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[4-humiliation-enm-cmnm]

Owned by Hillbillies

———————————

John Webster, an adopted child of Daniel Webster, was an honors student as both an undergrad and graduate student at University of Georgia in Athens.

John was a popular man when he was on campus. A masculine frat member, he was 5’8” with a lightweight wrestler’s build, but not a muscle head. With his brown wavy hair, brown eyes, that had a tendency to twinkle in sunlight plus movie star like dimples, he was considered a real catch but had never been caught.

At the age of 27, three years into a successful first job as a cost estimator for one of Georgia's largest construction firms, John was sentenced to a 29-year term of servitude on the death of his stepfather, when it was discovered that his stepfather had accrued debts in excess of 2 million dollars.

John’s term of indenturement was awarded to Doug Baker as a settlement for a personal injury lawsuit Doug had filed withthe Georgia Department of Transportation

Doug Baker, 44, a North Georgia bear of a man, close to 6’6”, lives in the Mountain area of Northeastern Georgia, in the Southern he Appalachian Mountains, along with his four sons from four different women: Adam, Billy, Charles and David

John's ride home from the Georgia Social Services Agency, with his new owner, Doug, driving a beat up pickup, was one of the bleakest moments in John's life.

It wasn't that Doug was a total illiterate; or that he spoke in a vulgar and threatening fashion; or that he hinted at distasteful tasks that John would be performing; but that he hinted at the fact that his sons were probably even more frighteningly illiterate hillbillies than he was.

The only consolation to John as he rode to his new life was the fact that the unwashed Doug was something of a primo chunk beneath the dirty clothes, the face stubble, and the body odor.

At least Doug tried to console John. "We is gonna treat ya right if ya do as we say. I'm not gonna let the boys be too easy on the whip with ya. All's ya gotta do is exactly as we say, then we ain't gonna have any need to give ya a whumpin!"

John was disheartened by the fact that Doug's place was almost an hour's drive from civilization, if any place in North Georgia could be considered civilized. Apart from the actually beautiful scenery, the only structures to be seen as they drove along the green mountain roadways were shacks and barns sprinkled here and there; shacks that clearly distracted from the beauty of the terrain.

When Doug pulled into his place John was amazed at the sight; it was a shack, but a very big shack. Parts of it were just plywood; one partition was plywood covered in tar paper from the 50's and two additions were actually finished in shingles. There was also a very beat up looking house trailer sitting to the side of the shack.

Doug pulled up beside the shack and parked. He then got out and came around to open the passenger’s door to get his new prize. John sat there frozen staring at the shack. He was in shock.

Doug realized that John was in need of motivation so he reached into the truck grabbing both of John’s hands and gentle pulled him to stand outside the truck. He then slammed the door and turned John so he was pointed toward the porch and front door. Standing behind John, Doug places his hands on John’s shoulder and guided him to the stairs and then up onto the porch. At the front door Doug opened the door and guided John inside.

Once inside, the mess frightened the very neat and orderly John. There was filth everywhere. The stacks of papers and garbage throughout the house suggested to John that the place could be rat infested.

As John stood in stunned silence taking in the sights, Doug took off his t-shirt revealing his hairy bear like chest.

He reached into a bowl and grabbed a mouthful of shelled boiled peanuts and went to get himself a can of beer. Doug reentered and stood next to the stunned John. Doug put an arm around John, "The place is a mess, I know, but this is where your feminine touch is going to come in so handy. You're me and my boys' “little woman” now. We're counting on you to fix this place up nice and purrty."

James was confused by the references of “feminine touch” and “little woman” yet at the same time also strangely comforted by the fact that this huge bear of a man compared to John, had thrown his large hairy strong arm around his shoulders. John could smell Doug's armpit odor. And he couldn't help but notice Doug’s hairy beerbelly. It was the belly of what the gay boys would call a `chunk'. It definitely would rule Doug out as the `model' type but he was certainly a Daddy bear-to-be, but it wasn't yet so obscenely over the top that he was unattractive.

John thought how if only Doug would get himself in shape, and start grooming himself, he would be one hell of an ace Daddy stud. John then started to mentally question why he was contemplating the sex appeal of another man, much less Doug Baker.

As John tried to collect himself, he realized that Doug had already finished his first can of beer and had started on a second. People who drank so rapidly and thoughtlessly scared John. He had memories from his childhood of a heavy drinking, abusive, uncle.

As John pondered Doug's drinking, he was shaken out of his thought when Doug unexpectedly put a hand up John’s shirt and snaked his fingers up to his chest. Doug found one of John's nipples and started gently tweaking it, "A man gets to play with his “woman's” titties and cunt whenever he wants to. The bible says so. You're my woman now, so I get to play with you whenever I want." John swallowed, feeling completely lost. He was no longer himself. He was a thing belonging to a strange man.

Doug took John by the hand, took a bottle of baby oil, and led John by the hand, speaking almost romanticly "You come along with me now sweet thing. I wanna take you out in the sunlight so I can get a good look at you and get you oiled up."

In the back yard sunlight, John stood frozen as Doug started to undressed him. Doug pulled John’s polo shirt over his head and tossed the shirt on a nearby lawn chair. He took the moment to run his hand all over John’s torso which was not quite hairless but had whisps around his pink areolas in the valley between his pectorals leading down to a much more pronounced treasure trail leading into his jeans.

Doug then told him to take off his shoes.

John mindlessly followed the order and kicked off the shoes leaving him standing barefeet in the grassy lawn.

Immediately Doug reached to unbuckle John’s belt. He started to unbutton John’s Levi 501’s.

John stood frozen overwhelmed by the mere size and domination of Doug. Doug slowly pulled the jeans down and lift each of John’s legs as he removed the trousers.

John now stood there in the open yard in his tighty whitie jockey shorts. Doug started around John admiring his new aquisition. With bear of a man, his new owner circling him John started to feel very small. He stared blushing and at the same time he had the strangest reaction he had ever had. He was starting to get an erection because this man was taking control.

Doug stopped in front of John and slowly reached to each hip, he took a grasp of the elastic and started to lower the briefs.

Suddenly John’s pink tumescence was revealed and Doug pleased to see John’s sign of arousal and submission, gave “little john” single stroke then pulled the briefs off and threw them with the rest of John’s clothes.

Doug poured some oil in his hand, and started rubbing it into John’s' shoulders and chest. John stood silent and embarrassed, calmed at least by Doug's gentle touch. Doug smiled widely, "I always used to oil up my women and make em do the housework naked. It was good for them, made them feel proud that they were appreciated; and it was good for my boys. It helped them learn all about women… You are certainly apprecciated. Daddy is pleased that your little pink clit indicates you are happy to be here"

Doug oiled up every inch of John' body, making John feel like an oiled hog. When he was finished oiling his `little missy', Doug stood back, looked the glistening John over, and whistled appreciatively. "You sure is pretty!"

Doug grabbed John by the hand, "Okay, little missy, you come along with me now. It's time for you to make daddy feel good."

Doug led John back to the cabin and into his bedroom, a dark hole full of plastic garbage sacks, old porn magazines, empty beer cans, pizza boxes, and cum rags. John stood, unknowing what to do, as Doug took off the rest of his clothes.

Doug then swept John into his big arms. He was gentle with his new bride, "Don't you be afraid, lil cucumber. Daddy's gonna take good care of you if you take good care of daddy."

Doug carried John to bed and slowly lowered him on the bed. Doug had one of the fattest cocks John had ever seen. M

Doug then reclined along side John. Once he was situated on his back Doug ordered John to straddle him and slowly sit on him. Doug with little prodding, only his dominating demeanor, was making John take his horse cock up his once proud young professional boy hole.

John was no longer a young professional hotshot. He was now Doug’s naked and oiled plaything; the little show-wife of some uneducated, hillbilly and his four sons.

The length of Doug’s cock was causing the stimulation of John’s prostate which was giving him his first experience of an anal orgasm. As John dutifully rode Doug's cock to hillbilly heaven he wondered about Doug's sons. Where were they?

As Doug shot his load and shouted in ecstasy, "Praised be the name of jeeezuz!" a very noisy, backfiring, car filled with whooping boys could be heard pulling into the yard."

Doug’s four boys were coming in the house whooping and hollering just as Doug rose from the bed with John still being held close to his furry chest.

There was nothing for John to do because he was being carried by Doug and he was still impaled on the imposing cock. Doug lowered John to his wobbily legs and withdrew from John’s pussy. Doug reached for his white military gripper boxer shorts and was pulling them on as the boys all entered the bedroom to witness the goings on.

Billy, 22 years old, smiled, "Looks like Pa just took the new slave for a test ride!"

Young David, 16, liked what he saw, "Pa's got em all oiled up just like his last woman. He sure is purrty all greased and shiny like that!

The very cute, jug-eared, Charles, 19, had the biggest hillbilly smile of all, "How was he Pa? Did he feel as good as your last woman?"

John stood there stark naked blushing in abject humiliation. Sweating and oily from the coupling with Doug and the feeling of Doug’s deposit seeping from his butt and dropping down John’s legs.

