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waistful-thoughts · 2 years ago

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Are You Sure?

Summary: After finally moving in with his long-term boyfriend, Marcus discovers that his recent weight gain may not be such an accident after all...

CW: Non-consensual gaining Word count: 2669

The afternoon turned to dusk as Marcus lowered the driver’s side window. The end-of-Fall chill shocks his system, causing a slight chuckle and a deep breath to re-compose himself. His dark blue dress shirt tightens against his softened mid-section as it expands with the crisp December air, shifting the strain of the day to the buttons on his shirt and pulling out the tuck in the front a little bit. He decided to undo his belt, then the button on his pants to facilitate the relaxation process. Another breath pushes his zipper down, the next coming easier than the last, once he gets past the novel tug on his sides—something that stays even with the relief of having his shirt fully untucked these days. “You’ve arrived” comes over the car’s stereo as he approaches his apartment.

He pulled into the parking lot, a tingling sensation in his stomach replacing the strain of his buttons as he put himself back together, sucking in slightly to re-secure his pants. He debated whether or not he needed to fasten the button at all given how tightly his thighs were being squeezed against the seams. It wasn’t a far walk and dusk was coming soon enough, so why did he have to button up regardless? The belt that dug into his hips didn’t survive the re-dress either—instead, it was thrown into his bag as he got out of the car.

Tingling in his stomach turned into a fluttering in his chest as the key slipped into the lock. The key turned, the door opened, and the smell of the evening’s meal hit him; garlic and onion and the beginnings of a smell that he hadn’t experienced in a long while. Unloading the day onto a table on the side of the door; keys from his front pocket and, after a notable tug, his wallet from his back pocket. A curve in the thin leather worked its way out as if the wallet had a day to work out on its own.

“Welcome home, handsome,” Leo says from behind, placing a hand on his usual spot on the side of Marcus’s torso opposite where he was standing. With a slight squeeze of the softening flesh and a kiss on the lips, his other hand slides onto Marcus’s belly, a finger lightly circling his visible belly button. “I finished up with work early so I decided to fix us up something new that I think you’ll like.”

“You know I love it when you cook,” Marcus couldn’t help but notice Leo’s attention to the added weight since they finally moved in with each other. The re-sparked honeymoon phase and accepting a new job that he’d been working towards for most of his adult life had settled itself onto his once-fit form. He found himself with less energy to go to the gym these days, not to mention being a little more invested in his doting boyfriend’s newfound love of cooking and baking. He was content with the direction of how things were going in his life. So what if I lost track of my physique? He always thought—that can always be regained, but these little moments are something he always sought to treasure. Still, he couldn’t help but notice another fluttering wave as the love of his life traced the indentation of his belly button. “It smells great, by the way.”

“Really? I’m glad! I’ve been thinking about trying it for a while,” Leo gave another, longer kiss to his bigger-than-usual other half, finding that the button on his pants was unbuttoned when he gave the plumped boy a slight rub on his underbelly. With a pat on his other half’s softer butt and a wink, Leo turned back to the kitchen. “Same thing with dessert, too! Though maybe I should slow it down a bit, big boy.”

The fluttering dropped back into his stomach. What could that possibly mean? Marcus couldn’t even be considered fat and yet Leo has the nerve to comment on it? Maybe he’s right though. He had started letting himself go lately and Leo has been so sweet too. If anything, it’s his fault to begin with! Still, he couldn’t exactly deny that Leo had a point. “Babe, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Realizing that he had slipped up, Leo returned to his boyfriend’s side, grabbing his hand, “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I didn’t mean anything by it, but you can’t deny that you’ve been getting a little chunky lately.”

“Between your cooking and work, I guess I just kinda started dropping the ball,” Marcus looked down and fingered the dimple in his shirt made by his belly button the same way Leo had just a few moments ago. He noticed the strain that his buttons carried even as he stood, the tightness against his thighs, and the remaining curvature that his wallet never quite worked out. There was no denying it—Marcus was getting fat. “You’re right though. I really should get back to the gym”

“I never said I didn’t like it, baby. I think it suits you, personally,” Leo gave one final peck on the cheek before returning to the kitchen to finish the feast he had planned. “Besides, I need a recipe tester. Why don’t you go get a little more comfortable? Dinner will be ready soon.”

Marcus set off to the bedroom to undress. With a sigh, the relief of finally ridding himself of the tightening clothes washed over him. He undressed completely, noting the newer difficulty of pulling his pants over his softening thighs, the indent of the waistband tattooing his hip. Fuck, he thought. I can’t believe this is happening to me right now. After completely undressing, Marcus made his way to shower. With each step, he realized that a new part of him jiggled. First, it was his already-plump butt—Leo’s favorite part; his too if he was being honest. Without being restrained by his now-tight underwear and pants, each cheek jiggled every time his foot landed on the hardwood of their apartment. His pecs came next, the firm muscle slowly being replaced with a new layer of fat. A change so subtle that no one but him could probably notice it was happening.

Turning on the shower, he took a moment to stare at his body in the mirror as the water warmed. He gawked at and prodded his profile, intentionally jiggling the butt and chest that originally caught his attention. He eventually worked his way to his bloated stomach. While he never really had abs in his life, any hope that he might one day had to be delayed indefinitely. He circled his belly button again, sticking a finger to see that it made it past his first knuckle. He grabbed his developing love handles and gave a quick prod to his belly, a mixture of soft and firm fat that made him look a bit more like a teddy bear than he was used to. He tested the water, finding that it was finally the perfect temperature. Although he was out of the critical view of the mirror, he still found himself hyperaware of the sensations as he lathered up his growing body and washed away the day that he was eager to leave behind.

Once done, he dried himself off, paying extra attention to the parts of him that started feeling different. His muscular thighs had more give than he was used to. He liked how big they were looking lately but he had to recognize that that wasn’t because he was hard at work in the gym. The same thing with his arms, too. He flexed, still feeling as strong as ever but his biceps didn’t pop as much as they did just a few short months ago. An incredibly soft mound of flesh had found its way onto the opposite side, next to his armpit. Fuck, how could I let this happen? Taking his cleaned used-to-be gym shorts out of his dresser, he noticed that the waistband was more stretched out than it used to be. It seemed as though it wasn’t just Marcus’s body that had seen better days. His clothes seemed to be losing their grip as well. Regardless, these were still his favorite lounging bottoms so he put them on, complementing them with a plain black T-shirt that showed off his curves more than his muscles.

Walking into the kitchen, he found Leo plating up the pasta dish he had cooked up for the evening. He had been working on cooking without a recipe lately and his skills were getting better by the day. The pride Leo had in making his other half the most delicious meals with the most decadent desserts afterward made Marcus fall in love even more than he had already, he also started to realize exactly how he managed to get into this mess in the first place. Regardless, he couldn’t deny that he was excited about what was being concocted for the night. “Was there anything I can help you out with tonight?” He asked, noticing that Leo was working on finishing the plating of one meal already.

As great as Leo was at cooking, he always said that he needed to make their meals in multiple batches, one for him and one for Marcus because he “wasn’t used to cooking or two just yet.” He also said that it let him cater things to their unique tastes more; regardless, tonight wasn’t any different. Fettuccine went down first, then with what looked to be a white sauce of his own invention. Leo seemed to be a big fan of rich sauces since most meals involved one in some way or another. If it wasn’t for the main course, it was usually involved in the second. A mixture of colorful vegetables and chicken decorated the bowl, something he’d started picking up from the plating videos he’d been watching lately. Marcus’s mouth watered, hoping that this first round was for him, though it never was.

“Nope, you can go set up if you’d like. I need to tweak some things this second go around so I’m not quite ready for you yet,” they kissed as Leo sauteed the vegetables the second go around, so Marcus took it upon himself to do as he was told. They liked to eat at the table together so they could catch up on what had gone on that day. The shit that Leo’s students got up to, some of what Marcus could divulge about his clients of the day. It was Marcus’s favorite thing about coming home to the love of his life, this added piece of connection with his best friend.

Since Marcus wasn’t a big fan of cleaning, he always set out a plate even when the primary dish of the evening required a bowl—a barrier between the table and any potential mess. It was a habit he picked up in college as he tried figuring out shortcuts for the stress of trying to balance everyday demands that stretched him short. It was one of the reasons why he got into exercising in the first place. It was a way to relax and take his mind off of all of the shit he had to deal with. But now, well, he didn’t have much to worry about anymore. Placing down forks for the two of them, he realized that he forgot to bring out wine glasses too. Marcus returned to the kitchen, catching the eyes of his boyfriend as an extra two pats of butter was being melted into the second bowl of fettuccine, a step he seemed to miss when he watched him make it the first time.

“I never would’ve guessed that this is how you’d tweak things,” the boys locked eyes, Leo’s weighed his head down to the ground as his project caught him doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing. “Care to explain to me what’s going on?”

An “I’m sorry” was all that Leo could muster. He turned his head away from Marcus and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms. What else was there to say when you knew you fucked up?

“How about we start with you explaining to me why you’re doing whatever you’re doing,” Marcus walked up to his guilty boy and grabbed a hand, turning off any burner that was left on, and walking the two over to the dining table so they could sit down for this little talk.

“Um,” Leo struggled with finding the words. Although he was never afraid to put one of his students in their place if they stepped out of line, work Leo and home Leo were two entirely different people. The stress of the situation lived in his throat but was coaxed out as Marcus put a hand on his much smaller thigh. “It was a mixture of a few different things. First, we started talking about moving in with each other which got me thinking about this little fantasy I’ve had for a while. Although I’ve always thought you were the hottest man in the room, I’ve never been able to stop thinking about you getting fat. Then you got this job that took up so much of your time and energy. I didn’t do anything at first, I just liked cooking for you since you’re always so happy when you’re eating but then it all just kinda… got out of hand.”

“How so, baby?”

“It didn’t take long for things to get out of control. You stopped going to the gym but your eating habits stayed the same. The thoughts started getting more and more frequent until I finally spiked one of your meals. It was so fucking hot to watch you gobble it down without knowing, made better by how much happier it seemed to make you. So, I kept doing it. Then you started showing and it just made me so horny.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve always been so fit! I never thought you’d go along with it when it would mean completely changing your life.”

“So you took the decision away from me?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can fix this; let me re-make your food.”

“Can you stop for a minute and let me make my own damn decisions about my life, Leo?” Marcus yelled. Leo stopped and made eye contact with his partner for the first time since he was found out. “Did I say that’s what I wanted? I’m pissed that you made a decision for me without even talking to me, baby. I’m not mad at what you’ve done, just how you went about it.”

“I get that, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed how much attention you’ve been giving me lately? How happy you are when you cook or bake something that I like? You’re not wrong that I’ve never been happier than when you started spoiling me with your experiments,” Marcus lifted his shirt and rubbed his exposed belly.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying?”

“I mean do anything like this a-fucking-gain and we’re going to have a much bigger problem. But I’m ultimately saying that…if it makes you happy, I’m not against you playing out this little fantasy of yours for a little while,” he motioned for his lover to come over and give his bloated body some attention as he stood.

Leo obliged, first placing a hand on each love handle before kneeling before his overfed boy and kissing his soft belly. “Are you sure?”

Marcus lifted Leo by the chin back up to meet his eyes, caressing his boyfriend’s sweet face as he pulled him in for another kiss. “Would I ever lie to you, baby? Now, how about you go finish up whatever you were doing in the kitchen and we can talk about this fantasy of yours?”

