should know this. She should know that he had a brother who died. She’s heard him talk about Liam before, but she thought…she thought he was alive, just that he lived really, really far away or something like that.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Thank you, Ms. Nolan.”

Silence falls in the room, and it feels like a lot of her time in high school when she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. At least now she can have alcohol or drive away. One or the other, though, obviously.

Or she can go back to that sinking into the ground thing. That seemed like a good idea.

“Oh, would you look at the time,” Tamara sighs with a clap of her hands. “Honey, we need to go.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Mary Margaret asks.

What the hell, Mom?

“We really have to go,” Tamara insists. “It was nice seeing you guys, though.”

“Oh, it was wonderful seeing you, sweetie. Good luck in New York. You’re going to be great at your new job.” Mary Margaret hugs Tamara. “Nice seeing you as well, Neal. You’ll fit right in, but I know your dad will miss you.”

Emma is so busy trying to take in all of this brand new information that she doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Through blurred vision, she sees her mom hug Neal, and yeah, Emma wants to go home. She wants to go back to her apartment where she doesn’t have to put up with this kind of shit.

Where there’s no Neal and his fiancée and especially where her mom isn’t hugging her asshole of an ex and treating him like he’s a good person.

There’s a squeeze on her hand and suddenly, Killian’s fingers are wrapping around hers. That’s when everything snaps back, and she realizes Neal is telling her goodbye.

“Yeah, bye,” Emma mutters, putting on that fake smile again.

“Maybe we could go for lunch while I’m still in town,” he suggests.

Emma bites her tongue to keep from scoffing, but she can’t help the words that come out of her mouth. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Have fun in New York.”

Neal looks like a wounded puppy when Emma manages to look at him, but she doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have had the audacity to ask her in the first place, not after everything he’s done.

Happy holidays to them all.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret hisses as soon as the front door has shut and Neal and Tamara are gone, “that was so rude of you! You can go to lunch with Neal.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma groans, letting go of Killian’s hand and standing up. “I am twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to go to lunch with the man who ruined my life because you don’t like being rude. Just…let’s eat dinner, and you guys can tell me what we have planned for this week. Killian is thrilled to go to the play. I told him all about it.”

“Emma, I still don’t think – ”

“Come on, Mary Margaret,” David sighs as he claps his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get these two dinner. They had a long drive, and I’m sure they’re starving. You like ham, Jones?”

“Love it,” Killian says as he stands from the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can get a wine bottle from the rack.”

They’re all going to need it. Or at least Emma is going to.

Dinner is, well, awkward, which Emma expected, but she expected the usual awkwardness of having dinner with her parents after going a year without seeing them. This is an entire other level. Killian tries to ease it. He’s put on his most charming smile, his accent coming through thicker with each story he tells, and while her Dad seems put out, her mom is every bit as charmed by him as Emma would expect.

That makes it all fine and good until Emma’s reminded that her parents think Killian is her boyfriend, and his place would go down in flames if she told the truth now.

As much as she would like to spite her mom, that is the last thing she needs.

“So, Killian, you can stay in Emma’s room,” her mom says as they finish up dinner. “I’d have you stay in the guest room, but it’s currently filled with props and costumes for the play. But you're both adults. Who are we to keep you apart at night?”

“The couch would be fine,” Killian insists, holding his hands up.

“Nonsense, you are a guest here. You need to be comfortable. Let’s get you all settled and ready for bed.”

It’s almost like she’s in a trance as her mom guides them up the stairs to Emma’s old room. She vaguely hears her tell stories of different pictures hung on the wall by the staircase, but she doesn’t really notice. Instead, she hangs back with her dad who does not look thrilled at the whole situation.

For some reason that offends Emma. As far as her dad knows, she’s brought a man home for Christmas. A man who she loves enough to bring home, which is not all sunshine and roses for her. Once again, she’s jealous of the people who go home for the holidays and know it’s going to be a happy time.

“You know, you don’t have to act like I’m sixteen,” she tells her dad. “I live with this man. I think it’s okay for us to share a bedroom here for the week.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy about this. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Emma stops at the landing and turns to her Dad, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down. Or up. She forgot how much taller her dad is than her.

“Try a little harder to make that believable.”

David laughs and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Welcome home, kid. I’m glad you and Killian are here.”

-/-

-/-

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[hello-im-not-a-possum]

26. Pipe

It wasn’t Wally’s firstborn son, Vincent, that took over his company, nor was it his middle child, Jonathan. Instead, it was his youngest daughter, Samantha, who took that knowledge working with pipes and put it to good use, although the repairwoman and plumber couldn’t imagine herself using a pipe like that before... (Set in the FIFE AU, RIGHT at the start, as in, as soon as the Ink’s Freeing everyone because it hasn’t been fed.)

Joey couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he heard the knock at his door and the muffled greeting from the other side.

“Franks’ Repair and Plumbing.” After a short pause, the voice on the other side spoke again. “..Anyone home?”

He took his cane and hobbled over to the door, opening it and jumping back in shock when he saw who was behind it.

In a lot of ways, the repairwoman was the spitting image of her late father; same black eyes, same nose, same eye shape, same skin tone, same lost tooth that was clearly gotten in a fight, ...Same hat; a newsboy cap that Wally wore when he didn’t want to ruin the baseball cap he liked with ink. In her case, it could’ve been the EXACT same hat as it looked very old and worn, and it was stained by ink before she even set foot in his apartment even though he doubted she worked with the stuff considering her job.

There were still clear differences keeping her from looking like a clone of the janitor he killed; like her jet black hair kept in a tight low bun and that she had a much more muscular physique, but the resemblance was still uncanny to him.

“You wanna stop gawkin’ an’ get your shit fixed or do ya wanna keep pissin’ your pants in shock, Gramps?”

Her nametag read ‘Sammy’ and her rudeness certainly reminded him of that musician.

“I… Well,” he cleared his throat “you just so happen to remind me of old friends of mine. And it took me off guard.”

“Uh huh. Let’s just cut to the point, you say you called me for a problem with a rare machine of yours?”

“Yes, it hasn’t been working for five days now and it’s been pumping... ...stuff through my plumbing!”

“A’right, can ya show me da machine?”

“Gladly.” He hobbled into the room where he normally kept it with the repairwoman following him and muttering something under her breath. “Here we are.”

“So dis here is the ink machine?” she circled around it and tapped it with her wrench here and there and muttered more things under her breath as she took a close look at it. “Eitha you should’ve called me in way sooner, or ya shoulda scrapped this hunk of junk and not even bothered in da first place.”

“Well, can you save it?”

“Hmm…” she popped her gum and shrugged. “I’m no miracle worker, but I can try. Don’t get your hopes up though, I’ve never seen anything like this before...”

Joey bit his lip, it was an expected response, but it wasn’t a good one. As Sammy continued to work on the machine, the former animator limped to the entrance to the Ink Demon’s realm, took a quick peek inside, and slammed it shut as he saw Henry speed towards him. He cursed under his breath as Henry started beating on the door.

“What da fuck is that noise?” Sammy called out from the ink machine’s room. “Sounds like someone tryin’ ta break a door down ta murdah ya!”

“I-it’s just the washing machine in the basement!” Joey tried to keep the door shut with all his weight pressed against it. “Remember how I said that the ink machine is messing with the plumbing?”

“Maybe I should go check dat out too then, one bad pipe tends to take the others down with it when you’re not careful...”

“N-no! I’m sure it will go back to normal if the Ink machine’s fixed…”

“I can’t do this with distractions goin’ on, I’ll just shut it off real quick an’ get back ta work on this.”

“I’m sure it’ll die down on it’s own soon! Don’t get up!”

Propping a chair up against the banging door, Joey speed-limped to his desk and drew like wildfire; the Ink Demon emerging out of the machine without Henry going to it first, the Demon breaking down the boards and stuff around it and going right towards Henry. He stopped holding his breath in anticipation when the thumping died down on the other side, the story waiting for him to properly restart it so he could tell it again.

For a few hours, he left his desk untouched as he counted down the seconds for her to hurry up and fix it and leave. The already long hours feeling like an eternity as the hurdle standing between him and his goals grew more and more infuriating with each and every single tick of the clock.

Luckily for him, it sounded like she was making progress, but she wasn’t doing it fast enough for his liking. Thankfully she was far too focused on the machine itself to notice it’s effects on the rest of the house.

Like the groaning swollen searcher oozing out of his bathtub tap, or his kitchen sink slowly filling up with ink with the stolen hearts of ink creatures floating and bobbing away in the messy sink. He swore that the TV turned on on it’s own and started playing “Tombstone Picnic”, but Sammy didn’t seen to notice in spite of the cartoon playing very loudly. Joey just silently prayed she’d get those damn pipes inside it fixed and get out.

“Okay, I think it’s fixed now.”

The phrase was music to the old man’s ears and as he walked in, he could in fact notice an improvement with the machine itself.

“Wanna give it a test whirl ta be sure?”

“I think I will later, thank you.” He staggered as he fished his wallet out of his bathrobe pocket. “I’ll call you if I notice anything out of the ordinary again.”

“So what’s it supposed ta do, anyway?”

“Oh it just makes... things...” Joey handed her a check. “Nothing too interesting...”

The Ink Machine on the floor sputtered to life on its own and spat out a large glob of ink, a long metal pipe, and a tape recorder that was slightly encased in the dark stuff.

“That’s supposed to happen.” Joey lied as he reached for the plug and pulled it out.

“Uh... okay..? Have a decent rest of your day then...”

As she turned to leave, the tape recorder on the ink clicked on on it’s own as well, and a very familiar voice came out of it.

“...Sam..an...tha..?” The speaker crackled in a voice that made her tear up as she heard it. “Sammy, is dat you?! It’s me, Dad! Dis ain’t a recording! I’m in da tape! I’M IN DA TAPE!”

Joey cursed under his breath as the repairwoman turned back in shock and heard a softness enter her voice that he didn’t know that the woman was capable of.

“...Daddy?”

She ran back and scooped up the tape recorder in spite of the old man trying to wrangle it away from her.

“Daddy, can you see me?!”

“Yes!” The Tape recorder let out a surprised, and relieved sounding laugh that seemed like it turned into crying. “I was startin’ ta worry dat I’d never see ya again!”

“I’m here, Daddy” She hugged the tape recorder tightly, the shock of just having her father back outweighed all of the supernatural happenings around her. “I’m here...”

“Othas are down here too! your Uncle Sammy, Norman, Tom, Susie, pretty much everyone who’s eva worked at da studio!”

“What?! How?! And why?!”

“It’s Joey! He’s made some kind of... pocket torture dimension!”

Knowing where this was going and knowing that he was far too weak and frail to take down the amazonian woman of a handywoman himself, Joey opened the Ink Demon’s door and prayed it would come out and attack her. In the meantime, he himself fled into the animated studio just in case.

“SAMMY! LOOK OUT!” The living tape recorder warned as inky tendrils webbed all over the living room. “RUN!”

Sammy grabbed the pipe out of the pile of ink and charged.

“NO! NOT AT DA INK DEMON! AWAY FROM- Huh??”

Wally paused as he saw Sammy shove the Ink Demon off to the side and proceed to run after Joey.

“Sorry Daddy.” She said as she paused to set him down on the table. “But I’m gonna need both hands ta beat down dat sorry son of a bitch.”

“Go get ‘im tiger! I’m rootin’ for ya!”

While her small detour and Joey using his knowledge of the layout to his advantage managed to get some distance between them, the pipe wielding Valkyrie with murder in her eyes was quickly closing in on him.

“THIS IS FOR WHAT YA DID TO DADDY!”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

The story of Swamp Rat 17: Don Garlits' most misunderstood Top Fueler (part 1)

Don Garlits’ Swamp Rat 17, the Wynn’s Liner, had a very short life in 1973 and is roundly considered to be among the few disappointments of the more than 40 Swamp Rats he campaigned. Here's the story behind this most misunderstood car.

09 Apr 2021 Phil Burgess, NHRA National Dragster Editor

Earlier this year, I wrote a column about racecar experiments that didn’t come to fruition and cited, chief among them, Don Garlits’ Swamp Rat 17, the Wynn’s Liner, which had a very short and disappointingly unsuccessful life in 1973.

I think the reason that car always leaps to the top of my “Well, that sure didn’t work” list is because it was a rare dead end for “Big Daddy,” one of the sport’s greatest innovators and chance takers. Although there are only 38 official Swamp Rats, there were some A and B versions, and the actual number well exceeds 40, according to “Big.” So, he had a pretty great batting average, yet strikeouts are going to happen, but better to go down swinging, right? Or, as hockey great Wayne Gretzky once said, “You miss 100% of the shots that you don’t take.”

[Coming later in this column: Garlits rates his five favorite Swamp Rats and five least favorite. Stay tuned for that.]

Anyway, after heaping criticism upon the car back in February, I thought it only fair to allow The Man Himself to provide the context that defines this car’s place in the sport’s history. Not sure if he’d want to discuss one of his missteps, I reached out to the sport’s most storied driver and received an enthusiastic “I’D LOVE TO!” response to my query and away we went.

Before we get to that discussion, let me provide a little more context. The other thing that always intrigued me about Garlits’ decision to build Swamp Rat 17 was that he had blown away the sport with Swamp Rat 14 (the first rear-engined winner, 1971 Winternationals) and its evolutionary successor, Swamp Rat 16, which won the 1972 Gatornationals. (Swamp Rat 15 was a front-engined car built just in case SR14 was a flop; it never ran.) After all this success, why take this detour, especially when no one else was experimenting with aerodynamics?

Turns out that while the ‘Liner didn’t make its debut until mid-1973, the idea was conceived in mid-1971, not long after Garlits had proven that the rear-engined design worked. It was at that point that Garlits’ old buddy, Jocko Johnson, whose similarly shaped entry had made huge waves in 1959 with “Jazzy” Jim Nelson at the wheel, suggested that maybe it was time to resurrect his design and have “Big Daddy” put it on one of his chassis.

“I always liked streamlining, and Jocko had never given up on the idea, but he needed a success rear-engined car to try it again,” Garlits explained.

The only rub was that Johnson needed a shorter car, a 180-inch wheelbase chassis, to fit under the body, Swamp Rat 14 and 16 were 215 inches.

I've never seen any detailed shots of the car without the body, but did stumble across this image, a 1/16th scale version that Johnson had built to show Garlits his idea. Very cool!

Johnson, a laid-back Californian, began work on the body mold in 1971 but didn’t finish it until 1972, then came to Garlits' Seffner, Fla., base to build the body, which would not be completed and the car not race-ready until Garlits was already on Swamp Rat 19 in mid-1973.

The slow pace for the Liner’s body construction was frustrating for Garlits, who was well-known for being able to build a complete car in just a few days, and in his great book, Don Garlits and His Cars, “Big” pulled no punches about the reason for the delay.

"Jocko by now was growing his 'weed' next door and stayed 'high' most of the time! On several occasions, I went next door, pulled up the plants, and burned them. Jocko just planted more and stayed high."

In anticipation of the Wynn’s Liner’s someday completion, Garlits built Swamp Rat 18, the car dubbed “Shorty,” with a 180-inch wheelbase so he could get a feel for the three-foot-shorter configuration and ran it at several AHRA events in 1972 but never felt comfortable in the car, but he felt sure that the Liner’s body would give the car stability and faster speed, just as adding the rear wing to Swamp Rat 14 had improved top-end speeds.

“18 just wanted to do funny things going down the course," he remembered. “You had to be really careful with it. I had to really slow down the steering to even make it work at all.”

The ‘Liner was finally ready early in 1973, and Garlits towed it and “Shorty” out to California to run the AHRA Grand American event at Orange County Int’l Raceway. Veteran Funny Car racer Butch Maas, finally recovered from serious burns he had suffered in the Hawaiian Funny Car the year before, was itching to drive the car, so Garlits let him and set about getting “Shorty” also qualified for the race.

There had been so much hype built about the ‘Liner, which had been featured on the cover of Car Craft magazine back in July 1972 with the cover blurb “Garlits Aims for 275 mph.” The feature had been shot and originally the blurb had targeted 250 mph (Garlits has a copy of the original mockup with 250 on it in the museum display, and kindly shot a photo for me), but the editors decided to raise more eyebrows. Although the official national record at the time was 234.37 (set by Gaines Markley in April in Seattle), Garlits had run 243.90 mph in the final round of the Gatornationals but didn't get the chance to back it up, so maybe 250 wasn't far enough "out there" for the publication.