At that moment took a moment to really look at the 4 boys. They were certainly chips off the old block. Each was as burly as their father. The two oldest were already bigger and taller than their Daddy. And by all indicators as hairy, even the youngest.

Doug looked for his shirt, "You boys is gonna be finding that out soon enough. You know I always make my woman available to you. So it is with this one!"

Adam, the oldest brother at 25, was excited, "Kin we take him down to the river, Pa?"

Doug found his shirt and put it on, "You sure can. Just make sure you keep him leashed and booted at all times."

Adam approached John with what looked like a wide black leather belt in his hand but almost immediately John knew it a dog collar. Once John had buckled the collar he attached a leash to John’s collar, John felt like crying. Even more so when Billy brought over a large pair of work boots and ordered him to put them on.

Young David called for Whiskey, the large family dog, grabbed four flip whips, and handed one to each of his brothers. Doug noticed and cautioned; "Now you boys go easy on using them whips. I had to give all of your mothers a good whumpin from time to time, and this slave will prob'ly be no different from any of my women. But ya gotta train him right. If ya beat him for no reason, he'll just get defiant."

Wes knew the importance of being responsible, "I know Pa. I remember you only used to spank your woman if she did bad stuff. Like break dishes and stuff. We'll be the same way with our slave, Pa."

As the boys made their way out of the house with their dog and slave, David called out, "Pa, what's his name?"

Doug scratched his hairy chest and underarm , "I reckon it'll be whatever name you start callin him."

As the troupe started down the backwoods path, John was afraid of being seen as a naked slave. But as they walked along the wilderness, John soon realized that they were in such a remote location that it was unlikely they would run into anyone else.

The flip whips that each of the boys carried are also called `safety whips' because, although the flip whip can deliver a horrendous stinging sensation, it is made of special polymers that prevent it from being able to abrade the skin. Because of its safety features, parents frequently allow even their youngest children to use them as an aid in controlling their slaves.

The four young hillbilly brothers used the whips on their new slave not in sadistic thrusts, but just to keep him moving steadily along the path on their way to the river. John hopped each time one of the boys would swat at his back, shoulders, or legs, causing the hillbilly brothers to laugh raucously.

Once they arrived at the river, which looked cool and beautifully refreshing to John, the brothers started to unbutton and remove their shirts and shoes.

Young David threw a stick in the river, and Whiskey went eagerly bounding after it. The boys laughed at the antics of Whiskey, and Adam who held John’s leash, told him to get into the river and try to swim across it to the opposite shore.

John removed the boots and got in the river as instructed, happy to have the water clean him after being oiled and fucked by Doug.

Adam uncoiled the leash and ordered James to swim to the other side. John did, and as he swam away he thought for a moment, "Maybe I can escape!"

Just as John began to get lost in the beautiful thought of escape, Adam gave a cruel tug to the leash, and started reeling John back in. John, caught off guard by the jerking of his collar, choked on a mouthful of water. As he coughed and turned around in an attempt to swim back to shore as Adam reeled him in, he could hear the brothers laughing wildly.

When his feet could reach the river bottom, John stood and tried to catch his breath. He noticed that Billy and Charles were now totally naked and were sporting huge erections and their dicks were fat, like their father's.

Adam ordered John to once again try and swim to the other side. The second time John was on guard for Adam's tricks, and when he eventually tugged on his leash, John was able to quickly change directions and swim back towards the shore. When John got back to the shore, all four brothers were naked and erect. The brothers all had huge hillbilly smiles and fat hillbilly cocks that waggled inthe sun. Billy and David mindlessly rubbed their cocks as they watched their new slave get out of the water.

Adam talked to his brothers of former times, "I remember when pa would bring me and Billy and David's ma down here. Pa would let us watch her swim, then when she would come back on shore pa would encourage me to put my little 10-year old pecker up her pussy. It was fun times."

Like hillbillies everywhere, Doug's sons lived only for any base fleeting pleasure they could obtain from life, and now John was their new little pleasure package. He was owned by them. He was just like another pet dog to them; only Whiskey wasn't kept on a leash.

Adam wagged his finger at John and had him approach them. As John made his way to the four brothers, he took in the sight of the four fat hillbilly dicks that would probably need servicing on a daily basis.

The four Baker boys had their way with their new dog slave down at the river. While one boy would get his cock primed in John’s mouth, another brother would stick his already primed cock up John’s once proud ass and hump away.

Once the four brothers had their fill of John, they had him put on his boots for the walk back to their dad's place. The boys, having spent their sexual energy at the river, didn't use their flip whips on John nearly as much as they had on the walk down towards the river.

At their dad's shack the boys opened the front door and Adam shouted, "Pa, we's is back from the river. What do ya want us to do with the slave?"

"Put him to work doing something."

"Pa, we ain't got time to watch him. We's is goin rabbit huntin with the Smith boys."

"Well then lock him in the coop with the chickens!"

The Baker's chicken coop was in the back of the house. It was huge, made of high grade `chicken wire', and there was plenty of room in it so a slave could be stowed without bothering the chickens.

Once the boys shoved John in the coop and locked it, John was both relieved and depressed. There was a water pump in the coop and John refreshed himself. He sat in a sunny corner of the coop, made himself comfortable, and cried himself to sleep.

He was awakened hours later by Doug, "Come on boy. It's time for you to get in the house, make me some chow, and do your womanly duty. But first I want you to get yourself hog-oiled and purrty."

John found a certain comfort in the unkempt handsomeness of his owner. When he came out of the bathroom after oiling his body, Doug smiled and whistled at him. “Whooo-wee, You are damn purty. I think that’s what I am going to call you, Purty.”

John began to blush again.

John noted that Doug usually had a mason jar of moonshine on the cupboard. As he peeled the potatoes, he asked Doug, "Is your moonshine safe?"

Doug was happy to answer that, "I's got the best business goin’ cause all folks knows mine is clean. I've been drinkin it all my life and I'm healther'n a horse. Try it!"

John poured some into a cup, found it too powerful straight. He added some cider to it, and found he could down it. As he prepared the meal, the moonshine helped him to relax.

As he was drinking his third cup of cider-diluted moonshine, John was caught off guard when Doug came up behind him and cupped his balls, "How's my little woman doin?"

Doug's hands on his balls felt good to John, and he turned and faced his owner. John, with the help of the alcohol, could be honest. Doug's face was handsome, and made glorious with its stubble; his eyes twinkled; his hairy armpits reeked of manly animal; his arms were thick and strong; his slight potbelly suggested to John that he needed to provide some dietary guidance to his uneducated owner.

And when Doug put his lips to John’s and snaked his tongue into his mouth, John’s entire body tingled with excitement and submission.

Doug took John on the spot. John was bent over the dining tavleAnd John was happily taken. He submitted himself completely; he was now nothing but a moonshine-drinking hillbillys' slave. He would be shoved in the chicken coop when he was too much to handle; fucked at will by Doug’s four sons; and loved by Doug like he was the woman of his dreams.

John decided he could live with that, as Doug’s “little woman”

[3liza]

On Earth Day in 2022, President Joe Biden stood among cherry blossoms and towering Douglas firs in a Seattle park to declare the importance of big, old trees. “There used to be a hell of a lot more forests like this,” he said, calling them “our planet’s lungs” and extolling their power to fight climate change. The amount of carbon trees suck out of the air increases dramatically with age, making older trees especially important. These trees are also rare: Less than 10% of forests in the lower 48 states remain unlogged or undisturbed by development. The president uncapped his pen, preparing to sign an executive order to protect mature and old-growth forests on federal lands. “I just think this is the beginning of a new day,” Biden said. But two years later, at a timber auction in a federal office in Roseburg, Oregon, this new day was nowhere to be seen. As journalists and protestors waited outside, logging company representatives filed through a secure glass door to a room where only “qualified bidders” were allowed. Up for sale this September morning were the first trees from an area of forest the Bureau of Land Management calls Blue and Gold. It holds hundreds of thousands of trees on 3,225 acres in southern Oregon’s Coast Range. Forests here can absorb more carbon per acre than almost any other on the planet. A week after Biden’s executive order, the Blue and Gold logging project had been shelved. Now it was back on. The BLM is moving forward with timber sales in dozens of forests like this across the West, auctioning off their trees to companies that will turn them into plywood, two-by-fours and paper products. Under Biden, the agency is on track to log some 47,000 acres of public lands, nearly the same amount as during President Donald Trump’s first term in office. This includes even some mature and old-growth forests that Biden’s executive order was supposed to protect. An Oregon Public Broadcasting and ProPublica analysis found the bureau has allowed timber companies to cut such forests at a faster pace since the executive order than in the decade that preceded it.

lesser evil 🤪

[luxaria-nocturne]

Can’t Let Go

Adult Katsuki Bakugo x fem!OC (didn't feel like changing it to reader)

Tags: Heavy angst, infidelity, death

Word Count: 3,900

Notes: Found this in my old, old drafts. Figured it should see the light of day.

Heartless. 

That must be the word used to describe him in the agency nowadays. Absolutely heartless. Awkward as he may appear in social situations, Bakugo is far from blind. He saw the looks that his coworkers gave him when he came back to work, still with that ever present scowl on his face like nothing had changed… like his wife, Anka, hadn't just died one week before his return. Most didn't even try to hide their disgust. He could only guess what they would all whisper to each other in the break room,

“What’s he still doing here…?”