#weight gain #male weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #gay gainer #gay feedee #realistic gain #exjock #gaining weight

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sandsunseagrapes · 4 years ago

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ok ok ok hear me out: claire introduces cas to spotify, right? bc she’s sick of riding w him on hunts and all he plays is the hot 100 station. she loves megan thee stallion obviously, but there’s only so many times she can hear the 3 songs the radio plays. so, she bribes dean to help her install a new stereo in cas’s car that has an aux cord, and she commandeers it at every chance. (dean will never admit it, but the reason he “couldn’t find” an authentic™️ 1967 chevy impala stereo to replace the one he “broke” is bc he gets jealous claire always says yes to a hunt when cas is driving. he wants to hang out w his semi adopted/stolen daughter, too! but i digress) anyway! one day cas asks her to find his favorite song

and she goes, sure, who sings it?

i don’t know her name.

well, how’s it go? i can look up the lyrics

*cas sings a few bars in a foreign language*

claire is like, dude i only speak english. i dropped out of hs bc u broke my family (it’s ok, they joke ab it now. cas doesn’t even feel that bad anymore. but every time she makes a joke like that, he does smth nice for her the next day. the last chocolate muffin at the buffet at the shitty motel is hers, even though she knows cas is Obsessed with chocolate. or he leaves a book in her bag he knows she’d like -- she doesn’t joke so much ab that anymore, even though she loves the presents. she doesn’t love the way he always looks down and to the left though after he smiles bc he never wants her to feel like she has to hold back, and he likes the way her smile makes her gold hair just a little brighter. she likes the way he always pays attention. but i digress again!) anyway!

claire wants to find this song for him, it’s the first one he’s ever asked her to play (it took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out claire was controlling the music. how was he to know this thin strip of rubber-coated string made the stereo play her favorite songs? he just figured she was lucky she could always find the right radio station. explaining what a queue is takes 2 hours. claire is incensed on dean’s behalf when she realizes cas didn’t realize what The Mixtape meant. after she explains that to cas, nobody sees her weird dads for a full day. sam and eileen take her and jack out for lunch, a movie marathon at the local theatre, dinner, midnight bowling, and stargazing bc -- ew!!! but i digress) anyway!

so she’s like, cas, what language is that?

it’s the first one.

claire’s like, oh. dude. i -- i’m sorry, that’s not here.

what do you mean? you said this “website” has every song known! this is my favorite song.

uh, well, cas -- when i said ‘every song known,’ i didn’t think i’d have to specify within this millennium? you know people didn’t, like, have recording equipment until 100 years ago?

that’s outrageous. you are missing out on so much. he’s thinking about how he would like to hear that song, again. he hasn’t thought of it in -- well, hundreds of thousands of years. and what’s a millennium to an angel?, he catches himself thinking (he no longer is one).

i’m sorry i couldn’t play you the oldest song ever (sarcastic frosting on a real apology)

i’m sorry you couldn’t hear it

what is it?

it’s a lullaby. i didn’t even... i hadn’t paid attention to life on this planet since the fish on the beach; i was busy with another solar system after that --

doing what?!

well, i was making it. (delivered with such dispassion it throws her again. this is her dad??? how fucking cool is that)

oh. oh! (5 minutes of silence after this. she knew he was older than everything she knows, but he doesn’t talk much ab it)

it really is a lovely song. i wouldn’t even know it, if not for my sister, anna. she made me watch it. and i -- i always wondered...

what?

i always wondered... what could make you invent something so beautiful? i didn’t know, how could i know, until -- he has been driving this whole time, but he seems now to focus on the road even more.

claire wouldn’t know this, except she steals a glance. then stares just as determinedly out her passenger window. she thinks he might be saying that --

well, i wondered before you, and before dean, and jack, and sam, and everyone (their family, she knows who everyone is, because they’re her everyone, too) but i can see now. (a beat) why you would invent something so kind. i would like to hear that song again. but it’s okay that your friend spotty doesn’t know it.

she’s almost crying, and then she has to laugh, and then she cries, for real. cas pulls over on the side of the road and they both silently get out of the car so they can properly hug. her face is crushed in his shirt (dean’s actually, but no one keeps track anymore) and his left shoulder is soaked with saltwater and maybe hers is too and maybe. maybe, claire thinks (for the first time), this was maybe all worth it.

cas knows it was.

#WOW #i did NOT mean for that to get this long or sappy #this was supposed to be a quick little hc ab cas getting sad ab spotify #i dont even #claire novak #castiel #cas #spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #they r a FAMILY #i LOVE them ur honor #found families rly do it to me huh #writing #spn writing #big yikes #i Felt Something while writing this

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years ago

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❀ runaway | “you said it would be the two of us against the world” feat. kageyama tobio

⇢ day 8 of angstcember

⇢ synopsis: you and kageyama had always dreamt of leaving town and starting a new life somewhere else with just the two of you

⇢ pairing: kageyama tobio x gn!reader

⇢ word count: 2k words

ANGSTCEMBER MASTERLIST (feat. haikyuu!! and bungou stray dogs)

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“let’s run away.”

you and kageyama always said those words to each other when you were alone; always infused with meaning and yet, lacking just a bit of intention. the two of you were just kids in high school, after all, what did you know about actually running away? except now, when you raised your head to find your boyfriend staring out at the sky in the dim light coming from the lamppost overhead, you could tell that this time, he was more than serious.

“let’s run away,” he repeated, this time turning to look at you.

“tobio, how?” you shook your head. “and not just how, where?”

“anywhere,” kageyama blinked, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. he was only comfortable being vulnerable around you, after guarding himself for so long. you were just the same. maybe that’s why fate somehow drew you both together. “anywhere’s better than here,” he whispered, a hand reaching out to touch the side of your cheek where a fresh bruise had bloomed, courtesy of your father.

you looked down. he was right, anywhere was better than here. in this town, with the kind of life you had, you grew up too fast and came to realize that all you ever wanted to do was leave this place. even if it meant risking everything.

“we’ll take this car,” kageyama continued, tapping a hand on the back of the pickup truck that you two were in. “and i have some friends already in the city. remember sugawara-senpai? i still talk to him. he said he could lend us a hand. and you have that biscuit tin full of money you have stashed under your bed, right?”

“it’s not an enormous amount of money...” you said hesitantly.

“it doesn’t have to be,” kageyama said, his voice rising with excitement. “i could probably get some of my mom’s leftover jewelry, but when we get there we can both find a job. i’m already being scouted by pro-volleyball teams and i’m sure you can start work at a cafe even though you don’t have much experience.”

“tobio...”

“y/n,” kageyama held your hand, his eyes fixed on yours. you knew you wouldn’t meet a man as sincere as he was. suddenly, his gaze softened as he pressed his lips against your forehead. “i don’t want to see you getting hurt anymore. i promised you i would protect you so let me do that.”

you closed your eyes and pulled him close to you, never wanting to let go. after everything you two had been through, you knew that kageyama was someone you could trust.

“alright,” you nodded. “let’s run away.”

...

nothing could match the exhilaration you felt as you and kageyama took the pick-up truck and your belongings and left town. once night fell, you managed to sneak out of your bedroom window to where your boyfriend was already waiting down below. this was it. you two were actually going to do it.

the wind from the open window whipped through your hair as the music in the car stereo played loud through the night. as soon as you zoomed past the highway, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off your chest.

“tobio,” you suddenly spoke up.

“yeah?” kageyama turned his head slightly to look at you.

“we can do anything,” you said with a laugh. “we can do anything.”

kageyama looked at you as if you were his whole world, and back then, at that moment, you were. “i love you, y/n,”he said aloud, not even bothering to hide his emotions like you usually did.

and he was glad he didn’t because nothing could replace the shine in your eyes when you heard it. “i love you too, tobio,” you smiled.

...

you knew it was going to be hard when you and kageyama decided to live on your own after you had just left high school. for a while, the two of you had to live in sugawara’s place while you worked as a waitress in a nearby cafe. kageyama had some trouble getting scouted because he ran away from his family.

the exhilaration you had felt the first night after running away had begun to fade as you were faced with the reality of things. the money you earned, even after working for long hours, was just enough to pay for your share of the rent and some groceries. but you hated your job and knew you were being underpaid but what could you do? it’s not like you had any real work experience or a university degree.

“sorry i’m late,” you heard kageyama apologize as he entered the living room. he also had to get a part-time job lifting cargo at a shipping company and most nights, he came home late and tired.

“it’s alright. want me to heat this for you?” you asked, pointing at his dinner on the table.

“it’s fine,” he shook his head and sat down next to you.

“so, how was work?”

“same as always. you don’t even need to ask me anymore.”

“i’m just doing it to be nice,” you answered coldly.

“tch, you just want to feel good about yourself,” kageyama muttered. you glared at him. for the past few weeks, things between you have been tense but you couldn’t do much about it with both of you tired from work.

“i just want to feel good about something!” you found yourself raising your voice. “things have been terrible ever since we moved out and i know it wasn’t going to be easy but it’s nothing compared to what we’re going through right now. we barely even see each other and when we do it’s just even more of this!”

“so what do you want me to do?!” kageyama yelled in retaliation, standing up to tower over you. “i didn’t promise that things would be easy. you’re the one who wanted to come!”

“you asked me to come with you!” you pointed your finger at his chest. “you wouldn’t have made it this far without me!”

“i would have!” kageyama swatted your hand away. “and if you hate it here so much then why don’t you leave?”

you blinked in surprise as if you had been slapped across the face. you wanted to cry but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it in front of him. instead, you stood up and left the table.

“maybe i will then,” you said softly before leaving the apartment.

kageyama found you moments later curled up on the back of the pick-up truck. your eyes were raw from crying and your face was buried in your arms but you felt kageyama hop into the back next to you.

“y/n...” he spoke, his voice much softer than it was earlier. “i’m... sorry about what i said. i... i didn’t mean it.”

“it sounded like you did,” you said hollowly.

“i’m sorry,” kageyama repeated. the two of you were silent for a while before you decided to sit up and lean against the side of the car beside him.

“remember that night? when you suggested that we run away?”

“how could i forget?” kageyama chuckled beside you. “you called me from a payphone crying after you had run away from your house.”

“and then you picked me up from where i was,” you added with a smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re the only one who’s ever felt like home to me.”

“i just... wish that could be enough, even though i know it isn’t,” kageyama said softly, holding your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours. “i didn’t think things would be this hard when we came here but y/n, i still want to make things better for you. for us.”

kageyama wasn’t promising anything and you both knew he couldn’t, not at this point. but that was enough to make you believe in him. he wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything or make empty promises, but he was going to stay with you.

“i believe you, tobio,” you smiled, pressing your forehead against his.

“so, will you stay?” he looked up at you as if you were his whole world, and back then, you were.

“i will. i’ll stay.”

...

slowly but surely, things changed for the two of you. kageyama finally managed to get scouted at a pro-volleyball team without the help of his family and you two were able to get your own place. you took classes at a local community college in-between your job as a waitress. it had been your dream for some time to set up your own cafe and after years of waiting and saving up, you were able to rent out a small, cozy place to start your dream.

for the first time since the day you and kageyama ran away, you felt that same exhilaration of new possibilities being open to you and you were eager to make that leap.

but, things also changed in other ways.

you and kageyama still didn’t see each other that much with you being busy setting up your cafe and volleyball practice in between ad campaigns. but this time, it wasn’t something you minded too much. back in the town where you grew up in, you didn’t have much of a support system with your abusive family. it had always just been kageyama having your back, and you his. now, you had friends, your fellow co-workers at the cafe, and new acquaintances coming and going every single day.

sometimes, you did stay up to greet kageyama when he got home with dinner and one of the desserts you made at the cafe. the two of you would migrate to the couch, recounting old memories or sharing new stories. the atmosphere in your house was a comfortable one, but you couldn’t say that being with kageyama made you happy the way you used to.

realizing that did hurt. you couldn’t help but remember all the times you had cried in his arms or the first time you watched his walls break down and swore you would do anything for him. kageyama had been your home for the longest time. only now, you didn’t need one. you could make one for yourself.

“so, after all these years, huh?” kageyama said after you broke the news to him. the two of you were seated at the dining table with cups of half-finished coffee between you two.

“i feel like i should apologize but it had been coming for some time,” you admitted. “we both knew.”

kageyama sipped from his mug and nodded contemplatively. he didn’t appear to be sad or angry or hurt. finally, he spoke. “you said it would be the two of us against the world.”

you bit your lip and nodded. “i did say that.”

“but we were dumb kids back then,” kageyama chuckled. “dumb kids who didn’t know what was in store for them.”

“hey, we deserve more credit than that,” you nudged his side and flashed him a smile. “if it weren’t for what we planned, if it weren’t for you, i don’t think i would have made it this far.” the expression on kageyama’s face was sad but he reached out and squeezed your hand. “no matter what, i’ll always be grateful to you for that, tobio.”

