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marineduo · 4 years ago

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South Blue: Heat II

Thorn helps with shopping and Heat gets a meet cute.

Read on AO3

The next port they stopped off at had a sizable town, thankfully. The kitchen was still well-stocked, but there were a few odds and ends Thorn needed to grab. Not to mention their new friend needed clothes and whatever else that coils help get him settled on the ship. He would be joining her on the shopping run. It would be nice, having the company and the extra hands for the wagon.

“We’ve got time and plenty of berris from the last island, so if you see something you wanna check out we can stop.”

Heat nodded, preoccupied by looking around the town. They walked through the street, getting odd looks from passers by. Neither bothered to do anything about it. So what if people stared? They had better things to do.

Eventually Heat came to a stop, staring in the direction of a shop standing apart from the rest. It was darker, not fitting with the rest of the town but being perfect for their own fashion niche. They glanced at each other and shrugged, making their way over to the shop. It was probably the best place they were going to find if his style was anything like Kid’s.

Entering the shop, they were met by a surprisingly clean sight. Everything was tidy and organized, a surprise after the dingy exterior. Behind the counter sat a woman about Heat’s size, body covered in intricate tattoos and with more piercings than Thorn could be bothered to count.

This was definitely the right place for them.

“Hey.” The woman droned, not looking up from her book. “If you need help with anything, let me know.”

“Uh, thanks.” Thorn replied before following her crewmate deeper into the store.

It was almost overwhelming. It had everything from what looked like bdsm gear to casual clothes, and there was a whole section of wall dedicated solely to accessories. They’d have to let Kid know about this place. He’d love it.

Thorn let herself become a walking coat rack, arms filling with potential finds Heat grabbed to try on. She regretted not bringing the wagon in, but it was too late for that now.

“Hey Heat?” She said, voice muffled by the clothes she was carrying.

“Hm?”

“Maybe we should stop by the dressing room. Whittle it down a bit?”

He seemed to realize just how much she was carrying, grabbing half the pile from her.

“Sorry… I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s fine! I just didn’t want to drop it all. Besides, if we get some things I can buy them real quick and ask the cashier if she can watch the bags for us. Give us more arm space to keep looking.”

He nodded, looking around briefly before moving on. Hopefully he’d spotted the dressing rooms, something Thorn had been having trouble with. Sure enough, they soon found themselves in front of the dressing rooms. She passed over the rest of the clothes before taking a seat on the nearby bench.

Thorn couldn’t help but be bored as minutes passed. Sure, he really didn’t need her opinion on things, but it would have been fun to see the kinds of things he was deciding on. It’s what made trying on clothes fun. Maybe she’d tag along if Kid decided to pay a visit… He always passed things through Killer, regardless of if he actually listened to the other’s opinion.

“What do you think?”

Oh. She hadn’t even heard him come out. Glancing up, her eyebrows raised.

“Now that’s one hell of an outfit.”

He’d found a sectioned corset, laced together with bright red thread. The pants were the same red, baggy and layered with a belt tying both together. Deep red tattoos across his neck and arms really brought it together.

“There were other colors. I’ll have to grab some.”

“Found a signature look, huh?”

“I think so.” Heat nodded, gesturing to the neat piles of clothing on the dressing room bench. One was far larger than the other. “Most of the other stuff works too.”

“Great!”

Thorn waited as Heat disappeared once more, changing back into his ill-fitting clothes. It was a weird change after getting a taste of what his style was really like. She grabbed the clothes to hang on the return rack and tossed him the money pouch, letting him take the bulk of the clothes to the front counter. She followed behind once everything was on the rack, which was a bit of a struggle given her short stature. By the time she made it to the front, the lady at the counter was in the middle of checking him out in more ways than one.

Now that she wasn’t reading her book, her interest seemed solely focused on him. Thorn skirted around to the door, more than a little interested in the scene playing out. Especially since Heat had his usual bored look, chin tilted up slightly.

“Y’know, I’ve been looking for a boyfriend with taste like yours.”

There it was. Heat nodded solemnly.

“Hopefully luck will find us both, then. I’m hoping to find one too.”

It took everything Thorn had to keep herself from laughing at the situation. It was hard to tell what was funnier: the absolutely bewildered look on the cashier’s face, or how serious Heat still looked as he paid. Even as they left the lady at the counter still seemed at a loss for words. But that was her problem.

Thorn held the door open for Heat, letting him handle the bags for the moment. Once they were in the wagon she could get it, but he had a handle on it all for now.

“So is that why you became a pirate? To find yourself a boyfriend?” She teased as he dug around in the bags, tugging out the corset top and yanking the tags off.

“No. But since I’m not stuck anymore, I may as well look.”

He changed shirts as they walked, tossing the old one into a garbage can as they passed.

“Feel better?”

Heat hummed an agreement. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the conversation died as the front of a building to their right exploded. A figure hit the ground in front of them hard, rolling a bit before coming to a stop. From the rubble a Marine appeared. Whoever they were, the fancy coat made their position clear.

Thorn was frozen. If they had been careful, they probably could have kept going like they were just passers by. That wasn’t going to happen. Heat had already positioned himself between the tall stranger still laying on the ground and the Marine Captain. He briefly glanced her way.

“You should run.”

With that he took a deep breath and… holy shit. Somehow, Thorn found herself even more stunned. He was breathing fire. How long had he been able to do that? The screams of the Marine finally kicked her into action. She sprinted through the town, wagon rattling dangerously behind her. It just had to last until she got to the ship. Soon enough the Cerberus came into view, small compared to some of the other ships docked. Getting up the ramp was easy with the built up momentum, but Thorn collapsed as soon as she hit the deck.

“Thorn!” Killer was at her side in moments, hauling her up to her knees. Kid was right behind him. “What happened, where’s Heat?”

She held up a finger, trying to steady her breathing enough to talk. The last thing they needed was something getting lost in translation.

“Heat… breathes fire.” She panted, pointing to a rising plume of dark smoke. As they watched another joined it, and then another. “Some guy was fighting some Marines. Heat got involved.”

“Damn him.” Kid growled, stomping towards the ramp. “Getting started without us… C’mon Kil, lets see if they left any for us.”

Thorn watched as they left, sitting back against the rail until she could catch her breath. With any luck they’d all come back in one piece. If not? Well, she hoped that the guy Heat decided to help was a doctor...

#OC Thorn #Rosie writes #heat one piece #op heat #next time i can jump right into wire #this got super long and im tired of looking at it now #actually im tired in general bc its almost 10 at night BUT #take it *muah*

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somedayonbroadway · 5 years ago

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*spits out coffee* first of all, wow the avengers thing and the car chase thing were a m a z i n g, second, i’m intrigued by tony stark jack and spider-man race uwu

Thank you so much! I am really excited about this one! I hope you all like it!

TW Suicidal thoughts, violence, murder, child abuse, and much angst!

Read more below!

OKAY SO

In this AU, Tyler James Higgins, or Race, as he’s more affectionately known by some of his social workers, is Spiderman. When he was born, his parents gave him up for adoption. He grew up in the system, running away from several homes, eventually being taken in by a Mr. Kloppman when he was about thirteen. Kloppman introduces Race to pop culture, old movies and shows that Race loves so much. Kloppman takes a liking to him and tells Race he is going to adopt him. A couple weeks before the paperwork can be finalized, Kloppman is shot and killed in a home invasion. Race is in the house when it happens. He gets locked in a closet by the man who saved his life, only to break out and hold his foster father in his arms as he dies.

Race is placed in another home. A home with a man named Wiesel. Obadiah Wiesel.

Suffice to say that Race spends as little time in the house as he can when he’s fourteen. Weasel was never kind to him. Not from day one when he didn’t so much as give Race dinner.

There are two other boys who live there. Oscar and Morris. Brothers who take what they can get and tear down whoever gets in their way. Race included. They are both older than him and bigger than him.

Race sleeps in the streets sometimes. He often finds odd ways to roam around the city with his only friend, Albert DaSilva who he meets at school the first day he goes after moving in with Weasel.

One night he’s out alone. And he’s just done. Weasel had done it all again. He’d made Race feel inferior, like he was nothing.

Like Kloppman’s death was his fault.

The kid has nothing but a can of spray paint on him as he’s walking through alleys towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

The boy is smart. Very smart. Kloppman had called him a genius when he’d been alive. Race loves science, math and history. He loves to learn new things and he has an unhealthy obsession with science fiction and anything related to it.

He loves the superheroes he grew up hearing stories about. Especially the famous Iron Man. A hero that surfaced when Race was only twelve. Jack Kelly. A prodigy, genius, billionaire kid who was named Iron Man when he was only twenty two.

On this particular night, Race is just walking, intending on spraying some kind of note on the side of a building. A note of what, he isn’t sure. Maybe someone will find it someday. Someone will care.

He goes stops at an alleyway. It looks like it’s near a lab of some kind. And he freezes. He has nothing to say.

Maybe it’ll be better if he just disappears. He goes to walk away, never to be heard from again when he feels a pinch on his back.

He reaches back to figure out what it was, coming back with a spider crawling on his finger. He gasps and throws it to the ground, stepping on it and killing it immediately.

But he feels a little different.

He thinks maybe the spider is poisonous. Then, as he continues walking, he finds he’s not dying. His senses are heightened, his reflexes are ridiculously fast and he sticks to surfaces without trying to.

He initially tries to figure out what happened to him but then comes to embrace it, thinking about helping people like Mr. Kloppman who didn’t deserve what happened to him.

The man who killed Kloppman was never caught. Race wants to make it ultimate goal to kill the man, at first. But as he embraces his new self, he tries to change his mind, determined to help people rather than focus his energy on hurting the bad guys.

Anyways, he makes his own suit, his own web shooters.

Oscar and Morris know something’s up. Race always manages to get out of beatings, to get food, to not drop things like he used to all the time. But they can never prove anything.

CIVIL WAR

One day, when Race has to actually go home after school, per Weasel’s orders, he finds a really fancy looking car outside the apartment building. He never expected to find the one and only Jack Kelly sitting on Weasel’s couch with a cup of crappy coffee in his hands that he was absolutely not enjoying. Weasel was trying to be friendly to him, making small talk and even trying to discreetly clean up around the filthy apartment.

Race freezes. He has no idea what to do. But Jack’s fake smile turns into a grin when he sees the kid there. And Race almost runs away before Weasel asks him very pointedly why Race didn’t tell him he applied to be an intern at Kelly Industries. And Race doesn’t have an answer. So, Jack asks if he can talk to Race in private. Race takes Jack back into one of the only two bedrooms in the apartment. Oscar and Morris pretend to be friendly to Race on their way out.

Jack can see him flinching the whole time.

Race tries to explain to Jack that there must be some kind of mistake, but Jack brings his arm up. He’s wearing a piece of his suit. He shows Race a video. A video Race is in.

Spiderman.

Jack asks him if it’s him. Race tries to deny it. He says no. Spiderman has to be at least twenty five. Jack says he’s probably right and then reaches up towards the vent in the ceiling, pulling it down and revealing Race’s homemade suit that Race immediately grabs and tries to hide.

Jack laughs and asks him again. And Race says yes. He sees Race’s small collection of computers and asks where he got them. Race admits he and his best friend found them in the garbage and were fixing them up. Jack approves. He asks who else knows that he’s the Spiderman and Race says no one. Jack asks him if he has a passport and Race gets a little nervous.

He insists that he can’t just leave. He has school and tests and--

Jack stops him right there.

“Ya got a foster dad who puts on a show for rich visitors, two foster brothers who don’t give a damn whether ya come or go, teachers who don’t notice the bruises or the way you’re practically begging for a real meal everyday when you go to school. But now? Now ya got a gift. Ya got a big brain in that head a’ yours n’ ya got an opportunity ta help out someone who happens ta have a lot of money n’ a lot of computers to play with.”

Race can’t argue with that. And Jack takes Race to Berlin.

Jack takes a liking to Race. The kid is nervous around him. Jack gets him on a private jet and Race is almost terrified to move around him, however with his right hand man, Specs, Race seems to be completely comfortable. He’s still an energetic kid, which Jack learns he hides from Weasel because if he talks too much, Weasel hits him. But with Jack and Specs, Race opens up quick.

In Berlin, Race learns he is needed to help Jack talk some sense into Captain America, a man Jack calls “Davey.” Jack makes Race a new suit. Race almost cries when he sees it. He doesn’t get many gifts.

Jack walks him through what will happen, tells him to keep his distance and lay low.

Race goes into battle against Davey. He steals the famous shield and Davey goes easy on him, his intentions good. He stops Race as gently as he could, for a kid with super strength.

Jack sees Race continuing to put up a fight, eventually being thrown far and getting the wind knocked out of him. The only way he can stop Race from getting back up to fight is by threatening to tell Weasel who he was.

He apologizes for it so much later. Race won’t admit it. He won’t admit that he’s Weasel’s favorite punching bag.

After this whole ordeal, Jack takes Race back to Harlem, where he lives with Weasel. He offers to let Race stay in his guest house. But Race turns him down, telling Jack that he’s still available whenever Jack needs him.

HOMECOMING

Only a couple weeks later, Race is back into his rhythm, going to school and then being the friendly neighborhood spiderman afterwards. He loves helping people with any problem they might have. He eventually accidentally outs himself to Albert who does become his “guy in the chair.”

Race constantly calls up Specs, wanting to work with Jack again only for Specs to constantly ghost him. One day, Race stops a bank robbery where he discovers that these criminals have very powerful, very alien looking weapons and he barely makes it out.

Jack calls him, telling him not to engage again.

Race can’t listen. He’s getting bullied at school by his foster brothers, he avoids going home because Weasel has been getting more and more irritable lately. He doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

He follows these guys again, getting fought by a man with a winged suit. He almost drowns. Jack saves him. Well, Jack’s suit. Jack scolds Race from the other side of the world while also trying his best to convey his worry for the kid.

Race still doesn’t stop. He doesn’t know how.

Eventually, Race tracks down a weapons sale that happens to be happening on a boat. Long story short, the boat is eventually cut in half by one of the dangerous weapons. Jack, who had called Race before and heard him in trouble, showed up to help. He saves the ship and Race and takes Race back to his tower and Race accuses Jack of not caring because if he actually cared, he’d be there instead of sending a machine in his place.

That’s when Jack steps out of his suit.

He tells Race he needs the suit back and Race breaks. He begs Jack not to take it away from him, claiming that he’s nothing without the suit.

Jack says if he’s nothing without the suit, then he shouldn’t have it.

Jack buys Race some ridiculous clothes to wear and tries to take Race to Albert’s house. But Race doesn’t want to have to talk to Albert, so Jack takes him to Weasel’s.

Jack knows Weasel is going to hit him. And he very discreetly threatens him.

Weasel doesn’t hit Race that night. But that doesn’t make anyone feel better.

Race eventually figures out that the dealer of all these weapons is actually Weasel himself and ends up facing Weasel in his old, homemade suit.

Weasel nearly kills him.

Albert does what he can to help Race and ends up calling Specs who hangs up on him.

Race gets himself out of it all and gets Weasel arrested.

Jack tries to make him an avenger, but Race declines, telling him that he’s still just a kid and he’s still learning how to do all of this. And then he tells Jack that’s he’s being placed in another boy's home in Queens.

Jack intercepts this.

He and Katherine (his girlfriend) takes Race in.

Months go by. Race and Jack are as close as ever, even if Jack isn’t truly raising Race, his hired nanny is. Miss Medda. She is the one really taking care of him while Jack does his Iron Man thing.

(Someone breaks into Jack’s tower at some point and tries to take Race hostage. Someone remind me to write this)

Anyways,

Infinity War happens.

INFINITY WAR

Race is on a bus, on a field trip when it happens. He sees aliens attacking and he sneaks away to help Jack, meeting a Spot Conlon and a Myron along the way.

Jack tells him to go back, to get away when things get out of hand.

Race gets beamed up to the spaceship, Jack saves him when he starts to lose oxygen and gives him a new suit he’d been working on for him. He tells Race to go home to Katherine and Medda.

Race finds a way back on that ship.

Jack is angry when he finds out that Race did the exact opposite of what he was told. Race jokingly blames him. Jack argues with him, but eventually lets him help.

Jack and Race save Myron and Myron gets angry at them, telling them that if they’re going to take their fight straight to the bad guy, then he needs them to know that he would let both of them die to save the time stone that he had.

This upsets Jack. Race is just a kid.

But he makes Race an avenger.

The ship they’re on crashes. Race, who loves old movies, is quoting and making references to movies the whole time just before they are attacked by the guardians of the galaxy. Race is held at gunpoint by the leader of them, a man named Kenny. Jack flips and threatens to shoot one of the other men they were attacked by, only to find out they’re all on the same side.

This mini team forms a plan to defeat Snyder (yes, it’s still Snyder) and Jack reluctantly lets Race help, telling him to keep his distance. Snyder gets a hold on Race at some point, choking him, almost killing him.

They almost stopped him. Kenny messes it up. Snyder killed his own daughter. The love of Kenny’s life.

Eventually, by threatening Jack’s life, Snyder gets Myron to give up the time stone.

Snyder snaps his fingers, destroying half of the universe. A random half of the universe.

Jack watches almost everyone around him turn to dust. He looks around for Race only to feel the kid crash into him, shaking and hardly breathing.

And his heart drops.

Race begins to cry. He’d say he didn’t wanna go. That he didn’t feel good and he didn’t want to go. Jack would grip onto him, just as Race is clinging to him, promising that everything would be alright, that he was going to be just fine.

Race calls Jack “Dad” as he fades to dust.

Jack screams.

ENDGAME

Jack is lost in space for some time with only Graves there with him, a created daughter of Snyder. Eventually they are rescued and brought home.

Jack expresses how he wishes he’d just died up there with him and Davey calls it survivor's guilt.

Jack doesn’t want to hear it.

Jack tries to move on. He really does. He and Katherine have a kid. A little girl.

But that doesn’t make anything else go away. It doesn’t make the pain go away.

The team reaches out to him when they find a possible solution.

It’s been five years. And Jack still thinks about Race everyday. He has nightmares every night for a year, reliving Race disappearing in his arms.

When they reach out to him, Jack is reluctant. But he agrees.

He agrees because of Racer.

Spoiler alert, Race comes back, along with the other half of the universe. All in the middle of an epic battle. And the second Jack sees him, beat up and all, he runs to him. There’s chaos around them. But Jack just hugs him. And he holds him for a long time.

Until they have to fight again.

The battle is long and Jack makes it his mission to protect Race the whole time.

Up till the very end, when Jack has to snap his fingers.

Race is watching it all happen. And he screams when Jack falls to the ground. He runs to him and falls to his knees in front of him and cries, begging him to stay with him. He lets Jack cradle his face and run a hand through his hair and kiss his head while he sits there dying. And Katherine comes over to tell Jack that they’re gonna be okay. That he can rest.

Jack dies that day, knowing he saved Race and protected his family. And he’s okay with that.

Race however is completely heartbroken.

He wants to build a time machine.

But that’s a story for another time.

Anyways, I love this RP so much. Let me know if there’s any scenes you guys wanna see or any questions you guys have! Thank you so much!

#newsies #avengers #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #David jacobs #civil war #spiderman #Spiderman homecoming #infinity war #endgame #TW child abuse #tw murder #anonymous #anon #anon response #tw sucidal thoughts #tw major character death

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unclefungusthegoat · 5 years ago

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ARMY KNIFE, SILVER SPOON- Far Cry 5 Week Day 2 (The Project at Eden’s Gate)

OK, so this one needs to be taken with total disregard for the Seeds’ ages and timeline, but they don’t make sense anyway so screw it hahaha... Also I promise that I wasn’t randomly inspired by Avril Lavigne’s ‘I’m With You’. And so, false promises made, without further ado:

Sixteen year old John Duncan runs away from home on a cold November night. Lost, alone and desperate to not return to his cruel parents, he finds himself at the mercy of the dark side of Atlanta... only to be rescued by a homeless Iraq War veteran.

Please be aware:

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Attempted sexual assault of a minor, mentions of child abuse, attempted strangulation

You can read this story on AO3: HERE

My whole FC5 Week series can be found HERE

“Hey kid, you got a little something for us?”

John Duncan ignored the slurring coos of the rabble stood on the street. Tried to forget that he was only sixteen and hopelessly lost and colder than he’d ever been before. The late-November air cut through his slate grey cashmere coat, even after it had been buttoned to his neck. There was icy slush seeping into his dress shoes, and he could feel that the bottom of his slacks were wet also, sticking to his ankles. His face was numb. His stomach empty. He hadn’t even had time to retrieve his leather gloves from his room and his fingers were almost as blue as his stinging eyes.

How was he supposed to know what runways took with them? Boys like him didn’t run away. They inherited their father’s estates, attended functions, framed degrees in their swanky offices and had affairs with their secretaries. They lived in penthouses. Drove Lamborghinis. Had sake imported in from Tokyo.

But he couldn't go back. Not even to get his gloves, or a stack of bills from the safe. Not this time, not now that he was out in the world, gone for so many hours that they had surely phoned the police. He’d have to explain himself, beg them to forgive him for being so ungrateful.

And then he’d have to take the lash again.

He just couldn’t fucking take it anymore. Always in pain. Another shirt ruined where his wounds would split. Another prayer to a silent God. Another day watching them stare at him like he wasn’t good enough yet, wasn’t perfect yet.

He didn’t want to know what he’d have to do to get there.

So he’d finally snapped.

And he’d run.

John crossed his arms across his body, hoping to keep in some heat, and kept walking. He didn’t know where he was. Some dark underbelly of Atlanta, sex shops and liqour stores and sleezy bars and the types he’d always been told never to associate with. People who reminded him of Old Mad Seed. Not that he could remember much about him anyway. Just heavy set shapes. Loud voices. Foul breath. Vitriol and disdain.

Footsteps were crunching behind him, hurrying to catch up.

Predators to their prey.

“I’m fucking talking to you, silver spoon, why don’t you take it out your mouth and make yourself useful?”

“Fuck off.” He muttered, aware that the words sounded ridiculous with so many years of elocution lessons slathered on top of them.

“What’s that? What did you say? Didn’t your nanny ever teach you to speak up?”

A forceful hand on his shoulder and suddenly John was pinned against the grimy window of an all night supermarket. Staring up at three leering businessmen who looked far too much like the men at his family’s church.

“He's pretty.”

“Barely legal I reckon.”

Vastly illegal, John almost swiped back, but held his tongue.

That was a skill he’d learned well over the years.

How to stay quiet.

How to survive.

“He doesn’t say a lot does he, for a rich kid?”

“Trust fund, no doubt.”

“Ivy League.”

“Maybe he’s a mute-”

“If he’s dumb then he’ll be nice and quiet then while he proves his worth. He won't scream.”

“Take him in the alley. No cameras.”

They grabbed him by the hair and dragged him, legs kicking towards the looming void between storefronts. Frozen garbage, mouldy dumpsters, not a chance in hell anyone would come looking for John Duncan, of the Duncans.