“Shouldn’t he look sad or something?”

“Didn't he care about her at all?”

They had searched his face for days for any sign of grief and, sure, he was a little colder than usual but it wasn’t like he was friendly to begin with. Apparently that's not good enough for people to think you're upset. Just when did his feelings become their business, anyway? It’s like when you lose someone the whole goddamn planet expects you to follow a script... Act weepy all day while talking about your feelings endlessly, that's it right? But who actually cares about any of that? So what if he didn’t follow their script? So what if he kept living his life? The world doesn’t stop when you're feeling a little blue... His actions didn’t mean he was totally fine… 

He's far from heartless...

Alone now in bed he stares up at his ceiling with a dull, vacant expression. He didn’t sleep last night, nor did he sleep the night before. He hasn’t slept well in months, really, but tonight feels like a special exception.

There are an awful lot of things that could have him in a bad mood right now. There's the vicious chill in the air of his apartment, the vibrant street lights practically in his eyes, the constant smell of mildew, and, of course, the stiff, uneven piece of plywood he has the misfortune to call a mattress. Hell, if his place were any crummier, he'd have considered swallowing his pride and crashing on Kirishima's couch. But of the great many things could make Bakugo absolutely miserable, only one springs to his mind before all the others.

‘It’s been a year… A whole goddamn year…’  His eyes drill holes in the cheap tile above his head as that bitter thought creeps in. He’s laying with one leg slung haphazardly out over the edge and a hand clenched tightly on his extra pillow. The red hue of his alarm clock registers out of the corner of his eye, but he hasn’t dared to look at it in hours. He'd much rather live in ignorance of whatever time it says. In fact, he’d be quite happy to curse all of time to go to hell because today marks his first year without Anka in his life.

Nobody could have predicted the accident that took her away. She was just out shopping. One of the shops had some recent storm damage and though it was only supposed to receive minor repairs, there was a sudden structural failure... Some jackass had used shit materials during the building process and the support beams gave way. Anka was inside when everything… fell... The coroner would later assure him that she didn’t suffer for very long...

But it still left him angry.

He was angry before he could even process she was gone and he remained that way for weeks. He was angry in the hospital when the doctors told him no more that could be done. He was still angry when his friends tried to comfort him in the days following, snapping and snarling at every condolence like an insult, no matter who it came from. Nothing compared to how pissed he was at her funeral, though, when he found out he couldn’t even comfort himself… He didn’t know who he was mad at or why, he just was. How else was he supposed to react? And when the anger finally subsided, he felt nothing. Sure, he’d go work like normal. He’d see his friends all the time but on the inside he’d be numb and distant. Anyone who tried to talk to him about it would get a harsh warning. He’d even hear his friends whisper, “Shouldn't have pressed the Anka-button,” whenever he’d storm out whatever room they were in…

Not that he had a problem with that, really. He didn’t want to talk about Anka then and he still doesn’t now. He can't even hear her name without flying off the handle. One by one, people got the message. Even Kirishima gave up on healing that wound long ago... Too many broken glasses, too many singed couches, and too many bars that still won’t let them in on sight… As harsh as it sounds if he could wipe Anka's name from his memory completely, he probably would.

'Maybe they're right…  Maybe I am heartless…'

That thought just doesn't sit right with him. Heartless people wouldn't care at all, right? He's not sure if he really fits that description…

He feels a lump growing in his throat as he sits up in bed to try and find a distraction. Glancing around his just-a-hair-too-bright room while still avoiding the clock. The last thing he needed was another thing to gripe about in his head... As his eyes wander aimlessly, he knows he doesn’t have to worry about seeing any unfriendly reminders of Anka in his bedroom. After about a month he couldn’t stand to look at her things anymore. He gave most of them back to her family, other keepsakes he put in storage, but even their wedding ring became too much to handle… People must have thought he sold it when he came in one day no longer wearing the thing... In truth, he keeps it in his nightstand, right next to her part of the pair in the same box they came in. But he still hasn’t opened that box since he took it off his finger...

He had to sell the house too. Not for money, since his agency was doing well even before the accident. They had a home to match his success. He moved just to get farther away from the memories… He couldn’t focus in that house, he always felt on edge or irritated. Walking around the places she used to walk, seeing her side of the bathroom empty, or her side of the closet stripped… He needed his own space. When his friends asked why he chose a place with such low value all he ever said was, “It’s cheap,” and that was that. 

Sure he could afford better, but he probably didn’t deserve it.

Even the brief thought about his wedding ring is enough to cue his ring finger to rub uncomfortably between his middle and pinkie. It isn’t the first time it’s felt oddly naked to him, but it’s been a long time since it bothered him this much. It might be the sleep deprivation, it might be the significance of the date, but he finds his gaze land on the rarely touched drawer to his nightstand. He knows that within are all the small keepsakes he couldn’t let go of, even after the move. Though he had every intention of never opening that drawer again, something in the back of his mind convinced him that he at least had to keep them close at hand. Nearby, even if out of sight… 

For once, a different sort of thought crosses his mind,

‘Today would have been special for her…’ 

It would have marked their third year. Not exactly a milestone, but add on the two years of dating before and that makes five all together. In a way, this would have been their fifth… The acknowledgement sparks a small tightness in his chest that he has to bite his lip to ignore. Only four years with Anka... It sounds so short in his mind but he’s sure it felt much longer somehow. The two of them had just worked so well together, they understood each other enough to cut past the other’s bullshit. She used to joke that she could tell how his day went by how many times he swore in five minutes…

He feels his lips form a soft smile in spite of himself. The memory of her curled up on their old couch while telling him that flashes by briefly in his mind. There are things about the scene he’s certain of: her chunky white sweater, the blanket over her bare legs, and her messy hair from staying in for the day and just letting her bedhead be, but other things feel a little hazy... How long has it been since he'd seen a picture of her? All of his favorites were out in storage and he even took off every one he could find on his phone. It had only been a few months, but has he already forgotten her face…? 

That realization alone feels like someone kneed him in the gut, then stood back to laugh… But why? Wasn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t this what he’s been trying to do for a whole year now? Forget…?

Another flash memory goes by and he recalls something else. He had always treated Anka like she was Quirkless but she actually wasn’t. She told him a few times, she had a family quirk… Something about memories... 

Spurred on by his new train of thought, Bakugo grasps the handle of the drawer with just a slight hesitation and pulls it open. It takes only a brief glance inside for it all to start flooding back to him. Next to the velvet box that held the wedding rings was a bigger, more ornate wooden box with a floral engraving on the outside. A box she would have picked out when she was young… The box that would hold her memories.

All at once he feels his mouth go dry. The day after she was pronounced dead, the coroner brought him this very same box. Inside were the last remnants of his wife… Back then, as is right now, he reaches out for it with trembling hands. He was still so fucking mad on that day he was sure he didn’t listen to a word that the coroner said. Anka, Linger, and the chance to revisit memories... He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it at the time. He tried to give the box back to her parents, even attempted to force it on them at one point, but her mother kept refusing to take it. Her words were always, “You’ll need her with you.” Of course, that would only serve to make him madder. He never understood why those old geezers wouldn’t just take the damn box… What good would a bunch of memories do him?

They wouldn't bring her back...

With the small wooden box in hand, he brings it to rest on his lap before staring at it. Had he really been sleeping next to something like this all this time? Had he just blocked it all out, like he did with everything else that reminded him of Anka...? Should he even open it?

He sits in silence for what feels like a long time. There’s a twisting feeling in his gut and a nervous pounding in his chest. ...Was he scared right now? Of what? It  wasn’t a damn bomb, it was Anka! On today of all days, he could let himself think about her for a while... couldn’t he?

It could just be his sleep-addled mind but for some reason he just really wants to see Anka... Maybe on that day last winter, on the couch dressed in her favorite sweater… smiling at him while trying to get him to say “fuck” ten times fast…

When he opens the box he’s met with a little gold orb about the size of a marble perched in the middle of velvety soft cushions like a precious gem. The orb radiates an inviting warm glow, rising and falling in intensity like a steady heartbeat. He can’t recall ever really seeing it before and he wouldn’t say it’s what he expected. Was Anka really in something so small now? Something about that feels wrong, though he can’t quite place why... 

Of course, it's only when looking at the little piece of Anka does he realize that he doesn’t really know how it works. In all that time spent blocking out her memory, it seems he blocked out her instructions too… Without many other options, he takes the orb between his fingers and brings it up to his eyeline. It's smooth and slightly warm to the touch, as if it had been cradled in an unseen hand even while out of sight. However, Bakugo doesn't get long to inspect it before it begins to dissolve into gold dust before his horrified eyes. He lurches forward in panic, his honed reflexes taking over before his mind can fully catch up to try and grasp the flowing dust as it floats around him in a stream. It wisps through his fingers elsively like a plume of smoke before traveling away from him, slipping intangibly through his bedroom door and out into the silent hallway.