“and i’ll always remember the first person i’ve ever loved,” he said softly. when he looked at you, it was no longer as if he was looking at his whole world. but that’s alright. kageyama already had his own world and just because you were parting ways, that didn’t mean you had ceased to be in it.

a week later, you had moved out of the apartment after buying a place of your own. it was going to be lonely now without kageyama there to share it with but you didn’t mind too much.

as you walked through the parking lot, you passed by the very pick-up truck that you and kageyama spent so much time in. longingly, you ran a hand over the bumper, remembering that night when you two promised to run away.

smiling, you spoke out loud as if you were talking to your younger selves: “we made it.”

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rocknrollarticles · 4 years ago

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The Artwoods Story

The Artwoods’ 100 Oxford Street is a UK compilation album released in 1983 that features a four-page booklet (pictured above) that tells the band’s story, written by guitarist Derek Griffiths.

Since there's a limit on the number of photos that can be added to one post, I'll be reblogging this a couple times until I have all the info up. To see this post with all the info added in reblogs, click here.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy Derek’s words as much as I do!

Transcript under the cut (main text + Record Mirror article from page three's rightmost side)

“ It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when the Artwoods came into being because everything just seemed to evolve naturally. The one date however that does stick in my mind is the 1st October 1964 which is the date I turned professional, thus depriving the accountancy profession of a valuable addition to its ranks! But seriously, one must go back to previous events in order to trace the history of the group.

I first met Jon Lord at a party in West Hampstead when he was a drama student at The Central School of Speech & Drama. He was introduced to me by Don Wilson whose claim to fame was his membership of the famous skiffle group Dickie Bishop & His Sidekicks. They had had a hit years previously with "No Other Baby But You", and Don now ran a band on a semi-pro basis called Red Bludd's Bluesicians in which I played guitar. Well, I say we were called this, but only when we were fortunate enough to cop an R&B gig. We used to play The Flamingo Allnighter and lots of U.S. air bases. The rest of the time we played weddings and tennis club dances as The Don Wilson Quartet! Jon Lord was brought in on piano and was a very valuable addition especially as he could get his hands around a little jazz and all the old standards. Jon used to ring me at work and interrupt my vouching of sales ledger invoices in order to discuss the coming weekends gigs. We would bubble with excitement at the approach of an R&B gig as we really hated all the weddings and barmitzvahs.

Around this time Don made a very important policy decision and we suddenly became the proud owners of a Lowrey Holiday organ for Jon to play. Shortly after this Don contrived to drive the band-wagon into the back of a lorry on the North Circular, doing himself considerable mischief in the process. This brought about the unfortunate end of Don's career with us, but not before he had masterminded an important merger of two local bands.

For some time we had been aware, and not a little envious, of The Art Wood Combo led by none other than Art Wood himself. His band underwent a split at that time and Red Bludd's Bluesicians, alias The Don Wilson Quartet, were neatly grafted on. We really felt we were moving into the big league by doing this as Art not only had more work than us but, wait for it, used to sing with Alexis Korner's Blues Incorporated with Charlie Watts on drums and Cyril Davies on harmonica! The next problem was a replacement for Don, and this was solved by stealing the bass player from another local group The Roadrunners, a good looking cove who went by the name of Malcolm Pool. The offer and acceptance of the gig were transacted in a pub car park somewhere in West Drayton staring into the murky waters of the Grand Union Canal clutching pints of local bitter (Fullers?). (Authors note: drugs had not been invented at this stage, as far as most groups were concerned, apart from the odd pill to keep one awake on an all nighter!)

The next personnel change took place some time in 1964 and this involved the retirement of drummer Reg Dunnage, who did not want to turn pro. Auditions were held in London and lots of drummers attended. However it was more or less a foregone conclusion that Keef Hartley would get the job. You see we'd already decided that what The Artwoods needed above all else was a Liverpool drummer! Unfortunately none came to the audition, but Keef hailed from Preston which was near enough for us. Keef had previously played with Rory Storm & The Hurricanes, replacing Ringo Starr in the process (heady stuff this), and Freddy Starr & The Midnighters. Both were such influential bands of their time that these credentials combined with Keef's quasi Liverpool accent (at least to our ears) provided him with a faultless pedigree.

So that was it, the line-up that would take us through to 1967 when Colin Martin eventually replaced Keef Hartley on drums.

For a while we worked as The Art Wood Combo but then decided it was hipper to drop the Combo and become The Artwoods.

The period when The Artwoods were operating was one of musical change when groups went from recording and performing other writers' material to writing their own. In fact the last year of the group's existence was 1967 which heralded the arrival of "Hendrix", "Flower-Power". "Festivals" and experimental use of mind expanding drugs! 1966/67 were particularly exciting years to be based in London and every night would be spent in one of the many clubs which had recently sprung up. The Ad Lib, The Scotch of St. James, The Cromwellian, Blaises and of course The Speakeasy to mention a few. Many of these we played in and the trick was to be well known enough not to have to pay the entrance fee on nights off. Any night you could be sure to meet your mates "down The Speak" and it became the unofficial market place for rock musicians.

It was also the days before huge amounts of equipment took over. Equipment meant road-crew and trucks and in turn financial hardship. This simple equation has been the downfall of many bands over the years. We used to travel in a 15 cwt van together with all the gear-no roadies, just us. It's amusing to recall but after recording the TV show "Ready, Steady, Go" (in Kingsway in those days?) one would be besieged by autograph hunters on the way to the van with the gear. Even really 'big groups of the day like The Zombies would hump their own equipment and apologetically place an amp on the ground in order to sign an autograph! Because it was financially viable to travel to small clubs in this way, we would often average 6 or 7 nights a week, every week, on the road. A bad month would probably mean less than twenty gigs. This meant we were living, sleeping and eating in close, and I mean close, proximity. You really found out who your friends were.

The subject of equipment is an interesting one as it really distinguishes the bands then from those of today. The average pub band of today would carry more equipment than we did. As I've already mentioned we were quick to realise that we could elevate ourselves musically by investing in a proper electric organ as opposed to a Vox Continental or Farfisa that many groups used. Consequently the group purchased a Lowrey Holiday and we thought this alone would provide us with the Booker T and Jimmy Smith sound.

What we failed to realize was that we also needed a Leslie cabinet with a special built-in rotor to get that "wobbly" sound. Our friend and mentor Graham Bond, the legendary organist/saxophonist, was quick to point out the error of our ways one night when we were gigging at Klooks Kleek in West Hampstead. We groaned inwardly when we discovered the extra cost and humping involved, but it had to be bought. We were fortunate very early on to score a deal with Selmers, who provided us with free amps and P.A., but we had to make the trek to Theobalds Road once a week to get it all serviced as they were not as reliable in those days. I used a Selmer Zodiac 50 watt amp and Malcolm had Goliath bass cabinets with a stereo amp.

The P.A. comprised two 4 x 12 cabinets and a 100 watt amp! When we toured Poland we played in vast auditoria and linked our system with the Vox system being used on tour by Billy J Kramer & The Dakotas. This meant we were pumping out no more than 300 watts which is laughable by today's standards. Although it would never have compared in quality, I can remember standing at the back of extremely large halls and being able to hear clearly all the words Billy J sang. One day in 1963 Alexis Korner sent me off foraging in and around Charing Cross Road for a new guitar, with instructions to mention his name whereupon I would receive a discount of 10%. Previously I played a Burns Trisonic (collectors will appreciate this model did not have "Wild Dog" treble) but fancied owning a Gibson ES335 as favoured by many blues players. Sure enough one was hanging invitingly in the window of Lew Davis's shop.

I ended up paying £135 and still use it regularly today although its value has multiplied five fold. Malcolm came with me that day and bought an Epiphone bass, the same colour and shape as my guitar. For years we looked like matching book-ends on either end of the group! Keef started off using a Rodgers drum kit, but somewhere along the line changed to, I think, Ludwig. There was no out-front mixing as is common today, just the P.A. amp on stage with the vocalist. Primitive I know, but everything revolved around bands being able to travel economically with their gear and perform at small clubs anywhere in Britain. The college circuit was much sought after and provided the icing on the cake while package tours were not necessarily well paid. We did our first with P. J. Proby and got £25 per night (for the lot of us) and we had to pay for our own accommodation!

I have already mentioned "Ready, Steady, Go" a show on which we appeared on more than one occasion. The original format called for groups to mime to their records but after a time it was decided that it would become "live" and that the show would be re-titled "Ready Steady Goes Live". We were proud to be picked for the first "live" show and learnt the news via a telephone call to our agent in London from a phone box high in the Pennines. We managed a drunken war-dance of celebration round the phone box believing that this meant we'd really cracked it. As I remember the first show we did featured Tom Jones (complete with lucky rabbits foot) miming to "It's Not Unusual", The Kinks, Donovan and Adam Faith's Roulettes playing live (without Adam). We were promoting our first single "Sweet Mary" and I would put the date at around late 1964.

Our first recording deal was with a subsidiary of Southern Music Publishing called Iver Productions and I reckon that would have been mid 1964. Southern had a four track studio in the basement of their offices in Denmark Street ("The Street") and getting the gear downstairs, especially the organ, was "murder". Our first producer was Terry Kennedy and we recorded several tracks with him. Without going too deeply into all the details of recording techniques of the period, one tended to compensate for the lack of tracking facilities available, by attempting to duplicate the live excitement. In many ways it was a frustrating experience particularly for ambitious guitar-players. I was a Steve Cropper freak and I knew as a musician that a lot of his sound on record resulted from him working his amplifier hard in the studio— thus the speaker would emit the sound he was used to on stage. In Britain however, engineers would say "You don't need to play loud man, we can turn you up on the desk". The result was a weedy, thin guitar sound. From way back I'd been experimenting with "feed back" on stage and I really had to dig my heels in about the guitar sound in the studio. Once when I turned my amp up to give it a bit of "wellie" on a solo the engineer bounded out of the control room screaming that the level would bust his microphones!

Sometime during the career of The Artwoods it was decided that we should graduate to a better studio. This was arranged by Mike Vernon who also became our producer. Our records had all been released through the Decca Record Co. and Mike was a staff producer with them. Mike w also an authority on "The Blues" and the relationship led to our only single chart record "I Take What I Want" a cover of a Sam & Dave U.S. R&B hit. Mike was also producing John Mayall at the time and it seemed only natural that Mike and The Artwoods should team up. From this point on we recorded at the Decca studio in Broadhurst Gardens, West Hampstead, but I can't honestly say it did any more for us than our previous efforts in the Southern Music basement, although we could now indulge ourselves in the comparative luxury of the eight track studio. Later on, towards the end of the groups life we were signed by Jack Baverstock at Philips Records who was looking for a group to cash in on the thirties-style gangster craze which had been triggered off by the film "Bonnie & Clyde". As a result we changed our name to "St. Valentines Day Massacre" and released a single of the old Bing Crosby hit "Brother Can You Spare A Dime?" It was an ill- fated venture, which I would prefer not to dwell on, virtually signalling the end of the band apart from a few heavy-hearted gigs with a changed line-up.

Before that though, there were many great times to remember, and a fair number of gigs that were memorable in one way or another.

One of our favourite gigs was Eel Pie Island which we regularly played once a month; in fact we held the attendance record there for a while until the ageing blues artist Jesse Fuller took it from us. Eel Pie Island is literally an island in the middle of the River Thames at Twickenham and there's never been a gig like it since. It was an Edwardian ballroom originally I believe, that achieved notoriety in the 50's with the Trad Jazz boom. At that time, an overloaded chain ferry was used to convey the crowd across the river, but during the 60's a small bridge was in existence although it was only wide enough to take the promoter Art Chisnall's mini van. He had to make three separate trips across with the gear strapped to the roof and hanging out the back doors.

The audiences were exceptional for those times and I don't know where they all came from... very much like art students and very much more like the 70's than 60's. Long hair predominated and this was before 'hippies' had officially been invented! If you can imagine a ramshackle wooden ballroom, bursting at the seams, condensation pouring from the walls, the audience on each others shoulders leaping up and down, the sprung dance floor bending alarmingly in the middle, in the summer couples strolling outside and lounging on the river bank ... all this and not a disc jockey in sight! One other bonus was that it was a “free” house and therefore sold many different types of beer— we always favoured Newcastle Brown. Back on the 'mainland' afterwards it was always riotous packing the gear into the truck. I don't know how he managed it but one night Malcolm drove our truck over the support band's guitar which happened to be lying about, thus breaking the neck. I'll never forget the shocked look on that poor guitarist's face as Malcolm smoothly slipped the van into gear, apologised and drove off in that order!