He screamed, but a hand clamped down over his mouth. The three wrestled him until his back hit one of the dumpsters. Hungry fingers tangled with buttons and the belt and zipper on his pants, drunken and clumsy. Frustrated cursing, as he tried to get away. His foot collided with something hardened and a yowl of pain echoed across the street. Bile straining at the back of his throat, burning acid in his starved insides threatening to-

“Hey, leave the dipshit with the fancy coat alone-” came the thick growl of a tall figure emerging from the alleyway, bundled up in worn, on-it’s-last-legs knitwear. A padded parka with a furry trim on the hood made the giant seem even broader than he probably actually was, but in the shadow of the neon ‘RALPHS’ sign, and through the heavy spit of snowfall, he looked Titanesque. Atlas, holding up the sky so it didn't come crashing down on the young runaway.

“What’s it to you?”

“A big fucking problem, actually.”

The giant fixed a hand around the nearest throat, and John felt himself get released from the heavy grip. He stumbled sideways and cowered behind the homeless man, who now snarled at the lechers and tightened the pressure on the whimpering neck.

“Get out of here before I paint the sidewalk with your brains.” The giant snarled, and John absolutely believed him.

The man nodded desperately, and within seconds of being released, gasping for the cold air, all three were gone. Disappeared around a corner. Slipping on the ice in their haste. Back to their hunt or back to their wives.

The giant slouched back to where he’d been resting in the alley for the night. John made to move on, but the man called back to him and he froze.

“You OK?”

“I’ve been better.” John groaned, tousling his hair to ease the pain in his scalp, but succeeding only in letting snowflakes tumble into his face. He could barely see his saviour as it was, and having pale shimmering flecks in his long eyelashes wasn’t helping.

“Fucking perverts. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“No they won’t.” John mumbled, aware that he was shaking.

“You want to take a few minutes to get yourself together?” The homeless man gestured to the space beside him.

There was something about that voice… it felt safe. Gruff, wizened, like it had been through hell. But safe. Safe enough for John to approach and sit on the sidewalk beside him, settling onto a stack of soggy cardboard that he tried to imagine was anything but.

A weird silence.

John pulled his knees up to his chest, cradling them like he used to when hiding in small places. Hoping not to be heard or seen. And he tried to decide what to do. Breathing hard. Mind racing. Yet nothing came to mind. He had nowhere to go. No one who would take him in. A lump gathered in his throat and a hot tear dribbled down onto his nose.

Not for thought of being hungry and helpless and filthy, although all troubled him deeply. Not for the sudden shock settling in that he’d nearly just been raped. Not for the unease he felt staring down the alley, unable to see the end of it through the winter night.

But the thought of having to go home.

“First night’s not even the worst, kid.”

The giant had pulled out a small penknife, army issue in appearance, and began whittling a small wooden block. The feathering of the wood looked like lustrous, thick fur. A fox perhaps, or a wolf? John still couldn’t see the man’s face, but he wondered if he was Native and it was a symbol to keep him strong.

He could, however, see the patches of flaking skin on the backs of the man’s hands. In desperate need of a moisturizer or medical cream or something, anything to give the impression that the man wasn’t about to shed like a snake. Burns, he realised. And the odd cigarette stub mark between the raw patches. How did a homeless man get so mutilated?

John sniffed and wiped his tears away with his sleeve.

“Is that so?”

The man snorted.

“Even just from that answer, I can tell you won’t last long.”

“How did you know I was... like you?” John didn’t want to say homeless quite yet. It felt like such a dirty word, an ‘epidemic’ as his uncle had branded it once.

“Guessed.”

John gave him a quizzical look that the giant caught out of the corner of his eye. He chuckled.

“If there's one thing I know on sight, it's a miserable kid who doesn’t want to go home.”

John continued to watch him work in silence for a good half hour, mesmerised at the craftsmanship. He thought back to his own work, his fine pencil sketches and pools of watercolours and minute engine parts for impeccably constructed model aircraft. Things to shut him up. Keep him indoors. Train that difficult right hand to function as it should.

“So did daddy not buy you a pony?” The quiet broken. There was humour in it, nothing but a gentle tease, but the insinuation that rich kids couldn’t also face unimaginable pain riled John, and he glared venomously.

“That’s none of your concern.” He spat in a low voice.

“Oh, it’s not, is it?”

“No.”

“Kind of thinking it is now that I suddenly seem to have another mouth to feed-”

“I don't need your charity.”

“Well you're sat in my drawing room, aren't you, your Royal Highness-”

“I didn’t ask for your help-”

“Well you sure as fuck needed it.” The homeless man didn’t even sound angry, clearly used to people looking down their noses at him, treating him like an inconvenience. He just sounded exhausted. “Jesus, could you be anymore uptight?”

John pouted and hugged himself tighter.

“Probably.”

The giant paused his work and rubbed his unkempt beard in exasperation. It was tinged red, even more so in the street lamp light. John noticed the man still hadn't looked up at him, wouldn't make eye contact. He wouldn't be able to identify him to the police in a lineup, or even from a mugshot. Does he intend to rob me? Have his way with me like those men wanted to?

“Spoilt brat like you won’t last a week. If you’d prefer not to get stabbed or robbed, sell the Rolex, keep your head down, drop the accent and the airs and graces.”

Of course he’d spotted the watch. John twisted it on his wrist protectively.

“You can't have it.”

“I wasn't asking for it.”

“My father bought it for me.”

“Good for you. My father never did shit. Is sharing time over?”

The homeless man was too distracted to concentrate on his whittling and pocketed his handiwork swiftly, choosing instead to pull out a pair of thin gloves. He stretched them tenderly over his mottled skin, wincing a little as the fibres caught and pulled on the rough patches.

“Where did you get those scars on your hands?” John blurted, figuring that if he’d never see this man again after tonight, it didn’t matter if he upset him by sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

The giant sighed.

“Fought a bear for a bet.”

John’s mouth gaped open and the giant released a chuckle, pleased with himself.

“War. Iraq. Most of the homeless in this city are Vets. An incendiary device got me on patrol. I wasn’t hurt too badly, they look worse than they are. They made me stronger.”

He turned to rummage through a black knapsack and pulled out an opened packet of beef jerky. He stuffed a whole strip into his mouth, before offering it out. John felt his face twist with disgust and his stomach heaved at the prospect of eating meat so soon after hearing how this man burned. He turned away a little at the smell of it.

“Gotta stay strong if you want to survive.”

Hearing the low rumble from his empty stomach, John reached out and took a strip. He chewed on it warily. Salty. Slightly sweet. Hardly gourmet, but desperate times called for desperate measures. When he’d finished one, he found himself reaching for another.

“Why aren’t you there now? In the army? Why are you sat behind a supermarket?” He asked through a mouthful. It still sounded pompous.

The giant didn’t answer, still didn’t look at him, just sat back to rest against the wall behind them, gnawing on more jerky. John imagined a wild face under that hood, rabid eyes that had seen horrors beyond imagining. Sawn down teeth, flesh peeling away.

“You look familiar, kid. But I don’t suppose I’ve seen you at the soup kitchen.” Something sounded odd, intrigued, hopeful maybe, and John wondered how he looked ‘familiar’ if this unusual creature had barely taken a second look at him.

“My father owns a law firm in the city. One day he’s going to be District Attorney. I’ve been in the newspapers with him a few times.” John couldn’t help but boast a little, still a little concerned for the $20,000 watch on his wrist, but quite content that this man wouldn’t be holding him for ransom anytime soon.

A resigned, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ve slept on one of those papers then.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“I know what it is.”

John looked up to where the giant was looking- the faded stars in the night sky, barely visible, but Cassiopeia was twinkling between the rooftops.

“You look how I’d imagine my little brother to look, I think, if he was still alive. He was always skinny, like you. Too skinny. Probably starved somewhere, on the streets, poor as shit like me.”

“He’s… dead?”

“Yeah.”

“How long ago?”

The giant didn’t elaborate.

“I… I don't have any brothers.” John regurgitated the lie that had been beaten into him for so many years. No son of mine has delinquents and degenerates for brothers.

“You got a Mom? A Dad?”

Of sorts.

“Yes.”

“They love you?” John could hear the aching loneliness that lay behind the question.

No. I’m innately unloveable.

“They try.” His voice broke a little. “I don’t exactly make it easy for them.”

The giant rolled his head forward and smiled down at his feet.

“Then you want my advice?”

John nodded, feeling tears building again and his lip quivering, threatening to break open into desperate wailing. Something about this felt so strange, so easy and natural. Unconditional. Why was this man being so nice to him?

A gloved hand rested on his shoulder, far more gentle than John had expected.

“Go home, kid. There’s nothing more important than family.”

If only he had either of those. A heavy sob wracked through his slight body and John found himself weeping loudly into his knees, without fear of being caught, judged, scolded and forced to pray away his resentment of his pitiful life. Tears and snot and misery came streaming down his face, body shaking with the effort of it all.

Warmth enveloped his shoulders, and he realised that the giant had removed his parka and wrapped it around him. Tucking him into it, like a child being settled into bed. And he leaned into the towering figure, sharing the warmth, curling himself into strong arms of inexplicable kindness. A kindness he thought he’d never know again.

“Stay here tonight. I’ll walk you back tomorrow.”

John cried until he fell asleep.

He dreamed of red hair, the heat of farmland alight, and a shadow in the back of a police car.

#far cry 5 #FC5Week #FC5Week2019 #john seed #jacob seed #that picture of seamus?#no idea what it's from #but he's so babyfaced holy shit #teenage john right there #also this is my first proper attempt at writing jacob #dunno if it's worked hahaha #also taking a huge liberty with the theme #not a mention of the project at all hahahaha

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tsukikokiyomizu · 5 years ago

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Junior High School Memories.

Tw: Child abuse and neglect, abuse denial, bullying, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, parental death.

Tsukiko had been daydreaming a lot since she entered Shujin, at the beginning of senior high school. That brought her bad memories...

That’s right. It had been a little bit after her father died. She had just left elementary school, at age 12, and started junior high. An ex-colleague of her father’s quit his job as a police officer, and offered an in-depth interview about the—at the time—beloved Enbizou Kiyomizu, father of the prodigy Tsukiko Kiyomizu, and upstanding policeman.

He told them about the abuse. The long days in which she would be forced to work under his name, ever since the time she was still a third-grader, without being allowed to sleep or eat until she had done everything. Everyone was told that she was a very sickly, frail child—it wasn’t untrue that she indeed had a poor immune system when she was younger, but that was far less grave than what her father told the others. He did so because, that way, not many people would wonder why she had large absence periods from school, both thanks to work or the times her father would injure her so much that she would not be able to stand up or walk. He told them, too, about the times he would hear the man harshly telling her to ‘just die in a hole already’ or that she was the reason why he was a miserable man whose wife had left. The Japanese media, at the time, exploded with news about that—left and right, people appeared saying that they had seen or heard or felt like something was odd all along.

Ah, yes, I can remember that she would come late into the night to buy food from the convenience store, all alone; I thought it was weird too...

Ah, how could I forget? In a trip to Okinawa, I think I saw her being scolded and slapped in the garden...

Yes, I’m sure that a friend of a friend that works at her school told me about her large absences some time ago...

Some were truthful. Some were just painful, elaborate lies so they could gain attention. Whatever the case was, the man in question was dead—so, all of the attention turned to the sole person who could attest to what had happened: Tsukiko. A 12-years-old mourning the death of the person who had succeeded in making her a great detective rather than a person, who didn’t know how to feel after working so hard for his praise for such a long time. A child that, having been treated as trash by the only person related to her by blood that she knew, believed herself to be responsible for the pain caused to her. Even if now she was told over and over again that her father had been a horrible person, even if Sachie, who was once afraid of Enbizou and his influence, told her that what had happened was wrong, she couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t accept that her father, the person she worked for so long to please and remembered fondly as the one who gave her a purpose, something that even a worthless kid like herself could do, had been doing something she didn’t deserve. No, they were liars, vultures trying to rip apart the kind memory of her father, who only did his best for her and had been hurt by her existence...

So she didn’t listen. Tsukiko isolated herself from others, despite her extreme fame, and would strickly focus herself on studying and working. That way, no one would try to drag her father down...

...maybe that was her mistake. She didn’t know. At the time, she believed even her father’s death to be her fault, and thought that others would attempt to destroy his reputation if they got too close; that, and her engraved belief that she was worthless, led her to become an isolated figure. A famous girl who would never talk to others, unless it had to do with schoolwork. Her classmates, looking at that with discontent and a previously established view that “the famous and the rich = bad, the humble and poor = good”, decided to perceive her as an arrogant, rude girl who looked down on them, and because of that didn’t talk or make any friends.

Because they had decided to look at her like that, no matter what “truth” was presented to them, their “truths” would never change.

At first, they were small things. Her pencil disappeared, and no one knew where it was, even though one of the girls near her desk was holding an identical pencil now. Someone didn’t see her, and bumped on her, sending her to the floor. Ah, Tsukiko, such a klutz, she forgot to get the assignment—it’s not that we didn’t tell her about it, or that we hid hers on purpose, she just lost it or didn’t get it from her table!

After some time, they were getting bolder and bolder. Her eraser, her sharpener, her ruler... eventually, it was the whole pencil case. Sometimes, her backpack would end up “falling out of the window”, or her books would “fall on a puddle”, or her shoes would “somehow” end up on the rooftop. Now, she would be pushed forcefully, as if she wasn’t even visible, and fall with her face on the ground. If they were feeling especially upset, they would even step on her before she could get up, acting as if she was nothing more than a carpet on the floor. She was an arrogant, clumsy, stupid, worthless girl who knew of nothing other than solving cases, and she was probably bribing people or sleeping around to make sure that she could get everything she wanted. It wasn’t that she actually did any of these things—in reality, the more she was bullied, the more they convinced themselves that she must have done something to prompt that. And the teachers, turning a blind eye or just wishing the situation would solve itself, never saved her from their constant harassment.

Who wrote that horrible thing on Kiyomizu-san’s desk?

It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me!

She probably wrote it herself,

so she would get attention, right?

Duh! I would never tell someone to

go and die, teach!

Even when they said that... Tsukiko saw them writing those words on her desk... but they never stopped at words alone. Each day, it was something new and painful: breaking her things, ripping her books, pulling her hair. Even when Sachie, in rare occassions, was able to see through her lies, Tsukiko would never tell her. She would never admit that, amongst her class and even the other students from higher and lower grades equally, they abused and stepped on her pride without any concerns; that, through the entirety of her three years in junior high, she would have to be treated as something lesser than a human being.

After all, didn’t she deserve that? Just like when her father would hurt her and insult her, it was all because she had done something wrong. It would be best if she would just vanish from the world, making it so her classmates wouldn’t have to deal with her ugly, disgusting face every day. That way, they would be able to live a happy school life, without having to waste their time trying to help and educate an ignorant, arrogant, rude idiot like herself. So, one day, after being told that she had lowered the class’s average grade because she yet again “forgot” one of her assignments, her classmates were “rightfully” furious. They asked Tsukiko to find a way to apologize to the entire class, and show them how much remorse she could feel. They waited until classes were done and, without the teachers noticing, they entered the school was empty and put her on the classroom, accompanied by the ones who “suffered” because of her supposed clumsy nature, and readied themselves for the apology.

She apologized. With her eyes to the ground, she apologized.

For always having her head on the clouds.

For being a forgetful klutz who could never do anything right.

They would have been satisfied with that much. But she didn’t stop.

For being a worthless piece of garbage who caused grief to everyone.

For having driven her mother away and made her father die unhappy.

For being someone that no one would ever be able to love.

Unhappy with how much she was talking, they tried to ask her to stop.

What came from her mouth wasn’t the silence they expected, which wouldn’t have made them feel upset or feel pity towards that silly, stupid figure they ignored and hated every day.

Without sobbing, she cried, holding her head with both hands, and begged them to kill her.

Could it be a miracle? Or maybe a student, feeling pity or remorse for what had been done to her so far, told them? Whatever the case was, a teacher had gone back to school deep into the night, suspecting that students had sneaked back into school after everyone had left. What he found was that lonely, sad child. Tsukiko had been stripped to her underwear, her hair had been cut short, and she had been left there, in the coldness of the classroom, hugging her knees and waiting someone to unlock the door. Dissatisfied with how much she had been talking and made them feel like they were in the wrong, some left. But the ones who got very much upset with her “crazy acting”, those decided that leaving her half-naked in a cold classroom would be more than enough punishment for the day. So, when she saw a teacher, she began to cry again, and told him in one single minute about everything they had done—her pride, her already low self-esteem, her sense of worth; they had stolen even those from her, even those things she had hoped would stay with her even if she didn’t deserve them.

...Tsukiko shook her head. After that incident, the teachers finally stepped in, and the rest of junior high went by so fast she barely remembered it. Then, she entered Shujin.

That was far in the past... luckily, at Shujin, the worst they could do was spread rumors. With a dry smile, she looked out of the window.

She had already seen so much worse it felt almost refreshing. How far gone could she be to think that?

#tsukiko kiyomizu — greatest detective #headcanon — and this is my conclusion!#long post — a case file with how many pages!?

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pcttrailsidereader · 5 years ago

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April is the Worst Time to Start the PCT . . . Here’s Why

This is a perennial question that has no right answer. That being said, it is an important decision for each individual to make based upon snow pack, skill level, tolerance for crowds and need for solitude, pace, and, of course, when you need to be done. Daniel Winsor offers his perspective and outlines a number of considerations.

This post seems an appropriate follow-up to the October 29 post about the changes to the permit system for 2020. It will become increasingly important because these changes will make skipping the High Sierra and returning later more difficult given new permit regulations.

By Daniel “Beta” Winsor

…ok, ok, so maybe it’s not the absolute worst time. December, for instance, probably deserves that title.

I thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in 2017, starting on March 26th. But if I did it again, I’d start a week earlier.

Heresy, I know.

Because April 15th, plus or minus a few days, has traditionally been THE time to get on the trail headed north. Last season, those permit dates were the first to go, within minutes of the permits opening up. You ask a group online for their opinion, they’ll tell you mid-April. You read a book on the PCT, you’ll get the same answer.

It’s not a very good answer.

Now I’m not saying it can’t be done, obviously many people have started in April over the years and did just fine. I’m proposing that more people think about starting in March, specifically the last two weeks of March. Here’s a few of the rationales behind starting in April, and why March is almost always a better answer.

1. Snow in Southern California

Specifically Fuller Ridge near Mt. San Jacinto and then Mt. Baden-Powell later on. Honestly, there’s not much too worry about here.

I went through Fuller Ridge on April 5th on one of the highest snow years in recent history… and it was about five miles of low angle snow. People were getting through without any snow gear (not recommended). For me, it was slow, but manageable, in microspikes. Hikers with crampons used words like “cake” and “joke” enough to make me wish I had crampons.

People summit Mt. San Jacinto in the winter. You just hiked over a hundred miles to get to Fuller Ridge. You can most likely handle walking along a peripheral ridge for a few miles in the spring.

Mt. Baden-Powell is along the same lines as San Jacinto. The snow is steeper, but only slightly, and longer, about ten miles. Many of us managed just fine with microspikes, but those with crampons ran across with a common theme of “was that it?” once they were off snow again.

If there’s ANY snow in the Sierra you’ll be dealing with (a.k.a. every year that isn’t an extreme drought year), don’t fear the small patches of snow in SoCal. Get your ice axe and crampons out and go boost your confidence. Never used those things before? Go learn! It’s a great opportunity to figure out if you feel ready to tackle Sierra snow or if you need to flip up north to avoid the white stuff.

There is MUCH chatter about those first snowy obstacles. This is the first time you’ll likely see the word “impassible” crop up online…

Low angle snow is never impassible with the right gear.

2. Snow in the Sierra Nevada

If you start the PCT in March, then there will be a ton of snow in the Sierra, right?? Yes and no, it really depends on the snow year.

During high snow years:

…such as 2011 and 2017 (and 2019), starting in March puts you in Kennedy Meadows in late April or early May. Most people will need a few days to put their gear together before entering the snow, then you’ll enter into the Sierra in the first or second week of May. At a comfortable pace in the hard, firm snow, you’ll exit the Sierra in the first couple weeks of June.

Does that sound early? It is, BUT you get to leave the Sierra before the melt happens in mid-to-late June when crossing creeks becomes a harrowing, dangerous obstacle. Traveling on snow isn’t (terribly) dangerous, crossing creeks is dangerous. Snow is slow, but you’ll keep moving safely forward. Swollen creeks have the potential to turn you around or even kill you. Many of the creeks, up to 80% of them, are possible to cross on snow bridges during the month of May after heavy winters.

Unfortunately, a well known rule-of-thumb is to leave Kennedy Meadows on “Ray Day”, which is June 15th. Hikers who followed this guidance in 2017 damn near gave themselves a death sentence. Most who went into the Sierra in the month of June were forced to bail. Some even died.

Go when the snow is still snow.

During low snow years:

…such as the drought years from 2012 to 2016, March is still the better answer. You aren’t racing to get to the Sierra before the melt happens, but seeing the Sierra in at least some snow and solitude before the crowds move in on the John Muir Trail portion of the PCT will be the highlight of your hike.

An earlier start gives you the gift of time also. The Sierra is an incredible place, most hikers consider it their favorite section of the whole trail. Nobody should be running through it. There’s plenty of monotonous hiking in the hundreds of miles ahead to push mileage.

There’s great trail towns and side trips all along the Sierra also, take more zeros! Like Bishop, California? Stay there a couple extra days. Mammoth is great spot to go skiing in June! You’ll hike right by Yosemite Valley, an incredible side trip to go play tourist for a day or two.

3. It’s too cold.

I’d actually flip this concern and consider it too hot to start hiking in April.

Starting in late March means you’ll be hiking through Southern California section mostly in April. The hottest and most waterless sections of the PCT happen 3-4 weeks after you start, just before getting to Kennedy Meadows.

Water is a big factor here too. Seasonal water sources in Southern California start dwindling in early May, some even earlier. Without those intermittent water sources, you have to carry more water. Some stretches can be 7-8 liters, even more if you’re hiking slow. The most I had to carry was five liters, which turned out to be excessive.

Water caches are a personal enemy of mine (more on that later), but they are a (wrongly) heavily relied on source through those hottest sections, sometimes getting hikers in trouble. Caches tend to be well stocked very early in the season, even before they’re really necessary, but many run dry as the folks who were maintaining the caches don’t have the time/energy/money to keep them stocked the whole season. Earlier hikers have a better chance coming across water in the water caches.

TO BE CLEAR: NOBODY SHOULD BE RELYING ON WATER CACHES.

I apologize for all the capitol letters, how annoying. But anyways…

If you start in April, you’ll be walking through 90F days in May with disappearing seasonal water sources and questionable water caches. Starting in March, you’ll be walking through 70F days in April with every seasonal water source flowing and freshly stocked water caches.

One of those sounds a bit better than the other, right?

Oh, but you can just hike through the night to beat the heat? Uh. There’s cool stuff to look at out there. Why would you want to miss it? You could just stick a treadmill in your basement, stop showering, and turn off the lights if that’s all you wanted out of your thru-hike.

…although you’d also have to pencil in some off-treadmill time for the psychiatrist.

As for the cold, if you have a 20F sleeping bag, you’ll be fine. My coldest morning in Southern California was 23F near Big Bear. But then I was sleeping back in the 20’s the last few days in Washington! If I had started later, I’d have been spending the last weeks on the trail even colder, through snow storms and other garbage that NO ONE wants to backpack through in the final weeks of such and long, exhausting trip. The beginning of any thru-hike is the time to be uncomfortable, not the end.