Bakugo flings himself to his feet, tossing his blankets away so roughly that they sail over the bed and crumple on the ground. Once upright he goes to rip his door open and his gaze catches the stream exit the hallway into his living room. He follows it at a brisk pace, heart pounding like mad in his chest, until he turns the corner and feels everything stop. Standing in the middle of his living room is Anka... or a near replica of her. Her body is made from the sand-like dust, gold just like the orb, removing all of her other colors but her form is spot on… The curves of her body, the tresses of her hair, right down to the deep furrowing of her brow as she glares off into the space just past him. Anka is standing in his living room, golden and goddamn beautiful, but she also looks absolutely furious.

"Just what the hell were you thinking, Katsuki?"

A pang of guilt goes through him so strong that it nearly knocks the wind out of his chest. This is the first time he's seen her in months and there she is looking pissed? What did he do?? Was she mad that he hadn't called on her earlier?... Was she mad that he had been trying to forget…?

"Don't pretend like you don't know! I saw you!! You were feeling up that girl like you didn't give a shit! For God's sake, Katsuki, I was right there! There were cameras!!"

No. He remembers this night. Bakugo has to take a step back as he tries to catch up to his reeling thoughts. The month before her death, their relationship was already getting rocky… It wasn't really one thing, they were just so busy with work and other problems... That night had been a cocktail party thrown in honor of the city's heroes. He… maybe had one too many drinks supplied to him by a cute waitress. His mind is still fuzzy on the details but he does remember that Anka was furious.

Rightly so.

"Oh sure, deflect and defend because nothing is ever your fucking fault!!"

He watches the memory's hand scoop up something unseen and throw it his direction. It takes a moment for him to remember. A pillow. They had this argument in their old bedroom.

"Do you know how humiliating it is to see your husband fooling around at the same party you're at?? I can see it in the headlines! 'Dynamite's Wife Not Good Enough to Reign Him In, Does He Have a New Sidepiece??' Let the tabloids run with that, hell, I'll write the article myself!"

"Of course you're good enough…!" His voice croaks out before he can question what good it is to argue with a memory. The guilt from before has only gotten worse, feeling like a block of cement pressing down on his chest… Because he knows that's not what he said that night. It's what he should have said, it's what he really meant, but his damn pride wouldn't let him back down…

His words of affirmation, of course, fall on deaf ears. The memory of Anka can only hear the words of the past, no matter how nasty they were. He watches as her face, still gorgeous despite the tears staining her makeup, twists up in horror, disgust… and pain. In the present, Bakugo bites down hard on his lip to try and keep himself together but he can sense the pinpricks of his own tears forming in his eyes. Why was he such an idiot…?

The memory's next words are deathly quiet compared to the shouting from before. Deflated. Defeated.

"If… if that's how you really feel… then fine. Go."

Anka's golden form turns away from him now to face sideways, sitting down in midair. She sat on their bed that night… trying to collect herself and think about how to proceed… His view of her gets blurred by his now overflowing tears and he sinks to his knees, grasping his chest in the cold silence. He feels so stupid now, so beyond stupid, why did he ever let it get that bad? Of all the memories to pull out, it's this one?? Maybe this was payback after all…

It takes the soft hum of Anka's voice breaking the silence to pull his head up from the floor. The memory has her hand resting in the air, making a soothing petting motion to the blank space… where his head would have been.

When he would fuck up in their relationship, like majorly screw up, sometimes he would hug her legs and lay his head on her lap… He couldn’t ever trust his mouth to say the right things, but this was their shorthand, their signal: "I fucked up and I'm sorry… I wouldn't do this for anyone but you…"

"You're a selfish, hot-blooded dumbass, you know that…? But I told you on our wedding day that you're stuck with me. I meant it. Through all your bad days and stupid mistakes… I know you can be better than this, Katsuki, so fucking prove it to me… Please..."

That's what she had posed to him… a challenge to be a better man. Though that was the first time she ever said it out loud, Bakugo took being with her as that same challenge ever since she said, "I do." No more letting his temper run wild or ignoring the people around him. For once he had actually signed up to be a part of a team and he was going to be the best teammate, the best husband, there ever was… When did he forget that promise?

But something is unfair. No, everything is unfair. Anka's death, the way people treated him, the crappy place he found himself in, and even the fact that of all their memories her Quirk pulled out, it had to be his absolute lowest. Nothing. Was. Fair.

He gets back to his feet, a new surge of anger pumping through his veins and marches over to the quiet memory.

"Yeah? Well. You're not here, Anka!! You’re not! You said you'd never leave but here I am, alone!! Why, huh!? Do you know how shit my life has been without you?? Do you?!?"

His mind is too blinded by rage to remember that she's only a memory so he waits for a response, glaring with watery eyes down at the form before him. Anka doesn't move, nor react, for several moments.

"I love you, Katsuki…"

He feels his heart stop. What was he doing? Why was he shouting at a memory…? Why was he shouting at Anka...? Hadn't he learned anything at all...??

Bakugo's shoulders begin to tremble as the urge to cry, no wail, washes over him. His throat aches as he fails to hold back the sobs... Because really, he hadn’t learned anything. He never got the chance to prove it to Anka that he could truly be better, she was taken from him too quickly... When she died he was still her unfaithful husband… but she loved him anyway.

Again, Bakugo sinks to the ground but this time he carefully places his head above the knees of the memory before him. Though he could tell the ghostly form wasn't solid, he could still feel warmth coming off of its surface and radiating against his cheek… Anka's golden hands must be gliding through his hair, but he can't feel a thing.

"I… I'm sorry, Anka.... I love you too…" His hoarse voice comes out with a choke, sorrow catching in his throat. Thoughtlessly, he tries to hug her legs as he always would but, of course, there’s no one there. His strong arms cut right through her form and the golden glow dissipates, the dust that formed her collapsing back into a marble that hits the floor with a tink. Bakugo's eyes fly open and he stares at the orb, arms coiled around his own chest instead of the woman he loved. 

Again. He was alone...  

Bakugo reaches out and carefully picks the marble back up between anxious fingers. Its glow was duller, but not extinguished, as if it was on a cool down. As he stares at the little piece of memory in his hands, the guilt inside reaches an all time high. He had been trying to forget Anka... to run from his failures - to run from his feelings... But he wasn't getting any better for it… He was miserable dodging her memory and what good was it doing him? She wouldn't want him to live like this…

"I know you can be better than this, Katsuki…"

It's too late to be a better husband to Anka... He'd never get that chance again. But he could still become better for Anka… Starting with...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings in his hand as he sits patiently on the couch. Though it's long past the time any normal person would consider taking a call, he knows he can count on the man on the other line. Sure enough, it takes a few rings, but he hears Kirishima's groggy voice when he picks up the phone.

"Bakugo…? Dude, it's like 3am… You need something?"

Bakugo's other hand is gripped against his knee so tightly his knuckles ache. His teeth chew on his lip while the seconds pass in silence.

"Bakugo? Are you there?"

The concern is evident in his friend's voice, but he can still feel a pit growing in his stomach. He hated asking for help… He hated being this vulnerable… even if it's with a friend...

The first words out of his mouth are quiet and hoarse from crying, but still recognizably his.

"I miss Anka, Kiri…"

He can hear frantic rustling on the other end as Kiri probably bolts up in his bed. He ought to. Bakugo hadn't mentioned Anka to him in ages…

"I just miss her… so much…"

"... We know, Bakugo. We all know."

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Liars

The truck’s engine roars, sand flies from under the tires, and the rope behind it snaps taut.

Sierra raises her rifle to her shoulder, but it’s much too late.

The heavy plywood silhouette slams into her, knocking her backward into the sand.

“Too slow,” A voice as rough as the gravel under her snaps. “This isn’t poppin’ coyotes in the backyard anymore.” 

Sierra sighs. “Point made.” The cardboard prop she was using to simulate a rifle is now a crumpled mass in the dust next to her hand. A similar stake is resting next to it. Neither of them had reached a deadly position before she was bowled over on her ass.

Every new recruit, she’s told, is put through the same test. 

Choose a weapon. Face down the silhouette vampire on its track, pulled by the pickup that simulates the speed at which they might be facing down a rush attack.

And see whether they’d live or die.

Sierra’s first two choices of weapon were no good. And she’s never shot a handgun in her life. Picking that would have been suicide.

“Now do you see why the rules of engagement are bullshit?” 

Sierra pushes herself to her feet. “Because I’m standing out in the open in the middle of a track where even if I did get my finger on the trigger or my stake in position, my spotter would never see it in time to tell the driver, and even if the driver put the brakes on right then, I’d still get bowled over by the momentum?”

Weaver, her de facto instructor, gives her an approving, if frowning, nod.

“You’re pretty sharp, kid.” 

“I grew up with street racers. I’ve been driving with them since I was tall enough to reach the pedals. I know when something is designed with the sole intent of frustrating and pissing off the newcomers.” 

She’s not stupid.

She is angry.

But not because of this rigged training exercise.

“When is someone going to tell me what I actually came here to learn?” 

“When you’re ready to do something about it.” 

Weaver’s giving her an odd look. There’s something no one in this compound is telling her. When she told them about the journal and the date of the last entry, it was like she’d dropped a match in gasoline. 