No trip up north was complete without stopping at the famed Blue Boar on the M1 for a "grease-up" on the way home. I do not refer to truck lubrication but to a particular rock'n'roll delicacy known as “full-house”. This comprised double egg, sausage, chips, beans, tomatoes, fried slice, tea, and (if you were man enough) toast. It was considered a Herculean task to break successfully the 10 bob' (50p) barrier-all served on wobbly cardboard plates that doubled as items to sign autographs on for the self service waitresses.

Waitress: What band are you?

Me: You won't have heard of us.

Waitress: Oh go on, tell us.

Me: OK. The Artwoods.

Waitress: Never 'eard of you!

It was everybody’s dream to walk into the Blue Boar just as their hit of the moment was playing on the Juke Box.

One time we were chosen to represent the twentieth century at the centenary celebrations of the State of Monte Carlo— a most lavish affair which the aristocracy and dignatories of Europe attended. Princess Grace and Prince Ranier were the hosts and people like Gina Lollobrigida and the like were there. The ball was held in the famous Casino at Monte Carlo and we stayed in an opulent hotel called The Hermitage, I think. All I can remember is that we all had single rooms (a rare luxury) which were massive, and you could have pitched a tent under one of the bath towels, they were so big. After this we jetted off up to Paris where we played next door to the Moulin Rouge at a club called The Locomotive.

Whilst we were there we were taken out by our friend Mae Mercer, the American lady blues singer who we backed in England. She lived in Paris and took us out to Memphis Slim's club where we all set about drinking like it was going out of style. At the end there was an embarrassing scene concerning the bill with the result that Mae ended up in tears. Whilst we were bumbling about in an alcoholic stupor, an upright looking gentleman put his arm round Mae to comfort her and a wallet appeared magically from his inside pocket. Without further ado the bill was despatched and we later learned that our anonymous benefactor was none other than Peter O'Toole who was busy in the street outside filming 'Night Of The Generals' and was an old buddy of Mae's.

One Boxing Day we loaded up with turkey sandwiches and Xmas pudding and headed off for a gig down in Devon or Cornwall somewhere. We arrived to find the club closed and boarded up, and as usual we were broke. Naturally we were livid, checked into an hotel and located the promoter who lived with his mum. Next morning we drove round to where he lived and burst our way past his confused mum. We found him in his bedroom nervously cowering against some fruit machines which he collected. He had no money so we forced him to empty his damned machines with the result that we drove back to London with 50 quids' worth of 'tanners' (approx 22p for the younger reader!)

Whilst on the subject of disasters I suppose I am duty bound to mention Denmark. The first time we went there we caught the ferry to the continent, drove up through Germany, then caught another ferry to Denmark. There was no promoter to meet us when we arrived so all we could do was drive to Copenhagen and check in at the Grand Hotel. It cost us an arm and a leg but at least we got a good nights sleep after being awake for nearly two days travelling. The next day we made a few phone calls and finally tracked down the promoter. He said: "Didn't you get my telegram cancelling the tour?" We politely said no we hadn't and what did he intend doing with us? He checked us into another hotel (cheaper of course) and set about booking us at places that were similar to English coffee bars and youth clubs. We made enough to survive on and paved the way to more successful tours of that country. In fact by now we had Colin Martin on drums and were pursuing a much more adventurous musical policy and writing our own material. It was just right for Denmark who had taken Hendrix to their hearts to name but one, and we subsequently became quite big there in 1967.

The Artwoods achieved modest success-a minor hit single in "I Take What I Want", but we worked constantly, travelled abroad, had fantastic fun and made a living doing so. We had seven single releases, one album, and one EP, and we broadcast both on radio and TV many times. We did stage tours such as the P. J. Proby tour and covered most aspects of "show-biz" apart from actually making a movie. It was the era when bands still had to prove themselves as a live act before being offered a recording contract. now frequently happens of course that an act can become huge record sellers without so much as venturing to do a live gig.

So what happened to everyone? Well Art returned to his former occupation as a commercial artist and finds some time to fit in free-lance work between accompanying brother Ron Wood on raving excursions between Rolling Stones gigs. Malcolm moved into the same field as Art and they now work in the same building. Both of them gig occasionally on a semi-pro basis although Malcolm spent some time playing with Jon Hiseman's Colosseum and Don Partridge in the early 70's. Jon Lord became famous with Deep Purple and Whitesnake as did Keef Hartley with John Mayall and various bands of his own. Colin Martin is now a BBC Radio producer of repute. I played in various bands such as Lucas and The Mike Cotton Sound, Colin Blunstone's band, Dog Soldier (with Keef again), before I somehow drifted into studio and theatre work. Recently I formed an R'n'B band called the G.B. Blues Company, and it's great to be back on the road again. ”

Derek Griffiths.

Clipping from Record Mirror on June 5, 1965, by Norman Jopling.

“We aim to excite!” … say the Art Woods

Just for the record, the Art Woods aren't a part of Epping Forest. In fact they're a group of five interesting young men, named after the group's leader Art Wood. They also happen to be one of the most realistic groups on the scene.

For a start, they are the awkward position of having a large following, a club residency but no hit record. Secondly. they don't mind pandering to commercial tastes, even though they have been hailed as one of the most authentic R & B groups in the land.

NO PULL

“But authentic R&B just isn't pulling the crowds any more,” says Art. “The audiences want to be excited, not to be lectured on what is 'good' and what is 'bad'. Although there was a time when you could spend half an hour on one number with long solos by everybody, it didn't last long. And although there are some clubs like that still, most of them want something fresh and new.

“And we try to cater for them. We like authentic R&B, but we also like playing everything and anything else. So far, our two discs haven't meant a light. Of course we'd love a hit. But we're lucky enough to make a good living without one.”

DISCS

The Art Woods latest disc is "Oh My Love" and the one before that “Sweet Mary”. Of them Little Walter has said that he couldn't believe any white group could sing and play the blues like they do.

Line-up of the group is Art Wood, leader. vocalist and harmonica. Derek Griffiths, lead guitar, Jon Lord, organ and piano. Malcolm Pool— base guitar, and Keef Hartley on drums. The boys use a specially adapted Lowrie organ, and get a sound that's really different.

But even if the boys sometimes become depressed about no hits records, they should remember groups like Cliff Bennett, the Barron-Knights, the Rockin' Berries and the Yardbirds, and how long THEY waited before they had a hit!

N.J.

#the artwoods #the art woods #art wood #derek griffiths #malcolm pool #jon lord #keef hartley #colin martin #100 oxford street #the 100 club #articles #liner notes #newspaper clippings #record mirror #my posts

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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⁂ Moving Metal #6: Loss of Senses

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Previous

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When morning finally arrived, I entered the cafeteria, taking a seat next to Tork who nodded in acknowledgment. He and Karma were the only ones in there at the time, so I was able to get some peace and quiet as I rested my head on the metal table. It was cold and felt good against my pounding head.

“You’re not eating?” Tork questioned.

“Don’t have much of an appetite this morning.” Which totally isn’t because I had a guilt-ridden nightmare which led me to end up passed out against a Teku car. Yeah, that totally didn’t happen.

He remained silent and I worried that he was going to ask me something other, but my saving grace appeared in the form of Taro. He sat across from me after grabbing a tray of food, his eyes narrowed at me.

“You’re up early,” He sounded suspicious.

“Is that a crime now?”

“You hate mornings,”

Damn you, Taro. Why do you have to pay so much attention to others, huh? “I’m turning over a new leaf, so what.”

The door opened and in walked Vert and Shirako, both of whom smiled at me. I cleared my throat as I stood up, mumbling about how I was going to go work on my car. I could feel multiple pairs of eyes on my back but I did my best to ignore it.

Mark was already at the cars, working on his Spinebuster. He nodded at me when I approached but said nothing. I was thankful that he kept his mouth shut for once.

My eyes scanned the length of my Night Hawk as I remembered the feeling of rejection from that night. I reached out, hesitating for a moment, before letting my hand rest on the hood. The metal was ice cold, just as it had been before, but it didn’t feel quite as distant.

I bowed my head as I rested my other hand on the hood, ‘Night Hawk… I know I’m not as strong as I pretend to be. As a car belonging to the Metal Maniacs, you deserve someone with a stronger will behind your wheel, but I… I won’t give up. I will keep fighting and moving forward, even if I have to destroy those in my way. I hope you’ll continue fighting by my side.’

“You look like shit,” Mark commented, raising his brow when I met his gaze.

I scoffed, “You ain’t no field of daisies, either.”

“Did you even sleep last night? And what the hell happened to your hands?”

“Will you quit with the third degree already? Damn,” I popped the hood of my car and started my routine check to make sure everything was in order and ready to go.

“You’re acting pretty defensive, kid.”

“And you’re acting pretty annoying, kid.” I scowled, pointing the wrench at him. “Don’t forget I’m older than you.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re pretty short,”

“What does being short have to do with age? Work on your car and be quiet, will ya?”

“Che,” He glared at me but did as he was told. It wasn’t long before that damned alarm sounded again.

Please, for the love of god, let it be something simple this time.

“A new realm is opening,” Dr. Tezla announced over the loudspeaker.

Yeah, because we couldn’t hear the alarm.

“Hey, kid!” Porkchop pulled up beside you in his Jack Hammer. “Wanna roll with me this time?”

I dropped the hood into place with a nod, hopping into the passenger seat. He took off before the door even closed, following close behind Shirako. We entered the ball of light.

We were in a cavern, dark and damp. There were bright yellow crystals edged into the walls and ceilings which gave off a faint glow, but that clearly wasn’t enough for Shirako. Soon after entering, his car started to glow like a damn disco ball that was exposed to radiation.

“Turn off the lights, Teku, I can’t see!” Porkchop complained, swerving back and forth across the track as he did his best to see past the blinding lights.

“He’s more than just a stereo on wheels, he’s a feckin’ rave on wheels,” I muttered, earning a sharp look from Porkchop.

As is the Maniac way, he increased his speed so that he was beside the male before ramming into the side of his car and sending him into the wall. From the passenger seat, I could see Shirako’s smirk as he eyed Porkchop and I knew what was coming.

His lights were off due to the impact but were quickly replaced by his bass-centric stereo system.

“Now I can’t hear!” Porkchop complained, and I had to agree.

Being that close to the music was making the Jack Hammer shake. I briefly worried that it was going to shatter the windows, but we had bigger problems to worry about. The bass from his music wasn’t just shaking the car, it was shaking the cave and sending stalactites falling onto the track.

“Look out!” Kurt’s voice came through the radio, followed by the sound of tears squealing.

Porkchop narrowly missed a rather sharp looking stalactite that hit just inches from his car.

“Shirako! The sound waves, they’re bringing down the stalactites!” Lani was practically screaming over the sound of his music. Even then, I was barely able to register what she was saying.

I really wished that the track would break off like it had in the Swamp realm.

“We got drones, Maniacs!”

Sure enough, as soon as Mark’s voice came through, two green and black cars were hot on our tail, but they were having about as much luck as we were. One of them misjudged the distance of the rock sticking up through the track and slammed right into it, exploding on impact. The other one managed to dodge but spun himself out doing so.

“Jeez, these guys are endless,” I muttered as three more drones took their place.

“On the bright side, we lost the stereo on wheels,” Porkchop said.

I had been too wrapped up in the chaos to notice, but we had pulled ahead of the pack. “Hey, Porkchop, I don’t suppose you have that anchor in here, do you?”

“Left it in the big rig,”

“Damn,”

The car suddenly jolted as a giant bat landed on top of the roof, its claws digging into the metal. It leaned its head down, trying to bite him through the open window but he dodged and punched it in its mouth. Using that as a distraction, I pulled my blade from under my shirt and pulled half of my body out of the window. It noticed me just as I reared back, slamming the metal into its neck. It screeched out in pain and released its grip on the car.