“By the time we got the car read, [the editors] told me that 250 wasn’t enough, that they wanted to put 275 on it,” Garlits recalled. “We thought the car might go 255 or 260, but I agreed with them that 275 sounded better and more exciting.” [For the record, we wouldn’t see 275 for another 15 years, when Darrell Gwynn ran 278 in Dallas in late 1986.]

Just as had been the case when he debuted the famous rear-engined Swamp Rat 14 in 1971, Garlits’ fellow racers scoffed at Garlits’ latest project, mostly, he thinks, because if it had been successful it would have created a major sea change in the class just as Swamp Rat 14 had done. That wasn’t to be.

Maas made several attempts in the car but was spooked by its handling and ran a best speed of 180 mph. You can see by the photo here that the car didn’t yet have the bubble canopy on it, and Garlits is not sure it ever did in the car’s short lifespan (although it's visible in the Car Craft cover, Garlits says they didn't have a working cockpit hinge yet). You can also see "Big" in the background holding the bleach bottle. Although Maas couldn’t qualify the ‘Liner, Garlits was able to put "Shorty” into the show but lost in round one to Herm Petersen. “The whole trip was a disaster,” Garlits summed up in his book.

Still determined to make it work, Garlits put Don Cook in the car for the IHRA event at Lakeland Dragway in Florida. Cook had driven the short-wheelbase, rear-engined Piranha in late 1966, so Garlits figured he could get the job done, but he also was forced to lift a half-track on several passes. "They both said it was doing something funny, so I got in the car myself for a ride,” said Garlits.

“It took off kinda slow because it was so heavy, but then it was cruising along pretty well and making a decent run when all of the sudden the motor revved up. I quickly lifted and then felt a bump, like I had hit a bump in the track or something.

“We brought it back to the pit and tore it apart, but there was nothing broken in the driveline, and that’s when we figured out that the whole car had gone airborne and when lifted it came back down, and that was the bump I felt.

“Jocko thought I had sabotaged him, so he wouldn’t get any credit for the design, which is pretty ridiculous. He went to his grave never believing that the car was doing the things I said it did.”

Garlits also had concerns about the amount of nitro fumes being trapped under the body and the fact that the car was not easy to get out of. “I knew that someday it would catch fire, and that would be a helluva deal for the driver, so I just gave up on the project,” he said.

Garlits sold the car to rocket-car racers Russell Mendez and Ramon Alvarez, who envisioned turning it into a hydrogen peroxide-powered rocket car, but Mendez was killed in an exhibition pass in their Free Spirit rocket dragster at the 1975 Gatornationals, and Alvarez, a plumber by trade (who actually had done the plumbing for Garlits' house) needed cash and sold it back to "Big." Given the 'Liners inherent instability at less than 200 mph, one can only imagine what it would have done at rocket-car speed. (“It would probably have flown right up into the sky,” Garlits marveled.)

So, I asked Garlits the million-dollar question: "Is he glad he built the car, or was it just a waste of time and money?"

“It was definitely a waste of time and money, but I’m glad we did it. I enjoyed all of the projects I did, even the ones that didn’t work out, like the Sidewinder and the turbine [-powered] car. Everyone raved about the turbine engines and how powerful they could be, and that car didn't work out but it was fun to figure it out. I always loved experimenting. That’s what made it so fun. When you’re involved with projects like those, your mind is going 24x7, trying to think of all of the scenarios to make it work.

“Plus if I hadn’t gotten together with Jocko, I wouldn’t have his original streamliner in my museum or the body from the Mooneyham-Ferguson-Jackson-Faust car. That all came together because of my relationship with Jocko."

[zikadraws]

If the ghosts bosses got to be reincarnated, what do you think they’d look like in the modern age(I’m talking, like the twisted sisters, Clem(best rat boi), Fishhook, etc)?

Oh boy tough call !✨Sooo let's seeeee...

(*Low quality colouring, drawing and long post ahead (sorry), Click4Quality*)

So let's start with Chambrea and Steward. They gladly took back their human form (Yeah I see Chambrea as Latino/Arabic styled, and Steward as Australian), but less gladly the fact of having to work to not get hungry. They restarted to work in services, although their experience (as for a good part of the ghosts) got them militant, and they are fighting for the service workers to get treated/respected better and better paid (between others). Chambrea (Chãlissia) is the leading type, Steward (Stuart) follows and admires her, and struggles to push their relationship to another level. They already live together.

Then there's Chef Jacques Soulfflé. He of course oriented himself towards cooking, but understandably enough for those who witnessed his cooking, got fired several times, and refused to understand why ; so much that he actually attempted ''Hell's Kitchen'' to prove everyone wrong- and nearly caused Gordon Ramsay, who -figures- spectacularly blazed his @ss, to rage quit the emission. They actually had a private talk afterwards and Gordon decided to save cooking's honour and to give him private lessons. Never did he see a guy so bad at cooking but who genuinely absolutely loved cooking against all. Deserves an effort. Thanks to that Soulfflé got better and found a regular cook post. Yeah I got carried a bit far on this IK. X) Anyway so next-

Morty finally managed to open the cinema class he was planning to open before his death, and he's having the time of his life with this. He takes cheap and everyone in -elementals to elderly- and he is in a 'poor-populated' city part, so he has a lot of volunteers ; as an activity as for an actual class. He loves to communicate his passion with others, is a wonderful teacher open to everyone and loves creating shorts and movies with his students. Some of them actually succeeded as actors or staff or even directors, and often credit him. Although a bit wore out, he is really happy. Plus a good portion of the former boss ghosts like to help him with and star in his productions.

Krüller thought of becoming policeman, but chickened out and went on as a mall guard. He is great with children. He even babysits sometimes. And often stars in Morty's movies, as 'the police chief'. He's satisfied by this repetitive but calm life.

Johnny Deepend invested into an old gym and became sport coach. Between taxes and incomes, it isn't always easy but his easygoing, supportive and friendly natural attitude gets him a nice bunch of people following him and going to his gym. But on the side, he is also very engaged to ban competitions based on showing off the body, knowing way too well how destructive it is for the people, and actually even run conferences about that. He is determined.

Serpci has became a famous social media influencer and practically lives out of it (plus some beauty and fashion sideworks. She customize clothes.). Her Egyptian style, her beauty and aura and her pets snakes got her REALLY popular on any network- and leaves her targeted by many creeps of course, but her merciless way of dealing with them chicken them out (and actually is a way of outcome for her. Blackmail is powerful, but shhh.) She's militant for feminism, and against racism, cultural appropriation and above all, grave robbers (especially targeting archeologists). Remains of her pharaoh shenanigans, y'know.

Dr. Potter searched around and was taken under the wing of an association that fights to save true seeds (seeds that naturally grows back after harvesting and not having to be replaced each time like big corporations like to sell [as] 'necessary'.) He is trusted to keep and grow in number these true seeds, and in return he is taken care of, feed, and has his own house, garden and glasshouse. He is very happy.

The Triplets had to actually go to school for the first time in their lives, and if they managed to get to be adopted together (by one of the bosses, idk for this one), they had a very cynical bad surprise. They still perform during events, to show-off or at parties.

THAT is my human interpretation of Fishook. He lacks an arm and look as what white police arbitrarily view as the embodiment of ''''potential criminal''''; and now that he's human again, he's fucking pissed. As in -he freaking means business. By that I mean, he is entirely, body and soul, engaged to the whole 'Save Marine Life' cause. He raids awareness and direct missions, participates to everything and acts everywhere. Yeah, he works for the WWF. (He is also getting a bit of trouble about his cranky comportment.)

(Yeah, ship time. Why ? Because I can.)

Amadeus Wolfgeist and Clem turned into a couple representation of Tortured Artists ™. (I'll explain for Clem at some point in the future so it'd make sense, pinky swear.)

Amadeus Wolfgeist got his hair back (and I wasn't too sure of what colour to give it but heck it I'm satisfied), but was really pissed to learn that it's hard to make a carrier out of classical music nowadays. He yet decided to keep on it, determined as frick that he was to bring back the golden age, and became an independent compositor, freeing the stress generated from this work by private contract concerts. Despite his talent, he's struggling due to his dissuading stubbornness and is upset to not being able to afford his preferred nobile lifestyle. Clem has spawned up with an hyperactive syndrome, plus of his autistic condition, and is making the most money by having several jobs at the time. As a handyman/plumber, but also as a painter and visual artist, as he finally noticed how much interest and talent he had for that. He draws eyefooling artworks as a living, to situate. He kept his pet opossum and his emotional support duckies. Strangely enough, he hardly sleeps on his own impulse anymore.

They live together (for 'financial reasons' dixit Wolfgeist, y'knooow...) and complete and equilibrate each other. Clem is the one who -ironically- makes the most money, and deals with Amadeus's stress and irritation levels. Amadeus is Clem's impulse control, health, fashion, self-care and sleep schedule advisor.

Sometimes Clem seconds Amadeus on his banjo.

AND THEN, TO FINISH (because I literally, between other things, have no space left) we have Macfrights who tried to get hired at 'Puy du Fou' but got humiliated and turned off, and Phantasmagloria who tried to get hired as a DJ but nuts for several reasons. They both swallowed back their pride and ended up working at fast-foods. They both try as often as possible to play in Morty's movies. Macfrights likes to play the villain.

---

OKAY ! And that was about it for my headcanons about this ask. Very long post, I know but hey ! Dare I believe that it was worth it...?

Alright, thank you for your ask. That was a big one and I hope you are, too, satisfied and wish you a nice day :) .

Aaand thank you to everyone else for your attention 🎵 ! 🤗 Have a nice day~♥️

[decayedflower]

Stranger II

⋆ gif is mine

Pairing: Yang Hongwon x Reader

Genre: Underground rapper!Hongwon, Barista!Reader | angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Don’t get attached. This was his number one rule. Attachment means getting hurt. Attachment means vulnerability. You are the only person you can trust. So how could she so easily sneak past and break the walls he had worked so hard to build around his heart when all she is, is a stranger?

Warnings: cussing, some angst, hamin being a noodle

A/N: Sorry this took forever to upload, life happens ya know? Next chapter should be more exciting as the ball gets rolling. Hope you guys enjoy :)

You told yourself that no matter how in love you were with someone, you could detach yourself from your emotions enough so that—should the day come—you could live your life without them.

Looking at yourself now, you admit you’re a little ashamed. You couldn’t stop bawling your eyes out for 2 weeks straight. You guess you didn’t do as good a job ‘detaching’ as you thought you did.

You mentally slap yourself. You once lived your life without him bitch, you can do it again. 

It was on a rainy Monday afternoon that you found yourself in bed—cheeto dust on your titties—marathon watching Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-Joo. Curse Nam Joohyuk. How could a man be so goddamn perfect? He was handsome, funny, loving—and most certainly not a CHEATER. 

You sigh and decide that you should probably get up and shower before Hyeri comes home and sees your miserable state. You feel bad worrying her so much. She’s always been way too kind and selfless for her own good.

You grab a fresh set of pj’s and determinedly head to the bathroom. The least you could do was stop moping and try to clear your thoughts of him. For both your sakes.

Just as you finish that thought, you catch sight of the item sitting on top of your dresser. Your favorite hoodie. His hoodie. You scowl and toss it into the trash bin. If only all men were like Nam Joohyuk. The world would be a much more peaceful place.

“Sooo, hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You know how Princess Peach is always getting her ass kidnapped?”

You laugh at the odd question. “I do recall the kidnapping of the Princess Peach ass, yes.”

“Well, it just hit me. Why doesn’t the bitch ever fight back? I mean,” Jin places a hand on his hip thoughtfully, “how is it that she manages to get kidnapped by the same dude every single time? She’s a princess. Shouldn’t she have high level security?”

“Huh. I never really thought about that.”

“How could you not! She has marshmallows for bodyguards. It’s outrageous.”

“Does it really matter?” you ask.

He sounds genuinely offended. “Of course it does. You ever see Daisy getting kidnapped?”

“Well, no but—“

“Besides, isn’t it a little ridiculous how there’s this expectation that Mario has to save her? I mean, he’s not even a prince or a knight, he’s a plumber! An italian plumber! The amount of disrespect is just astronomical considering the lengths he goes to—”

“Seokjin why are we talking about this?” You ask, baffled. You take a look at your workstation and head to the stockroom to get more large size cups. Jin trails behind you, obviously upset with your lack of interest in the conversation.

 “It’s a legitimate concern, Y/N. Someone needs to pay attention to these details and it is the duty of I, the consumer, to voice the—whoa whoa whoa, since when do we have oatmeal raisin cookies?!” He screeches mid-rant, staring at a pack of cookies he holds in his hand.

You whip around to have a look, not believing your ears. “What the fuck?”

It’s true. The box of oatmeal raisin cookies sits atop the third shelf, right next to the double chocolate chip cookies.

“The boss sent an email out on Sunday,” Yoongi stands at the doorway holding a box of promotional flyers. If it were possible, you swear tumbleweed would have made its way between the three of you with the silence that follows as you and Jin stare at each other blankly.

“Which,” Yoongi drawls out, “I guess neither of you read.” he states dryly, walking away.

“Who the hell likes oatmeal raisin?” Jin asks defensively. Personally, you couldn’t agree more. Oatmeal cookies on their own were tolerable—it was the raisin part that completely ruined the entire cookie.

“They’re Satan’s spawn,” he scowls, tossing the aforementioned cookie back in the box as if it had personally insulted him. You chuckle and shake your head, walking back to your station with the box of plastic cups.

You start stocking them back up on the counter, making sure it looks neat. 

“Hey Jin,” Yoongi calls out from the front of the store, “can you grab that window marker and write out the menu again? The rain washed some of it off.” He says, examining the missing bits of letters, nose scrunched in annoyance.

You could practically hear the way the older boy starts seething at Yoongi’s lack of use in honorifics. The tips of his ears flare a bright red, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I’M SORRY, COME AGAIN?! I couldn’t hear you over the DISRESPECT.”

Seokjin takes great pride in being the oldest of the crew. He enjoys taking care of the others as if they were of his own blood, you included. He has a somewhat sarcastic sense of humor—but never overbearingly so—always exaggerating his facial expressions and reactions, which you personally find charming. Seokjin is also infamous for his constant dad jokes, the younger ones usually cringing at their cheesiness and have you bending over in laughter. (The other boys beg you to stop egging him on as it only fuels his desire to keep them going.) That being said, Jin is not someone who gets easily irritated. When it comes to certain things, he is just, well, a bit of a drama queen.

You stifle a laugh, watching as Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth, very obviously regretting his choice of words. “Hyung, will you please go rewrite the menu outside?”

“Thank you! Can’t you just do that from the get go? I swear you kids are so ungrateful sometimes. I mean, you all seem to forget how I practically raised you brats—”

“Hyung, please get your ass outside or so help me I will go into that break room right now, clock out, take the longest nap of my damn life and just leave you two out here to die.” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, putting his hand up, “I’m going geez. What a drama queen.” He huffs his way to the entrance, shaking his head, marker in hand. “And you guys say I’m the dramatic one.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

Yoongi stands there looking up at the ceiling with his hands on both hips as if silently asking the heavens for a tiny shred of patience.

You snicker behind your hand. You swear hearing those two bicker is your daily source of serotonin. 

It’s 3 more hours into your shift when Hamin shows up at the front counter with his signature soft boy smile.

He first visited the cafe during the summer one day back when you had just been hired. The intense summer heat wave had him coming in search of some shelter from the sun and a drink to cool off. The Grind was promoting the seasonal summer drinks and naturally, as a new hire, you tried your best to advertise it. It was only your second day on the job and in your nervous state you sold him a drink that, to just your luck, wasn’t available that day. You apologized profusely afraid that he would turn out to be a Karen, but Hamin had been very sweet about it. He befriended you after that, making frequent visits to the Grind, declaring that he had found a hidden gem.

After talking to him some more you learned that Hamin had studied psychology for two years at a local college before he decided to drop out and pursue his musical career. Of course he didn’t tell you that last part up until a couple of weeks ago, so you had been under the impression that the reason he spent so many hours at the coffee shop was to study for his exams. You weren’t the type of person to pry into someone’s personal life unless they decided to tell you themselves so you never asked. Ever since Hongwon confessed to you that both he and Hamin were working towards becoming musicians, Hamin began to share more about himself to you. He figured that now that the cat was out of the bag, he could be more open with you. Prior to that day, you knew very little about Hamin’s personal life.

“Hey you! You’re back,” you beam. 

“Yeah, gotta grind,” he pats his bag for emphasis. “Ha! Grind...” he snorts suddenly. “Get it? Cause we’re at...” he gestures to the shop and laughs to himself. He looks goofy standing there in his bright lavender tie dye hoodie, a big contrast to the muted colors of the walls. His tall lean form stands out like a sore thumb. An Adidas baseball cap adorns his head but it’s so washed out you can’t even tell what color it is—or is supposed to be. 