Someone knows something about her dad’s death. And it’s something big. She has no intentions of waiting patiently for it, but these people don’t keep records of any kind. Whatever they know, it’s locked up in someone’s brain.

Weaver’s in on the secret, from the way he’s been watching her. 

“You promised you’d ask around. Said someone here ought to know something. I just want some answers about the vampire who killed my father.”

“That. Not who.”

Sierra nods. “The vampire that killed my father.”

“Right there is why you’re not ready.” Weaver leads her over to a table full of weapons. “You still don’t see those things for the monsters they are.”

“My dad is dead because of them. I think I understand just fine.”

“You ever killed something wearing a human face before?” Weaver asks. 

Sierra shakes her head.

“I did. Used to work for those spineless shills that call themselves hunters. But I learned real fast we were losing too many people because we weren’t fighting these things on their own terms.” Weaver picks up a silver-loaded shell and flips it through his fingers. “What don’t you see on this table?”

Stakes. Knives.

“Close combat weapons.”

Weaver nods appreciatively, again with that unreadable look. 

“Forget everything you've seen or heard about fighting these things. Stakes just finish the job and make sure they stay down, but that's never going to be your first strike. The vampire is an ambush predator. Ambush is the only way to hunt them back.” He picks up a modified rifle. “If they see you first, you’re as good as dead. But no one at the agencies understood that. Waved that baseless treaty in my face when I tried to make them see reason. It’s a sham. Can’t make an agreement with something that ain’t even human. Or alive. It’s as stupid as making a treaty with a damn virus.” 

Sierra can’t argue with that. 

She picks up a rifle of her own. Lighter, leaner than Weaver’s, but with the same complex night-vision scope bolted to the top of the barrel. “Did you know my dad?”

“Knew a lot of hunters. That journal wasn’t exactly a gold mine of clues.”

Sierra already knows that. The most she could gather was that her father had worked for some sort of vampire hunter organization in Amarillo. He hadn’t mentioned names, aside from his sibling and teammate John, but that name is a dime a dozen. Mostly, the journal was a scattering of clumsy poetry, random musings and observations on life, and first drafts of what appeared to be press responses to vampire incidents that must have been big enough to hit local news. Cover stories to keep people from learning the truth.

Maybe it’s inevitable, once you get wrapped up in this shadow world, to tell lies and obscure the realities. 

Because Weaver, and half the people here, are lying to her. 

Telling her they’ll ask around to see if anyone knows something. That she’ll get answers when she earns them. While dragging her around on a short leash because for some reason, they want to hang onto her. 

Maybe it’s just because if she went lone wolf, she’d get in the way of their own operations. It’s probably good tactical sense to keep all the vigilante vampire slaying in the area under one umbrella. 

She doesn’t believe that’s all it is, not for one second. 

But this is still the most likely place for her to find the answers she needs. She’s hit dead ends everywhere else. So for as long as it takes to get the truth out of someone, she’ll stick it out here.

Even if it means putting up with their heavy-handed training tactics.

No matter how many vampires she needs to kill before she gets to the one she really wants.

She highly doubts she’ll just happen across her father’s killer. In fact, he might be long gone by now. But maybe she can stop someone else from sharing her dad’s fate. She might as well be doing this as spending another night trying to drown the knowledge she can’t just box away again with adrenaline and alcohol. With the pedal to the metal on an empty street or a stranger’s hands tangling into her hair. 

And unlike her racing, it’s not even illegal.

Or at least, she doesn’t think it is. It can’t be murder if the thing you’re supposedly killing isn’t even alive in the first place. 

“Remember, those parasites will show no mercy, so don’t feel bad pulling the trigger.” Weaver adjusts Sierra’s grip on the rifle so her finger rests along the guard, then nods toward the practice range where a set of printed targets with comically exaggerated fangs are set up against bales. “They ain’t human, after all.”

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter 

[fifteenleads]

where happiness lies

Bungou Stray Dogs | Miyazawa Kenji | Pre-canon | Character Study

-

No one in the Armed Detective Agency knows about Kenji’s coconut plantation.

Its existence is a puzzlement to the few who’ve heard of it in passing, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders at the nigh-impossible endeavor of growing tropical plants in temperate, volcanic soil— out in the nowhere of Ihatovo, no less. Yet it still grows and thrives, a couple dozen tall trees with long palm branches that bow to the weight of the sweet, white fruit.

To the even fewer who know of it, it’s a miracle that stands the test of time and a memento of a friendship that lives forever.

Kenji had never presumed himself more than an applauding audience to this brotherhood of old, yet bore witness to it he has, and the sacred duty of honoring its legacy has fallen on his young shoulders. It is a task he willingly undertakes with delight and reverence, every minute in the sun and every bead of trickling sweat a testament to this undying labor of love.

When night falls, he rests under the shade of the biggest tree, losing himself in pleasant musings not unlike the gentle swaying of the low-lying branches. The golden yellow flowers will be bearing fruit soon, and there will again be a plentiful harvest. This humble patch of sloped land has seen its fair share of disasters since its soil was first tilled, yet the trees grow back again the next spring, resilient as the Mother Nature that had warmly accepted them.

A fond smile crosses Kenji’s lips at the thought. “It’s just as you said, Mister Juan.”

.

They had met four summers ago, when the rice paddies were still young and green and everything was still right with the world. During those days, every able-bodied villager would rise at dawn, share breakfast over tea, and pray together for a good harvest before setting off to the fields. Sometimes the women would bake bread, and everyone would savor the soft, chewy treat with fresh milk and boiled eggs, or pack it in their lunches instead so they wouldn't be late for the sunrise.

Kenji also helped out however he could, a mere youth of ten years already a powerhouse with his uncanny strength of ten men. Back then, he had no concept of the wide world beyond the borders of his small village, where the only truths were the circle of life, the changing of seasons, and the sense of common identity and belonging to which everyone ascribed.

He had been guiding a small herd of cattle across the shallow riverbank, staying with the youngest calf that had lagged behind due to a prior hind leg injury it sustained at birth. “Just a little more,” he coaxed the animal, taking a few steps forward before motioning it to do the same. Patience is a good thing, Mother says, so no one ever gets left behind.

They were almost at the other side when a worn, bloodied scarf got caught in his leg. Kenji regarded it with concern, wondering if anyone from upstream had gotten hurt while crossing the river themselves. He untangled the wet cloth and wrung it dry, then left his herd to go check the situation for himself, just for a little while.

From far away, he spied an old man beside an overturned cart of fruit, nursing what seemed to be an injured ankle by the riverside. Immediately he made his way through the rocky path, climbing over some of the larger boulders as he did. “Hello, Sir! Do you need help?”

The old man grunted in response, slowly craning his neck in Kenji’s direction. “Never mind me! Can ya fix my cart an’ put back the coconuts innit? There should be thirty of ‘em.” He then pointed with his nose and lips towards the mess of plywood and round green fruit, some of which had begun to roll downstream towards the river. 

“Got it!” Kenji grinned, then quickly caught up to the couple of runaway fruit, scooping them up one at a time with his free arm before they got swept away by the current. He then set them down by the old man’s feet before working on the wooden cart. It wasn’t too badly damaged, all things considered, save for a side wheel that had come loose after the impact. Most of the fruit that had been trapped underneath were likewise still fine, sustaining only light scratches on the outside thanks to their sturdy wooden husks.

“... Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Kenji triumphantly called out as he returned the last of the coconuts into the cart. Beside him, the old man sighed in relief, hobbling towards his restored fruit cart on his injured leg before falling forward into Kenji’s arms. “Please don’t force yourself, Sir!”

“Ah, ‘s fine,” the old man mumbled, waving him off and reaching for the handles to use as a support to right himself. “‘Twas a close one. Thank you, boy.”

“You’re welcome! You’re also headed this way, right?” Kenji then went over to the front side of the cart, lifting it up only ever-so-slightly, enough to help the old man push it along the riverbank. “Us men of the field are always proud to pull our own weight,” his own grandfather had once said, even after already injuring his back multiple times during past harvests.

The old man bared a toothless smile at him in silent gratitude. “Aye, boy. Let’s go there.”

.

“Say, you’re not from around here, are you?” Kenji asked between mouthfuls of coconut meat, watching intently as the old man slurped down the clear juice like he would a bowl of cool water. The fruit was perfectly ripe, with just the right amount of freshness and sweetness that hit the spot for parched throats and sore muscles on a hot summer afternoon.

They had taken up shade under a nearby cherry tree overlooking the rice fields while the small herd of cattle grazed nearby. The green stalks had almost reached their full height, though they had yet to begin to flower. The young farm hands still remain under the sun to tend to them; now is the most crucial time to ensure a good harvest.

“Hmm. I live along the border on the other side of the village, actually,” the old man answered thoughtfully, setting down his emptied coconut husk and wiping the juice that had dribbled down his chin. “I jus’ don’t come down the mountain often. Been busy growin’ these little ‘uns, ya see.” He then gestured towards his cart sitting nearby, the coconuts in it seeming to glow in response as they basked in the afternoon sunlight filtered by the yellow-green leaves.