My gaze met Shirako’s as he pulled up behind us, two bats clinging to his car. I could faintly hear someone come through the radio before Shirako started blaring his music again. The sudden increase in volume made Porkchop serve, but he grabbed my legs and roughly pulled me back inside just as the side of the Jack Hammer skimmed one of the rocks.

I breathed out, offering him a grin. “Thanks,”

He laughed at the adrenaline rush, pushing the gas pedal to the floor. We went soaring through the portal, skidding to a stop back in the Acceledrome. An accelecharger materialized in front of him, glowing a chocolate brown.

Seconds later, Teku music filled the drome as Shirako skidded to a stop beside us.

I grabbed onto the accelecharger, feeling raw power surge through my hand.

“Hey, the race is over, turn it off!”

But Shirako was too enraptured by the music to hear anything that was said. Mumbling angrily, Porkchop pulled off and parked his car.

Dr. Tezla approached us. I couldn’t see his eyes behind those dark glasses of his, but I just had the feeling that he was very excited. “You got another accelecharger,”

I glanced at Porkchop, but he was too busy mumbling under his breath as he kicked a few loose tools lying on the ground. Hesitantly, I placed the charger in his open palm, watching him walk away without another word. I still didn’t trust that guy, and after feeling the power contained within the accelecharger, I didn’t trust him even more.

Who’s the say he isn’t the bad guy and the drones are just trying to stop him?

The line between good and evil was seriously being blurred here and it was driving me crazy. I needed a serious break.

Sliding into my car, I started the engine. It roared to life like an angry lion as I pressed on the gas, tires squealing from the sudden force. Taro yelled my name as he stepped out of his car, but I acted like I didn’t hear it and took off down the ramp leading out of the Acceledrome.

The speedometer rose as I pressed the gas pedal further to the bottom of the car. I was worried that someone would follow me and I just wanted to get away as soon as I could. Once I was out of the winding cliffs, I could disappear in the endless expanse of desert.

I’m not sure how long I drove for, but I finally came to a stop at a cliff overlooking the ocean. I stepped out of the car and approached the edge, feeling the wind blowing around my body. My arms raised on their own, spreading out like wings.

It felt so freeing like I could just fly away from all of my problems. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was just a fleeting emotion.

I fell back onto the dirt, my back resting against the front of my car. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky that day. It was just a blank canvas of pale blue.

My hand clutched around my pendant as my eyes slid closed. ‘I wonder what you’d say if you were here, dad. Would you be proud of what your daughter has become? Would you be disappointed? Would you care at all?’

No, if he were here, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I’d probably be in prison, to be fair. The only reason I’m free now is because of Taro and Tork, but if dad hadn’t died, I never would have met them.

As much as I miss my dad, the thought of never meeting the Maniacs… that thought hurts worse. I love my dad, but we were never a family, we were just two people that shared the same blood.

“I wonder… how long will this last before it all comes crashing down?” I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. How long would it be before everyone learned the truth about me and turned their backs on me? Only Taro and Tork knew about my past, and even they don’t know the whole story. Granted, Taro knew more than leader did, but that’s only because I had a mini breakdown and couldn’t stop running my mouth.

Night descended upon me before I realized it, the temperature dropping drastically. Every time a gust of wind blew by me, my body would shake, but I had no desire to move. My legs and ass had fallen asleep, going numb against the hard ground.

A part of me wanted to stay there forever. It was peaceful, quiet, and didn’t ask bothersome questions. Would anyone come after me? Probably not. I had turned the radio off and disabled the GPS so they couldn’t find me.

The other part of me wanted to return to the safety of the Maniacs. They were rowdy and loud, and not the least bit subtle or gentle, but it felt safe with them. It felt warm. It felt… like home.

Pushing myself to my feet, I stretched to wake up the muscles that had long since fallen asleep. They started to tingle like they were being pricked which made me do this weird looking dance to get rid of the feeling.

Just as I opened the door of my Night Hawk, a pair of headlights blinded me. There’s no feckin’ way they found me…

The headlights turned off. That was definitely not a Maniac or a Teku.

The door lifted up and a man stepped out, dressed in a blue suit and tie. “We finally meet, Jae Wesley.”

“The hell are you?” I demanded, my hand automatically reaching for my blade.

He held up his hands and offered a smile. “Easy, there. I’m not your enemy.”

“Really? ‘Cause you damn sure look like one.”

“I knew your father,”

With those four words, it felt like the blood in my veins froze over.

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talix18 · 5 years ago

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November 5

(AM)

In the moments when I’m lonely and longing for a life partner who lives with me and cooks for me and prods me to do the many projects around the house that need doing, I imagine what it will be like to make room in my house for another person. I’ve lived a long time, I contain multitudes, and each of those multitudes requires at least one room’s décor dedicated to it. This décor includes lighting, wall art, and hella knickknacks, which I’m learning are perhaps privileges and not rights. I am a terrible housekeeper. I keep the kitchen and the bathroom mostly liveable at all times, I scoop litterboxes regularly, and I do clean up obvious messes that are clearly out of place (cat vomit, food splatter, errant toiletries). I even keep up mostly with sweeping as I like to pad around barefoot or in socks.

But when it comes to, say, vacuuming the cat hair off the couch or dusting, I am Not Good. I’ve also lived alone for so long that I’ve gotten in the horrible habit of embarking on a Project – hanging knickknack boxes; reconditioning my leather goods in the wake of The Mold Issue (it was penicillin-ish, not the black stuff, praise the baby Jesus) – and quitting part of the way through (usually because of time constraints and a commitment of some kind), leaving the evidence scattered in my wake. (Currently on my floor are a pile of shoes, boots, and purses and some leather cleaner. My knickknack boxes and said knickknacks are strewn across the dining room table and the hearth of my wood stove. My intentions are good. I know that I want to complete these projects and honor the energy I spent starting them. Sadly, motivation and energy are not available On Demand in my life, and significant time elapses between the beginning of the project and the cleaning up of the aftermath.

I have cats. Cats come with shed hair and the occasional DIY beach simulation beyond the litter box. Dust happens. It happens with alarming regularity and perseverance. It’s most pronounced on the shelves that don’t get touched very often (all the stuff that’s just for looking at; the bookshelves that are too rarely visited). As my media consumption leans further toward streaming, dust has enveloped the stereo, CD racks, and TV console. If anyone besides me saw the state to which I’ve allowed my home to be taken over by the assorted cobwebs (imagine Ms. Havisham’s tablescape), I would have the sense to be ashamed. I would also shrug, rail against the social expectations that single home-owning women are expected to meet, and usher my guest out the door to attend whatever function has brought them over in the first place.

At this point it is fair to ask why I don’t just hire a cleaning service. Well. Remember that whole lack of energy and motivation thing? There are conditions in which I am willing to live, but I would never ask someone to clean up after me until my home was in some sort of organized and settled initial state. It’s been at least two and a half years since I can honestly say this has been the case. (That’s not even including the dresser drawer that is almost certainly on the bedroom floor.

First, the cats moved in. I took in the cats when they were three and their owner was moving out of state. His situation involved temporary lodging with a friend and the cats weren’t welcome, so Jack and Lily (formerly Jill) came to live with me. When they came, I’d been a cat-free home for just about a year. Long enough to get rid of litterboxes and food bowls, but not long enough to pull up the wall-to-wall carpet the house came with. And I really wanted to get the carpet up, as my dearly departed Bo, who is really the reason I bought this house, was bulimic for most of his life. And his life was a long one, so he had his own crotchety habits, which included peeing in places that were not the litter box. I cleaned up behind him to the best of my ability, but my guess was that new cats would be able to tell he’d left parts of himself behind. (Besides the handful of whiskers that I collected when they fell out. Did I mention I’m a witch?)

Since the cat acquisition was, on my timeline, relatively rushed, and my bookshelves and couch are heavy, I made the executive decision to cut what carpet I could get to away and go back for the remnants later. The cats are now six, this is officially their Gotcha month, and three years later, we’re all still living with those remnants and the exposed paint splattered plywood floor revealed by removing the carpet. (We’ve also learned a hard lesson about how much insulation that carpet provided in the winters since its removal.)

I had every intention of putting down new flooring, but that requires money. Which I had more of before The Mold Incident.

The Mold Incident announced itself most obviously on a leather duffel bag I brought home from India (21 inches long for $45 US and I had acquired more than my suitcase could hold) and a leather backpack I got in Italy (25 years ago). A person other than myself would have assessed and remediated the situation in a timely fashion, I imagine. I know people exist who don’t have anxiety about phone calls and who get things done rather than letting them pile up, and I wish one of them lived in my house. (Future significant other, I’m looking at [for] you.) I, on the other hand, let the situation continue to worsen until it was obvious that the problem was not going away, no matter how hard I ignored it.

One mold inspection later, I was assured that the mold was of the friendly green-ish antibiotic kind and not the deadly black kind, and assured that the problem was simply one of humidity. Encapsulating my crawl space and installing drainage and a sump pump would keep the mold from coming back. (Remember those two thousand-year floods that destroyed historic Ellicott City twice in three years? I live up the hill from historic Ellicott City and my town also flooded in that second storm. I knew that water was sitting in my crawl space when I saw a wet spot on my bedroom floor.)

Cleaning the mold that was already in the house would cost, I was told, somewhere around $5K. Or I could do it myself, using a one-to-one combination of white vinegar and blue Dawn. All I had to do was wipe down all of the walls, ceilings, furniture, and exposed surface. And launder every article of clothing in my closet and coat rack. A friend lent me a garment rack that lived in my dining room as I took everything out of the closet and put back the mold-free stuff, culling for things that could go to donation bags because my closet was Way Too Full.

I finally gave back the garment rack, but the pile of shoes and bags remains. And the cleaning every exposed surface fizzled out (though the bucket, rags, and ingredients remain at the ready). Encapsulating the crawl space required getting in there and cleaning everything out (the pile of mildewed insulation was…something), which required pulling up part of the floor in the spare room. (Where my contractor saw the places in the floor likely to cave in and installed three new joists to prevent that. He also replaced the part of the wall in the closet that was secretly a hole hidden under siding and, while he was at it, finished the siding on the house that was begun when he built me a new utility room.)

Are you tracking the costs that are adding up? Clearing the crawl space, installing the joists, hanging the siding, and finally the encapsulation itself. Altogether, I basically bought a new economy car and shoved it under my house. The only part of it I can see is the siding, and that’s not even the color I really wanted (because the color I wanted was “premium”; for the sake of all you hold holy get the big things the way you really want them if you possibly can [that should probably go for the small things too]). And my floors are still paint splattered plywood.

(PM)

The hanging of the siding knocked lots of pictures and knickknacks from the walls, which led to the removal of a shelf that held the knickknacks, which revealed paint that needs to be touched up. Well, there’s no point in doing the floors until the walls are painted. Okay, but there’s a fist-sized hole in the electrical panel in the spare room that needs to be patched first. Which I can finally get to now that the HVAC is installed. Did I mention the new HVAC system? Maybe it was a new midline car, one third of which is in the attic.

Where was I?

I’m learning, as I contemplate all of the things I have to move and decide whether to keep and clean, that ownership is one thing, but maintenance of stuff is a different issue. Maybe this is a thing other people learn when they are much younger. Addict. Depressed. Brain issues. Bear with me. I understand that cars involve maintenance costs; so do pets and children. And houses in general require upkeep that isn’t associated with other living situations. I knew relatively early on that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the costs of having a kid – even if I could make it work financially, there are no days off in bed when you’re a parent. I knew I’d made the right decision when a friend told me that for him, parenting made the highs higher and the lows lower. I can’t afford any lower lows.

So I don’t have kids, because on my own, I can’t afford them. I have a 15-year-old car that’s paid for, but also requires the occasional costly repair. It’s easier for me to coax occasional lump sums than a new monthly payment out of my budget, so I hold on to the car and maintain it to the best of my ability. I have a lot of books, which are pretty self-sufficient once they’re shelved, and theoretically it’s easy to wipe the dust from a bookshelf, unless you are a person who has so much stuff some of it gets propped up in front of the books. See if you can guess if I am that kind of person. (Spoiler: I am.)