4. There aren’t any trail angels or trail magic around in March.

Wrong. One of the best parts of hiking in the early season is that you’re one of the first PCT faces most people are seeing. You’re ahead of the “herd” of hikers, so businesses are still happy to see you. No asshat thru-hikers (yes, these exist) have come along to put a bad taste in anyone’s mouth yet. You’re still a novelty in trail towns. You’re the ONLY hiker at bars and restaurants. People haven’t seen PCTers in a while, so they want to say hi and buy you beers and give you rides. You know what people want to do when they walk into a bar with 20 thru-hikers? Probably leave after they throw up, because why would a hiker shower first when there’s hot food waiting?!

Big trail angel stops are still psyched on the season starting. You’re in places like Hiker Heaven and Hiker Town with less than 10 other people, not 50 or 60.

Just like thru-hikers, trail angels get worn out as the season goes on. By the end of the “herd”, there’s fewer and fewer trail angels around. Earlier season hikers easily have it the best when it comes to trail angels, and this continues all the way up to Canada.

5. I’ll miss the bubble of hikers if I start in March!

Uh. Good.

Not that all thru-hikers aren’t amazing people, I made many incredible friends on my thru, but think about what happens when there’s 50 people starting the trail every day for weeks before you and weeks after…

What are the odds that perfect campsite is free at the end of the day?

When someone leaves a couple six-packs of IPA’s as trail magic, what are the odds there will be one left for you?

Ever tried hitch-hiking along a road with 20 other hitch-hikers?

You like solitude? Hopefully you’ll get over that.

I don’t mean to say that a ton of thru-hikers on the trail is a bad thing, but some people like it, some people don’t. I prefer a tight-knit group of hikers I can get to know, but spend as much time alone as I want. That’s what I got by starting in March.

Final Consideration: Permits

Note: See the updates to the Permit system in the October 29 post. These changes have occurred after Daniel Winsor wrote this piece.

This upcoming year is the first time permits will be given out in November, before anyone has any idea what will happen during the upcoming winter! This is understandably frustrating for 2018 thru-hikers.

So what’s the safe bet if you’re not particularly good at telling the future? Once again: March.

If you go with an April permit and we have a dry winter, you’re in for a hot, waterless desert section. If we see another high snow year, an April permit will put you in the Sierra right when the rivers get dangerous.

If you go with a March permit and we have a dry winter, you’re in for a pleasant desert hike with decent water sources. If we see another high snow year, a March permit will give you choices: head straight through the Sierra on hard snow before the melt, flip up to Hat Creek Rim while it’s still pleasant, or drink beer in Bishop hoping it all melts (which this year, it oddly did).

The earlier permit thing sucks. No way around that. But if you’d like to play it safe, March is the way to go. The beautiful advantage to starting early is that you can always take more zeros. If you start too late, you can’t insert time into your hike if you need more.

All considered, you have to choose your starting date based around many more factors. Time off from work, time away from loved ones, financial limitations etc. The most important thing about choosing a start date is to allow as much time as possible for your journey. Nobody wants to death march through such an amazing trail. Take your time, stay uninjured, and go camp next to that gorgeous lake! A core regret of many thru-hikers is not allowing themselves time to thoroughly enjoy the trail.

Starting in March will give you that time.

#crowds #solitude #start date

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wigwurq · 6 years ago

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WIG REVIEW: FOSSE/VERDON

Are you ready for another prestige limited series from FX? Do you like the legitimate THE-A-TRE? Can you do jazz hands upon request? Well then Fosse/Verdon might be for you. MAYBE.

But what about the wigs? Let’s discuss. As this an eight episode series, I will be updating this post weekly and adjusting whether or not the wigs do or do not wurq. Spoilers, obvs.

So this show is about legendary director/choreographer Bob Fosse and his wife/Broadway legend, Gwen Verdon. If you have never heard of either, I suggest that you stop reading because this show is definitely not for you. Sorry? Produced by Lin-Manuel Miranda and directed by Hamilton’s Thomas Kail, this show is made ONLY for theater megageeks and basically no one else. As a former drama club president who definitely got Joel Grey’s autograph after seeing the original Broadway revival cast of Chicago, I thought I fit that bill but after watching this thing, I don’t even know that I qualify. My husband, who spent most of the episode asking questions until finally just deeming the whole thing “boring” was absolutely not the key demographic and yes he went into this knowing who these two people are and has seen several musicals. Similar limited series focusing on very specific pop culture such as Feud: Bette and Joan did a much better job catering to the uninitiated.

EPISODE ONE: LIFE IS A CABARET

We begin at the end, then go straight to the middle, which is: a choice. We first see Sam Rockwell in old man makeup (sorry - I could find no images of this to share) and then backtrack. Much of this episode is focused on Fosse’s transition from choreographer to film director. This is when Fosse had already lost much of his hair and had a bad combover and Rockwell is given this wig that is giving me Ed Harris circa 1998 feels and like all bad man wigs, looks terrible from the back.

We are then plunged straight into production for the film version of Sweet Charity without any explanation of anything other than the fact that (duh) he’s directing the iconic Big Spender number. But wait - there’s a twist! Turns out Michelle Williams as Gwen Verdon did a lot of the directing! DUN DUN DUN. I am all for giving ladies their propers and approaching narratives as if they are Glenn Close’s The Wife character but this does not change the fact that this red Marilyn Monroe wig is not very good.

This is all very Theatre-y with a capital T and an ending in RE NOT ER. Everything has a Theatre quality to it - but not in that Tony winning Hamilton way, more in that Emmy winning Grease: Live! way (Kail directed both) which is to say that there is no immediacy or intimacy to anything - all the characters feel like they are far away, performing on a stage - and it leaves the viewer feeling empty and, well, bored. TV and stage are just not the same! Oh, and Fosse just found out that movies and stage are not the same because Sweet Charity was a big flop! Look at how sad they are in their gorgeous apartment and terrible, bent wigs with backs that jut out from their necks! THE HORROR!

So then Paul Reiser shows up. He is fine and I’m glad he’s getting work and he’s thankfully not wearing a wig! When a new character shows up in this show, you spend the first five minutes or so trying to figure out who they are supposed to be playing, like an IMDb charades game since no one explains who they are and simply give vague context clues. At first, I thought he was Neil Simon, then he mentioned making a movie with homosexuals and Nazis so I was like: DEFINITELY MEL BROOKS but it turns out it he is Cabaret producer Cy Feuer. You, know - CY FEUER? You don’t?? WELL WE’RE NOT GOING TO EXPLAIN IT TO YOU WE ARE FOSSE/VERDON.

Aaaaanyway, Fosse gets the job of directing Cabaret and goes to Munich and meets Liza Minnelli who in this tv reality looks like this which is not how Liza Minnelli ever looked. AND THIS WIG. AT LEAST GIVE LIZA A GOOD WIG NOT ONE YOU FOUND AT RICKY’S. NEXT.

Then Paul Reiser gives Sam Rockwell a lot of guff about taking too long to direct things and not deciding about costumes and hiring ugly German prostitutes to be extras yet somehow allows him to wear these really ugly shoes. Throughout, Rockwell’s wig is a mess of a tumbleweave, not unlike this show. And then Michelle Williams shows up to save his ass like all capable ladies ever and even goes to buy a gorilla suit in NYC only to arrive back in Munich where Rockwell is boning some German translator who looks way too much like Ann Reinking. There’s also a lot of nonlinear theatrical vignettes into Fosse’s past that play like, well, All That Jazz. Which this is not.

In the end, we go back to old man Fosse, and it is told to us that he has only EIGHT MORE MINUTES TO LIVE. Kudos to the production team for somehow trying to turn Bob Fosse’s 1987 death into a thriller. Spoiler: it’s not.

EPISODE TWO: WHO’S GOT THE PAIN?

We (obvs?) begin in Majorca, where 70s-era Fosse and Verdon have gone to patch up their marriage. Also can you think of a more bougie place to go in the 70s to patch up your fancy marriage? There are a lot of scenes on the beach where Sam Rockwell’s 90s Ed Harris wig gets blown around and Michelle Williams cries into a cardigan. And because misery loves company, apparently their best friends, the Neil Simons, are along for the ride. Joan Simon is Gwenny’s best gal pal and her wig is something one might find in a pile of Halloween wigs to play Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction.

We then travel back to 1955, or “267 since Gwen Verdon’s first Tony Award.” Yes, this show is still doing this insufferable titling which really is a lot of fun facts that add up to nothing. Regardless, we’re at the point where Verdon and Fosse meet as he “auditions” her for Damn Yankees which he is to choreograph. I have to say that this scene, with both actors dancing and wearing much better wigs than their characters wear in the 70s (still terrible though!) was pretty fun! They can dance!

They also obvs fall very much in love, though weirdly the scene of them actually having sex for the first time is buried in a montage. You have very odd priorities, Fosse/Verdon! Complicating matters is Gwen’s perpetually bent wig, Fosse’s kind of ok in comparison wig, and oh and the fact that he’s married!

This show not only wants but DEMANDS that you wikipedia everything that is happening, mainly from its distinct lack of good storytelling. Anyway, Fosse’s 2nd wife was Joan McCracken and OMG CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PRESTIGE TV SHOW ABOUT HER? Wiki tells me that her first husband ended up being Truman Capote’s lover and that Capote based the character of Holly Golightly on her and seriously why are we wasting our time on this Fosse/Verdon mess when we could be learning more about her?!?! Anyway, what the show does tell us is that she has a mysterious illness that makes her sometimes not be able to walk (Wiki explained that she had some heart attacks around this time). Also, she is no fool and fully realizes that Fosse is gonna leave her fabulous ass for Gwenny - just the way he left his first wife for her! Also please look at Sam’s terrible lace front here. Also Joan’s wig is very much Joan Allen in Pleasantville which is to say: the best wig on this show.

Anyway, the rest of the episode is devoted to working out some musical kinks in Damn Yankees and watching Michelle Williams dance around in a bad wig. Oh, and then finally leave Fosse in Majorca when she realizes he’s about to leave HER fabulous ass for some German translator (I’m sensing a theme here). And the show ends trying to make Joan McCracken’s death into a thriller! Spoiler: Wikipedia tells me she died in 1961! Wikipedia is a much better show than this, also.

EPISODE THREE: ME AND MY BABY

We begin in some random editing suite where Fosse has gone to begin editing Cabaret and because this show cannot and will not stop trying to be All that Jazz (which I rewatched this weekend and LORDT IS THIS SHOW TRYING TO BE THAT MOVIE - AND ALSO BOTH ARE GARBAGE!) there is an elaborate dance number with random editing assistant (?) ladies. The one good part of this is: Sam Rockwell dancing. Otherwise: garbage fire.

Speaking of garbage fires, the (4 hour!) rough edit of Cabaret that the editors put together for Fosse while he was in Majorca (which he was really pissed about because HOW DARE THEY DO THEIR JOBS) is a friggin mess. Speaking of messes, THE BACK OF THIS WIG. Is Fosse a monk? What is happening here? However, I do appreciate the casting of the dude who played SpongeBob on Broadway as Joel Grey.

Back at Casa Verdon, where Fosse DOES NOT LIVE ANYMORE, Gwenny is making dinner and trying to get her own career back together when Fosse shows up unannounced with Chinese food and pleas for Gwenny to help him edit the mess that is Cabaret. RUDE! Gwenny and her bent wig have their own dinner dates with her agent, Peter Scolari at the Russian Tea Room to get to THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Thus, Gwenny leaves their daughter with Fosse and his epic combover at the editing suite to go to her dinner date and HE CAN’T EVEN HANDLE being with his tween daughter for a few hours (since he definitely has to make time to bone his editing assistant) and ropes Norbert Leo Butz in a very shaggy wig to come hang out with his kid in a hotel room. Gwenny is NOT HAVING IT.

Even though Butz basically just ate a bunch of sloppy food and made the daughter watch a b horror movie, Gwenny points out that leaving a tweenage daughter with a random dude in a hotel room is INAPPROPRIATE EVEN IF THAT DUDE WROTE MARTY WHICH IS A PERFECT MOVIE.

This makes her reflect on her own (somehow very Magdalene-Sisters-like) tweenage years (as played by a younger actress whose image could NOT be found on the internet, gurl) when she was raped and impregnated and then slut-shamed by her parents into marrying a much older alcoholic. YIKES.

So back in the 70s, despite the fact that she’s in some rando straight play called Children! Children! (yes really) which is being directed by a condescending asshole and taking care of her kid, she somehow finds time to go help her estranged idiot husband edit the movie that she basically co-directed. SERIOUSLY WOMEN HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING. Also all these wigs look like crap. Just when you think Fosse is maybe being redeemable, he decides to bring up the Gwenny’s illegitimate son AT THE VERY WORST MOMENT DUDE YOU ARE THE WORST.

Back with Young Gwenny, we see her giving her infant son to her parents to raise so she can go be a dancer. We then cut to her triumphant turn in Can-Can (some years later but Fosse/Verdon definitely doesn’t specify how many). Gwenny’s show might be a triumph, but her wig is still a mess. Oh, and she’s still haunted by the cries of the baby she gave up BECAUSE WOMEN CAN NEVER FULLY HAVE NICE THINGS.

EPISODE FOUR: GLORY

We begin at Cabaret. Isn’t life one, you guys? Fosse is all poised for this to be the flop that (apparently?) Sweet Charity was but nope: it’s a big huge critical and commercial hit! Do whatever you want, now, Fosse! Oh wait, you already do everything you want anyway? Cool! Fosse and his circa 1997 Ed Harris wig are now unstoppably arrogant! Get ready! So Fosse’s next project is the medieval/psychedelic nonsense musical, Pippin which will definitely give you contact highs.

JUST LOOK AT HOW HIGH THIS MUSICAL IS. I think when people from the Mid Waste think of Broadway musicals, this is what most of them still think that looks like. Also this is how I fear I’ll die.

Speaking of! Gwenny’s best galpal, Joan Simon (wife to Neil) is dying of cancer! It’s very sad because she’s really nice and despite her bad Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction wig I appreciate her dedication to half updos with bows that match her outfits.

Gwenny does not even have time to be sad about this because she needs to take her bent wig over to Pippin rehearsals to pick up her daughter only to find that Fosse has given her FOUR TABS TO DRINK THAT IS LIKE 3 1/2 TOO MANY. She handles it by smiling through her hatred and truly this was a very Miranda Priestly moment and also I like Gwen’s top. ALSO LOOK AT THE BACK OF FOSSE’S WIG NO THANK YOU PLEASE.

Over at Pippin rehearsals, we also meet Ann Reinking (who will become Fosse’s lady love for the next decade or so) but for now she’s keeping things professional and also this is Andie MacDowell’s (wigless, thank god) daughter. Ok!

Fosse is definitely NOT keeping things professional and basically boning the rest of the Pippin ensemble cast, whether they like it or not! There is a very #MeToo moment where Fosse ends up getting a knee to the groin and GOOD.

Not so good? Gwenny’s play Children! Children! (that title - I still can’t). Despite asking Fosse to come over and FIX. IT. he is too busy becoming the poster dude for Time’s Up and Gwenny’s show ends up getting bad reviews and closing immediately. Also her wig is fully turning into a Jean Stapleton in All in the Family lewk. Whilst Gwenny’s professional life is going to crap, Fosse is winning ALL THE AWARDS as shown in a really confusing montage which suggested that the Tony Awards are before the Oscars. INCORRECT.

In the end, Fosse drunkenly tries to go bone Gwenny but she has wisely shacked up with that dude from Obvious Child which literally leads Fosse into a MENTAL INSTITUTION and the entire show to basically just turn into All that Jazz which I will remind everyone is a very derivative and terrible movie! OY.

EPISODE 5: WHERE AM I GOING?

The title of this episode should really be an question for the viewer: where are you going? Where are we all going? Are we still really watching this show? Sadly: yes. UGH I think we’re more than halfway through now? Let’s just finish this thing!

We begin at the mental hospital where Fosse ended the last episode. Gwenny and their kid are visiting him and Fosse is basically catatonic. This does not stop Gwenny from moving FULL STEAM AHEAD ON CHICAGO! Then cut to: Southampton? Huh? Sure! There, Fosse and his best bros, Neil Simon and Paddy Chayefsky are having a beach weekend which leads to the above upsetting 70s mens shorts (which thankfully Norbert Leo Butz did NOT sign on for). I love dudes who refuse to wear shorts in the summer, no matter how hot it is. My husband is one of these dudes.

The one problem with this beach weekend? Everybody together in their best impression of Renee Zellweger in Cold Mountain: IT’S RAINING! So everyone is stuck inside. And also it’s kind of a Big Chill sort of scenario except the role of Kevin Costner as the dead friend is now: Joan Simon. And also Fosse just got out of a mental institution 3 months ago. And he’s there with his girlfriend and Gwenny is there with her boyfriend. AND ALL THE WIGS ARE TERRIBLE.

So Fosse’s girlfriend: Ann Reinking! When last we saw her, she was ignoring Fosse at Pippin rehearsals but it’s explained that after his (1 week!) stay in the looney bin, he gave her a ring and now they’re in LURRRVE. Ok? Andie MacDowell’s daughter plays Annie and she doesn’t wear a wig and she’s fine. Fosse’s circa 1997 Ed Harris wig is still very upsetting. As is his tan!

Also upsetting? Gwenny rolls up with this RAT TAIL (it’s hard to see in this pic but it’s the best I could do!) We’re supposed to believe that in the last 3 months she suddenly grew this monstrosity out?!?! MORE ON THE BONE CHILLING TRUTH ABOUT THIS RAT TAIL LATER.

Gwenny also has a really nice boyfriend named Ron. He is played by that guy who played a nice guy in The Office, Obvious Child, and Girls. He doesn’t wear a wig and he is very nice! Fosse’s combover is not!

Oh also along for the ride is Fosse/Verdon’s daughter Nicole who is definitely too young to be dealing with all these effed up grownups and also is bored and ends up giving herself a cigarette/pickle-induced stomach virus. GET IT TOGETHER, PARENTS.

Most of the episode is about whether Fosse should direct Dustin Hoffman in Lenny or proceed with Gwenny’s vanity project, Chicago, despite the fact that his doctors told him to take a year off work from either! Spoiler to anyone who has never seen All that Jazz or who does not know enough about Fosse to even bother watching this: HE DOES BOTH! WHO IS THIS SHOW EVEN FOR?!?! Also Norbert Leo Butz’s man wig is not as bad as the rest. Great work on not wearing shorts again also! Also Fosse/Verdon bone again in secret even though they are married but have lovers. The 70s!

And now to the critical and bone-chilling facts about Gwenny’s rat tail! After a night of drinking and making terrible professional and personal choices, Gwenny sits down to a breakfast of coffee and one single piece of fruit and then....UNCLIPS HER RAT TAIL AND POUFS IT UP! So first off, that clears up the whole “how did her hair grow so long so fast” question. HOWEVER. This now leads to another case of WIG GASLIGHTING. This is when a wig (which is being passed off as real hair) is of equal or lesser quality to a wig that is a known wig within the context of the narrative. In other words - the quality of this rat tail (which we now know to be a wig) is of the same exact quality as the wig Michelle Williams wears to play Gwenny. WIG GASLIGHTING! For other bone-chilling examples of past wig gaslightings please see my reviews of The Danish Girl and Oceans Eight. WIG GASLIGHTING IS TERRIFYING.

EPISODE 6: ALL I CARE ABOUT IS LOVE

And here we are. Throughout this (limited) season, we’ve gotten hints and asides, teases and tosses of All That Jazz but this episode fully just is a remake of the movie All That Jazz. Which I recently rewatched and is terrible. Terrible still? Anyone who would be watching this show would clearly be familiar with this awful film - so why make an episode that is that entire movie with absolutely no new information?!?! Again: WHO IN THE HELL IS THIS SHOW FOR?!?!

Anyway, if you haven’t seen All That Jazz, this episode is about Fosse editing Lenny while also directing/choreographing Chicago AND having some heart issues that end in hospitalization. Gwenny’s wig is bent as ever and Fosse’s circa 1997 Ed Harris lewk is still the same. Truly, there is no new information in this episode at all except that some of it is presented with Fosse AS Lenny Bruce which was an AWFUL IDEA.

OH! Except this lady playing Chita Rivera who is really good and has the brunette version of Gwenny’s bent wig.

ALSO! Nicole Fosse is now played by this slightly older actor who looks nothing like her younger version (or the actual Nicole Fosse) and is in a definitely terrible wig (and also forced to wear heavy makeup to visit her dad in the hospital because kids aren’t allowed to visit hospitals? IS THIS REALLY A RULE?)

Anyway, there’s a lot of All That Jazz hospital drama here and a lot of terrible flashblacks to Fosse’s burlesque tween years which attempt to explain his messed up relationship with women in an extremely Don Draper in Mad Men flashback way. There is also messed up hospital sex with Ann Reinking! THIS EPISODE IS AWFUL IN EVERY WAY!

EPISODE 7: NOWADAYS

Fosse recovered! For now! Back at Chicago rehearsals, everyone is wearing extra socks and doing just great. The most important addition to this show this week is that they got some dude to play Jerry Orbach! His man wig was terrible!

He also very did not look like Jerry Orbach! Anyway, this episode was mainly about Gwenny being TOO OLD for all this choreography, y’all. She was huffing and puffing all over fake Jerry Orbach so Fosse had to cut a lot of her dancing but once the show opened guess what? Gwenny got better reviews than the show itself! Take that, dance steps! However, there was a whole part where Gwenny read Fosse for filth and said that he owed his entire career to her and how dare he make the finale a duet between her and Chita! (He made the finale a duet). There were also many flashbacks about Fosse and Gwenny’s fertility issues and I almost believed that Nicole was adopted until Gwenny got legit pregnant while Fosse was too busy dancing to construct cribs. You almost taught me something, Fosse/Verdon!

OMG I CAN’T STOP LOOKING AT THESE PICTURES OF FAKE JERRY ORBACH. Anyway, Fosse/Verdon then legit DID teach me something: apparently a few weeks into the run of Chicago, Gwenny inhaled some confetti during the finale and it effed with her vocal chords but she refused to leave the show, thinking it might close if she did. BUT THEN Fosse got LIZA EFFING MINNELLI to take her place while she got surgery and recovered! This was news to me! HOWEVER, Fosse/Verdon refused to show me any footage of even fake Liza in the show which was a real missed opportunity.

Anyway, Liza revived the show and Gwenny was kind of pissed about it but on every level: THE SHOW MUST GO ON. Here is Gwenny during the finale which she was forced to share with Chita. And this show didn’t even show us the full finale! I DEMAND TO SEE MICHELLE WILLIAMS DOING THE HOT HONEY RAG WHY DID YOU EVEN MAKE THIS SHOW IF I CAN’T SEE IT. There is literally no reason for this show to exist if it can’t show me Michelle Williams doing a cartwheel in a top hat. What a world. What a wig.

IN CONCLUSION: LOOK AGAIN AT THE TERRIBLE MAN WIG ON FAKE JERRY ORBACH.