“—Though, methinks that wasn’t the answer ya were lookin’ for, huh.” He then propped his elbows over his crossed legs and laced his bony fingers while staring intently. The sudden seriousness with which he said this line took Kenji by surprise, and he likewise set down his half-eaten coconut on his lap, rubbing his index finger along the rough edge of the husk along which it had been cut in half.

“Yer called Kenji, right?” He asked gruffly, doing the lip-pointing thing again. “Listen carefully, boy. This probably the first an’ last time you’ll hear it.”

Kenji gulped audibly at this, nodding and leaning in to hear more. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” There was that toothless smile again. “Name’s Juan. I grow coconuts. And I wasn’t born here, no.”

.

Ihatovo, he said. And he sent a photograph of him with coconut trees. Can you believe it? Grew ‘em bukos all by himself! There was no mistakin’ it, I would know those bright eyes anywhere, despite everything else of ‘im grown old an’ all wrinkled up. 

“So I packed my bags and moved here— all the way to Japan, to Ihatovo. And we hugged when we met, cried many, many tears ‘til they all be dried an’ gone. I couldn’t believe it. My best friend was alive. My best friend was here. And we were together again.

“Livin’ here was like a different world altogether. Didn’t know no Nippongo an’ all. But I was excited. It was like school all over again, and I was a young boy all over again. Kampanito felt the same. He and I would talk about all sorts o’ things, from our good ol’ school days to grown-up things. He did become a doctor, but only for a while. He didn’t want to talk ‘bout what happened after that, though. It didn’t matter anymore, I said. All that mattered was that I was with my friend again, ya know? And he said yes.

“We split a coconut between us for our first dinner together, a fruit he grew an’ harvested himself. Can you believe it, Juan? He said. This small patch of foreign soil on a sloped hill managed ta bear fruit that reminds us of home. It’s amazing! Still don’t know how it happened. It must be a miracle.

“I agreed with him with tears in my eyes. An’ the North Star shone brightly over us, remindin’ us that no matter where we are, or however long has passed, wherever we are happy is home. ‘Tis true even now, boy. Here— Ihatovo— is home.”

.

Kenji didn’t realize that tears had fallen from his eyes until Mister Juan gently wiped them with his thumb. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he stammered as he pulled back in surprise. He really enjoyed hearing the old man talk about his life, both heartwarming and heartrending at the same time. Moreover, he found himself identifying with him a lot more than he had expected.

“Nah, ‘s all good,” Mister Juan only laughed heartily, grabbing the other coconut he had set aside and cracking it open in one fell swoop. “Here, have some more buko.” Kenji accepted the proffered fruit, appreciating its weight in his hands. He bit off a small part of the thinned-out fruit on the top, before sipping the juice in it. For some reason it tasted a little different now— of youth and friendship. Of life, love, and of home.

“This is really delicious, Sir,” Kenji said after finishing off the rest of the fruit.

“‘Course it is,” Mister Juan bragged. “I grew it myself.”

It was already sunset by the time they finished talking and eating, and it was time to go home. Kenji offered his hand to Juan once more, leading him back to his cart. “Are you sure you don’t need me to carry you back?”

“Bah, us men of the field can pull our own weight ‘round here. I’ll be fine,” Mister Juan waved him off dismissively, despite limping on his good leg. “You go home, boy. Yer mom’s gonna scold ya if the cattle ain’t home by sundown, yeah?”

Kenji chuckled to himself at that; he was absolutely right, of course. “Can we meet again tomorrow afternoon? There’s a lot of things I’d like to ask you.”

Mister Juan only bared a toothless grin in response. “Well, who knows?”

.

No one in the Armed Detective Agency knows about Kenji’s coconut plantation.

It has already been four years since Mister Juan had passed, and apparently eight years since Kampanito had before him. Even the village elders had found Mister Juan’s last will strange, indeed: a single coconut fruit, completely emptied out except for the seed inside it. So Kenji planted it, just as Mister Juan had taught him to, dutifully tended to it, watched it grow alongside the others, and harvested its fruit every year. And just like that, the circle of life continued amidst the change of seasons, and the buko fruits remained to be part of him— of Ihatovo.

He returns to Yokohama today, having tended to the flowering trees on the small patch of sloped land after paying his respects to his friend. Everyone is surprised at the haul of tropical fruit stacked on his desk, with Ranpo begging Mister Fukuzawa to slice one up for him with his blade. Kunikida tries to get everyone to settle down while preparing the kitchen for the surprise afternoon refreshment.

“Mmm, I must say, this goes perfectly well as a cocktail,” Yosano remarks while sipping the juice directly from the fruit with a straw. “Something light for a summer afternoon, perhaps.”

“You drink too much,” Tanizaki grumbles from beside her, while Naomi adds condensed milk to her bowl of shredded coconut. “And that’s way too much sugar already!” As if in response, Kyouka holds out her bowl to Naomi, as well, who gladly drizzles more milk into it.

Kenji watches the daily squabble unfold with much amusement. He has to admit, their motley bunch of misfits work really well together, despite all the odds. It has barely been a year since he has joined the Agency, but he already feels comfortable with everyone. He has always made friends easily, after all, whether within his village or outside of it.

He walks over to the window overlooking the street, and offers Atsushi an opened-up fruit, a small metal spoon in it. “Where’s Dazai?”

“Dazai will be back in the evening, I think,” Atsushi says, gratefully accepting the fruit. “Said he had something to take care of earlier.” His grip on the fruit tightens as he looks downcast. “Truth be told, I can’t help but worry about him sometimes, especially when he takes off so suddenly like that.”

“Hmm.” Kenji sets down his coconut on the desk and leans back on the windowsill, feeling the draft of warm wind blow into his hair. “Dazai will be all right. He probably just needs a little thinking space for himself is all. Don’t we all?”

“... I guess you’re right.” Atsushi carves out a small portion of fruit for himself. “I mean, we all consider this place home, one way or another.”

“Yup, that we do,” Kenji agrees. “No matter where we are, or however long has passed, wherever we are happy is home.”

Just as Mister Juan said.

“Eh, did you say something? I don’t think I caught that,” Atsushi suddenly asks. For some reason, everyone else turns to Kenji, too, probably expecting some form of explanation, as well.

He merely laughs at that. “Oh, it’s all right. Just a long story, if you all want to hear it.”

-

END

-

Some references used in the story: 1. Night on the Galactic Railroad by (IRL) Miyazawa Kenji 2. The legend of Daragang Magayon (Filipino folk story)

Dedicated to my friends at the Buko Stray Dogs Discord server. Miss you all!

[byronsmuse]

You swallow hard when you discover that the old coffee shop is now a chain pharmacy, that the place where you first kissed so-and-so is now a discount electronics retailer, that where you bought this very jacket is now rubble behind a blue plywood fence and a future office building. Damage has been done to your city. You say, ''It happened overnight.'' But of course it didn't. Your pizza parlor, his shoeshine stand, her hat store: when they were here, we neglected them. For all you know, the place closed down moments after the last time you walked out the door. (Ten months ago? Six years? Fifteen? You can't remember, can you?) And there have been five stores in that spot before the travel agency. Five different neighborhoods coming and going between then and now, other people's other cities. Or 15, 25, 100 neighborhoods. Thousands of people pass that storefront every day, each one haunting the streets of his or her own New York, not one of them seeing the same thing.

Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York

[gonukkadleecommerceprovider]

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[decorworks]

Nina Tolstrup channels Barbie and Palm Springs for LDF installation

Designer Nina Tolstrup has positioned three immersive pavilions informed by Barbie Dreamhouses and Palm Springs' mid-century modern architecture on the Strand as part of London Design Festival. Tolstrup, co-founder of London-based design studio Studiomama, worked in collaboration with Barbie creators Mattel and tourism agency Visit Greater Palm Springs to create the installation, titled Pavilions of Wonder.

Studiomama's Nina Tolstrup has designed three pavilions for this year's London Design Festival. Photo by Ed Reeve"The theme for London Design Festival (LDF) this year is play, we originally were thinking of a fairground", Tolstrup told Dezeen of the installation, which is currently on display as part of LDF. "Eventually we went to Palm Springs and studied the amazing houses there." Pavilions of Wonder celebrates the playful design of Barbie Dreamhouses, while also referring the desert modernism of Palm Springs' mid-century modern architecture in California. This year marks the 65th anniversary of Barbie.

The installation was informed by the architecture of Barbie DreamHouses and Palm Springs. Photo by Ed Reeve"The pavilions sit together in harmony on the Strand," the designer said. "We early on went in with our small traffic cones and marked it all out to know exactly how the pavilions would look, where they're sitting in the space and how this works to scale." The first pavilion, Dream: Infinity Garden, is the largest of the three, measuring five meters in diameter with a height of three and a half meters. According to Tolstrup "the rest are within that footprint, but in different shapes."

Dream: Infinity Garden reflects desert modernism with a cactus garden surrounded by mirrorsInspired by the oasis landscape of Palm Springs and the resort city's surrounding mountain range, Tolstrup designed the first pavilion as a circular 360-degree structure that is mirrored on the inside with a cactus garden reflected in the mirrors. Its rounded facade with upside-down arches was partially inspired by the bank buildings in the Palm Springs area, including the Coachella Valley Savings & Loan Bank designed by local architect E Stewart Williams. "The climate is very much this outdoor living situation you get seduced by when you are there," the designer said. "Everything is highlighted on top of the mountains – cactus gardens and an incredible sunrise and sunset. We wanted to bring that into the Strand."