#f**k fifty #nanowrimo

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iadorayou-blog · 6 years ago

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We went into the pool bathroom and Lance handed me a baggie with messy blue sharpie labeling the contents ‘clean undies’ I pulled out the only pair in the bag, “Lance, I thought you said you had multiple pairs! I can’t take your only extra pair of clean underwear.” He just ignored me to rummage through his bag again pulling an almost identical baggie to the one he handed me out

“Keeping everything separated is more sanitary.”

“Makes sense,” I shrugged as I entered a bathroom stall to change and Lance did the same.

We left the pool and started heading back walking just the way we did before, hand in hand, except surer that the other wanted the same thing.

We got back and found Hunk, Pidge, and Shay in the same room we left them in. “Hey Hunk, can you take Keith and me to my house he’s staying over.”

“Lance, I hate to be the dad here but, you and Keith are drunk you shouldn’t do anything…” he lectured.

“Don’t worry, Lance and I agreed to not do anything until we talk about things sober because we are drunk. We’re just gonna watch movies and eat food.” I interjected.

“Wow that’s very mature of you guys, I’m proud.” Hunk faked tearing up.

“It was Keith’s idea,” Lance began, “which I agreed to because I am just as mature as Keith is!” He sounded like he thought he had to defend himself.

“Okay I’ll take you but can you wait a little longer it’s only like 9:30 we’ve been here like an hour and thirty minutes.”

“Oh come on Hunk, you said yourself that Lance only came bc you told him Keith was coming and Keith only came bc you got Allura to tell him that Lance was coming. Take the idiots home!” Pidge yelled.

Lance gasped and he turned to me, “Yo we were tricked, I mean I don’t mind because I enjoy the end result but, yo we were tricked!”

“Pidge, they weren’t supposed to know that!” Hunk groaned at her.

Pidge took off her glasses to clean them, “Sorry I can’t hear you I don’t have my glasses on.” She deadpanned.

“You don’t even need them you’re not blind Matt have them to you when he got contacts and you got the lenses replaced!” Hunk sighed, “whatever guys, Shay I’ll be back I’m gonna take these two losers home.”

“See you soon Hunk!” She replied cheerfully.

The three of us walked to Hunk’s car while he grumbled, “why do I always have to be the designated driver,”

“Because Hunk you don’t drink,” Lance answered his rhetoric.

“Because it’s terrible for your liver! It’s not even enjoyable, you just get all dizzy and confused and you wake up with a headache in the morning.” Junk ranted.

“Not me I have fun when I’m drunk and then I wake up sober and have more fun.” Lance once again replied.

Hunk just sighed in response he had given up on trying to lecture the boy. The drive was only about five minutes but it would have been too far to walk.

“Okay boys,” Hunk started in a mock mothering voice, “be safe don’t stay up too late don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And remember mommy loves you!” He joked.

“Uh, we already have done stuff that you wouldn’t do but love you too, mom.” Lance played along as we walked up the sidewalk leading to his door. Hunk just stared at us blankly as he slowly rolled up his crank window.

Hunk’s car is exactly how I imagined, a really old minivan but in pristine condition. He replaced the stereo system with a newer system that can connect to his phone through Bluetooth. Lance said the windows were all broken when he bought it but he fixed them up so now they all roll up and down. He also replaced the fabric seats with a fake leather.

Lance’s house was nothing like I expected, we were only a few minutes from the suburban neighborhood the party we were just at was in but this area was much more rural. The property seems to be mostly land with a short picket fence bordering it all. In his backyard, I could see smaller fence pens walling in small groups of animals. Further back there was a small building resembling a barn where I imagine they kept the animal that wouldn’t fit in the fenced pens. The house was a pretty pale blue with white trimming. It had a high rise porch with a closed off crawl space. There was a moderate sized hole in the criss-cross pattern blocking off the underside of the porch.

Lance let go of my hand to unhook the latch holding the front gate closed. He opened it up, gestured for me to walk in and then closed it after himself. He grabbed my hand again and said “welcome to my humble abode.”

As we walked closer to his house a small gray cat crawled out from the small hole under the porch and ran right up to us whining. Lance immediately goes to pick it up, “Blue, what are you doing outside again?” He asked the cat whilst holding it like a baby. “Keith, meet Blue, my baby girl. You aren’t allergic to cats are you?” He asked directed at me this time.

“Oh no, I’m not. I don’t often play with cats though, do I just pet her?” I asked him.

“Well, you have to let her smell you first so she knows you don’t want to hurt her. But then you can just scratch the top of her head.”

“Okay,” I slowly reached my hand out to her face she smelt me and then visibly relaxed and rubbed her face against my hand. “So why is she named blue?” I asked as I scratched the cats head.

“Oh that’s because she’s a Russian blue, also she first came around when we were painting the house and she got paint all over her fur and we had to clean her up and she’s stayed with us since.” He smiled at me.

“Ah okay, that makes sense. I thought you were gonna say something like ‘well blue is my favorite color.’ But that’s cute I like that.” I said

“Actually blue is my favorite color, but that’s not why I called her that. It amused me that a Russian Blue cat decided to roll around in our blue paint.” He looked at his cat lovingly. “I’m gonna hand you the keys because I have to carry her in she knows she’s supposed to be an indoor cat.” He shifts blue to where she’s only in one arm to dig in his pockets for the keys and then toss them my way.

I unlock the door and let Lance walk in before me he sets blue down on the couch as I close the door behind us. The inside of Lance’s house is much more like what I imagined. Everything was a nice warm tone, the walls were a toned down sunset orange with red roses painted on the white baseboards. The wood floors were stained a deep burgundy color. The couch was a mixture of gold and beige and looked a few years old but still extremely comfortable near it there were matching chairs all surrounding a coffee table made of recycled and repurposed wood. As I scanned the room there was a cross stitch banner that read ‘mi casa, es su casa.’ above the door. In the farthest corner to the right, there was an old piano, the top of it was being used as a shelf to hold various family pictures. In the other far corner, there was a doorway I later learned led to a bathroom. Between the two corners was a large archway that led to the dining room and kitchen. Almost every wall had framed school pictures and childhood drawing to go with them. Messy flowers, bowls of fruit and redrawn family portraits. Lance’s mother kept every piece of artwork the school probably made Lance and his siblings draw throughout the years.

As I look at all the framed pictures around the room I find one of Lance in elementary school he had the hugest smile and he was missing his front two teeth. Lance came up and hugged me from behind and wrapped his arms around my stomach and I leaned into his warmth. He rested his chin on my shoulder and spoke, “right before that picture was taken I pulled out my two front teeth because I was tired of them being there. I wasn’t gentle either there was blood on my face that the teacher had to wipe off before I was allowed to take my picture. Apparently having a child have blood on their face in the yearbook was against school policy.”

In the corner closest to the door we’re some stairs and in the other front corner, there was a Christmas tree, “Lance, as much as I would love to hear the story behind all of these pictures what I’m really curious about is the Christmas tree over there? Like it’s August why is there a Christmas tree out?” I spun us around in the direction of the tree.

“Ah see my family love plants but we all have allergies so we can’t keep them in the house and my mamá always says that it’s the best tree to have. She loves God and every year she makes us read these stories about how Christmas trees are meant to be a reminder of God. So for her, it isn’t just a seasonal thing. Don’t worry though she’s not like the Westboro Baptist church or anything, she’s really accepting and kind.” He explained.

“She’d be okay with me, a full-fledged gay, being here right? Does she know that you’re… ya know?” Also, where is your family?”

“Uhh, yes, no and tonight is date night for my parents and none of my siblings live at home anymore.” He paused to turn our bodies to face the door still hugging me from behind, “See that sign right there,” he pointed to the cross stitch banner I had noticed earlier, “it says ‘mi casa es su casa’ which in Spanish means ‘my house is your house’ something that my family lives by. Basically, anyone who is important to any family member is always allowed here. Which is why I didn’t have to ask if you could come over our rule is our doors are always open to guests unless otherwise specified.” He paused again to release me from the hug and make me face him, “basically what I’m trying to say is, you’re welcome at any time and make yourself at home.”

“Lance, can I ask you something?” He quickly nodded in response. “Why haven’t you come out?”

He took a deep breath before slowly beginning, “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. I know that my parents and siblings won’t care. But all of my family is from Cuba, which isn’t exactly known for its gay rights… I guess I’m just scared I’ll be looked at different, and I don’t want to hide this side of me from them but I don’t want anyone to try to change me.” He said weakly.

“I get that, I mean I can’t relate but I understand what you mean. Don’t worry Lance, you can come out when you’re ready. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” I rubbed small circles in his hand trying my best to be comforting.

“Thank you, Keith, I always feel ashamed that I don’t have the courage to tell my family, some people think it’s because someone is ashamed of being LGBT but I’m so proud to be bi like it’s a huge part of me. It’s just scary because you can’t help but wonder if the people who are most important to you will think of you differently.” He rested his forehead against my shoulder.

“Lance there’s no need to thank me. I like you I want you to feel happy and comfortable. I want to reassure you and help. And the people who think being in the closet equals being ashamed of who you are, are dead wrong. You can be the proudest person in the world and still be scared of how the people around you might react.” I started to rub his back as to tell him everything would be okay, “Lance I’m gonna be here for you okay.”

“You’re the sweetest person in the world,” he lifted his head and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek, “so what kind of movie do you wanna watch?” He suddenly regained his confidence.

“I don’t know I’m not really a movie person, I’ve mostly watched older movies. Like back to the future or all the old Star Wars movies.” I told him.

“So you haven’t seen love, Simon?” He asked quickly.

“Nope, what’s it about?”

“It’s gay and we’re watching it. How do you like your popcorn?” He led me to the kitchen and started rummaging around the shelves. “We have cheddar cheese, movie theater butter, caramel corn, and extra butter.”

“What’s the difference between movie theater bitter and extra butter?” I asked him.

“Movie theater is more salty and extra is more classic butter taste.” He explained.

“Uh that doesn’t help me, you choose anything but caramel corn.” As I said that he whipped around suddenly to face me.

“You don’t like caramel corn?” He shouted.

“I’m more of a savory guy, plus I like to keep my sweets and savories separate and corn is like inherently savory already.” I elaborated as he continued to stare at me blankly.

He sighed, “I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion even if it’s wrong. We’ll have cheddar.” He finally announced walking to the microwave and popping it in.

“I’ll tickle you again.” I simply stated.

He pulled his arms up in front of him defensively, “No need your opinion is valid and so are you!”

“That’s more like it you get a kiss on the cheek.” I smiled at him.

“What if I want a kiss somewhere else?” He pouted crossing his arms over his chest.

I shrugged, “I mean how can I object?” I leaned in for a quick peck on the lips and he rested his arms on my shoulders. The sweet chaste kiss gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling. I pulled back and opened my eyes to the tan giddy boy in front of me smiling like he had everything he ever wanted. I was surprised when that smile turned into an uncontrollable giggle. I fake frowned at him, “why are you laughing we just kissed?”

“Your face makes me laugh.” I stared at him confusion all over my face.

“Okay, no more kisses for you then.” I jokingly scolded and backed away, but he just followed.

“No, come back,” he whined “your face is cute and it makes me laugh. Not like ‘haha that’s so funny’ laugh, an ‘aw he’s so adorable’ laugh. Like it’s just a joy-filled gut reaction. Now come here and give me more kisses.” He begged as he leaned forward, puckered up, and closed his eyes waiting for me to join him.

I connected our lips once again going for a more passionate kiss, I rolled his bottom lip between my teeth before I brought our lips back together and pulled away. He tried to come with me but I held him back. “Sorry lover boy, we agreed we’d keep it at kisses until we’re sober.”

“I know you’re right, you’re just fun to kiss. I wanna steal all the kisses. And more. But we can wait.” Lance was startled by the loud beeping of the microwave telling our popcorn was ready.

Lance poured our popcorn into a bowl and grabbed two bottles of watermelon Powerade, “step one of Lance’s hangover remedy: carbs and electrolytes.” He tossed me one of the bottles, “I hope you like watermelon because that’s the only flavor we have also hydrating with drinks high in electrolytes is like the most important part. I don’t want you to be grumpy in the morning so drink up. Also, follow me to my room.” He sauntered into the living room towards the stairs and waited for me to catch up. I followed him up the stairs and he opened the first door in the upstairs hall.