EPISODE 8: PROVIDENCE

We begin (or should I say end?) with some grumpy old men talking about what they can and cannot eat (spoiler: they can’t eat anything good!) Both Fosse and BFF Paddy Chayefsky have heart conditions and creative conditions. And I have a condition with this wig on Norbert Leo Butz. NO THANK YOU PLEASE. Anyway, Paddy tells Fosse how to rewrite All That Jazz aka how to rewrite his life and Fosse DOESN’T WANNA HEAR IT. And then Paddy dies and Fosse quite literally dances on his grave but in a really sad and mournful way. Yes, really.

Meanwhile, Fosse interviews Gwenny in preparation for All That Jazz which honestly is just way to meta at this point, and she kinda tells it like it is. And I kinda know I’m not gonna miss this bent wig!

Meanwhile, Ann Reinking is forced to audition to play herself in All That Jazz while under the painfully awkward and terrible direction of Fosse in this circa 1996 Ed Harris wig and LORDT I WILL NOT MISS LOOKING AT THE BAD OF THIS THING!

Then over at All that Jazz rehearsals, Gwenny and Nicole are met with bizzarro visions of themselves much like these bizarro visions of themselves in this show and omg everything just got way too meta and NIcole’s wig gives me hives.

AND THEN. AND FRIGGIN THEN. LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA HAD THE AUDACITY TO PLAY ROY SHEIDER PLAYING BOB FOSSE IN ALL THAT JAZZ. JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT THIS SHOW COULDN’T GET ANY MORE VAINGLORIOUS. MY HEAD AND MY TV JUST EXPLODED.

Honestly, this is the only way for this terrible show to end - in a blaze of glory and nonsense. Well actually, it ended with Gwenny and Fosse reteaming in old age makeup to direct the revival of Sweet Charity but the internet refused to give me any pictures of that and fine. And then Fosse died on a sidewalk in the arms of Gwenny. And then for some reason the whole show ended with a shot of Nicole Fosse’s Vermont house.

WHAT A LONG STRANGE TRIP IT’S BEEN YOU GUYS. But now we can finally be rid of these terrible terrible wigs and this terrible terrible show.

VERDICT: DOESN’T WURQ

#wigwurq #fosseverdon #fosseverdonfx #samrockwell #michellewilliams #bobfosse #gwenverdon #edharris90srealness #doesntwurq #jazzhands

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peachyfic · 6 years ago

Text

The Best Thing I Ever Bought - BamBam

January 2nd. Youngjae

January 3rd. BamBam

The Eevee was softly smiling at you when you opened your eyes in the next morning. You replayed some moments in your mind from the date and for a second you almost forgot that you are meeting someone else again. Your best friend reminded you with a text message in which she told you the time and location of the next date.

When you checked out the address, you were surprised that BamBam wanted to meet you in a mall. You thought it’s a bit odd but it might be good to get a rest from all the sports and games and just have fun looking around in stores. Besides malls always have a good variety of food to eat from.

You quickly jumped out of bed and got ready for the date. This time you decided to be a little more stylish as your friend warned you BamBam most likely will end up dressing up in Gucci clothes and flashy accessories from head to toe. This made you a little worried as you looked at your closet with all the brandless average looking clothes you owned. Still, you managed to dig out a decent looking outfit that could have passed for something that came from a famous brand.

Before you left your room, you took one last glance at the Eevee, and then you rushed out to catch your bus on time.

The bus got into a little traffic as it was still early and people were leaving for work. You texted your best friend that she should let BamBam know that you will be late. In return, she texted that he will be late too. Off to a good start.

Fifteen minutes late and you arrived at the entrance to the mall. The morning sun was beautifully shining, making it hard for you to look at the clear sky. There were no clouds to be seen but it didn’t really matter as you were most likely to spend your whole day in the mall.

While you were lost in your thoughts about the beautiful weather, a boy a few meters away noticed you and kept on checking you out. He was looking at his phone and a description of you, which he tried to match with the real flesh and bones. At last, he decided it must be who he is looking for, so he approached you.

“Are you y/n?” The tall and skinny figure appeared, blocking the sun. At first, you didn’t know what to make out of him as it was just a regular college-aged guy in a shirt and a backpack. In addition with extra skinny and ripped jeans that made his already thin legs look like sticks. But his face though, it was different but very handsome. He looked nervous and so were you.

“Yes, I’m waiting for a date,” you said with a little hesitance in your tone.

“Oh I’m BamBam, you are waiting for me,” he said now with a big smile on his face. He looked relieved but his outfit was different from what you expected.

“Sorry to mention this but my friend told me you might dress into something expensive looking so at first I didn’t think it’s you,” you explained nervously as you were afraid he might think that you were a materialistic girl.

“Well she is right I do tend to dress in trendy and expensive clothes but I didn’t want to get people’s attention on me and make you feel uncomfortable so I dressed more like a regular guy. But don’t worry, I have money, I’m not as broke as I look,” he added and you shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, that’s not why I asked. You could have 1000 won on your bank account and I would still be happy to date you,” you replied but then you realized this might have sounded pushy.

“Great then! It was already hard to choose something normal looking from my closet so I’m glad it did the job,” he laughed and you thought how weird it is that you tried to get something fancy looking out of your closet to look more luxurious than you are actually, while BamBam did exactly the opposite. “Should we get coffee? I can’t start my day without it,” he said with a sigh.

Inside you found a small Kakao Friends themed cafe where he bought iced americano for both of you, while you ordered some pastries for breakfast.

“So did you like the date with Jackson hyung and Youngjae hyung?” He asked and you almost choked on your coffee. You were surprised he didn’t only know their names but he also called them hyung which indicated that they must be close.

“You guys know each other?” You asked with wide eyes and for a second he didn’t answer.

“Oops, maybe you weren’t supposed to know? I don’t know. I think it’s fair of you to know that we are all friends. But don’t worry, we didn’t talk about the dates. They refused to say anything. That’s the rule. It’s just happened that your best friend’s friend knows all seven of us,” he explained but that didn’t make you feel a lot better.

“But if a miracle happens and I do end up with one of you, that’s going to be a bit awkward,” you said while thinking about all the different scenarios.

“Don’t worry y/n, nobody will make it awkward. One date is just a date like a friendly meet up. But you have to be careful. Because if you choose one of us and it doesn’t work out after almost getting in a relationship with that person and you choose someone else from us, then yes that will be awkward,” he warned you and you sighed deeply. Suddenly the pastry wasn’t tasting too good.

“So I need to make a smart decision,” you said and he nodded.

“Exactly, but don’t worry. Finish up your breakfast and then we can begin our shopping session, which is almost like therapy from all the stress,” he added and you quickly finished your breakfast even though you felt like throwing up.

The two of you started to look around on the first floor of the mall where you checked out different clothing stores. BamBam tried on some outfits and every time he came out of the fitting room he asked your honest opinion. Well for sure he had a bold and expensive taste and everything he put on he looked great in. And he knew it.

“Y/n I think this outfit is really dope, don’t you think?” He asked and you nodded in agreement. In a different case, you would have been utterly bored and fed up with a guy’s vanity but BamBam was entertaining and you couldn’t tell anything bad about him.

“So far, whatever you put on made you look like a model, so if you buy something similar to a garbage bag, you could make that your own too,” you told him which made him feel really proud.

“I guess I should bring you with me whenever I go shopping,” he replied and you chuckled.

“Please do, I’m actually having fun.”

After he chose a couple of clothes for himself, he helped to refresh your outfit a little bit. He begged you to try clothes even that were out of your comfort zone. Well, not necessarily those kinds of clothes, but more like the ones you would never think they would fit you. But BamBam had great eyes for these kinds of things.

“Wow, I look like a different person,” you said as you checked out your reflection in the mirror. BamBam sat in a comfortable chair with a smug smile on his face.

“I told you, just ask the pro,” he said but if you wouldn’t have seen him in luxurious clothes like thirty minutes before, you wouldn’t have believed that he is an expert with his college boy look.

“I really like this dress, but I don’t have money to buy it,” you said with a bit of a sad expression.

“Ah, don’t worry about that. If you want it I can buy it for you. At least I would be happy to know that I helped you in dressing better,” he said as he looked at the clothes that you were wearing regularly.

“Come on, I can’t look that bad,” you said, but when you looked into the mirror after wearing all those nice clothes going back to the more shabby ones, you had to agree with BamBam. “Anyway, I can’t accept that offer. It’s nice of you but that would be too much.”

“Y/n, don’t worry about it. Let’s just say I’m doing a favor for you... and for your closet,” he replied and you shook your head.

“Absolutely not...”

“Half price?”

“BamBam! And even half price is too expensive for me,” you sighed.

“Y/n, look at all my bags... your dress doesn’t even cost as much as that shirt I bought for myself, and that’s only one out of ten others,” BamBam pointed at one of the Chanel bags.

“But I would feel like I owe you with this much money,” you protested even more.

“Okay, if you really don’t want it. But I’m sure Jinyoung hyung would have loved this dress on you...”

“Who?” You asked as the name was familiar but in that second you didn’t exactly know who is he talking about.

“One of my hyungs that you will have a date with, after tomorrow, I think. This outfit is just his style. Here look how handsome he is,” BamBam said while taking out his phone and showing you a picture, well, probably of Jinyoung. You got really surprised when you saw it.

“Okay, is there anyone of you who is not handsome? Like did you all become friends because you were top visuals?” You said, amazed. BamBam chuckled.

“Well if you ask me Youngjae hyung is not that typical handsome guy, but...”

“Hold on mister, Choi Youngjae is really handsome, don’t you dare talk like that about him,” you suddenly got all defensive especially at how you suddenly got reminded of the previous day you had with him.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t handsome at all, we are all are. But he is just not that typical flower boy like Jinyoung hyung and Mark hyung is,” he explained.

“Wait, is Mark the one who I’m meeting tomorrow? Can you show me his picture?”

“Absolutely not. I already went against our rules as I talked way too much about them and even showed you a picture of Jinyoung hyung,” he replied hiding his phone away in his back pocket.

“Fine...”

“So should we go to the cashier?”

“We are not buying that dress!”

“Yes, we are not. I am buying it, come on, stop whining,” he said and you lost your patience.

“But I’m buying lunch for us then,” you replied and BamBam happily nodded.

“You see, this is how we do business here,” he laughed and you got annoyed but at the same time, you were also thankful to him.

After he finally bought the dress for you, it was time for lunch. He dragged you to a Thai restaurant and told you all the special food and drinks you had to try. As he is Thai himself, he was an expert at this topic too. When you got your order you started to eat and that’s when you realized how hungry you were. Sure shopping can be exhausting too. Your legs were especially hurting.

“So are you enjoying your day?” He asked and you nodded as your mouth was full. “I’m glad you do. I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“I’m kind of confused though because it’s our date but you are still helping me get prepared for the other dates and you talk a lot about your friends. I mean it’s a relief that you are this nice, but I’m just curious why are you acting this way?” You asked. He had a faint smile on his face while he drank from his drink.

“Well, I’m not sure. You know I generally think of myself as a selfless person, and I really love my hyungs and my friend Yugyeom. I think you are amazing and if you do end up with either of us, that will be great... But I’m not sure if you would choose me...” He said the last part with a softer voice, he seemed a bit unsure about his feelings and thoughts.

“All of you have equal chances with me and I will reflect on the dates once I finished,” you said but you did notice it didn’t make him feel any better. “But I really think that you are a great guy. It’s really fun to be with you, I don’t feel stressed. It’s like I’m having a fun shopping day with someone I have known for a long time.”

“I do feel that with you too. We can talk so freely and in a comfortable way,” he added.

“Exactly! It’s probably because you have such a friendly and open personality. I really like that about you,” when you said these words, a smile appeared on his face.

“Okay, now I’m feeling better. So I guess I have a chance too...”

“Of course you do! And thank you again for the dress... You really didn’t have to,” you said still feeling a bit embarrassed by it.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. That money I would have spent on myself anyway, and believe me, I have way too many clothes already,” he chuckled and that made you feel better.

“Well, this is definitely going to be one of the most memorable gifts from any of the dates I had and will have in my life,” you told him and his smile got even bigger.

After you finished with lunch, you felt it’s time to relax even more. You found two massage chairs in the mall which needed a few hundred wons and in return, it gave you a full on massage that made both of you feel even more relaxed.

“Wow, I love today,” BamBam said while the chair was shaking him up.

“It’s been a while since I had this much fun while shopping,” you confessed. “I have to admit at first I thought it’s kind of odd to have a first date in a mall, but it all makes sense now.”

“I know just look at me! I mean not now, but when I dress more the way I usually do. You could tell then that malls are like Heaven to me. Though sometimes I do prefer online shopping, but getting back to the old days when you and your friends hung out in malls is kind of necessary to go back to where everything started,” he said philosophically and you had to agree with him.

It was time for the two of you to say goodbye. You thanked again for the millionth time the dress that he bought. The two of you exchanged numbers and you had to promise BamBam that even if he is not the chosen one, you will still go shopping with him because he had a lot of fun too. He also thought that you had great opinions and insights while he was trying on different outfits.

At home, you put on the dress again and took a picture of yourself in the mirror. You sent it to BamBam and told him he really has a good taste with clothes. “Okay but tomorrow you can’t wear this because you will spend the whole day outside with Mark hyung. Don’t catch a cold,” he texted back with a winky face. “Stop teasing me about my dates ><’” you wrote him back as he drove you crazy with all the hints and spoilers he was dropping. It was unclear how these dates will make you feel at the end, but for sure you gained a really good friend already in BamBam and who knows how can that continue from here?

January 4th. Mark

#bambam #got7 #bambam imagines #bambam au #got7 imagines #got7 au #bambam moodboard #got7 moodboard #peachyfic #7 first dates

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captainwondyful · 6 years ago

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Health Issues and Kittens

Long Personal Post:

The TL;DR Version is: I’m getting kittens and I need name suggestions.

Back in January, I lost my cat Columbia. I’d had her for eighteen years. It was really hard, basically a death in the family. I loved that cat more than half of my family. I knew that I want another cat, because the house is lonely without another buddy; BUT, I knew that I didn’t want to replace her, so I figured that I would look into after I got back from San Diego Comic Con. I didn’t want to get a cat in June only to leave it for two weeks in July. That wouldn’t be fair to the cat.

So Comic Con came and went -- only this time I came home and got really sick.

I have heavy irregular periods. One started on the last day of Comic Con, and this bleeding was beyond heavy. I got home, still tired, and finally, a couple of days (Thursday) later I called my doctor. She put me on meds to stop the bleeding. Still, I felt like garbage. I was so tired. My parents and I thought it was ConCrud.

I waited through the weekend and finally called again. The doctor said it was just viral and to get fluids and rest.

Only I didn’t get better. I couldn’t walk. Walking from the bathroom to the bedroom was exhausting. My thighs, chest, and head pounded YET I had ZERO problem breathing. My chest was pounding YET I was taking deep breaths. So, what the fuck.

I called my doctor AGAIN. We did a follow-up appointment on Friday (so a week has gone by now). They ordered blood work. I went home --

And the doctor called me back.

My blood count came back at HALF its normal rates, and my iron levels were about a quarter of what they should be. I was told to go to the hospital IMMEDIATELY.

They hospitalized me overnight. I had two blood transfusions and an iron transfusion. I was put on iron supplements. I had to completely changed my diet for the next two months. My doctor told me I wasn’t allowed outside until the heatwave broke.

So, cats?

I periodically check the animal shelter’s website for cats.

I noticed a black cat named Max. And, like! I had been thinking about getting two black kittens and naming them Max and Salem, after the best cats EVER. My doctor’s office is by the animal shelter. I took it as a sign.

I decided to stop in after my appointment.

The people at the animal shelter said that Max was a difficult case. He was CRAZY BIG, and apparently, his owner dropped him off because they got a new kitten who didn’t like Max. And the owner had actually taken Max BACK and then dropped him off AGAIN. I was HORRIFIED when they told me this. What the FUCK owner? And I was worried was the original owner gonna want Max back? So the people at the shelter basically warned me off Max.

Still, I was there. I went to look at the other cats.

Big mistake.

There was this kitten there that looks scared and overwhelmed, and I just related so hard, and I kind of bonded with them. But I wasn’t ready for a cat. I hadn’t been home in like a month. I needed to kitty proof the house! (and get new supplies since I donated all my extra chewy account supplies to the animal shelter after Columbia passed away.

I left.

I spent over 24 hours thinking about the kitten.

I emailed the shelter about the kitten, had it been adopted yet.

So, today, my mom had to meet my aunt and my grandmother in the town with the animal shelter. My aunt is a like a Cat Whispers. We all decided to go back to the shelter to check out the kitten and maybe find it a companion.

When I got there, I got in my email that the kitten had been taken to an offsite.

Sad, My aunt and I went into the shelter and started looking around.

AND THEN - there was a mix up! The kitten was still there!

But my aunt immediately was like “You can’t take that kitten, he’s in a group of three in the cage, and they should all be adopted together and you can’t break up the pair.”

And I had been there before. I watched that kitten by the odd one out. I was quite buying it, but I was willing to look at other because she’s good with cats, you know?

And MEANWHILE, there’s his older gentleman -- who totally looked like one of those intellectual snobs who was stupid pretentious and only fake liberal. He had his eye on a cat that was in the same room as the kittens.

My aunt and I surf around more. I ask her to bring Mom in, because Grandma was being restless and wanted to go.

Mom comes in. The man is still in the room. I show her the kitten. We go to take it out of the cage, and one of the other ones tries to jump out and Mom has it half her hand and it scratches her and she is bleeding and the kitten ends up falling to the ground.

It lands on its feet and immediately starts exploring.

The guy loses his mind. He LEFT the room and REPORTED us to reported us to a volunteer for mistreating the kittens. The watched us the entire time and kept pointing at my mom.

Mom and I went to another room with kittens. We talked about what to do -- should we take cats home today, should we sleep on it? I decided to take some pictures of the kittens.

So I went back into the first room, and I saw that the men was still there -- still holding the same adult cat as when my aunt and I were there.

I was like "That cat really looks good with you, I hope you take him home."

And he said: “I have had a lot of cats and I don’t appreciate you mistreating those kittens”

And I was just like BYEEEEE.

I went out to the parking lot and cried.

I told my mom we would come back tomorrow.

I loved Columbia, and I did NOT take the decision to get another pet lightly. I might not have been a pet owner like my aunt who treats her cats like children, but Columbia never wanted for anything, and babies her while in her old age (as best I could. In the last months, she refused to take her meds, no matter how sneaky I thought I was giving them to her), and she was very, very, very loved.

I would never do anything to harm an animal. Like, my sister and I have barely talked since the 2016 election, and I talked to her because I thought her cat had a thyroid problem and was going to starve if they didn’t put it on meds.

And I had finally felt better after Comic Con and the hospitalization and I figured this was a good time to bring new family members home.

So, tomorrow, we’re gonna try again.

My Dad and my niece are gonna go with me. We might come home with kittens -- or I might adopt cats that are like a year old.

The problem is I want TWO, because I work and I don’t want them to be alone! I think that would be the worst thing for the cat. I always felt bad we never got another companion for Columbia after our dog died - but by then she was like 10 and probably would have eaten another cat.

But ideally,

We’re gonna get 2 cats

We’re gonna set up the sunroom as the cat safe room for when I’m at work

We’re gonna be awesome cause that asshole man has no idea what he’s talking about and those cats are gonna be aggressively loved and pampered for another decade or more.

And I need to name them if they are kittens.

I am still thinking Max and Salem, but like -- am I being too basic and need a cooler fandom name? Columbia was named after the Rocky Horror Picture Show character cause that’s my 12 year old self was super into.

Emotional vomit over.

And, PS

I’m glad tumblr exists for this. I posted that I thought I might get cats on Facebook and suddenly everyone was coming out of the woods to tell me I was wrong or I had to do it a certain way. It’s cause I said I didn’t want dogs because I thought cats were easier -- which was my polite way I saying: I hate the outsides, and I dislike dogs in person, I think they are smelly and way too hyper and I am just not a dog person. Sorry. I want cats. don’t need a lecture on how cat’s are HARD. I know. I lived with the crankiest cat ever for almost two decades.

#personal gpoy

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mellicose · 7 years ago

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That Woman Over There - Chapter 7

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: teen, for some strong language

Word count: 5830

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Note: due to the length of this chapter, I won’t be posting the next one until next Wednesday. Enjoy!

Chapter 7

He came back with drinks and sat hard beside her.

“Ow!” she yelled. “Your skinny ass is gonna leave a bruise!”

“Nonsense. I heard from very good sources that it’s quite nice,” he said. He drank deep from a longneck.

“What happened to those ladies you were working on? They looked pretty into it.”

“I gave them my business card,” he said dismissively.

“How analog of you,” she said. “Seriously, though. You just blew them off?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. There will always be bored, horny women. Any night of the week, at any pub. That shit never changes.” There was something in his tone that stopped her from becoming offended for all womankind.

“What happened?” she said.

“What? With the women?”

“With your wife,” she said.

Again, he lay back and looked at the stars peeking through the clouds.

“You can’t see the stars in the heart of the city,” he said. “It’s not something you think about when you move. It’s usually whether to buy a car or not, or whether there’s a nice supermarket nearby, but never whether you’ll see the stars at night,” he said. “It’s so weird how easily priorities get … skewed.”

She sighed.

“She wasn’t happy. She dieted and exercised and experimented with different looks, but she wasn’t getting signed. And as time passed, it got worse and worse. Anxiety ate her alive. She began to get surgeries. And I, the ever obliging husband, paid for them. But nothing worked. Nothing was good enough. Not the flat, the city, and most glaringly … me.”

Her stomach bubbled.

“She had a thing she did,” he continued. “A rare talent, if you want to call it that. I’m a grown man. No glasses. No brace. But she had a way, ever so subtly, to make me feel like that bent boy again. And as time passed and things didn’t go like she wanted, it happened more and more. Until I was the boy - just a weak, whinging thing at her feet, begging for the least scrap of affection or sympathy.”

It’s like he took a slice of life from her childhood. How many times had she peeked around corners as her mom berated her father for no other reason than ennui? He would withstand her onslaught, softly clucking out an occasional “perdoname, mi amor”.

She spit poison, but he knelt, brown eyes liquid with adoration, and apologized to her. Every time. Every day. For years. He wore his misery and shame so openly that she found herself averting her eyes. And although he was a good man - loyal and kind - she began to resent him.

“To add insult to injury, I suggested that we start a family. I figured that maybe if she had a wee baby to watch over, she wouldn’t be so worried about other things. I really fucked up then,” he said, eyes wide. “I was sexist. A selfish misogynist asshole, and I wanted her barefoot and bloated in the kitchen. That was a laugh. She didn’t cook.”

“Then how did you eat?” she said.

“I did the cooking. And most of the cleaning. She preferred to have a lie in and then go out for late lunches with friends.”

It wasn’t an odd confession. Her own mother never lifted a finger - they had a cleaning service come in every day to keep things tidy. Because her mother was so contrary, she was never able to form any connection to the staff, since they never lasted long.

“Why didn’t you get someone to come in to do the cleaning?”

His brow wrinkled with indignation. “I come from honest Scottish stock. It’s a shame not to be able to clean up your own muck. It was just us two, hardly an excuse to have some poor woman scrubbing and dusting after us.”