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh come on, it was funny,” he says, leaning on the counter.

“It was funny the first couple times Jin said it when I just started working here,” You correct.

“You still laughed though,” he winks at you, making you laugh again. “Anyway,” he straightens up, “Can I get the usual, please?”

You grab a cup and start writing his name. “Just you this time?” 

“Nah, my idiot friend is coming but he’s gonna run late so I’ll just order ahead of him.” He sighs, reaching into his pocket in search of his wallet. “How much is it?” He asks, fumbling through a bunch of receipts and cards.

You wave him off. “On the house.”

“No way, I can—”

“Hamin, dude, relax. You do this every time. I keep telling you, discount: friend. Total: zero.” 

“You gotta let me pay every now and then. I don’t want your coworkers to think I keep coming here to leech off you…”

“Look, if you were really taking advantage of me, you wouldn’t keep disappearing on me for weeks at a time. Consider it an advance payment for when you finally let me hear a song of yours. ”

“Sorry…” He smiles sheepishly, “It’s a deal then. Thanks Y/N, you’re the best,” he grins. You flip your hair dramatically, playing along.

You make his drink and note that work is slow enough, so you head over to his table instead of calling him over.

You place his drink on the table, “so what’re you working on today?” He looks up and thanks you, taking a sip before he answers.

“A solo project. I don’t have anything now that’s worth listening to though…” He says dejectedly. Admittedly, he’s been going though somewhat of a writer's block. 

“That’s okay! I didn’t mean to pressure you. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be glad to give it a listen if you’re still willing to let me. Good music also takes time, right?” You smile encouragingly.

Someone yells out your name before he’s able to respond. You turn at the sound, “Oh hey!” you exclaim when you see your roommate. You turn back to wish Hamin luck on his writing.

“Thanks for the lunch, Hyeri,” you pat your stuffed tummy in satisfaction. “I forgot to prep mine last night so I was honestly just gonna wait until I got home to eat,” you confess meekly.

She showed up during your shift planning to ask you what kind of food you were in the mood for so she could bring it to you, but Yoongi caught on and sent you on your lunch break so the two of you could eat together instead. Min Yoongi was a godsend. 

“I knew it! Y/N, you have to eat your meals! Do you know how detrimental it is to your health if you’re constantly working and skipping your meals?!” you cower as she scolds you. 

“I know…sorry. I just forgot...” you squeak.

“Ugh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I just worry about you,” she sighs, taking her seat again.

“And I’m so thankful!” you say quickly placing your hand on hers, “I’m sorry you’re always having to take care of me. I’ll work harder so that I don’t become a burden to you. I promise. I haven’t been myself these days but...just give me some time.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, “Hey. You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. You’re like a sister to me. And I would never put your emotions against you. You need time to heal and that’s okay. Take it at your pace. I will always look after you, no matter what. Okay?”

Your heart warms at her words. You were so grateful to have her for a best friend. You engulf her in a hug and look at the time. 

“I should head back. My break is just about over. Thank you for everything, Hyeri. Are you staying? I’ll make you a drink. On the house. You can study there?” you ask.

“Well, I was planning on going to my school’s library, but I guess I could use a drink…” She paused for a moment. “Is Jungkook working today?” She asks, hopeful. 

Her crush on your coworker was so amusing. “Unfortunately for you, not today, sorry.” She pouts cutely.

“I’ll make you a green matcha latte?”

“Pretty please.”

You giggle, “Okay, let’s head back then.” 

It was a good thing the two of you decided to eat at the chinese restaurant across the shop, so the walk isn’t long. You came here so often that the kind elderly woman who owned the restaurant had memorized your order. You couldn’t help it that their sweet and sour chicken was bomb as hell. What you would give for that recipe.

You’re internally groaning at the thought of having to go back into work when Hyeri stops in front of the entrance and lets out a low whistle. 

“Whoa, hey. Which one of your coworkers drives a damn motorcycle?!” She points to a sleek, graphite motorcycle parked on the curb, two cars away from yours. 

“Whoa. Uhh...no one, not that I’m aware of. Jin drives a Honda Civic and Yoongi ubers cause of car issues.” You shrug, opening the door. “Must be a customer’s.”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s just me, but that thing is screaming big dick energy.” She says, following behind you. You laugh and smack her shoulder. 

“You say that but what if it’s some old bald dude that listens to metal?” You ask, leading her to a table farther in the back so she can study peacefully. 

“Well err...hopefully not. I’m just saying whoever rides that thing, I wouldn’t mind riding too. Hell, I could ride all night…” she trails off. You bury your embarrassed face in your hands and try to hold in your laughter so you don’t disturb the customers. 

“Oh my god. Stop talking. You’re gonna get me in trouble.” You point at a chair, “Sit here and I’ll bring your drink. Behave,” you warn playfully.

“Yes ma'am,” She winks and points shooter fingers at you. You laugh with a roll of your eyes, heading back to clock in. 

“You seem...distracted.” Hamin says, amusement lacing his words.

“Huh?” Hongwon turns at the accusation with wide eyes.

He sighs. “I mean,” he says crossing his arms, “ever since you got here 15 minutes ago, it’s like you keep looking around for...something.”

“So, you’re saying for the past 15 minutes you’ve been watching me like a creep?” He turns his attention back to the music software in front of him. “I told you I don’t swing that way.” he says, clicking random notes on the half-finished project.

Hamin snorts. “Don’t change the subject. What‘s got you so distracted dude?” He asks, slurping up the remains of his drink through his straw.

“The only distraction here is the eggplant sitting in front of me...” He trails off when you enter the coffee shop with your friend in tow. You’re laughing, giving her a smack on the shoulder playfully at a joke she tells you.

Hamin stops his obnoxious slurping when he follows his friend’s gaze. “Ohhhhh!” he grins.

“What?” He snaps. “No ohhhh. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” Hamin brings his hands up defensively. “Brain empty. No thoughts.” He taps the side of his head with his index finger. “Buuuttt if you were so interested you could’ve just asked, you know.”

“And what would I have asked exactly?” He asks with a tinge of annoyance.

Hamin tsks under his breath, exasperated. “Oh come on. I mean Y/N. You wanted to know if she was working. Am I right or am I right?”

“Why the hell would I wanna know that? I don’t even know her. ”

“Hongwon!” He’s caught off guard at the sound of your voice. He internally slams his own head against the table and forces a smile when you approach the table, avoiding Hamin’s gaze.

“Y/N, hey…”

“Hold on, you know each other already?” Hamin asks obnoxiously, “I only briefly mentioned you to him, but you already know his name!” Hongwon shoots daggers at the side of his head.

“Actually,” Hongwon says through gritted teeth, “we talked for a bit when I was on my way out the other day. It would have been rude of me to not introduce myself since she’s your friend.”

“He was even kind enough to walk with me on the way home even though it was raining. Thanks for that by the way, you really didn’t have to do that.”  Hamin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shit. The smile you give him is so sincere that he almost misses what you say completely.

“Really!” Hamin grins, clearly enjoying the situation. He pats his shorter friend’s head in mock endearment. “That’s so sweet of him! I mean, considering he lives in a completely opposite di—” Hongwon sends a swift kick to his shin underneath the table.

“Fuck!” Hamin rubs the spot and laughs through the gritted teeth. “I mean...that’s sweet of him considering he’s normally so shy.” He growls at Hongwon and plasters a smile when he looks back at you. You probably think they’re both lunatics.

“Right…” You laugh, unsure of what’s happening. “By the way, did you want a drink? I’ll make it for you.” You tell Hongwon.

“Oh, uh yeah I was just gonna get an americano. Let me just—” He starts to stand up and take out some cash when you stop him.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” He asks. “I don’t want to get you in trouble…”

“Don’t worry, I get free drinks and pastries since I work here.” You say.

“And she shares them with me because I’m her favorite customer. Right, Y/N?” Hamin wiggles his eyebrows at you. You laugh and pick up his empty cup.

“Is he always this much of a moron when he comes here?” Hongwon asks, scrunching his face in distaste. You laugh and ask them to wait while you bring them coffee. 

Hamin waits until you’re completely out of ear shot before he begins his interrogation. 

“You know, for a pair of strangers, you two seem very well acquainted.” He states, eyes narrowed.

Hongwon scoffs. “You know, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but somehow you have a really punchable face.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Oh shut up. I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I needed to.”

“‘I don’t even know her,’” Hamin mimics.

“I don’t know her. I know her name, that’s it. Not the same thing.”

“So you like her.”

He laughs. “What are you, five? How could I like her? I just met her, idiot.”

“You walked her home.” He says pointedly.

“Part way. I only did it because it was getting late and she’s your friend.”

“Ha! Since when do you care about my friends?”

“She’s a girl, it’s different. If something happened to her because I looked the other way, it’d be on my conscience.”

“You live in completely opposite directions.”

“So what?”

“You wouldn’t even do that for me.” Hamin deadpans.

“Yeah but you’re not a cute girl.” He shrugs, crossing his arms.

“So you think she’s cute!” He slams both hands onto the table, leaning forward to peer into Hongwon’s face accusingly. 

“So what? She is cute.” He shoves him away, “that doesn’t mean I like her.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Hamin smirks and leans back in his seat.

“What?” He snaps.

“Nothing,” He says with a look on his face that screams everything but nothing.

Hongwon drags his hands over his face. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“You may have mentioned that before,” he replies, appearing unbothered.

He’s lucky you decide to come back at that moment. He swears he’d have slapped the smile off his face had he been left alone with Hamin for a minute longer.

You set down the coffee and start to walk back to the counter. “Well, I shouldn’t bother you guys too much so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Y/N!” Hamin shifts in his seat to face you. “Are you busy Friday?” This puts Hongwon on alert.

 “Hmmm...no, I don’t think I have anything going on actually. Why what’s up?”

“You’ve been wanting to hear some of our music for a while now, right? Well,” he loops an arm around Hongwon’s shoulder, “guess who has a gig that night?”

“No way!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands. “Wait, but I thought you didn’t have any music that’s finished.” You frown.

“Well, it’s not that we don’t, I just kinda wanted you to hear our new stuff first. But now that I think about it, this is as good a time as any. If you’re interested, a friend of ours is hosting a party and he asked a couple of artists to play for him. It’s at the Henz Club.” 

“You mean that scary looking club in Mapo-gu?”

“Scary? I mean sure, some odd looking people hang around there, but they’re all pretty chill for the most part. Right Hongwon?” 

Hongwon slaps his arm away. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to come but you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” He supplies. “We’d understand if—oof!”

“Nonsense!” Hamin butts in, shoving his elbow into Hongwon’s side. “You can bring your friend over there if you want, so you don’t have to worry about being alone.” He motions his head in the direction of Hyeri who—not so discreetly—pretends like she hasn’t been trying to make out what the three of you have been talking about for the past 10 minutes.

“Ah, but either way we won’t ditch you after the performance, I promise. How about it?”

Hongwon is still recovering from having the wind knocked out of his lungs and before he knows it, somehow you’re agreeing and Hamin is giving you the details. 

“I’m so excited, I can’t wait to hear you guys.” You say cheerfully. 

“You should see this guy on stage,” Hamin gestures to Hongwon, “he really puts on a show. Like a true rockstar.”

 “You know, you saying that doesn’t make me feel good,” Hongwon says with a frown, sitting back in his chair defeatedly. 

 “Oh and don’t be surprised if you hear a lot of screaming.” He ignores him, “There’s always a lot of fangirls, especially for Hongwon. They literally come in swarms, it's crazy.”

“Oh my god. Stop. You’re so embarrassing.” He groans, looking away.

“Wow, you’re really hyping him up,” you laugh.

“Ignore him. He’s just saying whatever the hell he wants.” 

“No way, it’s really the truth.” He insists, folding his arms across his chest.

“Y/N! We need you in the back!” Yoongi calls out, his head poking out from the staff only door. 

“I gotta go. I guess I’ll see you guys on Friday!” You say, waving. “Coming!” You call out, following after your coworker.

Hamin smiles stupidly as you leave. “Isn’t she sweet!”

Hamin and Hongwon hang around at the café for a few more hours until they decide to grab a bite to eat. For the remainder of the time they spent working on their music, Hongwon had not uttered a single word. The most Hamin had gotten out of him was a “sure” when he suggested they get burgers before heading home.

He exits his car, watching as Hongwon removes his helmet to fix the mess it makes of his hair. 

Sighing deeply, Hamin leans against the side of his car, hitting the park button on his remote. “Come on, don’t be so cold. How long are you gonna give me the silent treatment for?” 

He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, dreading to ask but needing to know. “Are you really that pissed off because I invited her?”

Hongwon slips the hollow side of his helmet onto the handlebar and mimics Hamin, leaning against his motorcycle. “Depends,” he says, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket to light one up, “why’d you invite her?”

Hamin considers his answer carefully, shifting his weight onto the other leg. It’s obvious that Hongwon is already upset, so anything he says will probably get him angry anyway. “I was hoping maybe you guys could hit off,” he says at last, deciding to be honest.

In truth, Hongwon isn’t surprised to hear this—he actually suspected it—but it still pisses him off nonetheless. It wasn’t the first time Hamin tried setting him up with someone. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. This was something he had told him countless times and yet, he continues to pull stunts like this.

“I know you said you aren’t looking for a relationship,” Hamin continues when he proceeds to bring the cigarette to his lips without a reply, “but I just think you could at least talk to her and—“

“And then what? We fall in love, get married and ride off into the sunset?” He cuts him off abruptly.

“No, I just—“ he starts to say but stops when he can’t think of how to word it correctly.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Y/N went through a bad breakup, and so did I. You think maybe the two of us can find the comfort we couldn’t find with our previous relationships, in each other.” He pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that's a load of shit. This idea you have that love can just make me forget about all my trauma, is a load of shit.” Hamin flinches at the sudden aggression in his tone. This really didn’t come across the way he intended it to.

“Guess what, I’m fucked up Hamin!” He continues, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I have too many damn issues and I don’t need some chick to try to figure me out or fix me. I told you already, I’m happy with the way things are. I’m not gonna play into your stupid games just because you want to play fuckin’ cupid.” Hongwon scowls, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Hamin keeps his gaze on the ground, frustrated with how easily and accurately Hongwon is able to guess what he’s thinking. He didn’t realize how terrible it all sounded out loud. He racks his brain for something—anything—to say and argue that those aren’t his intentions, but Hongwon is speaking again before he’s able to do so successfully. 

“I don’t care if you invite her. Just don’t go expecting anything out of me.”

He nods his head weakly. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, bro…” He says scratching his neck, “I’m not trying to find someone to fix you...” he trails off.

“It’s cool.” He sniffles, the cold air getting to him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap like that.”

Hamin is taken aback for a second, not expecting him to apologize. He kicks the floor with his sneaker, “S’cool.”

“You still hungry?” Hamin asks, afraid that their little spat would create unnecessary tension between them.

Hongwon tosses his cigarette onto the floor to put it out with his sneaker. “Fuckin’ starving.”

You went home together with Hyeri later that afternoon once your shift was over. It was always nice to go home when the sun was setting and the air felt cooler. You loved how quiet the city got, allowing you to simply be one with your thoughts. 

Unfortunately for you, today was not one of those days.

You release a sigh as you continue to pretend to not notice Hyeri’s constant fidgeting. “Hyeri, if you want to know so badly just ask already.”

She releases a giant breath as if she had been holding it this entire time. “Oh thank goodness because I felt like I was actually going to die if you didn’t say something soon,” she says grabbing your arm excitedly, like a puppy who was just called over by its owner. 

“What were you doing with those two hotties I’ve never seen before?” You couldn’t tell what made her more excited―the fact that she found them so attractive or the fact that you were talking to men other than your coworkers. “Is one of them single?” she stops walking and gasps, “Are they both single?!”

An older lady walking her Chihuahua gives you a scornful look as she passes the two of you and you bring your finger to your lips to shush Hyeri. “Sorry,” she says with a giggle, “but this is huge!”

You pull her along with you to cross the short crosswalk and to the steps of your apartment complex, “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’ve seen Hamin before.” You say, slipping your house key into the lock and opening the door.

“Okay but, this time there was another guy too. And you guys talked for like 20 minutes! On your shift!” She says, removing her shoes quickly to stand in front of you excitedly. You stop untying your shoelaces to give her a look.