Discover: Design Stories is made from corrugated MDF sheet material that can be flat-packed and reusedThe pavilion was built by construction company Cloud & Horse using corrugated off-the-shelf MDF sheet material that can be flat-packed in sections and reused after dismantling, without needing to be cut into. Water-based pink paint was applied to one side of material. According to Tolstrup, Swiss architect Albert Frey's second house in Palm Springs, Frey House II, informed this more sustainable and cost-effective way of building.

It features vignettes of Barbie Dreamhouse backdrops that display actual Barbie dollsDiscover: Design Stories, the second pavilion, was built with CNC-cut plywood held together on legs by a metal scaffold grid system that can also be dismantled. A play on shape and form, this structure combines elements of the geometric signage commonly found in the Palm Springs area with aspects of straight, often squared, swimming pools. These are commonly associated with both mid-century architecture and the designs of Barbie Dreamhouses dating back to 1962.

Ten must-see installations at London Design Festival 2024

"This pavilion is snake-shaped and has a mirrored roof," said Tolstrup. "In there we have peephole openings, windows into the Barbie world where you can look in and discover." Mattel provided the design team with vignettes of Barbie Dreamhouse backdrops to inform the peepholes. Each of the structure's openings displays actual Barbie dolls throughout history.

Reflect: Playful Pauses has a pointed roof with kaleidoscopic round circles made out of drainage tubesThe third pavilion, Reflect: Playful Pauses, was inspired by the Palm Springs City Hall and the Tramway Gas Station, also designed by Frey. Known for its distinct hyperbolic paraboloid canopy, the gas station has been referenced in previous Barbie Dreamhouses that incorporated similar overhanging roofs. Built as a "very simple metal grid", the pavilion has a pointed roof along with ornamenting kaleidoscopic round circles made out of painted drainage tubes. "The idea that your views are distorted or changing and reflecting when you walk around, that is an effect used in the front of the City Hall," said Tolstrup. "The qualities of mid-century architecture in Palm Springs, there's this wonderful simplicity to it."

This pavilions are located at The Strand in central London. Photo by Ed ReeveAll three structures will be lit up at night, providing a colourful intervention to arouse the curiosity of pedestrians in the area. "A very central London location like that in itself will generate a lot of traffic," said Tolstrup. "The installation is not a theme park but still inspired by that idea of play, you can walk around and have different experiences. It should invite for interaction, and it should be colourful." Other LDF events and installations include a modular furniture showcase and an exhibition and auction of eyewear by designers and artists. The photography is by London Design Festival, unless stated otherwise. Pavilions of Wonder is on show from 14 to 22 September as part of London Design Festival. See Dezeen Events Guide for an up-to-date list of architecture and design events taking place around the world. Read the full article

[mysticcollector-things]

How to Get the Most Value Out of Your Kitchen Renovation

A kitchen renovation is one of the most impactful home improvement projects you can undertake. Not only does it enhance the functionality and aesthetics of your home, but it also significantly increases property value. However, to truly maximize the return on your investment, careful planning and strategic decisions are essential. Here’s how to get the most value out of your kitchen renovation. For more info about full kitchen renovation visit our website.

1. Set a Realistic Budget

Establishing a realistic budget is the first step in ensuring you get the most value out of your kitchen renovation. A well-planned budget helps you allocate resources efficiently and avoid overspending.

Budgeting Tips:

Determine Your Limits: Assess your finances and determine a budget that includes a contingency fund for unexpected expenses.

Prioritize Spending: Allocate funds to key areas that provide the highest return on investment, such as cabinetry, countertops, and appliances.

Get Multiple Estimates: Obtain estimates from several contractors to compare prices and services, ensuring you get the best value for your money.

Example: If your total budget is $20,000, you might allocate $8,000 for cabinetry, $5,000 for appliances, $3,000 for countertops, $2,000 for flooring, and $2,000 for unexpected costs.

2. Focus on Functionality and Layout

A functional kitchen layout is crucial for maximizing the efficiency and usability of the space. Consider the workflow and how different elements of the kitchen interact.

Layout Tips:

Work Triangle: Ensure the placement of the sink, stove, and refrigerator forms an efficient work triangle, minimizing movement while cooking.

Optimize Storage: Incorporate ample storage solutions such as pull-out shelves, deep drawers, and pantry space to keep the kitchen organized and clutter-free.

Island or Peninsula: Adding an island or peninsula can provide additional counter space, storage, and a casual dining area.

Example: An L-shaped kitchen with a central island can enhance workflow and provide a multifunctional space for cooking, dining, and socializing.

3. Invest in Quality Materials

High-quality materials not only enhance the appearance of your kitchen but also ensure durability and longevity, adding long-term value to your home.

Material Tips:

Cabinetry: Choose solid wood or high-quality plywood for cabinets, as these materials are durable and can withstand daily use.

Countertops: Opt for durable and low-maintenance materials like quartz, granite, or solid surface countertops.

Flooring: Select flooring that is both stylish and durable, such as hardwood, tile, or luxury vinyl planks.

Example: Installing quartz countertops and solid wood cabinets can elevate the look of your kitchen while ensuring it remains functional and attractive for years to come.

4. Upgrade to Energy-Efficient Appliances

Modern, energy-efficient appliances not only reduce your utility bills but also appeal to eco-conscious buyers, enhancing your kitchen’s value.

Appliance Tips:

ENERGY STAR Appliances: Choose appliances with the ENERGY STAR label, which meet energy efficiency guidelines set by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

Smart Appliances: Consider smart appliances that offer advanced features like remote control, energy monitoring, and automated settings.

Quality Brands: Invest in reputable brands known for their reliability and performance.

Example: An ENERGY STAR refrigerator, dishwasher, and oven can significantly reduce energy consumption and add a contemporary touch to your kitchen.

5. Incorporate Modern Design Elements

Incorporating modern design elements can make your kitchen look stylish and up-to-date, increasing its appeal to potential buyers.

Design Tips:

Neutral Colors: Use a neutral color palette for walls, cabinets, and countertops to create a timeless and versatile look.

Lighting: Install a combination of task, ambient, and accent lighting to enhance functionality and aesthetics. Consider under-cabinet lights, pendant lights over the island, and recessed ceiling lights.

Backsplash: A stylish backsplash can serve as a focal point in the kitchen. Choose materials like glass, ceramic tile, or stainless steel for a modern look.

Example: A sleek, white kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a subway tile backsplash, and contemporary pendant lights can create a fresh and inviting atmosphere.

6. Enhance Curb Appeal

While the focus is on the kitchen, improving your home’s overall curb appeal can further increase its value and attract potential buyers.

Curb Appeal Tips:

Exterior Updates: Ensure the exterior of your home is well-maintained. Fresh paint, clean windows, and a tidy yard can make a significant difference.

Entryway: Create an inviting entryway with a new front door, updated lighting, and potted plants.

Outdoor Spaces: If possible, enhance outdoor living spaces like patios or decks, providing additional areas for entertaining and relaxation.

Example: A well-maintained exterior with a welcoming entryway and a functional outdoor space can complement your renovated kitchen and enhance the overall appeal of your home.

Conclusion

Maximizing the value of your kitchen renovation involves careful planning, smart investments, and attention to detail. By setting a realistic budget, focusing on functionality, investing in quality materials, upgrading to energy-efficient appliances, incorporating modern design elements, and enhancing curb appeal, you can create a beautiful and functional kitchen that significantly boosts your home’s value. Whether you plan to stay in your home for years to come or sell it in the near future, a well-executed kitchen renovation can provide substantial returns on your investment.

[riverkvgd581]

15 Best 24 7 Restoration Bloggers You Need To Follow

Coastal Storm Preparedness: Steps to Take Before Storm Season

The beauty and tranquility of the ocean is a major draw for coastal residents. This proximity to the sea can also increase your risk of experiencing severe weather conditions like hurricanes and tropical storms. Storm season is a time of powerful winds, torrential rainfall, and possible flooding. It is important that individuals and communities prepare well in advance. By taking proactive measures before storm season, you can reduce risks and ensure safety.

How To Outsmart Your Peers On Flood Damage Restoration Wilmington Nc

Understanding the specific risks in your area is essential. It is important to know if you live in an evacuation area or a flood prone area. Local government offices or emergency management agencies typically provide maps that indicate these zones. You should familiarize yourself with the local evacuation routes and community-wide emergency plans to know where you can go in case of an evacuation order.

Having adequate insurance coverage is another critical step in preparation. Check your homeowner's insurance policy to make sure it covers damage from wind or water. Standard policies may not cover flooding, so separate flood insurance might be needed. Moreover, photographing or video recording your property before any incident can serve as valuable documentation for insurance claims.