“They get paid to do it,” she said. She played with the buckle on her boot.

“You have a cleaner?” he said, giving her a disapproving look.

“No. My apartment’s small, and dust never really bothered me,” she winked at him. “It add character.”

“It gives me asthma,” he said.

“Then I guess you can’t come over,” she said.

“Am I invited? I could use a cheeky NYC holiday,” he said. “I’m curious about seeing American women in their natural habitat.”

“All animals, are we?”

He shook his head briskly. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I get it. I was joking,” she said. “It’s a pity she didn’t want children.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Last I heard, she’s a new mum to a healthy baby girl,” he said morosely. “She didn’t want to have my children.” He kicked at the firepit.

“Did she actually say that, though?” she said.

“Not quite. For the first half of the marriage, she insisted she couldn’t have children because it would ruin her figure. That made some sense to me, so I waited. We were young. But as things began to fall apart and it was obvious that there would be no modeling career, the truth finally came to light.”

“And what truth was that?”

He couldn’t look at her. No one knew the truth. Not Alex and Olivia. Not even his own mother. And he didn’t know why he was going to tell her. She noticed his hesitation, and squeezed his hand. Old pain began to rise from where he had subsumed it under a mountain of self-loathing and anger. He was suddenly dizzy with it.

“She didn’t want to procreate with me. She would be horrified if she had a ‘gimp kid.’” His voice was hoarse with pain. He put his head in his hands, and his body trembled as he tried to fight the urge to sob. Hearing it out loud, it took him back to the moment his life fell apart. Mara’s face had been so lax, so cold. She didn’t understand why he crumpled in his chair, and went pale as a sheet - to her, it made perfect sense.

“And when we lost Josie, I started to wonder…” he said, his face twisted with horror, “I started to wonder whether…” he took a whooping breath, “ whether it was my fault.” He finally broke down.

She wrapped her arms around him and let his choked sobs shake her. His pain humbled her - there was no anger whatsoever left in her. He tried to wave her away, but she insisted on holding him. She shushed into his neck and held him tight, taking in the scent of leather and salt. His body curled into her, and he finally hugged her back so hard it made her ribs ache.

He disentangled himself and started to yank at the jewelry on his wrist. “Look-” He lost patience and bit off the fashionable thin leather thong bracelet. He held his right wrist up for her to see.

She rubbed her thumb along the cursive letters.

“Josie,” she read out loud. Without another thought, she kissed his wrist. A tear dripped on his palm. They sat there, just breathing. She pulled up the hem of her shorts. He squinted, then dared to brush the skin of her hip.

“It’s a poppy,” he said, mystified. “Quite nice.” Although tears still dried in his beard, he wasn’t just talking about the tattoo. She linked her fingers through his long ones. He warmed at her easy, mindless gesture. It felt so very nice. Almost better than sex.

“That was her name. Poppy,” she said, smiling at him. “She wasn’t mine through blood or marriage, but I love her with all my heart.”

Was it another girlfriend? His heart dropped. “Wait - who are you talking about?” he said softly. He didn’t remember Olivia mentioning a Poppy.

“She was Ella’s little girl,” she said.

He couldn’t hide his relief. “Her daughter. I see. What happened with Ella?”

She squeezed his hand. “The most common but painful of conjugal sins - infidelity. Our relationship no longer held any adventure or excitement for her. This is a quote.”

“How many years were you together?” he said, rubbing her back.

“Four years, 7 months, and 20 days,” she said. “Nothing like you and Mara.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“At least Mara married you. Ella didn’t believe in the institute of matrimony. She said it was heteronormative garbage and she refused to tow the line for the sake of a false sense of propriety.”

He sucked his teeth. “She sounds a delight,” he said. “So you wanted to do the whole white frock and flowers thing, eh?”

“I love weddings, straight and gay. I’m an unapologetic weeper,” she said. “I guess I wanted that for me. To share our love with people - make a public and binding commitment in front of God and man.”

“Ooh,” he said. “Binding. That just gave me chills.”

“You were married,” she said.

“If it isn’t already apparent, it was harrowing.”

“You loved her, though,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “At best, she loved the idea of me. The stability and ease of a life with me. But she never loved me. And it happens far too often.”

“You know, not all women see their partners as walking ATM machines,” she said petulantly. She was the main breadwinner as well. But up until the end, she chose to believe it was love, and not being a stable dupe to raise her kid, that kept Ella around.

“I could tell you some stories,” he said, his eyebrows high. “Sad, sad stories.”

“Like what?”

“The divorce process isn’t kind to many men - even those who did things very right. It’s the woman’s word above all, even when there is proof of infidelity.” He cleared his throat.

“Imagine how awkward it is when it’s two women,” she said. He looked confused. “I’ll give you a clue: complete and utter shitstorm.”

“Did Ella take you for all you had, then?” he said, too jovially.

“Thing is, she didn’t have to. Even after the breakup, I wanted to help her find a proper place for Poppy to grow up, and give her money for her schooling. But she didn’t care. She never really worried about … prosaic things like that, and that’s what worries me. She was the stereotypical hipster artist, and because I loved her, for four years, I paid for the lifestyle. It didn’t bother me, John. It made me happy to see them thrive, to do and give beautiful things. I never kept a running tally, to my lawyer’s chagrin,” she said, giving him a half smile. “I understand how women can be. We’re not perfect. But as a bi woman, I’m a bit closer.” She winked.

“How so?” he said. She still held his hand loosely on her lap. Her thighs were like velvet.

“I was just joking. What I mean is, I’m straddling a fence and able to look at both sides, both physically and emotionally. Men complain that women are too emotional. Women complain that men don’t listen. And both are right, to a degree. But even if the complaints from both sides are similar, it’s still an individual problem.”

“Life with Mara was constantly walking on eggshells,” he said. “Anything I said, no matter how well-meaning, could end up upsetting her in some way. Still happens, honestly,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

She chose to ignore it. “I acknowledge what you said, but what if I told you that it was Mara’s insecurity, and not you, that caused all that misery? It wasn’t your fault.”

“How could such a beautiful woman be insecure? Either way, I tried to make it better the best way I could. With compliments, and kindness, and attention, and trips - I took her to bloody Bali. Paradise. And all she did was sulk in bikini for a week. She looked fucking beautiful, though.” He shook his head.

Connie smiled and bit her lip. She knew the feeling. Her and Ella’s last trip to Thailand had been much of the same - her trying to stay positive and pretend things weren’t falling apart, and Ella finding any excuse to go off by herself.

“Hey …” he squeezed her hand. “You’re gonna chew your lip off,” he said, and pressed his finger on her chin, dislodging it from her teeth. It was bruised and red.

“Did I say something stupid?” he said.

“No. Of course not,” she said. She sucked on her lip pensively. “Sometimes, that kindness and attention is what makes it worse.”

It was getting colder, and the fire was getting lower. He leaned into her and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Wait-” she said, stiffening.

“I’m sorry- it’s just, you’re shivering,” he said, but let her go. He took off his jacket and held it up. “Here. Put it on. Still warm.”

She opened her mouth to protest - something about preferring to freeze than wear his obnoxiously hip leather jacket - but instead, she accepted his gesture gracefully. She slid into it and sat down with a sigh. His scent surrounded her and made her smile. He smelled of … herbaceous green and the ghost of fresh cut wood. Despite the warmth, she got goosebumps.

“Thanks,” she said. His nipples poked through his thin cotton henley shirt. “Now you’re cold, though.”

He smiled and rubbed his chest. Pink rose to his cheeks above the beard. “It’s the price I pay for being a gentleman.”

“You did it on purpose,” she said, nudging him. “You wanted to show the world your goods.”

“The world’s not here,” he said. “Just you.”

His intense gaze made her heart race, but she laughed it off. Oh no. He’s not gonna do some MRA mind tricks on her.

“Okay, what is this? A three-step system to get any woman to bed?” she said. “Because it’s not gonna work on me, slick.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you going on about?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“You know - number one: engage her, and make her feel in control. Number 2: be vulnerable, and allow her to be vulnerable. Number three …” she stood up and started to walk around the patio, searching for the words,”...give her your jacket and make her feel safe. Yeah. Safe. I see you,” she said, nodding and smirking. “You’re not clever, hipster boy.”

He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I’m very clever, but this is no ruse. I’m genuinely freezing my lads off right now.”

She took off the jacket. “Then here.” She held it up impatiently.

“I clearly said I would buy you a drink and leave you alone. You are the one who asked me to stay.”

“No I didn’t,” she said. Her arm was starting to burn. The jacket was heavy, but he didn’t take it back. She threw it on the bench and crossed her arms.

“Yes, you did. You asked me what I did for a living. I replied that to answer your question, I would have to remain. You said that this was a public space, and that you couldn’t put me out, implying consent to continuing the conversation.”

She sat down, still pouting. He resisted the urge to smile.

“You think I would say those private things just to get a woman into bed?” he said. “It’s not much of a show of strength, is it?”

She shivered. “Whatever. It’s just not gonna work on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to work you,” he said, and stood up. It stung that she thought the things he told her were just a means to an end. “You women are impossible. If we talk a big game, then we’re egotistical jerks. If we dare to be vulnerable, then we’re weak and revolting. This is why I gave up trying to please you lot. It’s so much easier to please myself - at least I know what I’m about.”

“Shocking revelation,” she said under her breath.

He groaned with frustration. “And things were going so well.”

“See! You were working me!” she said, pointing at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I was trying to get to know you - see what Liv sees. There is a massive fucking difference,” he said.

She faltered, but she refused to give up. “Why do you care what Liv sees, or feels anyway? You were an utter twat to her. She told me what you did at the park. You … barked a fake orgasm in public to humiliate her even more about what happened between you and Alex.”

“I didn’t really know her then, and I thought the whole thing was a weird lesbian sham. Sandwiches at the park? How civil,” he said. “Bollocks!”

“That’s how she is, though. Civil and kind and lovely,” she said. She didn’t know why her voice was up an octave.

“Well, I didn’t know that then,” he said, matching her volume. “I just thought she was the evil gatekeeper keeping me from who could be the actual love of my life.”

Her jaw dropped. “You loved Alex?” Livvie didn’t tell her that.

He rubbed his face. “I thought I did. I mean, I do, but then, I wanted her as well, for myself. Our drunk thing and what happened afterward felt like it was destined. And that little stunt at the park? I was jealous. Seething.”

“Fuck,” she said softly. “I am so confused.”

“So was I,” he said. “Trust me. Alex and I were drunk that night, but we weren’t …” he tried to find the right words, “... she wasn’t so gone that she didn’t know …” he sighed. She waited for him to finish.

“She was the one who pulled me up the stairs to bed,” he said. “She ripped my clothes-”

She held up her hand. “I don’t need to hear more. Suffice it to say, there was consent.”

“Because I knew that, I thought it meant that maybe there was a chance. That she might choose me. Especially after the baby.”

She sat down hard. Olivia had not told her that, and she knew why. It was weird. And painful. And awkward.

“But you had to know that Alex is a lesbian,” she said finally.

“Should I know? Because she sure didn’t fu-”

She held up her hand for silence again.

“I’m sorry. It felt weird sometimes, like she wanted me but was too afraid to say so for fear of being judged or something.”

“She did care for you, but more importantly, she needed you. She was pregnant, and frightened, and on the horns of a fearful dilemma - literally.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“No, you think I’m saying she wanted you … sexually. But she didn’t.”

“But she did.”

“She was drunk, and furious, and scared.”

“And really horny,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but friction is friction if you’re drunk enough,” she said. “You were there, and willing. She made do.”

He sat down beside her again. “And it hurt.”

“Slamming your dick up against a brick wall will do that,” she said.

“It made me feel used.”

“Welcome to the fucking club, kid,” she said. “She told you she’s gay. She introduces you to her girlfriend. You never see male overnight guests. Again … Wall. Cock.” She wished she had another drink to warm her. “You still have those feelings for her?”

“No,” he said. “I was so ecstatic about Josie that what was a just a pash blew up to something more. I wanted to love her. I absolutely did. She checked all the boxes - creative, beautiful, passionate - but I realized after losing the baby that we were more meant to be friends.”

“How convenient,” she said.

“Really. We’re very alike, in a lot of ways. Too much, honestly,” he said, chuckling. “That ever happen to you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “With Olivia,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said. “Although the circumstances were weird, I feel so lucky that Olivia, Alex, and I found each other. They changed my life,” he said.

“In myriad ways,” she said, smiling. She couldn’t imagine a life without Olivia.

He laughed softly beside her.

“What?” she said.

“Just thinking. Slamming my cock up against a brick wall. That’s choice.”

“It’s what you did, though. Al’s gay as fuck. Her words, not mine.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“I’m bi, remember?”

“But … you wanted to marry Ella.”

“And?”

“That’s pretty lesbian of you.”

“I loved her,” she said. “Ella could’ve easily been … Elton.”

“Fair warning though - he’s gay as fuck,” he said.

She chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“Men and women are so different. I don’t understand how you could want both equally.”

“That’s what’s most amazing. The differences. It keeps things interesting.”

“But what if you’re with a woman, and you want to be with a man? What do you do?”

“Is it a committed monogamous relationship?”

"Let’s say yeah.”

“What any good person in a committed relationship does. Practice self-control. Bisexuality is not carte blanche to be a callous, greedy bastard.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “You ever cheated?”

“This conversation is getting deeply personal again,” she said.

“Afraid to answer the question?” he said, raising his eyebrow.

“No! And no.”

“Never?” he said. “Not even a little kiss?”

“No,” she said, irritated. “I think it’s cowardly.”

“How?”

“You ever done it?” she asked, eyeing him.

“I asked the question first. Answer it, then I’ll answer you.”

“It’s cowardly because it’s the easy way out for a person who can’t muster up the bravery to tell their partner the difficult truth that they’re not happy. If they cheat, then it circumvents it completely. It’s like ‘Oops! I went outside the relationship. That’s gross, right? You hate me now, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out…’”

Her voice trembled.

“Spot on,” he said. “Mara didn’t even give me a chance to get angry, though. She didn’t care enough. It was like ‘I’ve been fucking someone else for a year, he makes me feel like a woman, I’ll send someone for my shit, goodbye’.”

The noise from the pub was quieting down. The fire was down to embers.

“I got the line ‘she makes me feel like my most authentic self’. What does that even mean?”

“It’s hipster speak for ‘makes me feel like a woman’,” he said, then let out a snort. She looked at him, thinking he might start crying again. But his face glowed with a smile.

“We’re quite a pair, you and I,” he said. “What a fucking pity party.”

“And worst of all, my glass is empty,” she said. “What time is it?”

He looked at his cell and laughed. “Fuck, it’s after 1 AM!”

“Really?” she said. “You’re telling me we’ve been here for nearly five hours? Impossible.”

He showed her the phone.

“Damn,” she said. “No wonder it’s so quiet in the pub.” She rubbed her nose pensively, something he noticed she did a lot.

“Has anyone told you how utterly charming you are when you’re angry?” he said. He tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear, brushing his knuckle gently along her cheek bone.

“No one who doesn’t want a bruise,” she said, but she smiled. She liked his touch. It was gentle and unassuming.

“Then I will say that you are very intimidating. You made me quake in my boots a couple times.”

She lifted her chin high and raised an eyebrow. “Good.”

“You’re so fucking adorable,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Puppies are adorable,” she said. She meant to nudge him, but ended up leaning against him. He felt good.

“You’re right, I suppose,” he said, daring to wrap his arm around her waist. His touch was feather-light, but warm.”You are beautiful.” The way he said it made her look up at him and search his eyes. The swagger she saw earlier was gone. His gaze questioned, and she responded, tilting her head and giving him the slightest smile. He put his hand on her face. Her nipples hardened, although his touch was warm.

He kissed the side of her mouth first. The prickle of his beard made her giggle, but she put her hand on the back of his neck to guide him.

“I didn’t want to offend with the porn beard,” he whispered into her mouth. His lips were so maddeningly soft. The cold flew from her limbs, and it was replaced with desire.

“A little hair doesn’t bother me,” she said, and just as he pressed his lips to hers, someone came out and threw a bucket of dirty dish water on the embers of the fire.

The woman gave them a cursory glance. “We’re closing in 20 minutes,” she said, and left.

He stood up and held out his hand. “I guess that means it’s time to bugger off,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Didn't you drive here, though?” she said. She licked her bruised lip for a hint of a taste of him. Sadly, there was none.

“Yeah. But I’m just in the mood for a moonlit stroll,” he said. When she stood, he put his jacket over her shoulders again. “I can pick up my car tomorrow.”

He held his arm out gallantly, and she linked hers through it. It was a small town, so just beyond the high street, there was only silence and the yellow glow of the street lamps. When was the last time she had ever done this, with anyone?

Too long. And she forgot how good it was.

He bounced beside her, slowing his long-gaited walk to accommodate her.

“What are you so excited about?” she asked.

“I can’t wait for the party tomorrow! I hope Olivia likes her gift. It’s a trifle late, but then again, it took a while longer than I imagined to make.”

“Ooh, sounds interesting. Is it in your magic shop?” she said. They turned the corner, and his house was visible not too far off.

He walked in front of her and took her hands. “Would you like to see?” he said. His boyish energy was infectious. Although at first she thought it irritating, it was growing on her. It was nice being around someone like that, after years of Ella’s borderline soporific coolness.

“Sure,” she said. They were nearly running now. Just as soon as they turned into his front yard, a car engine roared to a stop nearby. In the street, a taxi unloaded two very familiar, very drunk women.

“Oh shit-” he ran toward the taxi, but he drove off, glad to be rid of them.

“Heya there, playboy,” the red head slurred, tripping over her feet and falling to the grass. As he tried to help her up, the blonde came up behind him and grabbed his crotch, hard. He dropped the redhead and held the blonde’s wrists firmly.

“Careful with the jewels, darling,” he said. He was pale with pain.

The redhead managed to get on her knees. She touched him too, but with gentler hands.

“Whoa!” he said, and pulled the woman to standing. She leered up at him, licking her lips.

“You gonna make good on your promise?” she said. “We’re here and ready to go-” she tried to hump his leg, but he held her at arm’s length. The lights from the neighbors across the street came on. He cursed underneath his breath.

He ran up to his door and opened it. “Just … get inside and keep quiet.”

“Don’t wanna give your fancy detached neighbors a show, eh?” the blonde said as she climbed the steps, lifting her skirt high. Her hot pink thong had little rhinestones on it. Just as soon as they went inside, he went to her. She stood in Olivia’s garden, arms crossed. She didn’t look mad, which made him even more nervous.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

“What are you doing here? It seems they’re primed and ready to have some fun,” she said. His kitchen window opened and the redhead stuck her head out.

“Oi! Get your ass over here, playboy,” she said. “And you can join us too, if you’re not shy,” she said, giving her a lascivious look.

“You got anything to drink in this place?” the blonde yelled from inside the kitchen.

“It really looks like you have your hands full. I’m gonna turn in,” Connie said, walking to the back door.

“Please, don’t leave me alone. I don’t want them in-” something crashed in the kitchen, “-I don’t want them in my house.”

“Then why did you invite them?” she said.

“I didn’t. Not really. We were flirting a bit, then you came into the bar … shit!” he slapped his forehead. “The business cards. They had my address.”

“Why?” she said.

“I work from home, remember?” he said. “I’m such an idiot.” An ominous thud came from the open window. When she looked, the two women were drunkenly making out. It was not a pretty sight. He gave them a despairing look and turned back to her.

“Help me get them out of my house,” he said, his face twisted in embarrassment.

“But it looks like they’ve already started without you,” she said. The redhead had pulled the blonde’s dress down and was licking her breasts. He groaned. “Please. I don’t want to … touch them.”

“You did earlier,” she said. She couldn’t believe she was going to make out with him just 20 minutes before.

“A lot has happened since then,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I swear this has never happened before.” The blond sat on the counter, and the redhead disappeared below the sill. “It’s just my luck it would happen tonight, of all the nights in my bloody life.”

“You should post the experience on your little site. The mouthbreathers will be really impressed.”

“I deserved that. You know what? I’ll take that, and more, if you help me this once. Please.” He looked miserable. “Use your angry powers for good.”

She rolled her eyes. He fell to his knees and grabbed her legs.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, and stalked across his yard. The ladies jumped when she yanked the kitchen door open.

She clapped her hands. “Alright, ladies. As they say in America, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”

The redhead came up from between the blonde’s legs and wiped her chin. “What are you like, his mum?” she said. “Where’s playboy?”

“Off somewhere calling you another taxi,” she said, loudly enough for him to hear from the garden. “Playboy. Do you even know his name?”

“Names don’t matter, do they?” the redhead said, but she pulled his business card from between her breasts. She squinted at it. “Fuck. Don’t have my contacts in-”

Connie took the card from her and crumpled it. “It doesn’t matter, right?” She pointed at the blonde. “Get yourself together and fuck off to the living room. You can wait for the taxi there, where I can’t see you,” she said, and walked back outside.

“Someone should be by in less than five minutes,” he said.

She made a face. “A taxi in less than five minutes?” That was a statistical impossibility where she came from.

“I know. But I promised to pay whoever got here first three times the going rate, plus tip,” he said.

That made a lot more sense.

“They’re not destroying things, are they?” he said.

“Oh my-” She ran back into his house. They were stuffing anything small they could get their hands on in their cheap purses - curios, CDs, and a little comic book figurine that looked expensive.

She darted into his foyer, where he had a proper English willow cricket bat and walked into the living room, bat held high.

“Empty your bags right now or I swear I will call the police and report a home invasion,” she said, her voice low with anger. “But that’s after I call an ambulance.” The women sized her up, and decided she wasn’t worth the risk - the crazy bitch might not be bluffing.

The redhead dropped the George Harrison CD in her hand. “Sure. Whatever. This stuff’s shit anyway,” she said, and started taking stuff out of her purse.

“No, boo. Empty your fucking purse on the carpet,” she said, pointing at her with the bat. “Both of you.”

They rolled their eyes and obeyed. The women had even stolen a wooden pepper grinder from the kitchen. Connie rolled her eyes as they put their meager belongings back into their bags and clutched them to their chests.

They looked at her with open resentment. “You ‘is bird er summat? The blonde said, going full Northern.

“I’m none of your goddamned business,” she said. The bat was still gripped tight in her hand. The taxi honked outside.”Alright, time to go,” she said, herding them through his front door. They stumbled to the vehicle, where John spoke with the driver.

He handed the man a couple of large notes. “Take them wherever they want to go,” he said. “There’s a bit extra there for clean up, just in case.” The man nodded.

“This wasn’t the ride you promised,” the redhead said petulantly.

“Sorry, love,” he said and walked to the sidewalk. The blonde opened the window and stuck two fingers out at Connie. The rude sound she made faded as the taxi drove away.

“Wow. It’s been quite an evening,” she said. “A rollercoaster of emotions.”

He kicked at the curb sheepishly. “Thanks for your help. I just didn’t want them to say that I’d touched them funny or yelled at them or something.” He looked at her and chuckled. “The bat looks good on you.”

“Oh,” she said. It was still slung over her shoulder. She handed it back to him. “I should get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

She rooted for the house keys in her pocket. Her heart was heavy. She wanted to be furious at him, but she wasn’t. She was just sad. He ran to the stoop.