“He’s a friend I made through Hamin. Who is also just my friend,” You tell her slowly as if you were explaining it to a child but you can tell by her smile that she’s not listening. You sigh and slip your work shoes off, putting them in the hallway closet. Hyeri hovers behind you, not wanting to be too pushy but also too worked up to leave you alone.

You stand up straight and turn around. “Okay fine. Hamin invited me to this party,” this already has Hyeri clasping her hands over mouth, “he and his friend are playing a gig for a friend—”

She’s squealing and jumping around before you can finish your sentence. “And they want you there as their plus one! Oh my—”

“But I think Hamin knows about the breakup and he feels bad and that’s why he invited me,” you say quickly. Hyeri stops mid spin to give you an incredulous look. “I mean, they kind of saw the whole thing since it happened at work,” you say glumly.

Hyeri wraps her arms around you when she sees how you deflate at the reminder. “Hey, don’t make such a sad face. You guys have been friends for a while now, right? I haven’t met the guy but I’m sure he invited you because he wants you there and not because he pities you.”

“Sorry. I think I’ve been trying too hard not to think about it so all the negative thoughts are really hitting me now,” you say, resting your head on her shoulder. She always had such a comforting mom warmth to her.

She releases you and gives you a comforting smile. “Do you want to go?”

“Well,” you sit on your bed exhausted, “I actually didn’t know Hamin played music until recently. I’ve really been wanting to hear some of his stuff and apparently his friend does music too..”

“Girl, there’s your answer! Who says you have to spend your days sad and alone after a breakup? If you want to go, go.” She encourages you. She had a point. Although somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt guilty. When Hamin invited you, you were super stoked and set on going but now that you were really thinking about it, you couldn’t help but think of Jaewon.

“I can tell you’re overthinking this,” Hyeri says. “Don’t. You’re a free woman! Free from a man who took advantage of you and didn’t know how to treasure you. Do whatever the fuck you want because it’s no one’s business. It’s not like you’re planning to go sleep around.” She crosses her arms across her chest, “and even if you are guess what, it’s still no one’s business.” She says vehemently.

You pick at your nails and bite your lip. “Okay.”

“Okay?!”

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

She squeals again and launches herself onto you. You land with an oof on your bed, her head barely missing yours by an arm hair. “Oh, one more thing though,” you manage to say from beneath her. “They kind of invited you too.”

Hyeri lifts herself up at this. She stares at you with wide eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I guess they saw us talking together and figured we were friends. Also, they caught you trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.” You tell her.

“Nooooooooooo,” she cries and runs to throw herself onto her bed face flat.

“It was the hiding behind an upside down textbook for me,” you snicker.

“Y/N, please I’m in the middle of dying of embarrassment.”

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.4]

Masterlist

The first thing Eva did when she came home was finish downloading the rest of Palaye Royale's discography. It was as though pushing the arrow on the saturation scale and suddenly her apartment with skeleton white walls and empty shadows was bursting with a new variety of rich colors. Songs that pulled back the whites in her eyes and forced open her ears to this new euphoria that was rattling through her brain and body like a pinball game.

The band's music drifted through the apartment for the rest of the night, tracks on a loop that was sure to make the tenants upstairs despise her. By the time she finished cooking dinner for herself she was lost in the cynical poetry of Warhol, entranced by the echoing of Remington's rasping screams that were never out of tune. And while she was supposed to be working on her latest article, Eva was instead watching the video for Lonely, the entire time feeling like her throat had been ripped out by a bare fist and forced to watch it beat out.

All in all, Dying in a Hot Tub took the crown for favorite. On a Saturday night, when she would usually be out with friends and drinking her problems away at the local bar, Eva was dancing through her apartment, pretending to sing along to the miserable and comprehensive words. A glass of cheap white wine sat on the counter, aiding in her inhibitions for having a rock concert in her living room. Pluto wasn't having any of it, retreating to his bed and ignoring her for most of the night.

Meanwhile, holed up in his own bedroom Remington scrolled through the Tumblr blog that Eva told him about: posts filled with poetry and proses that had him hooked as sure as he was doing drugs. Each post told a story, ranging from questions about her femininity, difficulties in growing up with an absent mother and a know-it-all dad, the first boy she had who humped and dumped her after prom. Remington wanted to read it all, falling deeper into the rabbit hole of Eva Kuznetsov.

His focus shifted from text to music when he heard a familiar sound: that sound being his own voice. The faint echo of words he was singing to crowds not months ago were suddenly swirling in the air, and when he turned to the complex, he found he had a clear view of Eva dancing away under the golden lights of her apartment. She had the screen door opened, not big enough for Pluto to squeeze through, but enough so he could hear the muffled music from his room. He knew he had pretty open access to Eva; he just didn't realize that he could see right into her space.

Which meant she could probably see into his room, too...

It was mesmerizing to watch her, spinning, jumping, her hair pirouetting around the sharp edges of her perfect jaw, all the while smiling and pretending to sing along. It was the most endearing thing Remington had seen in a long time, watching the real Eva come to life. She was uninhibited by people and impressions, dressed down in a pair of little cotton shorts and her hoodie, she was absolutely crazy and perfect.

Mischief soon got the better of Remington and he reached for his phone, eagerly selecting her number and typing. Across the way, Eva stopped dancing when the music dipped, indicating that she received a text on her phone. Brushing her winded hair out of her face, she grabbed her phone off the desk, her face going beet red when she was Remington's text:

Nice dance moves, Frances Houseman

She glanced up through the glass sliding door, mortified when she realized Remington could see her this whole time. Illuminated by the glow of the street lamp, his boyish smile seemed to shine brighter, clearly amused with this late-night entertainment. She took a deep breath and turned down the volume of the music, trying to collect herself.

How much of that did you see?

He responded not even ten seconds later:

Enough to know your hips clearly don't lie.

Shut up

And if I may ask, why are you looking through my window?

I can't help it. I'm vain enough that I get distracted by my own damn voice

Or you're just a fucking creeper

The fact that you haven't closed the curtain tells me you don't seem to mind an audience ;)

A familiar warmth spread through the pit of her stomach and Eva began to giggle uncontrollably; like a child that had been caught stealing a cookie from the jar and was so on edge she couldn't help but laugh. Stupid her for not closing the curtain.

Well I'm sorry, but the show is over now

She then went to the window to close the curtain, flipping off the smirking blonde as she shut out the rest of the world. Remington only laughed to himself, quickly texting back:

But the memories will live on in my brain

Fuck you, Leith!!

I think you should buy me a drink first, Kuznetsov

Eva just shook her head as she read his last message, downing the rest of her wine with a rose-tinted cheeks. Even with the music off, she still had Remington's soft raspy voice ringing in her head as she decided it was time to turn in. She couldn't help but start singing to herself.

"But I'm dying in a hot tub, I'm dying in a hot tub with my cat!" she lunged down and pointed both hands at Pluto. Pluto was unfazed, just staring at her with an unemotive expression. Eva's smile turned into a scowl.

"Well, fuck you too, then,"

✧✧✧

May brought the promise of vibrant flowers, bikini bodies and so many reasons for people to go out and mingle with their friends at the beaches and clubs.

Well... that was the case a year ago...

In Remington's mind, he and his friends had no need to go down to the beach and risk contracting Covid when he had a perfectly safe and clean pool and patio in his backyard. And within the last two and some weeks, he had succeeded in bringing Eva around more and more.

She got along great with everybody, which had Remington confused as to why she said she had it rough with friends. But everybody seemed to like her, and soon enough she had assimilated into their little pod. She started just with sitting outside with everyone, and when she was comfortable enough she came and hung out inside the house. Afternoons were either spent by the pool or watching TV shows and eating snacks. And the more she stayed over, the more Remington became fascinated with her.

Even Emerson and Sebastian couldn't deny that there was something about Eva that was unique; she was sparkplug of quick witticisms and lame jokes that people would laugh at just because she was so cute. She was mature way beyond her years, and yet she still had fun like a teenager trying to find themselves in high school. More than anything, the boys were curious to how close Eva and Remington were slowly becoming.

Remington liked hanging out in Eva's apartment. The environment held a different kind of vibe; like an aesthetic post you'd tag on Pinterest under a renovations gallery. But Remington was inside Eva's world, seeing the random art pieces she had hung on the walls and getting to hang with Pluto on the couch. He helped her bake when they couldn't think of anything else to do, and she always insisted he'd bring some home even when he assured her that he didn't need it. She was kind, homely, a woman with a clean soul and dirty mind who could make him laugh and didn't care when he openly belched after a soda.

Despite the pandemic, Remington was excited for his birthday. Any other time, he was at a bar or a house party with his friends, drinking until he couldn't feel his legs or ending up face-deep in a grimy toilet bowl. Even though the party wouldn't be as fun as it usually would be, Remington was looking forward to at least spend his birthday with his closest family and friends, only.

Eva wished she could have had the same optimism Remington did, but the Saturday before his birthday, she was none too pleased to find that the drain to her kitchen sink was leaking water. And apparently, it wasn't her landlord's job to come up and fix it for her.

"You want me to come take a crack at it?" Remington asked when Eva explained the situation.

Eva's phone was on speaker as she tried to navigate the utility box in the closet to turn off her water.

"Do you have experience in sink maintenance?" she asked.

"I don't," Remington admitted, "But that's what Youtube is for, right?"

Eva simpered, "As entertaining as it would be watch you destroy my sink, I respectfully decline,"

"You think too low of me, Eva," he whined.

"I just know you better than you think, Remington," she replied smartly, "I got a plumber coming by, anyway. And he can't get here 'til six for some reason so I'll be down a shower day,"

Remington's eyebrows furrowed down, "He's coming at six at night?" he asked.

"Yeah," Eva replied, seemingly clueless to the skepticism in his voice.

"What plumber makes house calls after five o'clock?" he said.

Eva stopped short, "Well, he's an independant freelancer. Makes his own hours, I guess,"

"You hired a fucking freelancer to come fix your sink?" he said incredulously.

"He's what I can afford," she replied.

"So he didn't come from an agency?"

"Nope!" Eva huffed, satisfied when she finally figured out how to turn off the water dial, "He came from Letgo,"

It was then Remington had a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn't blame Eva that she didn't want to splurge her money on a plumber, but the thought of her alone with a strange man -- who mostly carried a multitude of heavy tools -- made his hair stand on end.

"Maybe I'll come by and wait with you while he does the job," he said.

"Why?" Eva asked.

"Because you're a small girl letting a strange man into your apartment after hours," he replied.

Eva turned to her window, still having a firm view of Remington's empty, but messy bedroom, "You were a strange guy I let into my apartment," she countered.

"And now you have concrete proof that I'm not a creep, I'm just a little weirdo," he replied, "I'd just feel better being there with you, is all,"

Eva shrugged, understanding where he was coming from yet assuring herself that he was overthinking it, "I mean, if you wanna'... sure,"

"Great!" Remington grinned, "I'll be by before six,"

The early afternoon soon delved into the night, and just as he promised, Remington was at Eva's apartment ten minutes before six.

And the plumber was late.

Eva attributed it to traffic when the clock hit ten after, but then she was annoyed by twenty after. What was he possibly doing that he was twenty minutes late for a pay grab? Remington didn't say anything, though the knot in his stomach got tighter as the minutes ticked by. And when Eva assured him that he didn't need to stay, he simply shook his head and declined.

"The only way you're getting me out of this apartment is with a fucking pitchfork," he told her, smirking with pride. Eva only rolled her eyes.

It was finally quarter to seven when a battered, unlabelled black pickup truck pulled up in front of the complex. And just as Remington feared, a rather large man came falling out of the truck and started trudging his way inside. He carried no tools with him.

Both Remington and Eva had their masks on and the windows open as the plumber came inside. He was portly, older, and he wore the mask just under his nose; a particular pet peeve of Eva's. He was polite as he greeted the kids, narrowing his eyes at Remington. The whole time he was there, Remington made sure to keep Eva close to him.

"So, what seems to be the trouble?" the plumber asked, coming over to the sink but looking around slowly at the knick knacks and furniture within the apartment.

"Well, I'm not sure. It just started leaking all of the sudden," Eva shrugged.

The plumber glanced at the faucet, then took a look under the counter to the pipes. Eva began to understand why Remington was so eager to come over, now. He stayed well on his knees for longer than needed, not pulling out a flashlight to see in the dark shadows. Even Pluto seemed to sense something was off about this character, he leapt onto the top of the couch where he had a full vantage point of the typical case of plumber's crack.

The plumber finally sat back from his inspection, turning to the two kids, "I see what the problem is. I gotta' get my other tools from my truck, though," he said.

Eva and Remington glanced at each other with uncertainty, "... Okay," she drawled, "We'll, um -- we'll be here, I guess,"

"Okay," he forced himself back on his feet and exited out the door.

Not two seconds later, Remington heard the faint carry of voices in the hallways; a couple by the sounds of it. He took a look into the hall, indeed finding a pair of Eva's neighbours unlocking their door as the door to the stairwell slammed closed.

A few minutes passed, but Eva was confused when she heard the revving of an engine outside. She went to go look out her window, and sure enough, the black pickup truck was speeding away. Needless to say, she was shocked.

"What the fuck!?" she exclaimed, "He left!"

Remington came to look as well, not surprised but his fears quelled as he watched the truck disappear around the corner.

"Good," he said, "Truth be told, I'm pretty sure he wasn't here to fix the sink,"

Eva pulled her face mask off, "What, you think he wanted to rob me?" she asked.

"Or something a little more vile," Remington nodded, simultaneously pulling off his own mask, "He clearly didn't like the fact that I was here,"

Eva's face paled for a moment, now grateful she had let Remington in when he asked. How did he know, though?

"How did you know he wasn't legit?" she asked.

Remington scrunched his nose, "Well, first of all he's coming by at six -- well, seven o'clock on a weekend. Second of all, you found him on Letgo,"

Eva shrugged, "I don't trust Craigslist,"

"Because Letgo is any more reliable?" he raised his eyebrows with a petty grin, "This is the part where you say 'thank you for looking out for me, Remington',"

Eva narrowed her eyes at him, "Thanks for coming by, ya' smug shit," she glanced out the window again, "You think he's going to come back?"

"Not now that he thinks I'm here, too," Remington replied, "Like I'd leave my girlfriend alone with a strange guy at seven at night. In a fucking pandemic, too," he scoffed.

Eva looked at him quizzically, "... I'm not your girlfriend," she drawled.

"But he doesn't have to know that," he grinned back.

Eva had to admit, she was impressed. And moreover, quite grateful for Remington's persistence -- though she wouldn't tell him that.

"Aw, I have such a smart boyfriend!" she gushed sarcastically, clasping her hands together before going to fetch her Lysol spray.

Remington simply sat back down on the couch, feeling pretty damn good about himself now, "Anything for my baby!" he exclaimed happily.

"Shut up,"

[somedayonbroadway]

I think all the Newsie's AU's could be really entertaining but I would most like to know about the Leverage one and the Lilo & Stitch one.

Okay, so I had two people in a row ask for Lilo and Stitch while also requesting another outline, so I’ll be doing Lilo and Stitch very soon.

But… I LOVE this one.

So, for those of you who haven’t seen Leverage, you can watch it on Amazon Prime Video. It’s amazing and I adore it. My favorite character is Hardison. He’s everything. Nothing he says ever gets old. Hardison and Parker are literally so freaking cute that I just can’t. And I think I’ve already talked about how Spot Conlon is very similar to Eliot Spencer, at least the way I write him. So this’ll be fun.

So anyways…

Leverage AU

Characters

Jack Kelly — Nate Ford

Katherine Plumber — Sophie Devereau

Spot Conlon — Eliot Spencer

Racetrack Higgins — Parker

Albert DaSilva — Alec Hardison

Jack Kelly: The Mastermind

Jack is an alcoholic

He’s only twenty five when this story starts.

He used to work for an insurance company but after that same company let his baby brother die, refusing to pay for his treatment, Jack quit and has been a “functioning alcoholic” ever since.

Jack has anger issues that he refuses to acknowledge

Jack used to pride himself on being emotionally broken, but still never crossing over to the “dark side” of the law.

He’s the son of a numbers runner who was emotionally abusive

Was originally trying to become a catholic priest as he was strong in his faith but has since strayed a bit after losing Charlie, the only person in the world he truly loved

After meeting his team, Jack grows very protective of them, viewing them as a sort of family that he’d never really had, all except for Charlie.

Jack first meets the team when a man comes to him, begging him to keep an eye on a group of thieves as they execute a job he’s hired them for. After they are all double crossed by this man, narrowly escaping death, they come together to set things right and the team begs Jack to continue leading them as Jack shows them how good it feels to do the right thing, even if the right thing requires bending or breaking the rules.