“Welcome to my room, the bathroom is right over there. Also I’m gonna build us a fort because I don’t like getting into my bed before showering so I’m gonna get the extra bedding and make us a fort and then after we eat our popcorn and finish the movie we can shower and snuggle up in the bed, maybe watch more movies depending on how we’re feeling.” He rambled before leaving the room to get fort supplies.

As I looked around this room definitely was Lance’s. The walls were a dark calming gray-blue. On the wall behind his bed he had neatly arranged Polaroid pictures of beautiful landscapes, him with friends, and other various pictures I assume he took. The tops of his walls were lined with dim blue string lights. The wall by his desk was covered in theater posters and playbills. His desk had shelves housing multiple childhood sports trophies, t-ball, soccer, track, and swim. He had post-it notes with reminders littered all around his desk, things like ‘don’t change for others’ and ‘if you don’t study for math you’re a loser and I hate you.’

“Okay, here’s how we’re gonna do this,” he began and we set up the fort, we made a comfortable cushioned area using blankets and pillows and then placed one end of a sheet on Lance’s desk and the other stretch out to the ground. “Okay now, you get in there and I’m going to hand you stuff.”

After handing me our food an extra blanket to cuddle under and his laptop, Lance finally joined me in our little fort. “You're like a pro fort builder, Lance do you often bring guys up to your room and build forts with them?” I joked while snuggling up to his side as he pulled up the movie.

“Well, you're not the first person I have built a fort in my room with,” he plays along.

“So who was the first?” I asked partially feeling insecure and partially genuinely curious.

“My niece and nephew. However, you are the first person over 10. Also the first boy I’ve kissed. I've always wanted to build a fort with someone of romantic interest but my ex-girlfriend didn’t want to do the cute fun couple things. She just wanted to have sex and go shopping, and by go shopping I mean to have me pay for things she wanted.”

“Lance I’m so sorry she sounds like a bitch, I would totally fight her.”

“Thanks, you don't have to though, we've only been talking for a week and you've already been better than her. Right away you made it clear that you didn’t want to use me. She just made me think that she would be the only person who would ever want me. I was afraid of losing that, but then Pidge caught her cheating and her and Hunk lectured me for like an hour about how shes terrible for and to me and then I broke up with her and I know I deserve better now.” he smiled at me.

“Seriously? I hate it when people lie especially to their partners like that's messed up.”

“It really is, but enough about my tragic love history shall we start the movie?” I nodded.

He started up the movie and Simon, the main character, started by explaining how normal his life is.

“Hey! Morning! It's Simon! I live right here! I like your boots! Okay, bye!” Simon yelled across the street to a boy working on the yard of another house not even hearing Simon.

Lance chuckled, “That's me trying to flirt with you.”

“Oh shut up I respond to you flirting with me,” I told him.

“Now you do, I meant before you talked. You were completely in your own little world.”

“I mean yeah I kind of was but, I also thought you were way too cool for me.” Lance reached to pause the movie.

“So what changed your mind then?”

“Nothing. I still think that but then you came out during class, and all this time I thought you were straight it made me feel like I had a chance because I knew you wouldn't just shoot me down because of things that aren't up to you. I kind of just said ‘maybe he has low standards’ and then Allura told me she'd give me food if I manned up and talked to you. I'm really happy I did. You're really the sweetest guy in the world.” I confessed my face cherry red.

Lance stared at me for a moment each second feeling longer as they passed, “Well, first of all, you're wrong you're really cool and kind and cute. And second of all glad to know you can be bribed with food.” I didn't even have to look at him to know there was a smirk on his face, you could hear it in his voice loud and clear.

“Wipe that smirk off your face loverboy, let’s get back to our movie.” I smiled up at him.

“Only if you give me a kiss,” he said smirk still there.

I leaned in, “Glad to know you can be bribed with kisses.” We connected lips for the third time that night each one felt just as good if not better than the previous.

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thoughtsthatstray · 6 years ago

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The N.W.A. album “Straight Outta Compton” turns 30 today. That makes me feel old.

Quick little story. 1988, likely a bit later in August, possibly early September, our football team had just received a gift from a local business. A 5-cd Changer to attach to the stereo system in the field house. Cassette tapes were still the more popular form of media, so one of our coaches said, come up with a list of CD’s, and I’ll have my wife pick up 5 for the new machine thing”. They would simply randomize from the 5 discs. Grand technology for 1988.

I remember a Lynyrd Skynyrd CD that one of the other coaches insisted on being included or he wasn’t going to listen to any of the other crap. Queen’s greatest hits was one of them, so we could blast “We Will Rock You” right before practice. It was also the song we ran on the field to before home games, or when a degenerate alumni would blast it from his 5k sound system in his 3k car as he creeped by opposing stadiums.

Yes that is cheesy, but it gives me chill bumps typing and thinking about it. Some memories are magical that way. There was a Hank Williams Jr. CD, something from AC/DC. Later in the season “Volume 1�� from The Traveling Wilburys replaced Hank Jr, but the 5th CD that went in right off the bat was “Straight Outta Compton”.

Our Principal stopped in before practice one day and was talking to a couple of the coaches, and the machine was changing songs/discs, and the title track of the N.W.A. Album started to blare.

Ice Cube rattles off the first verse and ole Bruce turns his curly head to the stereo, looks back at the coaches, then walks over and turns the volume down since he didn’t know what button to press. “Did he just say “Crazy motherfucker named Ice Cube, from the gang called………….. He stopped himself.

One of the black guys on the team blurted out. “Niggas With Attitudes”. Yes that is what he said. Bruce says, “Steven we can’t have that”. Steven, aka “Boo Boo” says “you discriminating”. Bruce responds, “No Steven I’m not discriminating, it’s the language I have no problem with it, if you want Lionel Richie, Stevie Wonder, one of the Jackson’s or that guy they call Prince, he’s pretty good, my daughter likes Prince, that would be fine, but we can’t have that language.” Boo Boo says, “who wants some of that wrecked ass junk”, grabs his helmet and heads out the door to practice. Bruce found the eject button, and slipped it his back pocket. (In an alternate universe he took that CD home and rolled up some grass and smoked a fat joint), Well that might be in a triple alternate universe.

Well, needless to say someone had stopped by K-Mart or somewhere after practice and picked up a copy of it on their own and it continued in the rotation.

Just imagine if it had shifted to “Fuck The Police”. Bruce might have shit his pants on the spot.

#N.W.A.#Straight Outta Compton #1988 #high school football #memories #Queen #Hank Williams Jr.#Lionel Richie #Stevie Wonder #The Jacksons #pride #AC/DC #lynyrd skynyrd #The Traveling Wilburys #music/lyrics

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omgangstplease · 7 years ago

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Study Break

A fic I wrote for @nurseydexweek but never got around to posting here. As you’d guess from the title, it revolves the boys taking a much deserved study break.

Read it on AO3

Sometimes the days seemed to go on and on. And sometimes Derek and Will would pick themselves up off their bedroom floor, and store their textbooks in their rightful place, and take their bundled up, stressful selves out for a much deserved break.

“Come on,” Derek would say after noticing the strange hunch his boyfriend’s back would form and the way he’d persistently abuse his left shoulder. “Time for a break. Let’s go somewhere.” And somewhere they would go because Will knew, Derek knew when progress wasn’t being made. Will knew, Derek knew not to interrupt unless it was necessary.

Today, they put away their assignments, slipped on their jackets, and Derek grabbed the key’s to his car. He was parked in the Housing Parking Lot; not too far, but far enough that as he stood by the front Haus door, hand wrapped around the knob, he offered Will the option to stay put until he came around with the car. “I mean, if you don’t want to walk all the way over there,” he shrugged.

But Will shook his head. “Nah, I’ll come with,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure sure?”

“Oh my God,” Will laughed, nudged Derek lightly so he’d get to moving, “Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go.”

And out they went, into the night, pinkies brushing and shoulders bumping all the way to the car.

They were on the road in no time. And on the road the yellow lines sped by in a blur, and they flew through the night, and they felt free. Derek sat behind the steering wheel, Will besides him. And the stress that weight on their backs lessened almost immediately.

Soon enough the time on the dashboard read 10 PM and the roads were well near empty. The last car they’d seen was eight miles back and they’d easily passed it in their hurry to get to nowhere. Yet, even with the coast clear Derek used his blinker and Will glanced over his shoulder to check if the path was clear.

They drove down the highway for a half hour and Derek only lifted his foot off the gas pedal when he spotted a desirable exit. His speed of 80 MPH digressed to a safe 40, then 30. 20. 0 as he came to a full stop on the rocky side of a road.

Derek put his car in park, popped open the trunk, and hurried out without much warning.

Will hesitated a moment before following. He unbuckled his seatbelt and called after Derek. “Why’re we stopping?” he asked when he reached his boyfriend.

Derek had his head stuck inside the trunk and instead of an answer, he pulled out a blanket, handed it to Will. Pulled out a stereo, handed it to Will.

Will nodded, took everything passed to him without much of a fight. “Alright,” he said and accepted the old purple iPod pushed into his palm. “No, yeah, cool. Just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. Definitely feeling the mystique vibe. Really turns me on,” he played up his antics, “I’m serious. I’m sporting a chub. Here, feel. I’d direct your hand to it if I wasn’t already holding all these things.”

At that, Derek turned to face Will, a smile teased his lips. “Babe,” he scrunched his brows, “What the fuck?”

“Knew that’d get your attention.”

“I know my priorities,” Derek snorted.

“Obviously.” Will lifted his arms. He had a towel draped over the right one, a blanket on the other. He held a portable stereo and 4th Generation iPod Nano in one hand, a pair of sandals dangled from his fingers, and he kept a soccer ball somehow balanced amongst the mess. “How about you clue me in on what’s going on, though.”

“Will,” Derek replied, “Look around.”

So Will did. He turned his head and took in his surroundings. His eyes traced over the short cement wall not more than twenty feet away that separated the road from sand; from the beach. He saw black waves curling and crashing on the shore, pulling at the sand with each retreat some feet away.

“The beach?” he spoke as if he’d blink and find himself somewhere else completely.

But Derek assured him he wasn’t seeing things. Said, “The beach,” with a grin before he closed the trunk to his car and took some of the weight from Will.

“Don’t drop anything,” Will warned as he handed over the speaker.

Derek rolled his eyes. Said, “Shut up,” before, “Come on,” and led the way onto the beach.

On the sand, their feet sunk. But it was warm and they didn’t mind. In fact, Will stopped Derek to use him as a balancing beam so he could kick off his shoes and dig in.

“Thanks,” he mumbled straightening up.

“What’re boyfriends for?” Derek grinned and they continued on their way.

Will let Derek choose where they’d stop. He stayed one step behind him as he ogled the sky, and moon, and how large it was from where he was.

When they reached the flatter portion of sand, Derek suggested they lay their blanket and pillows and portable speaker down. Will complied. And he had barely lied down when Derek plugged his iPod to the system and a loud click click click filled the night before being replaced with the smooth voice of someone singing in Spanish. “Prince?” Will guessed; one of the few Latin artists he’d picked up from being around Derek so often.

Derek smiled. “Not quite. More like Aventura,” then. “Alright, how about the song? Can you get that?”

Will hesitated. “Corazon Sin Cara?”

“That’s by Prince.”

“Mi Ultima Carta?”

“Again, Prince.”

“Eres Mia?”

Derek laughed. He set down his iPod on the blanket before extending his hand towards Will. “Okay, now that’s Romeo,” he said as Will stood up, “How about you try to actually listen to the song. Yeah?”

Will sighed. He laced his right hand fingers with Derek’s and placed his left hand on his broad shoulder. “I barely understand half of what they’re saying,” Will mumbled.

“I’m not asking for a translation.”

“Just the name?”

“Just the name.”

Will nodded, swayed his hips just so as he counted the beats to the song and took a small side-step to the right. Then another. He continued to move; tried to stay on rhythm and not look at his feet like Derek so often instructed.

His focus was only interrupted when Derek spoke again.