“This was not how imagined tonight ending,” he said, hand over his heart. “I apologize if that upset you.”

“Is that what you want? To be a sex object to horny, faceless women? Is that the definition of being an alpha male?”

His genuine panic when the blonde grabbed at him made her curious.

“After years and years of being insulted and rejected, it’s not the worst thing in the world. Granted, that was a bit scary. Sometimes I don’t know my own magnetic charm,” he said, trying to get a laugh out of her. But she just patted his shoulder wearily.

“I need sleep,” she said.

His smile faltered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, er, later today.”

“Uhuh,” she said. He took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and closed the door.

Next Chapter

#That Woman Over There #you me and him #ymah #john helm #David Tennant #fan fiction #these two #the powers that be aren't making it easy

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bluepunkmon · 7 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Persona 2 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kurosu Jun/Suou Tatsuya Characters: Suou Tatsuya, Kurosu Jun Summary: Just two guys on a date.

was going to be my gift fic for @ps2nocturne before the pairing changed. So Consider this a bonus gift, two christmas fics for the price of one

story also below the cut

Tatsuya glared at the box that housed his latest attempt at baking as wilted flowers soaked in a vase by the door, ignored the burnt cloying smell that lingered in his apartment even with the open window, and tried to reason out when his plan went wrong.

It’d started well enough. He and Jun hadn’t had chances to go on dates before they left for separate colleges, and their schedules made face to face interactions scarce. With upcoming overlaps in days-off, his boyfriend would be coming over to stay with him awhile, and Tatsuya would make the most of their limited time together. Jun had mentioned almost two years ago that he wanted to go to a French restaurant with him, and it was about time Tatsuya made good on that wish. When he brought it up in one of their daily calls, as well as going to a movie, Jun’s voice perceptibly brightened, and it sent dizzying bubbles of joy through Tatsuya like a happy, non-lethal embolism.

Unfortunately Tatsuya was not made of money. After looking up the average prices of the few French restaurants anywhere near him, he thought of his emaciated wallet, and settled for a nearby café instead. There was French food there, he was pretty sure, so it should hopefully compensate for the lack of an actual French restaurant.

The problems might have started with Tatsuya’s choice of gifts. He wanted to make him éclairs, since he mentioned liking them in passing, and get him flowers, (Which might be odd considering Jun was coming to see him instead of vice versa, but he needed at least one fool-proof element to their evening). Tatsuya had never made them, had never even eaten one, but he could figure it out. It was just baking. If Katsuya could do it, how hard could it be?

Two hours and three scrapped batches later, he was forced to conclude it was indeed fairly difficult.

The things he pulled out of the oven on the fourth attempt were scorched past recognition, but Tatsuya didn’t have time for a fifth. He still had to buy flowers, and his bike was out for repairs.

It definitely went downhill after he left. It was only after he made it to the florist, red faced and out of breath and trying not to sneeze at the cloying scents in the cramped shop, when he put his hand into an empty pocket, did he remember that he left the list of needed flowers at home. Already running late, he picked out flowers on a whim – they looked pretty, so their meanings had to be good, right? Halfway between the florist and home, he had another realization, this one being that he could have just asked the florist for help.

Which left him without food, the right flowers, or a bike to take him anywhere.

A knock at the door dragged him from his ruminations. Tatsuya gathered the flowers and went to open the door, dread unfurling sharp and heavy in his chest.

The sight of Jun in the hallway, smiling at him, small suitcase in hand and rainwater on his hair and jacket, helped though. It helped a lot. Tatsuya pulled Jun into a hug, unmindful of the flowers he held. Jun dropped his suitcase and hugged back, his grip tight and almost imperceptibly shaking “I missed you.” Jun said, the words muffled from where his face pressed into Tatsuya’s shoulder.

Tatsuya wanted nothing more than to just stay in, to hold Jun and listen to him talk until the sound and weight and warmth of him convinced him that he was really there, even if it was only for a few days. But they needed to head out for food if nothing else. He stepped back and gave Jun the flowers.

Jun’s expression morphed from happiness to something tinged with confusion. “Hyacinths?”

Were those wrong? “I was going to get better flowers, but. I panicked.”

It sounded stupid out loud, but Jun didn’t look angry, so maybe their meaning wasn’t bad after all. At the very least they weren’t burned.

As if Jun heard his thoughts, he looked past Tatsuya to plate on the table behind him. “What’s that?”

“Pastries,” Tatsuya answered. “Sort of. Don’t eat them.”

---

Tatsuya first learned of the Spoonbill Café from one of its co-owners when he’d fixed her motorcycle at his part-time job at the repair shop. She was stoic, with a taut jaw and an angry expression only augmented by a faded scar that cut through her brow, but she proved to be patient and overall kind. After a long week and string of impatient, insufferable customers, she was enough of a relief for Tatsuya to start talking with her despite himself. Also, her leather jacket was cool.

Her name was Suzuki, and in addition to owning a very cool bike and jacket, nearby ran a diner with her partner, Aoki. She’d been happy enough with the repairs that she invited him to eat there on a discount (though the short, clipped offer sounded more like an order than anything). He made a habit of going after the first visit. The food was good, the coffee even better, and he ended up getting along with Aoki as well. Over ten years with Suzuki had acclimated her to interpreting silence, and she knew intuitively when small talk, questions, or reciprocal silence were desired.

As it was still fairly early in the evening, the place was barely half full when Tatsuya and Jun arrived. Suzuki and Aoki were behind the long counter along the far wall, Aoki writing on a notepad and Suzuki bent over the coffee machine. Aoki looked up when the door hit a hanging bell and rushed over to meet them, smiling brightly. She was a bit shorter than Jun, with brown skin and eyes, and hair only slightly streaked with grey.

“Tatsuya! It’s been awhile!” If possible, her smile brightened when she looked at Jun, whose hand tightened fractionally around his boyfriend’s. “I’m Aoki, and that’s Suzuki.” she said, gesturing to the woman by the coffee machine. Suzuki curtly nodded to them, then turned back to the machine.

“And you must be Jun! Tatsuya talks about you so much, it’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

Jun’s hand loosened around Tatsuya’s somewhat, and he grinned. ”Does he really?”

“Oh, all the time!” she said. “Once he gets started it’s hard to get him to stop!”

“I’m going now,” Tatsuya said, and went to find a seat. Jun joined him, thankfully before he started asking any more questions.

In the wait between ordering and receiving their food, Tatsuya silently took in the surroundings as he often did, and his attention was magnetically drawn to the man sitting across from him. Jun always looked good, and the present was no exception, but he looked even better than usual. It could have been due to his floral blouse and jacket, or the faint make-up around his eyes and on his face, or maybe just by virtue alone of him being Jun.

And Tatsuya was still wearing a baking powder stained shirt and pants torn at the knee.

Jun frowned. “Is there something on my face?”

“You’re beautiful.”

He blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, and then averted his eyes, blushing faintly “Oh.”

Jun spoke haltingly at first, like he was out of practice, until he got more confident and spoke fairly rapidly about his job and people he’d met since the last time he’d seen Tatsuya and physics and some kind of math Tatsuya’d never heard of and only half understood even after Jun explained it twice.

This is what he wanted back at his apartment. He couldn’t very well hold Jun in a restaurant, but having him back, hearing him in person and not just over the phone, soothed a part of his spirit he never realized was agitated. The peace of being with Jun, the muted ambient noise of the café, the sugary taste of the pastry he’d gotten, flowed over to Apollo, and their combined contentment chased away any lingering cold from outside.

(He had to remember to keep a tight leash on that feeling. Once he’d gotten so suddenly happy about finding a stray cat in front of a house down the street that he’d made a garbage can spontaneously combust. The cat scratched him, and the couple who lived there weren’t fond of the sudden trash fire.)

He was enjoying himself immensely, which is why he was caught so off guard when Jun’s conversation flowed to his education classes, and his face fell and voice died all at once like a switch was turned off.

Jun quickly changed the subject and kept talking, but quieter and more vaguely than before. He looked ill.

Tatsuya lightly touched Jun’s hand and inclined his head towards the door.

He hesitated for a few moments, but then his shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

He went to pay Suzuki as Jun left, but she waved away the money. “You barely ate anything, it’s fine. Tell Jun he’s always welcome back.”

He was leaning on the wall. His face was tired. “Sorry, about inside.”

Tatsuya shrugged. It really wasn’t a big deal.

“Sorry,” he said again, and if Tatsuya wasn’t worried before he definitely was now.

“Do you want to leave?”

Jun shook his head. “No. I’m fine. I want to go see the movie.”

He still didn’t seem fine, but Tatsuya would take his word for it for now.

Only a few pedestrians were out, all bundled tight against the encroaching cold. The sun was rapidly sinking, painting the sky in a burnt orange and yellow haze. He wrapped his arm around Jun’s shoulders, and he sighed and leaned into him. Tatsuya realized that his boyfriend’s makeup might have been there in part to hide bags under his eyes. He hugged Jun to his side, as if the gesture could ward off whatever troubled him.

Jun should be able to enjoy himself while he was here, and Tatsuya would try his best to make that happen.

---

‘Try’ being the operative word.

“I’m sorry, but that screening is sold out.”

That wasn’t too much of a problem. Tatsuya had a backup option in mind that looked romantic enough at first glance.

“That one’s sold out too.”

This one couldn’t be –

“Sold out.”

Or –

“Assume most of them are sold out.” The ticker seller said. Their tired dark eyes went from him to Jun and back in an expression that might have been pity but was more likely exasperation and a desire to keep the line moving. “There’s an older movie still playing, most people have seen it already. Want to see that?”

He looked to Jun for confirmation, and then nodded. The title was a weird one for a romance, but he’d be damned if at least one part of this date didn’t go well.

---

“The killer’s gone, you can look up now.” Jun whispered.

But Tatsuya kept his head ducked and his shirt collar pulled up around his eyes. He could just hear the shrill violin strings building to another crescendo.

“How are you scared by this? You’ve fought actual demons."

"That was different." Tatsuya muttered, reply nearly lost in his shirt.

A chord screeched, followed by a gory squelch he didn’t want to think about.

“Oh. I though he was gone. I didn’t think they’d be that predictable...”

He nearly jumped out of skin when Jun touched his shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”

Tatsuya nodded, and they left as an incompetent police officer interrogated a probably doomed teenager.

The sun was long gone, and had taken its light and warmth with it. He held Jun’s hand and walked close to him, both for warmth and because he was more afraid of passing shadows cast by streetlights and dark alleyways than he would like to admit.

“It was actually pretty funny.” Jun mused quietly beside him. “The effects were terrible.”

Tatsuya couldn’t contribute, having shut his eyes after the first jump scare ten minutes in. His boyfriend was feeling better, though, so any potential nightmares later that night worth it.

His lightened mood gave Tatsuya a fleeting burst of courage. “Um,” He began eloquently.

Words never felt like enough. They were small and frivolous and could hurt so much easier than they could help. But Jun was in some kind of distress and he needed to know, without ambiguity, that Tatsuya was here for him. “Are you ok? I feel like, something’s bothering you.”

Quiet settled around him, and Jun looked a bit lost again, but he didn’t let go of Tatsuya’s hand “Yes. No. Not really, its just – “ he stopped short, then said more definitively, “I’ll tell you, but can we talk about it tomorrow? ”

He nodded. Tomorrow would work. But he still couldn’t share off how sad and tired he looked when they met earlier at his apartment. He stopped walking, and Jun followed suit, giving him a questioning glance, streetlights reflecting in his eyes like stars.

Tatsuya had already started talking, might as well keep going. “I promise I’ll help. And whatever it is, I won’t love you any less.”

Pure, blank surprise took the place of melancholy. But why was he so surprised? Tatsuya hadn’t said anything that strange, except – oh.

Well, he would have said it eventually anyway. He looked away, though he knew it wouldn’t hide the blush flaring across his face. He might have prematurely ruined his resolution to communicate more by embarrassing himself into silence forever.

Jun squeezed his hand. “Okay,” he said, a smile in his voice. “And I love you too.”

Maybe talking didn’t always have turn out so bad.

Across the street a tree caught fire.

(Even with his boyfriend sleeping beside him that night, Tatsuya left a light on. Both agreed to avoid horror movies next time they went to a theater.)

#my writing #persona 2 #p2 #persona #food/

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inyri · 7 years ago

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Befores and Afters (a Mass Effect story)- for Kaidan Week 2017

(OK, so I’m really cheating on this one with 0 writing time so far this week- I wrote this at Christmas 2012 for a gift exchange. Sorry.

Mass Effect 3. FemShep/Kaidan.)

***

Befores and Afters (Some things change. Some things don’t.) I. Mako Her drone just barely fits under the Mako. She wouldn’t need it, normally, but her hands are full with the torque wrench, she’s got a bolt between her teeth and her headlamp keeps threatening to fall off. The light from the drone offsets the shadows from the maintenance trench just enough, and when she mutters around the bolt it chirps cheerfully in response, its tinny voice reading off the next set of pre-programmed instructions. USING A MALLET BREAK THE CONTROL ARM FREE OF THE SPINDLE Mallet. Shepard rests the wrench on her stomach, feeling around her for the appropriate tool without result. Which is still on the workbench. Damn it. She bends her knee to kick the edge of the hoverboard with one booted heel, sending it scooting out from beneath the Mako- and squarely into Kaidan’s ankles, knocking him back a step before its momentum dies. “I thought I heard you muttering under there.” He crouches down beside her. “Isn’t it supposed to be impossible to break a Mako?” “Whmph-” She spits the bolt at him; it clinks off his belt buckle and lands on the floor beside his foot. “Whoever said that wasn’t trying hard enough. I think we cracked an axle on that last slide down the mountain.” Kaidan picks up the bolt, twirls it between his fingers. “That would explain the loud noise and the wheel wobble. I knew that terrain was impassable.” “We passed it just fine.”

“Until you broke the Mako.” He sets the bolt on her stomach, next to the wrench. “At least the system’s clear of geth. Maybe they’ll even give us a real mission soon, instead of mopping up stragglers in the Terminus.”

“Yeah, well. The medals were pretty shiny.” Her scar twitches, pulls her right eye closed into the semblance of a wink. Kaidan snorts. “And that and a dead Reaper’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Did you need something?” She gestures awkwardly toward the workbench. “I forgot the mallet- I haven’t fixed an axle since Basic. Wires and lasers are more my thing, y’know? But the mechanic’s on shore leave until tomorrow morning, so-” her drone peeks out from the repair bay, chiming impatiently, “-I figured I’d take a stab at it.” “A stab?” “Metaphorical stab. With hammering.” Lifting and setting the wrench beside her on the hoverboard, Shepard powers down the gravity control and starts to sits up even as he pushes her back down, one hand on her chest. “Hey, now- watch those hands, Alenko.” He grins and waves her off. “I’ll get it for you. Mallet, right?” “Yup. Should be on the… right. I think.” “So it is.” He rises and his footsteps move away for a moment, then pause. “On one condition.” Something scrapes along the bench surface; his footsteps come back, closer, and she turns her head to look at him as Kaidan waves the mallet in front of her, crouched down to whisper in her ear. She rolls her eyes at him. “On what condition?” “Promise you won’t steal the blankets again.” His voice is barely audible, even so close. (They were always careful, in those days- regulations and all- but caution turned every moment into an opportunity, like how the elevator just happened to get stuck for about a minute whenever they were in it together.) “You have seriously cold feet, Shepard.” “I promise.” Kaidan nods solemnly, reverses his grip and hands it to her, handle-first. “Have fun.” “Will do.” She kicks the hoverboard back into gear and slides back under the Mako as her drone reactivates with a happy-sounding hum. USING A MALLET BREAK THE CONTROL ARM FREE OF THE SPINDLE “Yeah, yeah.” After a moment, the drone’s synthetic voice is lost beneath a flurry of hammer blows. *** Shepard didn’t expect to find much left on Alchera, honestly. Her ship- Joker’s baby, but in her heart it was hers- sits in a dozen pieces on the surface, scattered armor pieces and dog tags like deformed metal flowers on red dirt but then she comes down a hill and there’s the Mako, resting on a rocky outcropping like she just drove up and left it there yesterday. Never mind that it’s been two years. Never mind that it must have fallen out of the sky, landed there when the Normandy broke up during re-entry (though she was mostly broken up already, long before she hit the atmosphere). Never mind that the rear axle she replaced so carefully is still intact when she peers beneath the vehicle, complete with the scratch on the right-hand side where the torque wrench slipped out of her hand. Maybe it really is impossible to break a Mako. She scales the rocks and kicks at the door until it opens, reaches inside and pulls the dangling fuzzy dice off the viewport; they fit neatly into an empty ammo pouch, and when she returns to the SR-2 she drapes them over the corner of the frame that holds his picture. ***

II. Armor “But now we’ve got reports about you and Cerberus.” She denies it, of course. She’s working with Cerberus, not for Cerberus, the change in preposition making all the difference in the world, but the words seem interchangeable to everyone but her. The armor doesn’t help. The style’s the same that she always favored, with plenty of pouches and pockets for spare wires and ammo and odds and ends. Her shotgun sits comfortably at the small of her back; her sniper rifle, an upgraded version of the gun she’s used since her trips to the firing range with Mom, rests along her spine in its scabbard. She looks the same- except for the orange blazon on her shoulder like a traitor’s brand. In the end, Kaidan walks away, and Shepard doesn’t fault him for it. When she gets back to the ship she dismantles one of the pop-up turrets and uses the laser to blast the painted logos off her armor. She’s finished with the body armor and halfway done with the helmet by the time Miranda stalks into the armory. “Shepard, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her speech’s particularly clipped today, the consonants sharpened to knifepoints. “Making some adjustments to my gear.” Shepard finishes with the laser and makes a few passes with a buffing pad before picking up enamel and paintbrush. “Orange isn’t my color.” Miranda scowls, picking up her breastplate in one hand and one spaulder in the other. “This is Cerberus property, not some off-the-rack Alliance garbage. It’s not yours to deface.” She finishes the white stripe down the armguard, looks up and snorts. “Oh, really?” “We’ve discussed this, Shepard. You’ve already made non-standard adjustments to your weapons, the drones-” “-and half the crew are aliens and it pisses you off, Miranda. I get it.” The stripe’s still too damp to tape over; she’ll have to do the red later. “But I’m pretty sure we’ve established this is a non-standard mission.” Arms folded across her chest, Miranda stands in the doorway. “Field research suggests that this armor pattern is optimal across nearly every combat condition. You may lose the element of surprise.” She pushes a few buttons on her omni-tool and her drone flickers to life, hovering just at eye level in front of the other woman’s face. “If people see me coming, lady, it’ll be because I want them to.” Shepard smiles over the static buzz of the drone’s energy field. “So if I want to paint my armor bright fucking pink with lime green polka dots, I will.” Miranda narrows her eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.” She turns her back to the door and doesn’t look up until she hears it close. *** She always liked the way Kaidan looked in blue- the color did something remarkable against his hair- but she has to admit his new armor is pretty spectacular. Maybe it’s the pockets. You can never have enough pockets. The first time she fights beside him when he wears it, they end up pinned between two buildings with a turret on their rear and an Atlas shooting rockets up their noses. Shepard hates Atlases- can’t get close enough to shotgun them, sniping takes forever, so she’s stuck plinking away at the damn thing from behind a crate between carefully timed Overloads. “Low on ammo here,” she shouts across to him, sending her drone behind them toward the turret. He throws a clip across; she reloads the rifle and aims across the crate, finally getting a clear line of sight to the mech’s pilot through the shattered bubble. Her shot catches the Cerberus soldier just between the eyes, and as he slumps out of the cockpit the mech powers down. Behind them, the turret explodes in a shower of sparks. “Clear?” Kaidan checks their tail. She crawls out of cover, looks right and left around the empty Atlas. “Clear.” The turret’s dead, a few parts still useable- she tucks those into her belt pouch- but its thermal clips don’t work with rifles. Shepard looks back to Kaidan with a shrug. “This rifle’s an ammo hog. Can you spare any more?” “Eh, I’ve got plenty.” He opens one of the front pockets. “The ammo pouches on this thing have ammo pouches. I feel like a munitions factory.” Shepard resolves at that moment to get a suit of it for herself. It would figure, of course, that the Ajax was a Cerberus design, stripped in bits and pieces off a couple dead engineers after a raid and retrofitted to Alliance spec. (Of course it was for engineers- practical, elegant design with plenty of gear space, easily adapted to different loadouts, better-than-standard performance enhancement. Only an engineer could create such a thing.) She can’t help but tease Kaidan about it, if only a little. “So I guess not everything Cerberus worked on is so bad, hm?” She brushes off the engraving on the chestpiece- SHEPARD, in big block letters, unmistakeable as anyone’s but hers. “I guess not,” Kaidan says, inspecting his own suit with its matching engraving; he looks her up and down, and grins. “I can think of a few good things they’ve done.” “This armor is pretty great.” She doesn’t notice he’s still looking until she turns around. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it is.”

***

III. Rest It’s a travel day, which means mission planning. There aren’t many travel days, now, with the Reapers in almost every system, but this outpost’s at the furthest edge of the cluster and they decide to play it safe. If the Reapers follow them, there won’t be enough time for a full evacuation before they lose the whole thing- or the planet it’s on. Like Bekenstein. Shepard closes her eyes and flops back onto the bed. “I need a nap.” “You need a vacation.” Kaidan snatches the datapad from beneath her just before she rolls over onto her stomach. “A long vacation.” “Hmph.” She turns her head to the side, keeps her eyes closed. “Didn’t they tell you in Spectre training? We don’t get vacations. We just keep working until our bodies give out, then get replaced with new models. Like machines.” His hands slide under the white cotton of her shirt, fingers working at the knots that run like parallel ropes along her spine. “You’re not a machine, Shepard. You get to be tired once in a while.” He digs into a particularly stubborn spot; she winces, then relaxes. “Besides, we’ve done as much planning as we can.” “I keep telling myself that, but it’s never enough.” She rests her head on her folded arms. Kaidan lets it go for a while, brushing her hair away to get at her neck, pulling up the elastic cuffs at her ankles to work along the backs of her legs. “It has to be.” “What if it isn’t?” He stops, then, and when she turns to look at him he lifts her hand in his, presses his lips against the tattoo on her little finger. “It will be. Get some sleep, okay? EDI can let you know when we’re getting close.” “I don’t want to sleep.” “I thought you said-“ Shepard sighs. “I did. I lied. I want to forget, I guess- when I sleep, I remember.” She rolls onto her back again, looking up at the passing stars through the skylight. “Can I help you forget, then?” Kaidan, still sitting cross-legged on the bed, looks down at her. “Not if it involves tequila like last time. I was hung over all day.” Her nose wrinkles at the memory. (She’s had to stay away from it ever since; she’d always thought he was a whiskey drinker, anyway.) He chuckles, and bends down to kiss her stomach, just at the gap where the hem of her shirt pulls away from her waistband. “I can probably think of other ways.” “Mm?” She smiles. “Mm.” He gets the drawstring between his teeth and pulls.