Jack grew up extremely poor but is an excellent artist and chess player.

Jack likes to cook.

Jack loves to learn new things when he can’t drink to continue distracting himself.

Jack is the one to typically choose the clients his new team takes on.

Jack took Charlie in the second he turned eighteen, unable to trust his father who was a no good drunk.

Jack hates that he’s becoming just like his dad but refuses to stop.

Jack is more protective of Race than anyone else, as Race’s optimism and energy remind him of Charlie.

Jack serves as a mentor of sorts to Albert.

He is kept in check by Spot.

Jack is very quick witted, moving from one plan to the next as things change.

Jack gets his own father killed after a mission gone wrong.

Jack gets arrested protecting his team who he knows will go away for much longer than him for all the crimes they’ve committed.

Jack is the one who introduces the group to Katherine, the best grifter he’s ever seen, with whom he ends up falling for.

Katherine Plumber: The Grifter

Katherine is a struggling actress who can’t perform to save her life, though is the best grifter in the business.

Katherine is very careful of her identity, meaning that absolutely no one knows her real name.

Katherine speaks nearly eleven languages.

Katherine has difficulty maintaining real relationships as it’s hard to decipher her acts from reality.

Before becoming a member of Leverage she focuses heavily on art theft

After meeting the team, she bonds with Race over art

Katherine manages to fake her death twice in two years and attend her own funeral at both

As Katherine is the only woman on the team, she often feels as though she doesn’t belong, but all of her boys adore her and protect her at all costs.

Katherine has an abundance of connections around the world, though none of them know her true identity.

Prides herself on long cons that she’d pulled in the past all by herself.

Katherine never reveals how she grew up to her friend as she is very good at letting things go and never getting attached but all of that changes when Jack reaches out to her.

Katherine is wanted in five countries.

Successfully stole the Stanley Cup and replaced it with a replica, though she does not care for Hockey and did all of it out of spite because someone told her she couldn’t.

Katherine makes a game of keeping her real name from Jack as she insists he has to earn the right to know it.

Katherine falls for Jack nearly as fast as he falls for her.

Though Jack and Katherine do sleep together a few times, they agree to keep it a secret for the good of the team.

Though Katherine and Jack aren’t much older than the rest of the team, they take on a sort of parental role for Race and Albert who both grew up orphans

Katherine eventually opens up her own acting company where she finds she is an excellent coach, though she was never a performer herself because she lacked a certain truth element when she would try to perform on stage or on screen.

Katherine is very close with the whole team, but is able to relax while around Spot, as he’s more an equal to her than Race and Albert, and Jack and her have a lot of tension sometimes.

She shares the most with Spot on accident as Spot is easy to talk to.

Runs away at some point to “find herself” after an old team of hers tries to kill her and the rest of her current team and comes back just in time for Jack to be arrested, saving all of them.

Spot Conlon: The Hitter

Spot Conlon was in and out of the mob all growing up. (Eliot was black ops, but I want Spot to be younger, this is different).

He began training when he was very young and is a very skilled “retrieval specialist”

Spot has had to kill before and is ashamed of his past. When asked about it, he calmly asks his team not to get curious because he would tell them what he did 

Though the whole team consists of criminals, Spot believes them, especially Race and Albert, to be innocent and naive and he constantly looks out for them as best he can, acting as a sort of big brother for them until he catches feelings for Race (yeah sorry guys that’s gonna be different too)

Spot is very calm and never shows any kind of panic.

Spot is a trained chef

He grows up only fighting, learning to not get attached

The leverage team is his gateway to figuring out that he is capable of love

His role on the team is protection. He is always around to keep his team out of trouble when something goes wrong or even when things go right and he has to disarm people on purpose.

Spot is wicked smart and is able to discern things from noises, smells, walking patterns etc. always stating “It’s a very distinctive __”

Knows various types of martial arts and uses them regularly

Though not technically a grifter, Spot has an easy time playing different roles and can blend in easily with a crowd.

Hostage negotiator

Survivalist

He’s extremely protective of his team and is willing to go great lengths to make sure they’re safe and secure

Has a budding relationship with Albert who constantly gets himself into trouble that Spot has to get him out of.  

Was known as Sean before Race showed up and gave him a non threatening nickname based on his freckles

Can play the guitar

Manages to get shot at constantly, taking a few bullets but refusing to walk with crutches.

He loves teaching Katherine how to defend herself

Loves teaching Race knew things as well

Speaks six languages

Spot is not familiar with a lot of technology, causing him to often need Albert’s help with that kind of thing

Has rescued Race and Albert from being kidnapped or hurt the most

As times goes on, finds himself more and more in love with his team and really does love to protect them

Sees Albert as a little brother, even if he won’t admit it.

Racetrack Higgins: The Thief

Has been a thief since he was very young, maybe seven, but only gives his team made up stories about how it all started

Has a hard time coping with grief or pain, which is why he likes to make up stories about his past.

Abusive father killed Race’s mother when he was very young

Race grew up in foster care until he ran away at twelve, eventually getting raised on the street by an elite thief who spotted his talents and offered to train him, making him the best thief in the world

Is socially awkward on account of being a loner for most of his life and rarely ever opens up about his childhood

Despite this, Race is very loud and curious, almost childlike with his team, thus why Katherine and Jack become sort of parental figures toward him.

Race did have an older brother who got hit by a car when he was very young, after going out to get food for him. Race blames himself to this day.

Desperate for some kind of real family, besides the thief who trained him, Race meets an older foster brother who teaches him how to boost cars, along with “teaching him other things”. Though his is abused physically and sexually by this boy, Race doesn’t know any better and hangs on his every word, believing that the older boy wanted to help him.

Race is arrested when he’s fourteen, taking the fall for the boy who taught him how to boost cars

Race was a getaway driver at thirteen, and a good one at that.

He is constantly reminded of how he’s not normal, taking a toll on his mental stability as he’s often referred to as insane or inhuman

Race is fairly naive, but does live up to his title as the best thief in the world

Enjoys stealing diamonds more than anything else.

Quickly becomes best friends with Albert and is curious on how to get Spot to open up.

Never went to high school but is still amazingly smart as it takes a lot of math and science and so forth to be a thief.

Enjoys using tasers as a weapon of choice.

Has a bit of a sadistic mind as he enjoys watching Spot beat up on some of their enemies, especially the ones who’d tried to come at him, sometimes even visualizing that they’re the boy who left him behind after using him constantly all those years ago

Eventually does have to confront Drake again, but has his whole team to protect him.

Really loves cash

Is shocked the first time Spot kisses him because, he has been abused before, but kisses Spot again, telling him how different it feels

That’s the first time Race truly opens up about his past and Spot figures out that someone had used him

Has a fear of horses

Is not anywhere near afraid of heights

Has trust issues (obviously) despite the insistence that Albert and Spot (and of course Jack and Katherine but most Al and Spot) would never let anything happen to him

Actually trusts Jack the most as he came from the good side of the law

Does not like psychics

Katherine coaches Race in his social skills, helping him embrace his sexuality and slightly rely on those around him for connection and comfort

Race’s real name is Antonio Higgins, but he’s known across the world as only ‘Racer’

Albert DaSilva: The Hacker

Much like Race, Albert grew up in foster care, though through most of his childhood, he lived with a woman he refers to as “Nana”. Not his actual grandmother, but a foster mother who he adored and actually took care of him.

Often refers to himself as a geek and prides himself in being one as it is the “age of the geek, baby”

Is relied on heavily by the team as he makes a lot of their equipment (eg: coms, modified cell phones, button cams)

Provides CIA level aliases for his team.

Owns the teams vehicle, “Lucille” and is pissed when they manage to destroy not one model, but two

Has an unhealthy obsession with orange soda

Is physically very fit, but is not good in combat situations

Being an introvert for most of his life, Albert took to technology and learned just about everything one can about them

Albert is straight in this one (sorry for my Ralbert fans) but, as Race’s best friend, is constantly trying to subtly get Race to admit he has feelings for Spot

Though he and Spot didn’t get along too well at first, they eventually see themselves as brothers and look out for each other

Claustrophobic

Gets buried alive during a job gone wrong and is showed just how much he’s loved when his team manages to rescue him, believing him to be dead at first

Manages to keep the team very well paid and secured so the government can’t find them

Hacked into the pentagon when he was only twelve

When he was younger, his nana forced him off the computer for one hour out of every day to “give his eyes a rest from the screen” and Albert learns how to play the violin

Mostly used his skills for fun when he was younger, just wanting to prove he could do something

Skipped his senior prom to hack into medical records and get his nana on a high priority list

Has always looked out for the people he cared about

The only one Albert didn’t trust was Spot, as Spot intimidates him until Spot started showing interest in what he did, never commenting on it, but always looking very impressed

Oversells himself while grifting and often relies on Katherine to help guide him

Cares about humanity and the big picture, much like Jack. This is where their bond comes from as Katherine, Race and Spot have spent most of their lives looking out for themselves

Has a soft spot for little kids

Enjoys messing with Spot and making bets with him, even sparking in them having their own handshake which consists of them subtly high diving twice at waist level and then fist bumping. It’s often how they seal a bet or agree on a plan

What do you guys think? Any scenes you wanna see? Any other characters you wanna hear about? Let me know!

For more Mood Boards and AUs, click here!

[vateacancameos]

How To Move to Night Vale: Step 1, Arrive in Town; Step 2, Automatically Become a Resident

Fandom: Welcome to Night Vale Characters: You, Minor Cecil Palmer, Other characters Words: 1476

Summary: How does Night Vale get new residents? Given the high death count, either all the citizens have a TON of kids, or Night Vale simply ... acquires new people. I imagine the town is sentient enough to pull in people it likes. Here's a story of how that might happen.

***

You don’t intend to move to Night Vale. It just sort of … happens? You have a good job and a good home, and you are perfectly satisfied—no, not satisfied … content—with your life. But Night Vale happens, and you just go with it, like you always do. Your friends have always told you its your best trait.

You’re traveling to visit your sister, and on the drive across the desert that takes you to her, you stop overnight at a motel on the edge of the town you hit around supper time. You think it’s a little odd that you have to sign the register in blood—you have a perfectly nice working pen in your bag—but hey, if they want to conserve ink, who are you to tell them otherwise? You’re just passing through.

The next morning, after one of the best sleeps you’d had in years—you aren’t sure if it was the mournful moaning three doors down or the sickly sweet aroma bubbling out of the misting machine by the bed, but whatever it is worked like a charm—you find an orange envelope slipped under your door. In semaphore drawings, it tells you that you have been assigned as the new English teacher. Your semaphore knowledge is weak, so you’re not sure if the previous teacher quit or was swallowed by a black hole, but it doesn’t really matter.

read the rest under the cut

You shrug. You majored in psychology and have been working in the field as such for the last five years, but you did have a lot of writing to do in school, so you think you can handle this. English is mostly about reading books and talking about them, right? You can manage that. You like to read. You call your sister to let her know you won’t be visiting this week after all, but your phone starts smoking and sparking as soon as she answers. You’ll have to remember to hunt down a computer and try emailing her later.

You arrive at Night Vale High School and are directed to the vice principal’s office. She’s very excited you showed up already in uniform. You look down at your grey t-shirt, jean capris, and orange Chuck Taylors and ask about the color of the shoes. Everyone else’s seem to be a rust color. She waves you off and says that will be taken care of at the morning sacrificial ceremony. You nod. It’s always nice to not have to change your look just to go to work.

You are given attendance sheets, scrolls, and a watercolor set and directed to your room. When you arrive, the class is already full. It’s always nice to come into a new job where everything is already in place. You take attendance, which takes a good forty minutes, since everyone must perform their own interpretive dance routine to announce their presence, then you open up the scroll to see what the students are working on.

The scroll is filled with numbers and letters. Algebra? Geometry? You barely past stats in college and have tried to forget as much math as possible. You ask one of the students. They look at you funny and say “It’s English! What kind of English teacher are you?”

Now, you’ve been pretty roll-with-the-punches so far, because it’s in your nature to be so, but this is definitely not English. A tiny elfin-looking creature at the back of the room stands up and sighs. “Come on, Mike, give the new teacher a break. The administration only switched English and algebra a week ago. Maybe she wasn’t around to hear that announcement.” It’s nice being in a place that gets your gender right on the first try.

Your shoulders drop in relief. You say that you only arrived in Night Vale the night before and had indeed missed the announcement that English and algebra had been switched. You make a mental note to talk to the vice principal, but figure you can handle one day of teaching. Maybe it’ll turn out that you’re really good at it. You won’t know until you try.

Unfortunately, you’re pants at algebra, both in learning and teaching it. The morning drags on forever, but lunchtime eventually comes. The sentient patch of blue fog that teaches theater (“I’m Misty. Yeah, my parents have terrible taste in names, laugh it up.”) invites you to eat lunch with her. You’d rather eat alone, but you’re polite and accept. Perhaps you can learn more about the school and town.

You’re warned not to ever go to the library (“Not that an English teacher ever needs to go to the library”) but told that the Moonlite All-Nite Diner has the best invisible pie in town. Misty gives you a spare coupon for a free slice of pizza from Big Rico’s. When you say you’re gluten intolerant, Misty laughs and says, “Aren’t we all?” She’s cute when she laughs. You wonder if she’d go get a slice with you some evening.

The afternoon goes faster after you decide to forgo teaching algebra and just talk about your favorite movies instead. You applaud the school system on molding such polite, intelligent children. They all do exactly as asked, and the one time a student speaks out of turn, he looks completely terrified, which concerns you just a bit, but you let it go. It’s your first day after all. They’ll get used to you.

You try to talk the vice principal into switching you to … would it be called algebra? ... class, or really anything else but math, but she shrugs and said it’s already been carved into the bloodstones. When you say you’re terrible at math, she asks if you can count to eight. When you affirm, she says you’ll be fine. You sigh and nod.

You ask her where the closest real estate office is, so you can look into getting an apartment—the motel is great and all, but the orange buzzing lights are really annoying after a while. The vice principal’s eyes go wide and her face pales to an olive green, she stutters a bit before the administrative assistant pokes his head through the door and reminds her that you can just take the old English teacher’s home, since they no longer need it, being an Erika now. The vice principal looks relieved.

You raise your eyebrows but follow their directions to your new home—a cute tri-level with a yellow door, the bloodstone circle that you’d learned earlier that day was required in all Night Vale homes, a cheerful kitchen, six bedrooms, and no bathroom.

A smooth voice whispers that the last occupant converted the bathrooms to bedrooms, since they had no use for them, and gives you the number of a reliable plumber. You wonder if your neighbors are nice enough to let you use theirs until you can get one installed. One waved to you as you arrived earlier. He had a very furry face, but there seemed to be a smile hidden under the hair.

Your neighbors are indeed very nice. They are a fairly young couple with two children. The man who waved at you says you’re welcome to use their bathroom whenever. The other man, the one who answered the door, gives you a key to their home, plus the appropriate runes to keep the door from eating you. You make a note to bake them a pie in thanks. You talk about the weather, as good neighbors do, along with the chances of Night Vale’s football team this year (a topic kindly suggested by the woman in a balaclava and cape hiding in the verge) before heading back to your new home to unpack your one bag. You’ll have to go shopping soon. Your Chucks won’t last long if they get covered in blood every day, and you’re about out of deodorant.

That night, you lay in your bed, listening to the screeching of the setting sun—it seems a bit late, almost eleven, but time has never meant that much to you anyway—and think about your first day as a Night Vale citizen. This place is like no other place you’ve ever lived. It’s strange, you won’t deny it, but you like it. It’s comfortable. Even while your brain is telling you it’s wrong in so many ways, your body is saying it’s perfectly natural.

Your mind finally calms when your radio turns itself on for the government-mandated community radio show, and you consider your future. The radio host gushes about the town’s resident scientist, and you smile sleepily when you hear that they just got married. You make a note to sit with Misty at lunch tomorrow. You really should ask her out.

You look forward to tomorrow for the first time in years. You think you’re finally home.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXII: Wendy City

As I sat outside with a few friends at the break of dawn, my mind kept returning to just last night. That scene couldn’t be shaken away and while those folks conversed with pudding cups and oranges in hand, I mulled over that lady’s words.

“Rhea? Is that you?” She asked.

“Rheain’t,” I should’ve replied with. Rather than such a statement as, “now that’s a name I haven’t heard in years.” God damn, could I have been any more ambiguous? Sure, it made sense to me at the time, but I probably gave my would-be bounty hunter the wrong impression.