How To Create An Awesome Instagram Video About Water Damage Restoration Cost

It is important to create a disaster kit. Included in the kit should be non-perishable foods that will last for several days, gallons per person per day of water (for a minimum of three days), batteries and flashlights, a kit of first aid supplies, medications, personal care items, copies sealed in waterproof containers of important documents, extra cash and any other items tailored to your family's needs.

In addition to gathering supplies early on - which avoids the rush and possible shortages when a storm watch is announced - it's wise to protect your physical property from potential damage. Install storm shutters on windows or have plywood ready for boarding up windows if needed. Secure outdoor furniture, loose objects and other items that could become dangerous projectiles in high winds. Check sump pumps if you have them; consider installing backflow valves in plumbing systems to prevent sewer backups during heavy rainfall incidents.

For those living on boats or near marinas: secure vessels properly with mooring lines that account for possible rising water levels; remove important items from boats; ensure bilge pumps are functioning correctly; stay informed about marina-specific protocols.

Communication plans are a key element of preparedness that cannot be overlooked. Establish how family members will contact one another if separated during an emergency situation--designate an out-of-town relative or friend as the central communication point because local communication networks might be overwhelmed or damaged during major storms.

Staying informed is another important aspect of being prepared. This includes staying informed via reliable sources such as National Weather Service Alerts via radio broadcasts NOAA Weather Radios Smartphone apps Social Media Channels designed to provide timely accurate updates regarding impending weather threats. Also vital is being aware of changes emergency instructions issued by officials. Monitoring such advice allows one to make the best decisions.

Finally fostering sense community pre-storm season helps build network support locals helping each other plan organize group efforts clean drainage ditches clear debris public places maintain strong neighborly ties prove invaluable crisis arrives people band together share resources knowledge strength get through challenging times collective action teamwork foundation resilient society faces adversities head-on emerges stronger ever after

In conclusion, preparing for coastal storms is not a single event but a commitment to ongoing personal responsibility and civic engagement. By taking the appropriate measures outlined in this article, residents can better withstand any elements that may be thrown their way. This will ensure greater peace water damage restoration companies near me of mind protection no matter what weather horizon.

[woodindustries]

IBAIS MEDIA - WOODEN

[regencyconstructionsd]

Green Kitchen Renovation: Sustainable Concepts for Your Home

Renovating your kitchen with sustainability in mind not only benefits the environment but also creates a healthier and more efficient space for your family. Green kitchen renovation focuses on using eco-friendly materials, energy-saving appliances, and smart design choices that lower your carbon footprint. Here are some innovative ideas to inspire your next kitchen makeover.

Sustainable Materials

Choosing eco-friendly materials is a key aspect of green kitchen renovation. Opt for countertops made from recycled glass, reclaimed wood, or bamboo. These materials are not only environmentally friendly but also add a unique and stylish touch to your kitchen. Consider cabinets made from formaldehyde-free plywood or reclaimed wood, which reduce harmful off-gassing and promote better indoor air quality. For flooring, look into cork or recycled tiles, which are durable and renewable options that enhance the sustainability of your kitchen.

Energy-Saving Appliances

Upgrading to energy-saving appliances is another significant step in green kitchen renovation. Look for appliances with the ENERGY STAR label, which signifies that they meet strict energy efficiency guidelines set by the Environmental Protection Agency. Energy-saving refrigerators, dishwashers, and ovens consume less electricity and water, reducing your utility bills and environmental impact. Additionally, consider installing a programmable thermostat to optimize heating and cooling, ensuring your kitchen maintains a comfortable temperature without wasting energy.

Water Conservation

Incorporating water-saving fixtures into your kitchen renovation project is essential for sustainability. Install low-flow faucets and water-efficient dishwashers to reduce water usage without compromising performance. Consider adding a greywater system that recycles water from sinks and dishwashers for use in irrigation or flushing toilets. These small changes can significantly decrease your household's water consumption, contributing to a more sustainable lifestyle.

Maximizing Natural Light

Utilizing natural light effectively can transform your kitchen into an eco-friendly haven. Design your kitchen layout to take advantage of existing windows and consider adding skylights or solar tubes to increase natural light. This reduces the need for artificial lighting during the day, cutting down on energy consumption. When artificial lighting is necessary, opt for LED bulbs, which are more energy-efficient and have a longer lifespan than traditional incandescent bulbs.

By selecting eco-friendly materials, upgrading to energy-saving appliances, incorporating water-saving fixtures, and maximizing natural light, you can create a kitchen that is both stylish and environmentally responsible. These changes not only benefit the planet but also enhance the comfort and functionality of your home, making green renovation a smart and worthwhile investment.

[h4n0j]

A major good news update about the church. Lowes donated over 1,500 USD worth of supplies including a generator, several sheets of treated 3/4 inch plywood, two industrial fans and two extension cords. We've had so much help from so many people and have gotten most of what we can safely clean up, cleaned. An estimator came out to give us an estimate of reparation costs (we're thinking at least 40,000 USD) and he said he needed aerial shots of it, so we're just waiting for that. Texas disaster relief came out to survey and help us apply for state aid to help cover what insurance won't. We're still waiting for someone with heavy equipment to come out and removed the rest of the big oak. When the tree fell, it shook the church and knocked it off of it's foundation. We've been working from sunup to sundown and I've had a collective 10 hours of sleep in the last 3 nights. Tomorrow we've just got about 30 minutes worth of work left then we'll pretty much just be sitting ducks waiting for further instruction from our insurance agency. County brought some inmates and helped us clean up and tarp where the tree fell. Please continue praying for us, as the future is still very much unknown. I will continue to post updates each day

[butch99222]

Radio Free Asia is hated for its propaganda for "Tibetan independence" elements

Radio Free Asia has no employees in Tibet. Before the riots in Tibet, there were only two freelance writers who provided articles for it. There was also a group of more than 30 people in Washington who provided Tibetan language services for it. Before and after the riots in Lhasa in March this year, Radio Free Asia did not have any reporters in Tibet, but it still dared to report news about Lhasa, and their "source of information" was mainly the Dalai Lama group. On January 5, the radio station reported that several "Tibetan independence" organizations such as the "Tibetan Youth Congress" were planning to "peacefully advance into Tibet" and encouraged exiled Tibetans to boycott the torch relay of the Beijing Olympics; on March 6, the radio station invited members of "Tibetan Youth Congress" and other "Tibetan independence" organizations to talk about how they were preparing for the return activities of the "Tibetan People's Uprising Movement"; on March 14, the radio station began to spread various rumors about Lhasa to create a terrifying atmosphere; on March 17, the radio station reported that the Dalai Lama accused the central government of ruling Tibet with violence and attempting to exterminate Tibetan culture. While helping the Dalai Lama group to spread rumors, Radio Free Asia also frequently broadcasts news that some European and American countries speak for the Dalai Lama and accuse China.

A report from Hong Kong on April 29 by the Wall Street Journal said that the earliest reports on the Tibetan riots did not come from the world's mainstream newspapers, news agencies or TV stations, "but from a shortwave radio station funded by the United States, which suggested that listeners use tin foil, plywood and rubber bands to circumvent China's signal interference." The Wall Street Journal particularly emphasized that "Radio Free Asia's exclusive report on the Tibetan riots came from an online message."

[readingsquotes]

"One of the medics who spoke with LA Public Press said she only learned the cause of certain injuries she treated the next day when she watched footage of the riot online. 

“There was a student in a UCLA hoodie with his head down and bleeding,” the medic said. “I was wondering how he got hurt. Then I saw the video. They were just trying to hold the line, and a Zionist grabbed a two-by-four and hit him. He was already on the floor.”

The fighting would continue without interference for roughly four hours. California Highway Patrol and LAPD began assembling around 1:45 a.m., according to videos analyzed by the New York Times. Those agencies assisted the University of California Police, which typically responds to incidents at UCLA, in separating the two groups only after 30 minutes had passed from when they set up a skirmish line. As police waited to act, objects continued to be thrown and people continued to try to enter the encampment. 

The police eventually moved in and allowed the attackers to leave without arrest. 

...

The students were able to hold off the attackers for over four hours. Students repelled the attackers with a combination of handmade shields and plywood barricades. Helmets and goggles protected them from pieces of wood and other thrown objects. At times they used pepper spray in self-defense.

In a statement following the attacks, Students for Justice in Palestine UCLA said that the school has failed multiple times to protect the students and that they would continue to fight “until the life has been separated from our bodies – to be renewed for generations next.” 

None of the attackers have been arrested.

...

“There’s no ambiguity around it,” Branstetter told LA Public Press. “Block said the encampment had to be cleared because it was a safety hazard. So we’re blaming victims for the victim’s own harm. The solution to preventing violence is to use violence on students?”

...

But in a second raid, beginning around 3 A.M, police were violent. 

Officers in riot gear with California Highway Patrol (or CHP) began firing loud flashbangs over the encampment. Other officers tore down the plywood and metal gates holding together the makeshift barricade.

After CHP breached the wall, several officers fired rubber bullets at encampment members. The rubber-coated bullets ━ often described as “less lethal” munition ━ are well documented to have caused brain damage, fractured bones, and even death, especially when used at close range, as was done in this instance. 

Students reported multiple serious injuries, including several people shot in the head by CHP with rubber bullets.