*** Communication lines were spotty after the war ended, and it took some time to repair enough of the damage to get the Normandy airborne again. He knew she wasn’t gone, though. The others called it wishful thinking, made a plaque with her name to put up on the memorial wall, but he wouldn’t do it. Not yet. When he gets the message he’s already back on Earth, helping clean up the wreckage that used to be Vancouver, but half an hour later he’s on the first transport to London. “They found her.” Liara meets him outside the hospital- she’d been the first to know, as she was so often. Her voice cracks. “She’s in rough shape, but she’s alive. I’ve spoken with Miranda, and she’s coming to help, but-“ “That bad?” He swallows. He’d seen the records. “No, no. Alive. Awake, now. Shepard’s a hard woman to kill.” “Let me see her.” She’s terribly pale and wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages and clean white sheets, but when he comes through the door she smiles. “Hey, you.” “Hey.” There aren’t words for this, for the moments between ‘I thought you were dead’ and ‘don’t ever do that again’ and ‘I love you,’ so he settles for the first thing that comes out. “You did it.” She laughs like it hurts her, but she nudges his hand where it rests on the bedrail. “Just doing my job.”

#kaidanweek2017 #mass effect #kaidan alenko #kaidan appreciation week #space husband number 3 #femshep

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itsthesinbin · 8 years ago

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(SFW) Mine- Underfell!PapyrusxAFAB Reader

This is @burntcookieskell‘s second part to their Papyrus commission! Thank you again for buying the slot!

Warning for: Captor/Prisoner unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, mentions of abuse/punishments.

“Only time will tell where you end up, I suppose”.

Where you ended up, unsurprisingly, was still in Papyrus’ home. You’ve upgraded, though. You now sleep in a cot in his room. Your cage was put in the living room- a reminder that you can be placed right back in there if your “master” deemed it necessary. He definitely liked to drop that fact, whenever you started to get too bold.

You were also given a little more freedom. You were allowed to walk around outside- with supervision, of course- and could roam around the house when the skeletons were away. The doors were securely locked, and the guards in town were given strict instructions to watch the house closely, but it was better than nothing. Better than being stuck in a cage while Sans makes you watch bad tv.

Speaking of Sans, he was here to “babysit” you again. Aka, Sans will tell Papyrus that when asked. In reality, the older brother was lazing around and watching- as usual- bad movies. You were in the kitchen, cleaning up from Papyrus’ last pasta situation. You don’t understand how he makes such a mess while making lasagna of all things.

“You wanna get off of your ass and help me clean this mess?” You could hear the monster snort from the living room.

“Hell no. Boss usually cleans up his own mess, anyway. I don’t see why I should help you clean that garbage,” he laughed. You rubbed your eyes, sighing in annoyance. You figured Sans would say no. There was a small part of you that hoped otherwise, no matter how foolish that part was.

You grumbled, getting back down on the floor to try and scrape the burnt-on food out of the oven. That shit was caked on there. How this oven still WORKED was beyond you. You’re surprised Papyrus let the oven get this bad without even attempting to clean it- everything else in the house was nearly spotless. Except for Sans’ room. You’ve only seen it a couple times, but you smell it every time you pass by the door. It’s TERRIBLE.

You shuddered at the thought of them making you clean Sans’ room. Papyrus has said that was too much torture for even a prisoner of theirs, but you still worry you’ll be stuck in there one day.

You guessed it’d be full of old socks, mustard bottles.... Old food in general. You’re afraid to find out how many bugs are hiding out in his room.

“Eugh,” you groaned, shaking your head at the thought. That’s more terrifying than any punishment Papyrus could give you.

Speaking of Papyrus- as if he knew you were thinking about him- the door opened loudly. It slammed shut, the guard captain yelling at his brother for lazing about. Same as yesterday, and the same way it’ll be tomorrow. You really wished he didn’t come home yelling every. Single. Day.

The taller skeleton walked into the kitchen, pausing when he saw you on your knees. You didn’t bother looking up- you were pretending to be so engrossed in your cleaning to notice him. He scanned the room as you continued to scrape at the burnt sauces and food pieces.

The counters had been washed thoroughly. The floors had been mopped and swept, and every single dish that has been piled up in the sink was cleaned. Even all of Sans’ old stains from the table had, somehow, been buffed out. The table looked brand new. The only thing that was still dirty was the oven, which you were so painstakingly working on.

“Human,” he finally said, making you look up. “What is the meaning of this? Did Sans make you do his chores again?” You resisted the urge to scowl. That damn skeleton always makes you do his shit. You quickly shook your head, forcing yourself to stand. Your knees hurt and your legs were tense from lack of stretching.

“No, sir. I noticed how… burnt the oven was, and had intended on cleaning just that. Then I figured I’d just… go ahead and clean the rest of the kitchen, since it wasn’t… up to your usual standards,” you explained, wringing your hands nervously. He couldn’t really be mad that you decided to clean for him, right? That’s what you were here for- to do things for him. As much as you hated the thought, that’s what prisoners were supposed to do.

That, and you were bored as hell and needed SOMETHING other than television to keep you busy.

“Well… I am pleasantly surprised! I didn’t expect you to take the initiative on such a project without me saying anything. You’ve done well,” he said, gloved hand raising to pat your head. You let out an involuntary flinch, before giving a nervous smile.

“Uh… thanks… s-sir,” you stammered, not used to actual praise. That was a very odd occurance with the Great and Terrifying Papyrus. He only gave praise when it involved some violent bullshit you don’t pay attention to. Much to Papyrus’ dismay.

He likes to “show off” to you, for some reason. It’s like he thinks you ENJOY watching him beat up and/or possibly kill weaker monsters. You hate that you’re used to washing dust out of his clothes.

He moved his hand, going to sit at the table. He always does this- comes home, sits at the table, and does his puzzles in the paper. You sighed slightly, knowing he’ll be “secretly” watching you clean.

You simply got back down on the floor, turning your attention back to the oven. No use in focusing on the skeleton at the table- he’ll ignore you until his puzzles are finished.

Or so you think.

Unbeknownst to you, Papyrus was too distracted to fully complete his puzzles. He kept glancing up, staring at your backside- the way you sat on your knees in front of the appliance. Your grunts of effort definitely distracted him from the paper on the table. He felt his magic tinting his facial bones a dark orange.

He never thought he’d find a human- the repulsive creatures that doomed monsters to the Underground- so… alluring. When he first captured you, he never even thought you’d be more than a simple trophy to him. The Great Papyrus- captor and tormentor of humans! He was supposed to instill FEAR into this creature, yet they regard him as if he was just… a minor inconvenience, at best!

And here he was, pining after this… thing. This tiny, pretty thing that’s starting to keep him up at night. He hates how he’s reacting to them. He’s almost to the point that the need for them hurts.

Papyrus let out a frustrated growl, shooting out of his chair. He swiped up his paper, stomping to his room. You stared after him in confusion, not understanding where the sudden change in the skeleton’s mood came from. You let out a frustrated huff. You really hope he doesn’t take it out on you, later.

You also really hope you didn’t make him angry, somehow. Whatever he’d have in store would be MUCH worse, if that’s the case.

Up in his room, Papyrus tossed the newspaper onto the bedside table. He snarled in annoyance, running his hand over his skull, then bringing it down his face. He had to figure out a way to either get rid of these feelings- a captor shouldn’t have any feelings like this towards his prison- or… get you to really be his.

He could simply make you, yes, but that wouldn’t be any fun. What’s the point of any kind of relationship if you’re simply pretending to care for him? He’d know you’d only do it to keep him happy- and that would just infuriate him to no end.

Papyrus would have to resort to actually wooing you. He’s a master at dating- just as he is for anything, and everything, else! He would have to be subtle about it. He’d need you to want to be with him, not just doing so out of survival.

He remembers how much you liked Waterfall, despite the… Moldbygg incident. He never took you to the stone-gazing room. Maybe you’d like to see the glittering stones closer with Sans telescope? Humans like gemstones, right? They definitely do!

“I’m a genius,” he laughed, leaving his room again. He marched into Sans’ room, growling annoyance at the filthy space, and snatched the telescope. Papyrus made sure to check and see if there was any ink on the lens again. That prank gets old- very fast.

“I’m borrowing your telescope,” Papyrus snapped sternly as he passed Sans, who was too confused to respond right away. A faint “what” was heard from the older brother as Papyrus stomped into the kitchen. You had finally finished the oven, and were lounging on a kitchen chair to relax your tired limbs.

You looked up when Papyrus walked in, eyes flicking to the telescope bag in his hand. You gave him a curious stare. Since when does Papyrus care about stuff that needs a telescope?

“Come, human,” he said, sounding more pleasant than you thought he’d be. You were, immediately, suspicious.

“We’re going to Waterfall.” You resisted the urge to groan. You were so tired from cleaning- you really don’t want to go anywhere other than your cot. Papyrus seemed to notice your exhaustion.

“We’ll be taking the boat instead of walking, so you get to rest on the way there. Now, come.” You reluctantly followed him, but were surprised he cared enough about your comfort to suggest it. Maybe he was just tired, too, and was trying to act like he wasn’t?

You wouldn’t be surprised if he was tired- the guy only sleeps an hour a night. You’ll never understand how he has so much fucking energy. It’s like he’s constantly hopped up on energy drinks.

The cold air felt good, for once, when you two stepped out. Cooped up in the warm kitchen all day was terrible. You let out a pleased sigh at the feeling, your breath puffing out in front of you. Papyrus watched the cloud of air dissipate- it’s like he can’t help but watch every time a huge cloud comes from you. You find it strangely adorable.

The walk to the Riverperson was short, thankfully. You sat on the boat while Papyrus paid the cloaked figure some gold to get to Waterfall. He stood tall in the boat, always keeping watch for any possible threats. He almost never let his guard down- you should know. You’ve tried finding ways to escape, but he never relaxes enough for you to get the drop on him. You’ve half-given up by now.

The trip was short, and Papyrus helped you off of the boat when you arrived. He’s been strangely… nice today. Something must’ve put him in a REALLY good mood. You hope he stays like this for a while.

Papyrus led you down a path through the dimly-lit caves. He kept a hold on your wrist- for some reason. You assumed it was so you wouldn’t wander off. You didn’t blame him for being cautious this time around, after what happened the last time you entered Waterfall.

When he finally stopped, he let your hand go. You watched as he started to set up the telescope, looking around while you wait on him. You could hear the Mean Cream Guy’s music- his cart must be nearby. Man, you’d really love some ice cream right now. Papyrus has almost no junk food in his house, and Sans doesn’t like to share what he manages to sneak in.

“There,” Papyrus said triumphantly, standing up straight. You came over, seeing the old, worn telescope set up. He stared at you expectantly, making you nervous. What were you supposed to do? You were clearly supposed to react someway. What the hell is going on with him today?

The skeleton sighed in annoyance, crossing his arms. You shuffled anxiously, glancing down at his chestplate instead of his face.

“I brought you here so you can see the gems in the ceiling, human. Take the time to do so before we have to leave.” … He brought you here for that? Why- was this a reward?

“Is… this for cleaning the kitchen?” The monster paused, before laughing. He patted your head- slightly condescendingly, you might add- and shook his own.

“No, no- your reward for the kitchen will be different. This is…” He paused. He doesn’t… know what this was. He doesn’t want to outright say “a date”. That’d just scare you off.

You waited for him to say something, but he never really did. He just kinda… sat there, thinking. You frowned slightly, but decided not to question it. You’ll just.. take your freedom where you can, you guess.

You decided to humor the skeleton, and look through the telescope.

You can’t lie- the stones were beautiful. They shone like real stars, but were various different colors. Bright greens, blues, and purples… It was gorgeous.

You ended up pulling away from the telescope, looking up at the cavern ceiling in wonder. Even though you missed the actual stars, it was… a pretty substitute.

Papyrus watched you, seeing the lights shining in your eyes. His magic rushed through his face, no doubt darkening his bones a deep red-orange. There was no mistaking those feelings, now. He had to have you- to make you his.

Not that you weren’t already, obviously, but… he needed you to want to be his. He just had to figure out how. You, clearly, didn’t think too highly of him. Lord knows why you don’t think he’s as amazing as he actually is.

The skeleton was pulled out of his thoughts by you walking off. You were staring around, but had decided to start walking off. He followed you, taking note of the fact you were, subconsciously, heading towards the Mean Cream stand’s music. Perhaps you were hungry, after working all day.

Well… he kind of wants some, as well. Might as well buy a couple packages.

Papyrus walked past you, bringing you back to reality. He went over to the angry rabbit monster, buying two Mean Creams. The smaller monster tried to overprice them, as usual, but Papyrus knocked him down a few pegs.

The guardsman came back, thrusting one in your direction. You jumped at the sudden ice cream in your vision, before taking it. After opening them, you both ate the treats slowly. Very, very awkwardly. You really wished someone else was here- you’d be fine with Sans of all people.

You sat down on a rock, staying a bit away from the increasingly-frustrated skeleton. You could tell he was getting annoyed and angry with something, but don’t know what. Were you doing something wrong? Was he looking for anything that you could’ve done wrong?

The skeleton suddenly started growling, throwing his trash into a can nearby. He stomped over to you, looming over you aggressively. You flinched back, afraid he was going to do something.

He leaned down, hands resting by your hips, so he was face to face with you.

“You’re mine, understand,” he spat out, before he could stop himself. You reeled back in shock, startled and confused by the sudden change in attitude. He snarled.

“Answer me, human. You belong to me, do you understand?” You swallowed thickly.

“Y… Yes, sir-” “If any other monster touches you, they’re dead,” he snapped, standing to his full height. He was silent for a moment, simply glaring at the wall, before sighing heavily. He can’t do this. Anything he does, it’ll only come out as demanding and authoritative. Even if he tries to play the sickeningly polite courtship route, you’ll never fall for it.

“Let’s just go,” he said coldly, going to dismantle the telescope and stuff it in the bag. You stood, slowly following. You fiddled with your hands nervously.

“Am…” you hesitated. “Am I… in trouble?” He paused, before zipping up the bag. He stood, a deep growl in his chest.

“You will be if you don’t hurry up,” he hissed, leading you back to the Riverperson. You chewed your lip, following him closely. You didn’t want to get punished for something you didn’t even know you did. It wouldn’t be the first time…

The ride back to Snowdin was way too long, in your opinion. It was tense- not even the Riverperson said anything on the way back. You wish the boat’s owner would, at least, start humming to break the ice.

Papyrus all but pulled you off of the boat. You almost stumbled into the water, but managed to catch yourself. You had to jog to keep up with the furious skeleton, jumping as he slammed the door open. He simply stomped up to his room, tossing the telescope onto the couch next to his sleeping brother.

Sans woke up at the noise and action, tiredly watching Papyrus trudge up the stairs. You shut the door, catching the smaller skeleton’s attention. His brown bone raised, watching as you sit on the couch.

“What the hell happened?” You rubbed your face, sighing heavily, before throwing your hands up in annoyance.

“I don’t know! He took me to a cavern to see the gems in the ceiling- for a reward for doing well, I guess- and he was just… slowly getting angrier! At the end, he suddenly got furious, told me I was his, and then brought me back,” you huffed, dropping your head back against the couch.

“I don’t… understand what the fuck happened! Everything was going great, but then his mood took a 180!” Sans snorted, leaning back against the couch’s arm.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Papyrus is always… emotional”. You gave him a skeptical look. “By emotional, I mean angry”. Yeah. That makes more sense.

You sighed again, turning your attention to the tv. Maybe he’ll calm down soon.

But he probably wouldn’t, considering he was currently trashing his room in fury.

He can’t BELIEVE how STUPID he is! He just… threw all of his plans out the window- well… to be fair… he didn’t really have a plan for that.

Ugh… He’ll have to try something else. He doesn’t know what yet, but…

He’ll find a way to make it perfectly clear where he should stand in your eyes. You will be his- body, mind, and soul.

#undertale #underfell #papyrus #fic #commission fic #burntcookieskell

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swimperialentanglements · 5 years ago

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CHAPTER 6 – Inside the bunker of Castor Legolas

Mara Jade

As soon as the vehicle stopped, the Emperor’s Hand took Castor's hand into hers as she had done before and pulled him out of the car with her. She was impatient and couldn't take that for much longer. She was happy to be out of the confinement of the transport only to find herself walking into a bunker. Mara looked at Castor and smiled, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand playfully, she had to be left alone with him, only then things would go her way.

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor let Iris lead him for a while.

“I see you’re looking forward to it as much as I am”, he grinned. This time, he took the lead and walked ahead, holding her hand in an attempt to show some dominance.

The security leader and the six men followed Castor towards the second floor, where his master suite was located. At the door, he turned to the six, including Harris in disguise, and ordered them to stand there.

Mara Jade

As both entered the room, Mara saw a door in the left leading to a small office, where all the evidence she needed could be. It was a gambit. Ahead was a huge bed and to the right, was a swimming pool and the equivalent of a huge jacuzzi.

AdmiralPellaeon

Harris stood outside as commanded. He studied how to incapacitate his opponents in case of necessity.

Mara Jade

She studied her scenario and smiled: it was all very fitting. She wouldn't even need to make Castor talk, everything she needed was right there. All she had to do was getting him drunk and maybe entertain him briefly, he would eventually fall, drunk or drugged. She reassured herself by feeling the tiny flask disguised as her choker pendant.

"What a nice place you have, Mr. Castor, only fitting for its distinguished owner", Mara tempted him, walking around the place, allowing him to admire her figure as she looked for security cameras and microphones which she assumed were there

AdmiralPellaeon

Just like a puppy after his mother, Castor drooled at the sight of her curves. She was definitively the most gorgeous woman had ever been to that room.

“Thanks, Iris. What’s the value of money if you can’t use it to entertain yourself?”, he asked leaning against a counter and grabbing a bottle of Corellian rum. “I take you will join me in the drinks, right?”, he said opening the bottle.

Mara Jade

"How could I not?", she smiled, sitting on the couch with and patting the spot next to her for Castor to sit.

"You have such a fine taste Mr. Castor, you must have spent a fortune... Of course that wouldn't be a problem for someone like you", the redhead kept talking, buying time.

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor filled up two glasses and smiled. She was behaving like a lady, educated in those elite families of Coruscant. Of course, he didn’t expect a professional prostitute - he had paid a small fortune for the surprise.

“Money is no concern for me, Iris. So what did the bodyguard feel when he touched your body?”, he insisted on talking smut. It was necessary to break down her pride, he thought, so that he could do whatever he wanted with her.

Outside the room, if Mara could feel, Harris was calm, trying to hear whatever would come out of the room and from their com channel.

Mara Jade

Mara smiled, took a small sip of her drink and traced Castor's nose with the tip of her finger.

"I can't tell what he felt, but fear would have been appropriate... after all, I'm here for you", she said, the first part of her sentence secretly intended for him.

"How does one end up with such great luxuries?", she asked, looking around as if marveled by the place.

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor felt her fingertip trailing on his nose. Iris was provocative in the right measure and his member came to life, throbbing under the tuxedo’s trousers.

“The origin of my fortune?”, he raised an eyebrow, staring at her, while one hand went up her arm, feeling how strong it was, moving to the string around her neck.

“I’m a businessman. I am involved in interplanetary trade. That’s what I do. Now tell me: what about your family?”

Mara Jade

"My origins are humble, my father was a merchant, my mother helped however she could. They were good people", Mara lied, suddenly standing up and sitting on top of him, running her hands up his arm to the hand with his drink, she leaned down and kissed his bald head and forehead, keeping him from seeing her free hand pouring the drops of sleep drug she had previously taken from her necklace into his wine. She could feel his body reacting to her, she had no time, that drug better worked quickly

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor’s erection throbbed into life as she straddled over him. Castor gasped for air as his eyes suddenly were facing her pert, round breasts. Castor was an objective person, so his hands went for the neck of the redhead and undid the knot holding her velvet green dress. “Iris I want to be inside you”, he muttered as his breathing sped up.

Mara Jade

Mara gently pulled back and again touched her glass to Castors.

"A toast for that", she granted him "to the bottom!", the female spy said out loud, pretending to drink while guiding Castors glass with her own hand towards his mouth for him to drink.

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor was so into Iris that he could not declined her challenge. As he watched her drinking his glass, he wanted to prove himself as a man - he swallowed all the content as her dress fell revealing her bare breasts and tummies, just straddling over him. It was such a sight that his member hardened immediately under Mara’s rear. “I will not let you down, Iris”, he laughed already under the effects of the spirits... but showing no fast sign of the sleeping potion.

Mara Jade

"Won't you?", she joked, wrapping herself in her golden cloth, provoking him and moving away at the same time. The Emperor’s Hand had no time for that nonsense.

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor stood up as she seemed to play hard. “Where are you going?”, he asked as he reached her and stood in front of Iris.

All of sudden, he blinked once, twice, yawned, and his hands laid on her waistline, weakening quickly. “Iris...”

Mara Jade

"How about you join me in bed?", Mara said, walking backwards and pulling him with her. By the time they reached bed, he would be fast asleep.

AdmiralPellaeon

Castor didn’t last another second. His hands weakened and he fell to his knees and then in between her feet. He was sleeping deeply and would be alike for the next hours.

Mara Jade

She finally caught her breath, she had been holding it for quite a while. Now she had to be quick, she walked into the office and went over every document she could get her hands on. He didn't even bother to hide it, why would he? After all, what were the odds any his nightly conquests would be interested in man's business.

Mara had no trouble accessing his terminal, for such a big fan of security, this was a major bummer. It was all there, the contracts, the merch offerings and of course, the buyer list, all of them criminal cells well known within the Empire. That was all she needed, the Empire would have no mercy. She extracted a small device from her wristwatch and loaded the files. She could hear Castor's loud snoring, but she knew he wouldn't stay that way for long. She had to be out of there as quickly as possible.

The redhead erased her access from the terminal memory and put her device back to her wrist watch. With some effort she dragged Castor the rest of the way and lifted him by his shoulders to put him on his bed.

"I'm sorry hun, but I must leave for now, hope Luke wont find out", Mara said the key word, hoping Harris would hear it as she headed towards the bedroom door

AdmiralPellaeon

Harris didn’t know what was going on inside the room of Legolas Castor. Was Mara doing well? How long would the roleplay continue before she’d knock him down and copy whatever she needed. The girl didn’t know that Harris has killed one of Castors’s bodyguards to be there.

Sooner or later, the body would be found at the basement of the concert hall (or at the garbage system of the city, in case his silly plan of throwing him in parts in the dustbin worked. Hopefully, they could use the disguise later but that was not their first priority.

Anyway, the longer the operation lasted, the greater the chances of something going wrong.

Harris heart was beating fast as she spoke their password. For sure, the cameras and mic inside the room were for later use - no one would dare see what their master was doing during the intercourse. Through his com channel with Mara, he listened to a casual conversation and felt jealous, angry. Why did she need to do something against her will?

He meant, was it really against her will? He remained quiet and tried to focus on the mission.

After some minutes of silence, Mara said the password and that she was leaving the room. That was good. All he needed was to get out of the sight of two other bodyguards as the three others were involved with menial tasks. Both of them had already gone to the kitchen to grab some food - that was his chance to do so.

“Hello there, I’ll go to the kitchen. I need some nuts to fill in the gap in my stomach.”