Now that I thought of it, we were similar in stature and I suppose (although it was a bit of a stretch) that in the dark, my purple hair could have been mistaken for her blue. Still...the implications of being mistaken for such a person left me just a little unsettled.

Pensive, I fixed my gaze on the space between the four of us, then allowed a smile to form.

“Last night I ran into someone who mistook me for an old co-worker of mine,” I announced to the group.

My arms were crossed and I glanced around now and took note of the food in each person’s hand; Otis, with his thick red mittens which held a queen sized candy bar. Gloria, frail and heavy in perfume (who knows how she got hold of such a thing) shook her hands as she spooned pudding into her mouth. Bernard, whose brown and balding hair matched his brown leather clothing, all full of holes. He held an orange in his hand. All the while, my stomach growled.

“You had a job?” Bernard grunted in disbelief.

“Yes, I had a job. Why is that so hard to believe?” I protested. “In fact, it was a little over a couple years ago that I was laid off. Well, all of us were laid off. The company is no more. Just like that office building beside us. Whatever occupied it once doesn’t occupy it now.”

In some respects, good riddance. In others, good grief.

“What kind of job was it?” Gloria, now interested, set down her pudding cup and asked. Bless her frail heart.

Now what can I tell them to make it palatable?

“We were housekeepers, of sorts,” was the answer I came up with.

“What, like you cleaned houses?” Bernard again.

I put my elbow over my knee, palm on my forehead, and shook my head.

“We cleaned...messes. Going from place to place, each of us with our little jobs. Some of us were really good at getting rid of things, while others, it was more about tidying up or moving things around. Brooms, mops, sprays, vacuums, feather dusters. You name it. Everyone had their specialty.”

In truth, our organization never had a name. Those who knew of us outside of the organization would call us ‘janitors’. Then again, some of us did as well. That, or something like it. Custodians, waste disposal, cleaners, plumbers, renovators, whatever. To think that it all stemmed from a joke we all passed around about how we ‘cleaned up after others’ messes’. Then again, how many messes did we clean up and how many did we make?

“You know, back in the day there used to be a term for mafia hitmen. ‘Guy who paints houses’. Were you something like that?” Otis at last gave some input, and I wondered where he heard that bit of trivia. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

“No, nothing like that,” I chuckled. “Get that idea out of your head.”

Because it’s too close to the truth for comfort.

“Anyway, about this old co-worker of mine…” I began, but I was no storyteller; I could spend the rest of my bloody life reminiscing, but that didn’t mean I could give a recollection worth a damn. Yet I tried. Important or not, the need to tell these strangers I’ve shared light meals with tugged at me. “What you have to understand is that many of us shared a bond together. Despite the fact we’d always have our jobs at different places from one another and although sometimes we’d be asked to work as a group or paired together, more often than not, we were off doing our own thing. But we still got together, whether it be at taverns, or the…” headquarters. “Office.”

I paused. Not for effect. Not for feedback. But for the simple fact that I wasn’t sure what name to give this mystery co-worker.

“So if you think of us like a grade school classroom, this co-worker, let’s call her Rhonda. Rhonda…Civic. Yeah, that works. Anyway, Rhonda would’ve been the quiet kid in the back. She kept to herself, didn’t really interact with anyone, and had a few quirks. Some odd ways of speaking. Feeling. Others picked up on it, and of course, like a grade school, she’d get teased. Others would talk about her behind her back,” kinda what I’m doing now, except how else am I supposed to talk about someone who’s no longer around?

“I’ve had situations like that,” Bernard grunted as he gave his input. “I used to operate a forklift for a pet food company. Me an’ the boys would shoot the shit when the manager wasn’t watchin’. Most of us, ‘nyway. There was this youngish guy, flannel shirt and overalls. Same attire every day. Didn’t know how he got away wit’ it, but that’s what he wore. He moved bag after bag of dog food, but never once so much as said hi. Not a peep from the kid. We all thought it was weird. Anyway, he quit one day, we never found out why, and that was that. I didn’t even think much of him ‘til you mentioned somethin’.”

“Yeah, it was the same for me,” I replied, and I looked up at the clouds in the sky. “Funny that, I didn’t think much of her back when I worked for that company and now out of the blue someone mistook me for her and it was like, ‘oh yeah…’”

“What about you, Wendy? You’re always off on your own at night, going at it with your projects,” he countered.

“We all have our eccentricities,” I concurred. “I’m also not much for conversation, either, most of the time, but I still enjoy the company of others. If for nothing else than the spectacle.”

It was far too early in the morning, but how I wished to have a warm cup of tea or sake in my hands so I could take little sips as I spoke.

“I never thought anyone outside of the company ever knew her, be it an old friend or an old enemy,” I carried on, unsure if I had any conclusion to this or if it was just early morning rambling.

“What? You think she had enemies?” Otis spat and I could swear that bits of chocolate just flew right by me.

“That’s the thing: I don’t know. There wasn’t really anything I knew about her apart from I heard. Sure, I watched her a few times, but that didn’t tell me much. Whether she had friends or enemies, I could never tell. When I think back on it, I wish I did know. That I had tried to find out more. But it’s kind of that whole ‘you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone’ type of thing. Then again, here she is gone, and I still don’t know what to make of it.”

“Gone?” Gloria must have taken notice of my choice of words. For the record, I didn’t know what became of her. Not any more than I knew what became of the rest of the people I once associated with. Considering that I couldn’t go back to the headquarters (not that I had any desire to return), I had to assume they were all dead and that the place was no more. It made the most sense to me.

“Yeah. Terminated. It’s funny that way, how to them we were all replaceable and they had no problem exploiting us, but even that couldn’t save them.”

“Damn if I don’t know that,” Otis bemoaned. “I have a nephew, and my nephew has a friend who was working when a sign fell on him. Broke his leg. Next thing he knew, management fired him, worker’s comp didn’t cover for his injury, and when he tried to sue, the company’s lawyers blocked him. Then, I knew this other guy who did what he was supposed to. But he got paid scraps and the stress got to him, so one day he came to work all hopped up on coke and his boss fired him on the spot. All those days of doing what he was told and scraping by, and one day was all it took for it to come crashing down. He ended up killing himself some time after that,” after those last words came a sniffle. No tears, though. Maybe it was a runny nose.

I shook my head. Sympathy and grief was a difficult thing to muster given the life I had; countless moments of killing and watching others die. Those I worked with, laughed and shared drinks with, gone at any moment. It wasn’t a case of ‘kill or be killed’, but it was a life defined by the death of others, all the same. So what I felt when Otis relayed his tales of people he knew, all I could feel was hatred and disgust. If I knew their bosses, I would have killed them on the spot.

“You okay, Wendy?” Otis’ voice of concern broke through my thoughts. How I must have stared with that same pensive look I often did when lost in thought.

“It’s just not right, though, is it?” I glanced from person to person as I asked, my question rhetorical in nature. They all shook their heads and murmured, “no” or “not at all”.

Then Bernard waved his hand away and grumbled.

“Bah! Right, wrong, who gives a damn? I’m still alive,” he retorted, then turned to his back and laid himself down over sheets of newspaper.

That was a point I was willing to consider. To some, there was a profound difference between ‘alive’ and ‘survive’, but really, he was no less alive than someone with the privilege of a roof over their head and a bed to sleep in. Food in the pantry and some form of stability. Such things were all an illusion, anyway. People get busy, food goes bad. Bills pile up, costs increase, wage stays the same. To compensate, work extra hours, sleep less. Everything comes at a price few can afford and the compromises are seldom in one’s favor. Locked into a system in which the average person is always just on the verge of homelessness, yet the state of being homeless itself was punished.

Once I had asked Bernard, “if you were given a home, would you take it?” Based on that premise some other minds had, that people such as Bernard only lived that way because they wanted to. That it’s ‘on them’ or whatever. His response? Something like, “show me something that won’t be taken from me, otherwise don’t waste my time.”

That may have sounded like, “I’m here because I want to,” but at least to me, the difference couldn’t have been any more clear.

But enough rants. I stretched my arms out and yawned, then smiled a cheeky grin.

“Well, you know what they say, duty calls,” I announced as I got up. “Time for me to go digging for cash and get myself a bite to eat.”

That was how I went about most of my day: I’d get up, chat with a few folks around the docks, walk around the city ‘til I got a bit of cash, spend it on deep dish pizza and cheap beer (the staple of Chicago), then head back to the docks, bathe in the lake water, and resume my work in the office building. One of those days I’d have working lights, and then I could get to work on giving those folks a more comfortable place to sleep at night. Something like a home. Although it was unfortunate to think that in the eyes of the law, they’d still be considered homeless. Even the most idealistic of endeavors could result in a losing battle.

Whatever actions I might have to take in the future, I focused on the agenda for the day. It was during the day in which I was neither a rumor nor a killer. Daylight meant that I was just a person. Hell, at times a superhero; case in point, an old lady gave me a few bucks after I got her cat out of a tree (yes, as cliché as it was, such a thing happened quite often). Soon after that, I headed down to Cosmo Corner (a popular downtown tavern).

It was about noon now and my favorite bartender would be in soon: Wanda. Nice young lady, all covered in tattoos. At least a dozen on each arm, when I first met her I thought she was part of a crime ring or in a street gang, but nah. Apparently on the side, she liked to paint in her studio, but that was as hardcore as she got. Oh, well, being a bartender could be hardcore too. Not everyone can handle being a bartender.

Right now it was Stickbug (no, I don’t know why he was called that, but everyone called him that. Maybe that’s just his name). Fitness guru with a pencil thin mustache who was disastrous at mixing drinks. But amiable, I’d give him that. None of the conversations he’d strike up were ever ones I was interested in having, but he didn’t have a mean word to say about anyone. Maybe that was the problem: you had to have boundaries. You couldn’t show everyone the same level of sympathy.

“Say Wendy, have you heard of the fall of Constantinople?” Stickbug asked whilst he flung glass after glass in the air and began juggling them. Upon a quick glance, I noticed that there weren’t many people at the moment. Fine enough. I guess no one would give him dirty looks. As for me, I let my head fall onto the counter, the effects of my lack of sleep setting in.

“No, I haven’t,” I replied.

“D’ya wanna hear about it?” He continued to ask, and I already knew how insistent he could be with his topics.

“No,” I told him, to no avail.

“Okay, so we’ve got this city named Istanbul and…” he began, but it didn’t take long for my thoughts to drown out anything else he said.

Why couldn’t I have come in just a little bit later? No, it’s not bad. I could learn things if I listen, I’m just not in the mood to do so. I just want to eat and drink and...oh. Oh my. This must be what Rhea had to deal with all the time...wanting to order food, but never wanting to socialize. Not to mention how anxious she seemed to be in any situation that didn’t have to do with violence. Girl could kick ass but had trouble ordering a sandwich at a sub shop. Not to mention the general bodily discomfort she apparently dealt with.

‘I, and I cannot stressed this enough, am stressed’ I imagine she must have said at one point or another. Seemed to fit, anyway. That, or ‘I, and I cannot stress this enough, need a sweater’ or a blanket. Ugh. Why am I thinking of some weirdo who had such a minuscule presence in my life? Could it have to do with that woman last night? Yeah, probably. Well, a name’s a name. It could have been anyone named ‘Rhea’. Hell, the one I’m thinking of used a different name for each person she met, so I doubt anyone would know her by that name. Probably something else instead, like Sharpay D. Em.

Anyway, I ought to be thinking of more important things. Like the fact that the woman last night wanted to kill me. First of all, couldn’t she have waited? I was busy and I don’t really like being interrupted from my work. All I’m asking for is some fair warning and furthermore –

“...And that is why if you suspect you have a mouse in your home, you should leave a piece of cheese on the floor overnight,” Stickbug seemed to have concluded his little history lesson, except I must have missed many steps, because I wasn’t really sure how we got there.

“Wait, what?” I lifted my head and asked with a dull expression planted on my face.

“Want me to start all over?” He beamed, and I’m sure he could have talked all day and night if someone let him.

“How about later? Isn’t your shift over soon?” I reminded him with a slight sense of pride.

“Oh yeah! You’re right! So glad I got someone to remind me! Otherwise I’d be here all day!”

And nobody wants that. Hell, I don’t even think you’d want that.

“Before you go, I may as well order, seeing as I haven’t done that yet.”

“Oh no!” He gasped. “I hope you haven’t been hungry!”

Funny to think that his concern is real and not sarcasm.

“In fact, I am hungry right now,” I corrected him. “By the way, I’ll get my usual: pepperoni and spinach, large.”

“Right on!” I handed him the cash I had gotten from that old lady earlier. I still had some left over for sake, but I wanted to wait until Wanda got in.

I wonder what kind of food that woman from last night likes to eat. I feel like she’d eat chicken legs and large chunks of steaks. Just, a lot of steak. You know, why am I wondering such a thing? I’ve got better things to think about.

About five minutes later and a glass of water downed, Stickbug waved goodbye. In his place came Wanda with a bandanna over her head and covered in sweat which ran down her face.

“Intense painting session?” I asked.

She wiped her forehead and huffed.

“You know it. Were you waiting for me?”

“Heh,” I flashed her a smile. “It’s just not the same with Stickbug.” Really, how did that name come about? I think he said his name was Steven once, but I’ll be damned if I can remember.

“Is that so?” She asked, then went to the back to put her stuff away and get settled in. About the same time she came back out, the pizza arrived as well.

I took a heaping slice as layer upon layer of cheese and bits of spinach fell off of the pizza and back down onto the plate, unable to sustain itself on the thick cake of dough. Upon taking a large bite, my mouth was filled with the warm and gooey taste along with the combination of squishy spinach and savory pepperoni. One strong gulp later, and I was ready to take a drink. Next to me was my cup of sake, and when I looked up, Wanda winked.

“By the way, someone came in last night asking about any abandoned buildings,” Wanda mentioned as I sipped my cup of sake.

“Oh yeah?” I hummed, which came out more like a “mm-hmm.”

“Yeah. I just told her about the office building you’ve been hanging out in.”

I spat out my drink. Some might have gotten on her apron, but that was her problem, not mine.

“What did you do that for?! I don’t want people coming in and interrupting me while I’m working!”

Then I thought it over.

“Say, what did she look like?”

She put her finger on her chin and looked up.

“Hmm...big and muscular, brown poofy hair.”

Ugh. Yeah.

“Oh yeah. She came by and visited. Tried to kill me,” I replied, almost nonchalant about the whole ordeal, despite how much it had been on my mind.

“What? Are you serious?” She balked.

I shrugged and took another bite of my pizza.

“Yeah, but she wasn’t hard to deal with or anything.”

My main concern was why she was there at all. It’s not that I never expected anyone to come after me, especially when I all but deserted my job. But when no one came, I just expected that I was free and I could live out my life as I pleased.

“Jeez, did you kill her?” She accused. Rather baseless, too.

“No,” I scoffed. “I just sent her back home. Don’t know why she went after me, either.”

“Look, Wendy, I know you’ve killed people. Can’t really say I didn’t see something like this coming.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong: I get why, I just don’t get why, y’know?”

She shook her head.

“It’s like, she said there was a request for my death. She didn’t even know who I was, she mistook me for someone else. What I don’t get is why, rather, how such a request came about. Like, someone knows about me, but is sending people who don’t know about me to do the job.”

“Well, do you know what the request says?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Then maybe whoever made it didn’t know who you were either, but noticed some things around the area.”

“Yeah, maybe.” It was all too possible I was overthinking things. But when it came to things like that, a fair deal of suspicion was necessary. “Whatever the case, if such a request like that is out there, then I doubt the person last night will be the only one.

“It’s kind of an open secret among the circle you talk to that you’re the one behind the murder of those cops. I don’t blame you, plenty of people around here don’t like the police and I really do wish you well, but most people don’t have the privilege to do what you do. Most people don’t have the ability to murder those they see as committing an injustice. Not only that, but most people don’t have confidantes that would be willing to keep their secret. You know why?”

Great. Just what I wanted while I was at the bar with some good food and drinks: a lecture.

“If you’re going to tell me because it’s illegal, I’m going to argue that it’s only illegal if you don’t have a badge and a uniform. Most serial killers are the ones who are hired by the state and demand your respect.”

Her face lowered and she turned from me.

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not saying I disagree, just that the average person isn’t capable of doing such things, even if they wanted to. Even if they ignored the legality, it doesn’t matter. Just as you said, you’ve got got hordes willing to kill whoever they see fit without consequence, decked in highly-militarized outfits and weapons. Their numbers are too great, their power is too great, and if you even show the least bit resistance, they’ll throw in the rest of the military alongside them. So the best most of us can ask for is to avoid them as much as possible. But here you go, picking off anyone who rubs you the wrong way and not only do you manage to sneak on by and keep going, but it’s like you boast about it, too.”

“I don’t boast – I never said I enjoy it.”

“No, that’s not what I mean, sorry.”

“But you’re right: I am very fortunate. In the past, I’ve evaded my demise and have slaughtered entire armies that wished to pursue me. I’m not saying that to boast, though it is quite a feat, I admit. I’ve had a long life, a storied and bloody past, and I really wish I could stay out of trouble, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Old habits, I guess.”

“You’re not that old, are you? You don’t look much over thirty.”

I managed a chuckle.

“Would you believe me if I said I was well over five hundred years old?”

“Quit joking around.”

It’s not exactly wrong. I was born sometime early in the Sengoku period, but time travel sure does let you skip ahead a few years. There’s no way I could explain something like that, though.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a good skincare routine.”

That time, I was joking. There’s no way in hell that bathing in Lake Michigan would preserve your youth.

“Either way, I’m used to not sticking around places for very long. If things get too hot, I’ll leave town. So don’t worry about me,” I assured Wanda.

“I’d like it if it wouldn’t have to come to that,” she replied. “You’re a good customer, and make for good conversation.”

Well, I couldn’t say I wasn’t flattered, but hopefully she wouldn’t hold it against me if I did decide to ditch this place, reside elsewhere and try to lay low. Eventually I would have liked to settle down and be an old lady. Maybe knit sweaters in my spare time, or get a dog and a garden. Become the friendly old lady in the neighborhood that no one knows anything about.

None of that was likely. People like me weren’t meant to last long. As far as age went, I was already pushing it and as far as I knew, I really wasn’t much over thirty. It was just hard to tell where in my thirties, since my concept of time has been all screwed up.

I left the bar soon after. Despite my enjoyment of Wanda’s presence, my head just wasn’t as much in it as I thought it would be. So, still middle of the day, I returned to the docks, ready to get back to work.

I still don’t have the solution. Not enough power. Every time I think I’ve got a spark, it only lights one area. What I need is a lightning rod. Maybe I could stand one of my swords up to the roof to collect electricity. Or antennae. No. That still wouldn’t be enough, not without the right circuitry and places to send the electricity to. There’s more than one component and I can’t just do one without the other. If I’m lucky, there might be some generators downstairs I haven’t discovered. But even if I have to steal or build power generators, I want to give these places a semblance of a home. Some place to rest.

But even if I’m successful, it still wouldn’t be legal for them to reside there. What would I do, then? Fight off a whole force? Or would I run with the knowledge that I would be outnumbered? When I consider the eventual outcome, it was a futile effort and good intentions will only get me so far.

I shook my head as I entered the darkened building through an opening with a loose board. If that woman had been more attentive, she would have seen that not all of those boards were as well covered, and one of them actually served as a door.

Inside, an absence of light. I reached to my right and grabbed my helmet and katana which lay on top of a tall cabinet.

Upon placing the helmet on my head, I had a much clearer view of my surroundings. The infrared visor on my helmet allowed me to see in the dark, albeit some objects showed up blurry.

Outside, it was still light. Dusk wasn’t expected for another few hours. In other words, I had time. I could do my work in peace, take a little nap, not worry about anything. If no one was going to come after me until well after dark, then I could prepare.

So I did just that; I patrolled the area, climbed up each floor, checked out each room, then headed back down to the first floor. All around the first floor I searched for a hatch or a door, a flight of stairs, something that would lead to a basement. No such luck. It seemed that there were no passages, hidden or otherwise. No basement. No generators.

Maybe that’s what I’ll have to resort to. I’ll have to dig out a basement, fill it with concrete, get some generators built or setup...argh! Why is it so hard to get this going? I should just tell everyone, “sorry guys, I know I hate to make false promises, but looks like I just set my sights too high!”

I sunk down to the floor along a wall, right next to a door which would have led to someone’s office.

“Who am I kidding? It’ll be a miracle if I don’t leave before I get the chance to figure this out.”

I leaned my head over and soon felt the weight of the darkness creep up on me as it guided me to a gentle sleep.

When I awoke, I brought myself up to my feet and decided to climb up the many flight of stairs once more.

If I’m lucky, I’d like to at least get the elevator working. Something.

Short rests were all that were ever afforded to me. If I had gotten three hours or more, that was oversleep for me. With the way my body operated, perhaps adapted, I never worried myself with dreams. On the rare occasion where I had a dream, they were brief windows, photographs, still frames cascading down. Images of being beheaded. Of watching my head roll down into a river. Typical things like that. Such things weren’t memories, but just reminders of what should have been long ago.

Never mind. Several flights later, I saw the bits of collapsed roof on the floor. Above, the glow of the moon illuminated the floor. It was the only source of light I was afforded, save for the helmet.

So I see. It’s evening now.

“Damn, couldn’t she have found a different way in other than breaking down the roof? Now I’m going to have to repair that as well…”

If another came after me, I really hoped they wouldn’t drop down from the roof. That would make things too easy for me.

I’m going to consider that it’s still too early for something like that. Not that I have a watch or a phone, but I doubt it’s been night for very long. I just can’t imagine anyone attacking me until late into the night. Any time earlier and it would just be rude.

Just like the night before, I went down to where the top of the elevator was, along with the open panel in the wall. If I had to start somewhere, I figured I’d get done what I could. That was, if I could get anything done at all.

So as I crouched down and got to work, my helmet lifted as I did so. I struck a match and held it between my lips as I worked, plucking it out every now and then to help bind the wires together. There were two wires left with just a little bit of juice. I pulled out a pair of rubber gloves, then held the two wires together and rubbed them; as soon as there was a spark, I used the flame from the match to bind them together. Behind me, a couple rooms away, a light turned on.

Now let’s hope it stays on. Which reminds me: I need to get new light bulbs.

One day, if I ever got (or built) a generator and a basement to place it in, I would test the breaker board. It would be a beautiful sight if one day the whole building could light up. Even as it was, the light from the room remained and leaked out. I was impressed to see that it had stayed on.

Now if I flick the switch off, then on again, will it turn back on?

As I turned to work on the elevator, I was stopped in my place when I heard a thump in the distance. It could have been nothing. Those pipes were old, after all. The vents too.

But even if it was nothing, I had to check it out.

Down one flight of stairs, the sound of movement and creaks against the vents could be heard.

Could it be that I’ve got a guest?

That same sound continued in little spurts. Less noise, but still there. Unavoidable. I could tell, there was movement of some kind. Rat, pebble, raccoon, or a person. Further down the hallway, the sound grew closer, more pronounced. Little shimmies and brushes. Metallic clangs.

I stood in place as the sound seemed to be just above my head. I took off my helmet. No need for it.

“I know you’re up there,” I announced.

Silence. No more movement. Nothing.

Seconds went by. Still nothing.

Stillness passed through the air, and so I had no choice but to accept that I may have just been hearing the old building making noises.

I let out a heavy sigh. Defeat. So soon, too.

“Guess I was just hearing things. I’ll head back now.”

Still no sound of movement. How disappointing. I unsheathed my sword and flashed a toothy smile.

“...Just kidding,” I said before I plunged my katana into the vent and sliced the thing in half.

If there had been a person, or just a rat, surely they felt that.

As I did so, the noise of steel against steel, the grating being slashed apart couldn’t mask the undeniable sound of movement heading backward.

I held my katana up and dragged it against the ceiling as I walked toward the sound of someone retreating from within the vents.

Around the corner, I heard a drop, and the hard tap of a shoe against the floor.

So it was a person. And I missed. I really must be losing my touch.

As I approached, someone small and frail looking peeked out from the corner and threw a knife my way. I caught it between my fingertips and just as fast, threw it back. In a panic, the intruder let out a squeak and ducked back behind the corner, then picked up their knife and ran.

“Were you thinking you could kill me with that? Or were you planning on me blocking it, then running toward me with another knife, the thrown knife being a distraction?” My smile grew wider, almost a grin. It didn’t take much to know their strategy; too many times I’ve dealt with similar tactics. Smart, but amateurish.

Does this person really think they stand more of a chance than the person last night? Or are they just expecting to run around like this is some endurance test?

I wasn’t about to let them experience such a luxury. I ran after and watched as they almost got behind the door to an adjacent room, but before they could do so, I grabbed their wrist and held on tight. Once I pulled them forward, closer to me, it turned out the intruder was a young woman with wavy, green hair.

With my other hand, I raised my knife and readied myself to slice down against her arm.

She scowled, then with her free arm reached for my wrist to free herself. Before she could puncture me, I swung my blade down, at the same time let go of her wrist. Just in time, she jumped out of the way. I turned to make a quick slash, but she blocked it with her knife. Such a measly thing. All I had to do was push harder and it began to show little cracks.

She let go and jumped out of the way again.

“Nimble one, aren’t you?” I observed. Then she charged, but I moved out of the way. She tried to slash with her knife from the side, but I blocked it with my blade, then let go and kicked her to the floor.

Short on breath, she picked herself up. So far all of her efforts, while quick-witted, had been feeble at best.

“Let me ask you this: why do you want to kill me? Is there money involved?”

“I...I don’t want to kill you. That’s...that’s not why I came here,” she spoke, her voice rough, but high in pitch and she fixed her gaze on me as she tried to recover her breath.

“Then why?”

“I want to know who you are,” she answered.

That was such a ridiculous answer. But at least it was some kind of answer.

“I’m a serial killer,” I replied through my teeth. “I leave a trail of bodies in my wake. Sliced open, stabbed through the chest. Cut to ribbons. Does that answer your question?”

Her face turned to shock and she took a step back, but shook her head.

“No, I already knew that much from the request.”

“That again. The request to kill me, correct?”

She gave a nod.

“But I would rather not have to try. Not if you’re anything like who Sunny thought you were.”

“Sunny?”

“The one who tried to kill you last night and got herself beat real good. She thought you were –” I stopped her.

“Rhea?” I asked.

Another nod.

“What was so special about that name? There’s probably plenty of people in this city with that name.”

“Yes. And I looked up every single person with that name in Chicago. There were a lot more names than I thought, and not all of them were happy about receiving a phone call from a stranger.”

…

“Are you a dunce? Did you really?”

“Yes.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of someone actually doing that. I sunk down to the wall and sat.

“Sit,” I commanded. “And if you try anything funny, I will kill you.”

Wordless, she crouched down and sat against the wall across from me.

“So what does that name mean to you?” I questioned.

“Nothing. But it means plenty to a few of the people around me. Rhea Flection, they call her. Apparently she was both feared and admired. Some people want her dead, or revenge on her, others just seem to wish they could see her in action. My cousin and her wife were apparently one of her targets. Someone I admire apparently worked in the same company as her. Says that she died. Yet all these other people keep bringing her up.”

Damn. That name. So it really was the same one that I knew.

“Heh,” I leaned my head back. Absurd as it was, I not only stopped the fight, but also let my guard down. “I wonder if I’ll have my own fan club as well when I die.”

“I take it to mean that you’re not her?” She asked, something which I would have thought was obvious.

“You mean that socially awkward iceberg? No. I’m not her.”

“Iceberg?” She tilted her head, which made me wonder just how much she actually knew.

“You’d have to have been there.”

“So I take it you knew her?”

“Yes. We worked in the same company. But that’s ancient history. For the record, I’m Wendy Day. You?”

“Demetria. What kind of name is that, by the way?”

“I picked it out because I wanted an English sounding name, and it sounds like ‘windy day’. Not very clever, I know. I used to be called Mizue Soyokaze, but I threw that name away long ago, along with the rest of my younger self.”

“Cool. Lore. Can I sit next to you?” She asked, rather sudden, too.

“Go ahead. But I’ll remind you not to get any ideas.”

She got up and as she approached me, she looked away, ashamed or uneasy.

“I probably should have tried to kill you, seeing as I don’t want you to go around killing people, but I was more focused on getting some kind of answers,” she said as she sat down. Then turned away from me. I took it to mean she was shy.

“You don’t want me to go around killing people?” I scoffed. “I don’t want me to go around killing people. I’ve tried to put this life behind me, not get myself into trouble, but then I see others do things that I just can’t abide by.”

“Like what?” She asked, and her voice quivered. If only I had dragged out the battle, maybe she would have shown more bravery.

“Sexual abusers, for starters, but that should be obvious. Then there’s people like landlords and debt collectors who couldn’t care less if they let others die in the name of money. Greedy fucks all around. Still, I can’t catch everyone out there, only the ones that I see. Even then, I try not to let my blood boil, not let it get to me. I try to sit by, abide by the law, but then I witness a child running around with a toy gun with his best friend playing some kind of game, like cops and robbers. Then an actual cop comes and shoots the kid dead, a cruel irony. Said cop walks off, no remorse or recourse, all the while that kid just wanted to play and now their life ended. That I can’t abide by.”

“Wow,” she mouthed.

“But, in case you start thinking I’m some savior, acting only in the name of justice, let me remind you that I’m a murderer and violence is what I know. If anything, I find excuses to take lives, not unlike some of the people I so despise. It’s not even so much a craving or an addiction, but I don’t think this world will ever grow kind, and neither will I.”

“But why did you ever start?”

“Because,” I began. I had to pause, and I thought to myself, wait. Am I really going to go through my life story with a stranger I assumed wanted to kill me? Fuck it. I’m doing this. “I’m all too familiar with authority abusing their power. Back in my old life, when I was young and still had a family, there was a high ranking member of society who was found dead, a puncture wound through their chest. I was blamed for it, an unassuming girl who stayed home all the time and helped out with her family. But once I was accused, that same family disowned me, regardless of whether or not I had actually committed such a thing.”

“Did you?”

“No. But that didn’t matter, I was just a commoner, so my word didn’t mean much, and there was less proof that I didn’t than proof that I did, even if either way was inconclusive. Regardless, I was set to be executed; beheaded, actually. Two men with swords beside me, one in front. All against my throat. However, I managed to fight back and steal the two men’s swords, then cut them all down. After that, I hid out in an abandoned shack. Later on, I found out who the real killer had been and killed him myself. After, I fled. That didn’t stop me from being pursued, but I cut anyone down who dared to try.”

“That’s kinda badass,” she commented. I had to stop her right there.

“No, just bad. My life should have ended that day, as the person I am now was the person I was once accused of being. But no matter how many close calls I’ve had, I’m still here, like some kind of cockroach.”

“And your company?” She asked, and I knew where her real focus was.

“They picked me up a few years back, though in my mind it was centuries ago. They told me that they could offer me protection, be paid to take out those who would abuse their authority. By then, I knew it was only a matter of time, with whole armadas after me. So I accepted.”

“I see.”

“Do you know what we did in that company?” I pondered.

“I get the gist of it. It’s unpleasant, but I can’t just fault everyone when I don’t know them.”

“Huh. Interesting answer.”

I stared down at my blade, then sheathed it. It had been a while, but not unheard of, since I just...sat next to a would-be victim and heard them out. I kind of missed it, as often when it did happen, I would end up sparing said person and coming to a better understanding of them.

“Say, back when you worked there, did you know of someone named Remora?” She asked again.

Remora...Remora...does that ring any bells? No, I don’t think it does.

“No, sorry,” I replied.

“Uh...shivers a lot, always cold, doesn’t understand people well. Looks kind of like you, except not really. I mean, your guys’ faces and hair is totally different.”

“Oh, you mean Rhea,” I corrected, as there was no other person I could think of who was like that.

“No, no. Her name’s Remora. She says she knew of Rhea, but was never in the same place as her.”

Hmm...that was a curious thing, all right.

“Sorry, but I don’t think there was anyone named Remora, but you definitely described Rhea. One time, we were all at the bar, and she ordered a screwdriver. So I watched as she sat alone at a table and she pulled out an actual screwdriver. I watched her lick the screw driver, make a disgusted face, then looked around to make sure no one saw her. But I saw everything.”

“Is there a difference in taste?” Demetria asked, and I really had to wonder how someone so dense could exist.

“That’s not the point. The point is that she may have been this serious person who wanted to be left alone, but she was also just a total oddball. Even her attempts to be serious could be odd sometimes. Like one time, she tried to do this verbal takedown on a guy named Douglas Fir by listing out all his negative traits in alphabetical order.”

“I don’t think I could do that, but then again sometimes I wonder if I’m dyslexic,” she replied. Again, not the point.

“Whatever the case may be, I didn’t really think of her that much at the time, other than a few notable occurrences, but looking back, I kinda miss her. Then again, I miss most everyone in that company. Save the really shitty ones, but that’s neither here nor there. I know we were all eccentric amoral people, but it was like a community to me, and it felt like the closest thing I had to a home at the time.”