His colleagues replied. “No problems, Jim. Take your time. Castor is having a great night apparently”. They all laughed, and he sound was heard by Mara in the com channel. After turning the corridor and going door the stairs, Harris went to the kitchen, took some nuts.

As he was alone, he spoke. “I’ll be down just where you will jump, Arrin”. He pushed a windows from the kitchen and saw the room of Castor above - it was clear that the most logic way to get out of there was through the narrow window - perhaps from the restroom? Harris has no idea. He would not fit there, but Mara has an elegantly deadly body.

Without understanding why, Harris shut down the one he was using and switched to the camouflage mode. It was the witching hour, when the sun lights are weaker and the penumbra increases - it was the ideal time to go unnoticed. Of course, there were dozens of cameras and sensors in the area, all of them unable to pick up any signature, including heat. He stood under the window and waited - she’d not take longer to fall onto the garden, possibly she’d fall on her arms, he thought - it was not a huge fall, but 7 metres always requires some skill.

“Luke is down waiting”.

#swrp #marajade #chibias #irislegasov #Blacksun #Legolas Castor #MaraandHarris #AdmiralPellaeon #trooperharris

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tandamalaika · 8 years ago

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It has been 9 days. Each day has lasted several weeks so I’m not sure how long it’s really been…Like an addict who is usually on a constant high from every day life, taking hits with every breath I’d breathed, I am now slamming my head against the walls and floor as I experience the ultimate withdrawls all while descending day after day like a vulture on a dying being, picking it clean one artery, one organ and one breath at a time. The salvage company told us they wouldn’t even come look at Tanda Malaika until they had a $25 000 deposit, while the winds were carrying in massive sets of waves that pushed her farther and farther onto the reef. Each time she moved, rocks and coral that had initially broken holes in her hull in 3 different places was now pulling the gaps in the hulls to the side. Large flaps of fiberglass were twisting, tearing and gaping.

It was as if she was being scraped and skinned alive.

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We called the American Embassy to see what help they could offer and were assured that they would send help and to hang tight. The big wig had gone on vacation but we would hear back from them soon. Every morning David (from Geniet Lewe) would get on the VHF radio, tell the cruisers that we were headed out to Tanda Malaika to salvage what we could, and before we knew it, a caravan of dinghies would be making their way out to her. We carried with us tools, thick garbage bags, tape, permanent markers and dry bags. We meandered through the large field of coral heads as far as we could then threw an anchor out, jumped out and made our way to our home. Like a forensic team at a murder scene, we would ascend onto her decks and begin picking over every inch of her, removing anything of value, bagging it up, labeling it and placing it in larger more water proof containers.

I placed screws, nuts and bolts in small ziplock bags, wrote the contents on them and taped them to the item they belonged to. As soon as we had a dinghy loaded up with bags etc, it was taken all the way in to Geniet Lewe in the anchorage. The overflow went to Makara (Ian and Erika’s boat).

While some people gathered electrical items,

others sorted through the galley and main salon. Books, clothing, bedding, tools, food, safety equipment, fishing equipment, the list goes on and on… We removed high priority items first then worked on the less important things, all while waves continued to pound up again Tanda Malaika, causing her to shudder periodically.

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We tried to stay upbeat and positive, and sometimes succeeded – other times sat starring in shock then fighting back tears, and got back to work once more.

The creatures dismantled everything they had worked so hard to keep secured and water tight.

Each time we returned to Tanda Malaika, she was more and more damaged. Part of it was that as we removed things, she became lighter, which allowed for more movement on the rocks and coral which caused her to rip even more. The rudder posts pushed through the sugar scoop steps, creating holes on both port and starboard. Each day we returned to her we noticed more things that had been stolen off her in the night.

The salvage company finally called back after we had sent them photos of her deteriorating condition, and told us that given how far she is up on the reef at this point, combined with the way her structure had been compromised, they recommended we either get a permit to have her towed off and sunk, which would total about $35 to $40 000. Our other option was to have her drug off the reef and towed to Raitea to be hauled out and chopped up, which would cost the $25000 pulling off the reef job, the $5000 an hour for towing her 20 miles at about the speed of 1 knot an hour since she would be float at about deck level in the water. After going back and forth in our discussions we at first thought that if we had her hauled out to demolish in Raitea, we could at least have a good look at her when she’s out and maybe she could be saved somehow. But, as each day passed her damage got to the point where it would cost more to repair her that to purchase another used bare bones catamaran and start over. We had been told that the Moorings charter companies were selling boat like ours (without all the added electronics, solar, bigger batteries, wifi extenders, AIS, radar, etc) for $200 to $250 000, as they try to make room for new models. Tanda Malaika would cost a minimum of $200 000 to fix.

We gathered the creatures into the salon on Geniet Lewe and explained the situation to them, and told them that at this point we were going to have to have our girl drug off the reef and towed to the legal area for sinking, about 7 tons of old engines etc would be placed on her to weigh her down, and she would leave the surface for the last time and sink to the ocean floor below. Everyone reacted differently, Mycah was crying and asking all the ‘but what if…’ questions, Jude withdrew and cried quietly, Emma was crying and asking ‘is this final? Is this really the final decision? Is it just a maybe or really for real?’ Aidan was teary eyed and sat quietly looking back and forth at his sisters trying to figure out a way to comfort them. To comfort himself. To process it all. I explained to them that she had provided a place for us to live and learn and grown, and once sunk, she would provide a place for marine life to live. She would become covered in coral and sponges and have marine life swimming through the hulls where we had walked and would continue to protect the living. Our Tanda Malaika would continue to be a place where life could feel safe and at home. Making this decision of course meant that every single reusable and sellable item would need to be removed from Tanda Malaika. Once again Dave announced our plan on the VHF and day after day we have returned to her like vultures, picking her clean.

Electrical wire hung like entrails from the ceiling and walls as each light, each pump, each rail and block, each line and hose where removed, bagged and carried off to Makara and Geniet Lewe.

Janet organized and catalogued every single item, recording it on a spread sheet on the computer and assigning it a reference number. Cruisers from Geniet Lewe, Makara, Beach Flea, Solace, Son of Moondance, Puanani, Jadine helped so much hour after hour, day after day. Many vessels arrived to watch out of curiosity, some to purchase boat parts, and others just to help. Between Janet and Emma, they did (and continue to do) at least thirty loads of washing, cleaning clothes, bedding, towels and other odds and ends. Large items were cleaned then laid out on the trampoline to dry.

A man named Marc, who has a boat company in Fare, volunteered his flat bottomed boats and helped lift the two d55 Volvo engines out, the Northern Lights generator, the scuba compressor, air conditioning units, water heaters, life raft, freezer unit, lithium ion batteries, stater batteries and so much more. His plan is to take them to his warehouse in Fare and clean it all up and help us try sell it. Cookies and other delicious treats were brought over from other boats, some offered to wash dishes, do laundry or help in any other way possible. Janet tended our wounds night after night. She put Jude on antibiotics for an ear infection, helped Emma with asthma and a cold, helped Mycah with her back and me with my sciatica. She has cooked amazing meals and kept us hydrated all while organizing everything that was brought off Tanda Malaika. When people came to buy stuff and Danny and I couldn’t think anymore, Dave researched the best price for each item and help us sell them. Beach Flea and Jadine families cooked us dinner as well, and invited the creatures over to relax and enjoy evenings of playing games while Danny and I tried to figure out what to do next. At this point, 99% has been removed from Tanda Malaika. We have sold some things but still have SO MUCH to deal with and store or sell. We are waiting for the inspector to come out and inspect our home to see if she is environmentally safe to sink, Once he has given us the ok and taken the $25 000 permit fee from us, we will be able to give the towing company the reluctant thumbs up to drag her off and sink her. That will be $25 000 to drag her off and $5000 an hour to tow her the 13 nm to the legal sinking area, then the cost of the 7 tons of weight to push her down since its practically impossible to sink catamarans. We have been thinking hard trying to decide where to relocate to, knowing that we need to be where Danny will be able to fly the most. Hong Kong is in desperate need of BBJ pilots (corporate 737 jets). We know it is very cheap to live in Thailand or Bali and may live there while Danny flies a lot, I will find a job too, and we will save up for another home on the water to replace Tanda Malaika. We are looking into the most efficient way to get visas lined up and if we have to go to the US to do it, tickets will cost us over $2000 a person to get to our final destination. So much to think about! Our family is strong. Our relationships with each other are strong and the love we have for each other is solid and wonderful. We will get through this and hopefully use what we learn to help others. We are so grateful for the amazing support and compassion from everyone here as well as those far away. Our daughter, Kjira, organized a go fund me and we thank her so much for that, and thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your concern and generosity. Today is a new day, we’ll see where this one takes us!

Descending like vultures It has been 9 days. Each day has lasted several weeks so I’m not sure how long it’s really been…Like an addict who is usually on a constant high from every day life, taking hits with every breath I'd breathed, I am now slamming my head against the walls and floor as I experience the ultimate withdrawls all while descending day after day like a vulture on a dying being, picking it clean one artery, one organ and one breath at a time.

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matthewwilliamcharles · 8 years ago

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Tour Journal 1/31 -2/7/2017

Hey all, here is the tour journal from my last tour. Overall the tour was great, saw lot’s of old friends and met some new ones. Most people I met at the shows had a positive attitude, always a couple bad apples but no major rock star ego’s. Mainly groups of artists enthusiastic about playing and supporting DIY music!!

Tuesday January 31st / Driving day from Philadelphia, PA to Richmond, VA. I packed up and left for tour Tuesday evening. No shows that night, I had four shows in North Carolina starting the next day. Richmond was an easy half way point for the first drive. My long time friend and ex band-mate Lewis let me crash at his place. I got in around 10-10:30 pm. and we proceeded to drink beers and catch up through most of the night, although both of us were exhausted and cut ourselves off before heading into the wee hours.

Wednesday February 1st / Got up that morning and headed out to get coffee. Lewis was going to run errands and meet back up with me. It was only about 4 hours to Fayettville, NC were my first show was, and I didn’t need to be there until 7-8pm, so I wasn’t in a hurry. I broke out my laptop in the cafe to catch up with emails. To my dismay I got the early morning notification from the club, The Rock Shop, that the show had been cancelled. The message was sent to my Facebook “Band Page” and stated “ What's up man? Are you good for playing Art Attack next week on the 8th. We have to close this week. Thanks”. For those of you who don’t know, this is not how tours work. I had booked this tour months in advance, and had this show booked back in November. I knew that having all my dates booked solid was too good to be true. My first reply back to the club was, “ No, I'm on tour right now, I will not be anywhere close to Fayettville, NC on the 8th....I've been sending messages the last two weeks to get details, why am I only getting a message now?” I didn’t receive a reply to this message. When Lew met back up with me at the coffee shop I told him what happened. He said, “Well I guess that means you don’t have to play tonight”. But no, I had to look for another show, I take this time off to play music. Granted a day lounging with my friends around Richmond sounds great, but there would be no way to ease my frustration than to search, and hopefully find another show. I started researching online, first Richmond to see if there was anything I could likely hop on, but no luck. I checked out surrounding areas, then in North Carolina. It looked like there could be something I could squeeze on in Carborro, NC, possibly Chapel Hill. I sent out some messages, we grabbed lunch and then I headed down to North Carolina. First place I stopped was Carborro, NC, which for a small town it was extremely difficult to park on a Wednesday evening. The venue 2nd Wind had a music showcase, but when I talked to the bartender it seemed like chances were slim and that the night was booked solid. I went back to my car to regroup, I found a pop punk show in Chapel Hill. I sped over there, basically the same town, and stopped at what I think was club 506. I told the door guy my situation, and he was very sympathetic, having played music and been in the same situation before. But the event was handled all by an outside promoter, and they had no pull. I bounced around town for another hour or so and ended up a couple blocks down the street at The Cave. I had heard about the Cave for years, and by the sight of the place, (dark dank punk rock dive) I thought my odds might be pretty good. The bartender, who was a young punk kid, was super helpful with suggestions, but told me there was nothing he could do, if he had the authority to throw me on the show he would. He was in charge of door and sound, no promoter in house, basically told me I was SOL. I left and tried his suggestions, but nobody had any openings. I returned to the Cave, basically having no where to else to go, hoping that maybe the situation in the Cave had somehow changed. Same result, although he gave me some more ideas. I had found an open mic in Raleigh (45 min away) and he told me to try and hit up their sister bar Slim’s. So I was off again, making my way to Slim’s, as that sounded like the best option. I walked in the bar and struck up a conversation with the bartender.. I told him my situation, but there was nothing going on that night, but told me there was a show down the street at Kings. Immediately though a patron that was sitting beside me heard my story and offered me a beer. He said, “You lost your show, I know the road is tough, least I can do is buy you a beer”. So I prolonged my attempt at trying to hit up Kings down the street and enjoyed a beer with my new friend. After I took down the beer I walked a couple blocks to Kings, which for one had a $12 cover. I could also hear metal/hardcore bands playing in the distance, this was not a show I was going to be able to hop on. I raised the white flag, and retreated to Slim’s. I decided I would drink a couple more beers. Money was tight this trip, and not having a show on the first day with no opportunity to sell my stuff or get some tips was a back breaker. Granted I could have busked, I could have played my cards differently but this is what happened. I moved on to my next game, which is known as “find a couch or floor for the night”. I was in a bar with what seemed to be a friendly group, and I figured if I could start some conversation, make some friends that could offer me some hospitality. I made some idle conversation with some folks, for the most part people were friendly but I could quickly tell this was going nowhere. After beer number two I decided to find the nearest truck stop outside the city and set up there for the night. After arriving at the truck stop and “settling in”, I started feeling frustrated about day number one of tour. I decided to write the owner of the club one more time and make sure I let him know how much of an asshole he was. Usually I don’t resort to this, not the first time it has happened to me, but usually I end up finding something! Failing made me angry so I wrote,” Hey man, I have spent months organizing and putting this tour together. I spend hours everyday trying to piece this together, and have worked extra hours to finance this whole thing myself. To have a show cancelled the day of, without apology or any sense of regret is the shittiest thing you can do to a touring musician. I understand things happen, and that running a business, especially a bar/music venue is not easy and not always profitable. But to do this to me, without any time to throw something else together, and not even show sympathy is absolutely garbage. I discovered this message after driving hours towards Fayetville, exited to have the opportunity to play in front of some new people. At the very least I deserved an apology or a legit explanation.” Long story short he told me he had a death in the family and that’s why they closed, and then he somehow blamed me for cancelling the follow up gig. He did apologize, and I apologized for giving him shit and showed sympathy for his loss, but said if he had just told me in the first place I would have never reacted the way that I did.

Thursday February 2nd / After waking up at a Raleigh truck stop I made my way into the city. I had pretty much all day to kill and my next show was in Raleigh. I didn’t do much, except walk around a lot, finding cheap things to eat. Thought about busking, but didn’t want to move my car from the free parking spot that I had found, and didn’t want to lug my heavy guitar case across town to the prime busking spots (which it’s illegal to busk in Raleigh without a permit, not sure how strict the enforcement is). I was glad to see musicians at the venue early, ready to load in. I met Mikka and the Nevernauts, my internet friends of the past year, finally meeting up with them in person. The door guy for the venue was upbeat and positive, respectful to the bands, telling jokes and keeping things lively. All the bands were on time, and no bullshit when we talked about the lineup. Deep South the Bar was the name of the place, and I would definitely play there again. The bands had promoted the show, certainly wasn’t packed, but there were people there. In other words it blew the previous nights experience out of the water. Raw Dog played first, and then they all stuck around for the rest of the show, standing up front for all of the bands. I played second, a little rusty and out of sorts. I hadn’t played since Monday and it showed. Still felt great to play and I got my shit together by the end of the set. Born Again Heathens played next, awesome Celtic punk, bagpipes and all. Then Nevernauts headlined and those guys are awesome. We all took a group picture at the end of the night, it was a solid experience. I made some gas money, I had a couple opportunity's for places to stay from people I met at the show, but most likely would have been subjected to an all night party, and I wanted to be able to wake up and drive the next morning. So I headed back on the highway and hit the next rest stop on the way to Asheville and crashed there for the night.

Friday February 3rd / I woke up from a truck stop on route 40 just outside of Raleigh for the second night in a row. Got an early start so I could visit my cousins in Hickory, NC on the way. Left Hickory around 3-4 pm, arrived in Asheville and met up with my friends Tom and Lauren around 6 pm. Pretty much took it easy and relaxed until I headed to the Burger Bar a couple hours later. The Burger Bar is a super tight space, and by tight I mean comfortably cramped, especially when you have musicians setting up their gear next to the bar. The guys from Skunk Ruckus were extremely hospitable and offered any help I needed. Burger Bar is basically do your own show, no sound guy, basically set things up the way you want to. Lilli Jean opened up, she had a sax player for accompaniment and the drummer from Skunk Ruckus sat in on their set on a last minute offer. The whole set sounded surprisingly good, the drummer knew just what to do. He offered to do the same for my set, which I was honestly tempted but I decided to go ahead with my regular setup. It was a good set, and some folks in the audience tipped me in “burger shots”, which is a shot of bloody Mary mix, followed by a shot of whisky, followed by a pickle back. Skunk Ruckus, which I could only describe as a mix between mountain music and psychobilly, started playing and brought tons of energy to the small little Asheville Bar. There set was a lot of fun, old folks, hippies and punks were all dancing together. I had a $25 bar tab, and a friend who offered to drive me back to his house if I got too drunk. Either way I took full advantage of both offers and the remainder of my night was a bit hazy.

Saturday February 4th / As I said before the remainder of the night was hazy, but I had awoke to see that I was able to make it upstairs and take advantage of one of the beds that was offered to me (I wisely choose the bottom bunk). My friends made me breakfast, and we spent most the day watching Rocky III and trying to recover from what I had perceived as a mild hangover. Eventually Tom gave me a ride back to my car, at which point I started to realize, from the uneasiness in my stomach, that I was going to have more trouble functioning than I thought. Once I got to my car, I decided to get supplies for my drive to Wilmington; gas, coffee and snacks. I almost decided I needed a bloody mary, but thought better of it and got a V8 instead. Leaving the town of Asheville turned out to be a challenge, the driving was making me nauseous and I was trying to mentally overcome it. I made it back to route 40, slammed the rest of my V8 and pulled over at the next exit I could. My body was turning itself off, I just wanted to stay awake long enough to make it to the truck stop. I parked, turned off the car, reclined the drivers seat and took a much needed power nap. I woke up an hour later, feeling revived, thankfully without any vomiting. Now I could drive, and I made the 5 hour trek to Wilmington, NC. The show that night was at The Zoo, a house show venue. I had never played there but stayed at the house the last time I came through. My buddy Dirt from Poking Holes set up the show. Sidney Dively opened up, playing originals on guitar and Uke, reminding me at times of Mazzy Star and The Smiths. Poking Holes played next, old timey folk/punk. It was the first show as a two piece, adding a washboard player. I played next, this was probably my favorite show of the whole tour, not the biggest turnout but everyone at the show came for the show, not just to party! Rumble Tramp from Boone, NC closed the show out, really cool set, reminds me of bands like Rosa and other Planet X bands of the era.

Sunday February 5th / I got some much needed rest and headed out to Richmond, VA the next morning. I arrived around 3 pm and I met up with my friends at the GWAR bar around to corner from the show, which was at Condemned Island (house venue). My buddy Matt through this show together. After we originally agreed to set the show up earlier that month lot’s of road blocks arose, so we knew it was not going to be the most ideal situation. This was just one of those shows. It was on Super Bowl Sunday, and apparently you can’t compete with that. At one point I had asked,”Wasn’t Jim Ramirez supposed to play this show”, and I heard somebody reply, “Oh yeah, I think I was supposed to pick him up”. My buddy Mike Jones played, who goes by Aged Out. He was awesome as usual. I was told I would go after the next act, which it was over an hour later before they went on and a couple of my friends had left by that point. I played for a few people, one of my drunken friends successfully alienated what remained of the crowd by screaming at me about fellatio and other un-music related topics during my set. My set turned into a jam session with me and Mike, trying to remember how to play various cover songs and songs from our old band. At one point I believe we were told we had to sober up and leave. Granted we knew the show had to be over early because Matt’s band had to play a show downtown. Either way leaving was difficult, but we managed to succeed, not without my drunken friend taking a leak in front of their house and getting yelled at (Yeah, you were “that guy”). I’ll go ahead now and skip to the end. We all ended up at Mike and Kensey’s house. After people either got a cab home or went to bed, I tried to sleep while Mitch and Kensey stayed up listening to country music until 4:30 am.

Monday February 6th / Mike took me out to breakfast at 821 Cafe, then brought me back to pick up my car. I had managed to get enough rest, so the 6 house drive to Charleston, WV wasn’t too bad. The show was at the Empty Glass, a venue that has been around for a long time. It was actually an open mic night and I was the featured act, getting to play a full set at whatever the prime time of the night would be. This was a great open mic, people were super friendly and energetic. People danced for all the acts, I got tipped out well and people bought me more drinks than I was able to drink (my stomach was starting to rebel against me at that point). I got offered a place to crash no too far from the venue. I had to decline the whisky and beer nightcap and I passed out easily on a recliner chair in their living room.

Tuesday February 7th / I woke up in a sweat, not because I was sick but because it was 70 degrees outside, extremely warm for Charlseton, WV in February. They had turned off the heat at some point during the night, but I was still sleeping in my sleeping bag. It was almost 10 am., and I had a lot of driving ahead of me so I got my stuff together quickly, said my goodbyes and was off. Fairly uneventful drive, other than I didn’t have any service on my phone until I exited West Virginia. I’m proud to say that unlike many humans nowadays, I am able to read a map and do not require a GPS system to tell me where to go! The show was in Ashland, PA at The Drunken Monkey. My buddy Tyler from Condition Oakland put this show on. A pretty great line up, Ace & The Kings played first, a mix of originals and classic punk covers. Churches & Trains, another one man band act, who I will hopefully do a weekender with at some point, played next. He does a similar stuff to me, but much more towards a folk/country end of the spectrum. I played next, and was followed by Tedd Hazzard who has an extensive collection of catchy, screamy folk punk songs. Tyler - Condition Oakland played last. Me and Tyler had played together a lot recently, and he gave me the ok to take off early, which I was happy to do, although I did catch some of his set. I’ll just say that all of these guys are worth a listen, all have albums (save Ace & The Kings) that you can stream/buy on bandcamp. This was the 3rd time in three months I have played this area of Pennsylvania, I believe Wyoming Valley is what they call the region? Either way I am starting to feel like a local, so this kind of served as my homecoming show, only a couple hours from Philadelphia. At this point all parts of my body and mind had gained some tour tolerance and the 2 hour drive at nighttime back to my house in Philadelphia was a piece of cake. I managed to get to bed by 2:30am, although waking up the next day proved to be rough.

That’s the tour journal, no out of this world crazy stories. I don’t typically attract that kind of mess. For me it’s all about playing music and making connections with people. Things don’t happen for me when I stay in one place, it’s not how I work and not how I like to live.

I feel bad, so many past tour journals I have slacked on and never posted. I feel I should go back and pick through them and post them up too. Time is always the issue, I’m always involved with several things at once, and it’s always a struggle for me to get everything I want to get done, done...Anyways stay posted and thanks for reading!

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