Really, I could reminisce for days.

“There was this other woman, Aurora B, and I suppose her, Rhea, and I could’ve been a ‘dream team’ except if put in a group, one of us would have killed the other two rather fast, thus negating the need for a group. Aurora because she wouldn’t be able to get us all to cooperate, Rhea because she prefers to work alone and would probably use her teammates as bait, and I’d probably notice something about the both of them that wouldn’t sit right with me and decide they’re both scum. Still, the idea is fun.”

“Wait, Aurora B? There’s an Aurora B in the arctic! She’s got a train and a band of thieves! I stabbed her and she robbed the restaurant I worked at!”

I blinked, then burst into laughter.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! There’s a version of her in this timeline and I bet she’s still just as rowdy! Oh, that must be fun!”

“What? Version of? This timeline?” She seemed confused.

“Yeah, like, you know, time travel and all that. Multiple universes, multiple versions of the same person.” I was surprised she knew about the company and yet didn’t know about that.

“I never considered that…” she muttered, then got up. “I think I’ll take off now. Thank you for that.”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah, I’ll just say that you were too strong for me and leave it at that.”

“Well if that’s all you needed, you should’ve just come by in the daytime. We could’ve had a nice chat over pizza.”

She waved goodbye, as if I wasn’t some dangerous force of nature, and I continued to sit and shake my head.

“I must be getting soft. First I injured someone rather than killed them, then I let the second person just walk away unscathed, and we had a nice little chat. I’m betting the third person who comes by I’ll end up buying them a drink.”

I couldn’t help but imagine the insanity of it all. My howls and laughter echoed through the almost empty building.

Once I calmed myself down, I stared up at the ceiling. How I wished I could fix up the place. Now I had to fix up the vents as well. There was always one more problem.

“What about you?” I addressed my last guest of the evening. “Have you come to kill me or just to chat?”

In one of the nearby rooms, a door opened up. Soon a figure approached me, a long rifle in hand.

“I’ll be quick. I just wanted to confirm that you were who I thought you were,” replied a low, icy voice.

“What, did you stalk her? Were you listening in on the whole thing?” Whoever said guest was, I would have at least liked a knock or something.

“No to the first one. Yes to the second.”

Direct. I liked that, at least.

“So what about the gun? I take it you’re the only person so far who even stands a chance against me.”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

“Mm,” I mulled it over. “I see. So I take it you know who I am already, but that’s what bothers me. I don’t seem to know who you are.”

“Yes. I’m not sure if you ever saw me. I was never around at the same time she was. I couldn’t have been. For the most part, I was kept isolated from most everybody else. Not that I minded.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. So, why Remora?” I wondered. “You’ve got over a thousand different names, don’t you? Couldn’t you have started a new life with one of those?”

“It’s because...I met someone important to me the day I chose that name.”

I shrugged. “Who am I to judge? One time an old man decided to call me Trout. True story.”

It didn’t take much for me to figure out what was going on. Who I was talking to.

“So you’re an alternate version, huh?” I asked. Rhetorical, I know.

“Yes. I am younger than she was, but I went through similar things and took on missions all the same.”

“They used you like a back up, I take it. In case the main one died. Which is what happened. Doesn’t that disgust you?”

“It is what it is.”

Right. Such emotionless responses.

“In a way, though, it’s relieving. Knowing that there’s a version of her that’s still around and can experience freedom, like me.”

“I’m just a version of myself. I’m me. Not her.”

“But you do share several names and a background, yes?”

“She was irresponsible. She knew what her job was and she got tired of it, so she died. That’s all. She didn’t even have to, she just wanted to. Yet people won’t shut up about her when she was never worth the attention to begin with,” she growled, working up a rant. It seemed I actually struck something of a nerve.

“Hey, that’s my friend you’re talking about. Don’t talk about my friend that way,” I shot back.

“You two weren’t friends,” she scoffed. I wondered if that was the most mad she had been in a while.

“I just decided that we were. Seeing as she’s not alive to object, I think I can make that decision,” I gave a sly grin.

“That’s not how that works. Did you two even talk?”

I lifted up my index finger and closed my eyes.

“Once. Just once.”

“About what?”

“Some guy was bothering her and she was uncomfortable, that much I could tell. She also looked ready to break a bottle over his head, and I wasn’t really interested in a fight breaking out. I think I said something like, ‘is he bothering you, queen?’ Then pushed him aside. She looked confused, asked ‘queen?’ And I think I laughed and said not to worry about it. I remember she thanked me, and chattered her teeth while trying to sound out the words to do so. I told her not to mention it and offered to help her with anything if she ever came to me.”

“And?”

“Needless to say, she never came to me. I think when I told her that, she said something like, ‘thanks, I’ll think about it’ while turning her head from side to side, so she probably wasn’t ever going to consider it. But makes me wonder about what could’ve been. Like maybe it would’ve changed something.”

“It wouldn’t. There’s nothing you could have done. That’s just how she was,” she replied, all brisk and choppy.

“Yeah, I guess so. Still –”

“Shut up about her,” she snapped, although her voice didn’t even manage to raise all that much. I could just tell with her gestures. The shake of her fist. Everywhere shook, in fact, like it was more than just a shiver.

“It bothers you that much, huh? Is it the name, or just being reminded?” I really wasn’t trying to push any buttons. I didn’t even realize there were any buttons to push. But I guess that’s what I needed to expect, with there being differences and all.

“No. I’m not bothered. It’s just a name. Just someone who’s not around anymore. That’s just why I think people should shut up about it. That person’s gone. Gone. Poof.”

Real convincing.

“Is it because it feels like you’re constantly being compared to with another version of yourself? Or how people might see her as a superior version of you?”

I waited for a response. When I got none, I figured I hit the nail on the head.

“I’m me. Just me. I’m the only version of me there is,” she concluded. Less robotic, but still choppy. Almost downtrodden in her tone.

That’s fine as long as you believe that.

“What about that friend of yours? Demetria?”

“We’re not friends.”

“But she’s important to you, isn’t she?”

“In a way.”

“So you care about her, then?”

“No.”

“Were you worried I was going to kill her if she found me, so you followed behind?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Oh bother. It was fun at first, but now it’s like I was talking to a child.

“That whole aloof thing you got going isn’t a very good look for you,” I lectured.

“I’m not aloof.”

“Sure Jan,” I looked over and replied. “Look, I used to be like you, so I get it. I wanted to do everything on my own and I didn’t have much to share with others. But I’ve been blessed to have met a few good people here and there. I’ve survived due in part to the kindness of others.”

“Well…” She thought it over. “I don’t want to be aloof.”

“Bark like a dog, then,” I commanded.

To my surprise, she did just that: her best impression of a dog barking, anyway. I expected more of a Shiba Inu, but instead it came out as a yip, like a Chihuahua.

I cracked up; burst into laughter. Sides split and everything.

“Now you’re a woof,” I told her.

She growled, and I was inclined to say like a dog, as well.

“I hate you, you know that?” She whined.

“Aw, but I thought you loved puns,” I teased.

Changing the subject, she went back to a topic I thought would make her uncomfortable.

“By the way, do you even know what her last job was?”

Probably referring to the R-word.

“No. I was already here doing my own thing when it happened, so I never got to find out,” I explained.

“Well, if you ever want to know, I can give you Ves’ number.”

OK. Someone I don’t know about. Not useful at all.

“Why? Is she single?”

“Stop that. She’s got a cute wife.”

“Oh? Cute?” I should’ve told her I wasn’t really interested in either, as I knew she was the type to take everything seriously. “Like Demetria?”

“She’s cute too, yes.”

“So you admitted it,” I observed.

“Objectively speaking, anyway. Besides, that’s not the point – Ves was the one who killed her. She could fill you in better than I could.”

I see. She should’ve explained that sooner. I looked over and blinked.

“I don’t have a phone.”

She stared as well, then said, “oh.”

“Well, look: I’m working at this diner in the arctic for these people named Sunny and Ray. They thought I would be fun to work with, and not, well...me,” it seemed like Remora was just trying to proposition me with something, anything. I didn’t understand why. “So if you want to sometime, you could go up there. You’re probably more what they were looking for to begin with.”

I shook my head.

“No thanks. The cold’s your thing. I’m not really tied down to a motif. Besides, I’m a homeless old bat. How do you expect me to get up there?”

“I don’t know. You’re resourceful.”

True. I couldn’t deny that bit. Before I could answer, I started to cough. Like a tickle or a scratch at the back of my throat.

I leaned over and covered my mouth with my fist. Remora looked down.

“Are you sick?”

“Why do you care?” I smiled, even as I continued to cough.

“I don’t, but if you are, I don’t want to catch anything.”

As soon as she said that, the cough went away.

“Don’t worry. It’s not something you can catch.”

“What is it, then?”

If you or a loved one have been diagnosed with meso – no, it’s not that. I don’t think so, anyway.

“Sometimes a cough is just a cough. I’m getting old, anyway. I might die any day now.”

“Somehow I doubt it. You’re like a cockroach.”

“Yeah, but even cockroaches aren’t immortal,” I reminded her.

There was a moment of silence. That moment grew. Nothing more was said. Nothing more that I could recall. I soon drifted off to sleep, the silence having consumed me. In spite of the intrusions, I think I got the deepest sleep I had in a while.

[smbinfostation]

Super Mario Bros. Ice Capades - 1989

To commemorate the SMBIS’s 20th anniversary, here’s the infamous Mario Ice Capades video in high quality. Enjoy!

Original commentary from October 17, 2003

On Thursday, December 7, 1989, ABC presented an Ice Capades special on TV, hosted by Alyssa Milano (of Who's The Boss fame) and Jason Bateman (Silver Spoons; Valerie, Arrested Development). The show had many famous and talented figure skaters, music numbers and comedy acts, including segments featuring Barbie and the Super Mario Bros. This happens to be the 50th Anniversary of the Ice Capades that they taped, as the programs that the hosts and the audience had, with the Mario Bros and Barbie on the back. (The 50th Anniversary Ice Capades Barbie was released at this time also.) When the segment begins, the hosts are backstage when they spot some random people playing Super Mario Bros. Alyssa mentions that she's never played videogames before (*gasp*) and Jason brags to her that he is a master of Nintendo, proclaiming himself to be the "Video Prince." Then he tells her about the plot of Super Mario Bros. [It's interesting to mention that Jason refers to King Koopa as Bowser, because the entire show after this just calls him King Koopa.]

As they talk, they are interrupted when the monitor starts flickering and doing crazy stuff. Jason, who apparently know everything about Nintendo, states that it's a computer virus, which will, and I quote, "release all the evil forces stored up in the computer." @_@ Um...OK, "Mr. Video Prince", whatever you say. Then, who pops up? Yes, it's good ol' King Koopa (NOT Bowser!), played by the late 80's sitcom star Christopher Hewett, a.k.a. Mr. Belvedere. Koopa has released the virus and threatens to take over the world. His plan is very laughable at best, as it implies that a NES can be used to infect computers with deadly viruses, which probably can't happen. That, and he says he doesn't really want the world, but does it anyway because he loves causing trouble. It's nice to have hobbies, I guess.

The Mario set is decent enough. It looks like a 3-D version of the 8-bit SMB1, with pixelated clouds and trees in the background and a castle in the middle. However, it looks way better than what Mr. Hewett had to wear. His costume is very tacky and ugly. He doesn't even have anything over his face, just horribly applied green face paint around his moustache. His horns looked like dangly jesters' bells and he's wearing horrible plaid pants and a geeky red bow tie. On top of that, he's riding on a moving castle. You know the forts at the end of each level of SMB1? Yep, he's roving about on the ice on a castle. o.O

Koopa calls out his minions to destroy different computer parts that NES's don't have, including 2 Green Koopa Troopas, 2 miscolored white Goombas, 1 Hammer Bro (two Troopas and only ONE Hammer Brother?), a Red Paratroopa and a Spiny. The baddies' costumes were based on their official Nintendo designs, though they looked very non-threatening and somewhat cuddly-looking. The Goombas and the Spiny, about a meter or so tall, do seem to be radio-controlled, or have skaters crouched or something inside them. After this, Koopa pompously sings about how evil he is, with his baddies dancing around him...wearing plaid pants...on a moving castle...oooookaaay. Mr. Hewett had a very cultured, polite-sounding British accent, not like Cartoon Koopa's voice at all. He sang pretty well, but the lyrics were shallow and kinda childish. The song is short, thankfully, and only proves that Koopa can create plans for world domination much better than he can sing silly egotistical songs. After this, we see the Princess Toadstool (can't call her Peach yet, as this is still 1989, or all time and space will unravel around us and disappear), who has a huge, horrid mascot-like head and a cliché Mae West-ish Hollywood voice, off to the side with her subjects of plumber pawns with her. Another note is that the Princess's costume is based on the official Nintendo design; she has blond hair, instead of red/brown from the cartoons.  Princess Pea....Toadstool, helpless to stop Koopa, then summons the Mario Bros., who for some reason arrived from the sky with the help of their trusty support wires. @_@ [Here's something I just noticed: In the scene when the Princess talks to her people before she calls the Bros. from the heavens, you can see the Marios behind her, with their backs turned to the audience. Sloppy editing.] After being briefed on the situation by Princess, Mario and Luigi, with their very stereotypical Italian accents and oversized, misshapened mascot heads, protect the Maiden in Distress from the horrible men in Koopa Troopa suits. The Princess helps out by sending out carts containing kids from the audience to assist the Bros. Koopa then scoffs at the Marios for sending children to do a man's job. So, one by one, Koopa sends out his legions of dumpy villains to defeat the Bros. However, Luigi dons his airgun/cardboard box out of nowhere and mercilessly kills each bad guy with sparkler blasts that are later added in. The effect of the baddies dying is just crude and leaves one to think how it'll work without the superimposed TV special effects of them just fading away and disappearing to low-budget heaven. Koopa, realizing that his army of extras is failing him, decides to attack the Bros. himself on his mobile fortress with his Spiny. The Marios and the children in the carts surround Koopa, totally ignoring Spiny altogether from the onslaught of death and sparkly insanity. After Mario spouts a remarkably bland joke/pun, the children vanquish the Koopa King with their big foam wrenches and dirty plungers in a blast of sparklers. Cheesey fanfare music plays afterwards, proclaiming the death of the Koopa King, as the children are returned back to the audience, without getting any complementary gift for being a part in the show.

In the end, the Princess, who now just looks like a giant, mutated blow-up doll, congratulates the Marios by giving them the "Purple Plunger for Bravery" or "The Incredibly Cheap Cardboard Hero Prize.". Then, the Bros. have a disgraceful squabble about bragging rights. Note that in all this, Mario does absolutely NOTHING to help out. Luigi killed all the minor foes and commanded the children to kill Koopa. Lazy, lazy Mario... Backstage, the monitor that the hosts were watching all this goes back to normal, then for no reason, Alyssa announces that she wins the game by default, although she doesn't even play it at all, leaving "Jason the Video Prince" in a stupor.

----

More research led me to a site belonging to a Mr. Michael Baroto, a costume designer who made these all the characters for the show, including the baddies, the Bros. and Peach. Apparently, he had only 3 months to make three sets of ten costumes, as well as two other costumes for another show. Seeing that he had to make 30 costumes in the short a time span, this would explain why the Marios and Peach looked so rushed. They don't do his talents justice, however, as his other works, including puppets, dolls and marionettes, are very creative and well-made. There are production photos of the Mario costumes in the previous link. If you ever get to read this, Mr. Baroto, please don't take my negative comments personally. ^^;;;;;;

Here's something I just noticed after watching this over again. Apparently, they deviated from what they'd usually do at a live show and made it extra special for the TV show by adding those "special" effects and camera angles. Also, they taped this when the audience wasn't present, as the seating couldn't been seen at all. They do show some stock footage of people watching all this and laughing at the bad puns, and of the kids getting out of the carts when the show was over, never getting compensated with gifts and whatnot for killing off the "mighty" King Koopa.

However, doing this just made the show worse, as there were obvious editing mistakes. For example, you can see enemies that were killed off later hanging about off to the side when the children return to the audience. In another instance, right at the end, you can see a lone boy sitting on the ice in the background playing with a wrench behind Princess Toadstool before she hands out the awards. Then he disappears in the next shot. And let's not forget the earlier example of the Marios already on stage before they arrive from the sky.  Very very sloppy, even for late 80's television. Of course, this was a time when little kids wouldn't care less if the show was crappy or not. It had Mario, and that's all that mattered.