“Still waiting on you to guess the right song,” he reminded him.

Their feet smoothed the sand beneath their toes. Will tried to multi-task: dancing with Derek, listening to the song, and trying to pull a name from somewhere in his memory.

“Before the song ends,” Derek squeezed Will’s hand, letting him know he’d be turning him soon.

“We’re either dancing or speaking,” Will tsked before he was spun around.

Derek laughed. They continued their routine in silence, letting the song play alongside the sound of the ocean.

Derek pulled Will flush against him. With the absence of distance, he warmed himself up against his boyfriend and began to sing. “Un beso significa amistad, sexo y amor,” Derek picked up the lyrics with ease, “En cualquier parte del mundo, no importa la religion.”

“Oh!” Will perked up, “Por un beso de su boca voy al cielo y hablo con dios!”

“There we go!” Derek laughed and as a reward, he pressed a light kiss against Will’s lips. “Sorta. I mean, your Spanish is shit, babe, but-”

“I’m trying,” Will whined.

“I know you are. I’m literally impressed you remembered the lyrics, believe me,” Derek assured, and as one song ended, the next picked up. When he looked at Will he saw the utmost concentration as his boyfriend tried to pin the beat and keep up. “Here,” Derek let go of one hand and placed some space between both. “Look at my feet.”

And Will did. And they spent the rest of their night dancing and fumbling and rewarding each other with kisses when they did something impressive. Because sometimes the nights seemed to go on and on. And Derek and Will loved to spend those together.

#nurseydex #derek nurse #will poindexter #derek nursey nurse #william dex poindexter #omgcp #fic #omgcheckplease #fluff #study date #dexnursey #nurseydex fic #mixed nursey

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supernatural-idjit-95 · 8 years ago

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Back To The Start, Part 4

Summary: None. My mind is mush. Warnings: Cursing, Seasons 9&10 Spoilers, mentions of death/violence/blood, sad romance, *Trigger warning in Part 3 (mention of suicide)*, angst Pairings: Dean X Castiel Happy reading! Feedback is encouraged. Dont forget to read Parts 1, 2 & 3! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 …Enjoy! ****** After a couple of days away, Sam Winchester was en route back to the bunker. His meeting with the Witch he’d gone to for help with the Mark of Cain had gone nowhere. He hated leaving Dean alone, so he cautiously asked Castiel to drop in on him. That was the last thing he’d heard from either of them. Plagued with worry, his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. The sun was nearly setting now, and the beaten up Honda Civic he’d stolen would only go so fast. His long legs were cramped from the drive, irritating him almost as much as the many unanswered phone calls he’d made to Castiel and Dean. Sam reached for his cell phone again and dialed Dean one more time. *Ring*… *Ring*… *Ring*… No answer. “Damnit, Dean!” He howled in frustration. Sam was starting to panic, wondering if something happened to them. Nowadays, it seemed like they had more and more reasons to worry about each other. “Alright…who else can I call for help?” Sam thought. “Crowley. I’ll try him.” Sam hated it, but figured that if something had indeed gone awry-especially if it had to do with the Mark-Crowley would either be in on it, or know about it. He dialed Crowleys number, shaking his head at the notion that he was calling the King of Hell on a cell phone. Crazier things have happened, right? *Ring*… *Ring*..- “Moose,” Crowley’s voice came over the phone.

“Sad to hear from you. But, I assume since you’re calling me something’s wrong, and you need Daddy’s help…am I right?” Sam pursed his lips in annoyance. “Remind me why we haven’t killed you yet?” “Because you love to hate me, and I’m more useful alive, bright one. Now tell Daddy who’s picking on you?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Cut the bullshit, Crowley. Have you heard anything from Dean?” “No, Samantha…are you two in a quarrel again?” Crowley snickered. “No, we’re not. I haven’t heard from him, or Cas all day. I just figured you might know something. Thanks anyway,” Sam began to pull the phone away from his ear to hang up. “Wai-wait-Moose?” Crowley called. “Yeah?” “How is the squirrel, anyway? The Mark…it’s been hard on him.” Sam frowned at the question. That’s all he’d been worried about lately, about how well Dean was handling the Mark of Cain. “That’s old news Crowley. He’s getting worse. I’ve gotta go.” Sam didn’t wait for Crowley to respond, and hung up the phone, tossing it onto the passenger seat. “Damnit, Dean,” Sam said to himself. “You’d better okay.” *** Several hours had passed since Dean took his own life. He had hope that maybe, someone up above would grant he and Castiel another chance. It was a ‘Hail Mary’ kind of move, but the both of them had died several times before, and it just didn’t agree with them; so yes, Dean had reason to be optimistic. He just wanted to tell Cas the truth. He wanted to tell him he loved him, and that he was sorry for being such a disaster. If they could just go back to the beginning and start all over… What a dream that would have been. Ugh. The “What-if’s”… Cas and Dean’s two broken bodies lay side by side. The dungeon was dark again, and nightfall had crept upon the bunker as the day’s tragedies unfolded, one after the other. Suddenly, Dean’s chest began to move up and down slowly. It was a sight that would appear miraculous if anyone had been watching. His eyes fluttered open, lashes stained with the salt of his tears that had flowed so violently earlier. Dean’s emerald green eyes were now replaced with two onyx black orbs that would frighten even the bravest of men. It was a dark contrast against his pale face and the circles under his eyes. He laid there for a moment, still, like a robot recomputing who he was. Finally he stood. The fatal wound from the First Blade he inflicted on himself was gone; though the hole in his shirt, and the blood on his chest and hands remained. “What the hell…” Dean said to himself. He didn’t bother looking around the dungeon at all-not even at Cas. He headed for the door. Treading down the corridor, he reached his bedroom. For someone who’d just come back from the dead, you could say he seemed fairly calm. Stepping into his bedroom, his eyes scanned the wreckage of that morning; broken lamps, mirrors, and broken picture frames littered the floor. “Damnit, looks like I did some damage in here!” Dean jeered out loud. Lifting his feet, he dodged the carnage on the floor. Now standing in front of his half-broken mirror he was blinking his eyes over and over, staring at his reflection. The third time he blinked, his eyes shone black. “Huh…well that’s new.” He said to himself sarcastically. He knew why he was alive. Looking at his arm, the Mark of Cain still remained. He was a demon-a Knight of Hell, to be exact. “Damn, you must really like me, huh?” Dean said, talking to the Mark on his arm as if it were alive. That was the scary part; he half-expected it to answer him. In the mirror, Dean noticed his torn t-shirt. His face showed that he remembered the fatal wound he’d given himself earlier. He pulled the fabric of his shirt off his stomach, stretching it out in front of him to gaze through the hole in it. “Son of a bitch,” Dean said, shaking his head. “This was my favorite shirt.” Dean’s bemusement trailed off as if he remembered something important he had to do. He walked to his desk and pulled a piece of paper and a pen from on top of his stereo speakers. He looked up for a moment in thought, then wrote something down on the paper. Before he left his bedroom, he grinned at the stereo system. It was funny to him how he’d came across it. Dean had hustled some poor bastard at a game of pool, and used the cash to buy the system at a local pawn shop.

He flipped through the discs laying out. Smirking, he slid one-hitting play on repeat, turning it all the way up. With his mission in mind, he finally left his room. *** Standing in the dungeon again, he was reaping the view. “Shit!” Dean chuckled. “I made a mess in here, too!” Just then, Dean’s phone rang. Taking it out, he saw it was Sam who was calling. He rolled his eyes and declined it. “Damn, Sammy. Clingy much?” Dean said aloud as he sorted through his phone notifications. “31 missed calls, 42 text messages, 8 voicemails…and a partridge in a friggin’ pear tree.” His voice trailed off in boredom. Dean took a quick moment to send a vague text message to Crowley. “We need to talk. Now.” He wrote, then pocketed his phone again. Before he could be distracted further, he stood over Cas, and carelessly let the piece of paper he’d written on sail down, landing on top of his chest. Then, Dean crouched down and stoically ran the tips of his fingers down one of the lapels on Castiel’s bloody trenchcoat. He maneuvered Cas’s stark body out of the coat, and with inscrutable expression, he folded it. Hoisting himself from his position next to Cas, he tucked the maimed trenchcoat beneath his arm. Dean began searching his pocket for his car keys. They jingled as he fished them out. He found the First Blade right where he’d awakened on the floor next to Cas. Picking it up, an egoistic smile radiated on his face from ear to ear like a Cheshire Cat, his lips curling with triumph. His eyes bore into the First Blade, admiring the way the dry blood’s red contrast made it gleam.

“Let’s go have some fun.”

****

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smoothshift · 5 years ago

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Simple Upgrades to Improve a Beater? via /r/cars

Simple Upgrades to Improve a Beater?

The beater, the bucket, the hooptie. Whatever you call it, we all own one at some point in our lives. Well, at least we should. Beaters are character building. They're like the first job you get that makes your parents say "See? Now you know why you should go to college." But, unlike working at the local gas station overnight, your beater doesn't have to be a completely terrible time. Here are some ways that I've made my driving experience better in my rusty Mazda 3.

Maintenance

This one is just obvious. If there's something wrong with your car, get it fixed. Do things that prevent things from breaking (oil changes, brakes, fluids, etc). Your beater might not be pretty, but what it can be is reliable. Keeping your old battery just to have your car not start on a cold day is worth more in headache dollars than it is to get it tested (for free) and replacing it with your moms costco membership. That's not to say that you have to pay more than your car's worth to get the catalytic converter replaced. A beater is only worth driving if its easy on the wallet. Weigh your options.

Cleaning

An easy way to make your driving experience better in any car is to keep it clean. On the inside and the outside. I know your car is rusty and you don't see the point, but take it to the local coin wash (where you clean it yourself) and give it a good wash and vacuum the inside. Take all the garbage out and give your dash a wipe down with a microfiber towel. If you keep your car clean, your passengers will notice and compliment it. And that's the only thing you can get a compliment on with your beater. You'll also enjoy that it's clean and feel proud that you can actually take care of something. This also brings me to my next point.

Wax your windshield

This is a super easy way to make driving in the rain way less of a hassle. I hate driving in the rain because of the lack of visibility. Waxing your windshield will cause the rain to bead up and you won't even need your wipers sometimes. It also just helps with the rainy day aesthetic because better visibility is safer and it will make you feel comfier. Also segues to my next point.

Get good wipers

If your wipers are crap, you're in for a bad time. Bad wipers are loud, don't do a good job and need replacing before you know it. Good wipers last long, saving you money in the long run and allowing you to be lazy. They also perform better as well, which in my case made me a wiper snob. Trust me on this one, you'll never look back.

Decent tires

Again, this is more general for all cars, but put some decent tires on your car. I can understand that you probably won't have the car for much longer, but if your tires are low tread and you drive with them, you're an asshole who is doing a disservice to himself and those around him. Replace them with the best tires you can reasonably budget. It makes for less road noise and safer driving. Generally speaking, higher quality, brand name tires will last longer too.

Upgrade your sound system

Putting a way better sound system in your car is cheap and easy. If you care about how your car audio sounds, I highly recommend putting in a subwoofer to start. You can keep your stock stereo by using a line-out converter, making it non intrusive. A cheap subwoofer, amp and a decent wiring kit can be found used on craigslist/kijiji or your local pawn shop. Installing makes for an educational weekend day project. I learned a whole lot about audio and car electrics by installing a subwoofer (and subsequently a new stereo and upgraded speakers down the line) and you can too.

These are things that I've done for my car. I've always considered myself a frugal person and my car is a part of that. But, I'm still a car guy at heart, and I enjoy driving and tinkering now and again. How have you improved your beaters?

#reddit #autonews #auto #cars

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yammineyammine · 6 years ago

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Yammine: Rob’s Completely Custom Audi B6.5 RS4 Avant

Do you love long-roofed Audi Avants (wagons)?

Do you love the B6 body style, particularly the rear end?

How about the gorgeous lines of B7 RS4 with its bulging fenders and classy front-end?

Combine these ingredients and you have the world’s first “B6.5” RS4 Avant.

Rob Aguilar of Vancouver, Washington set out on this build to do something totally different. While many people had built B7 RS4 clones, and some even went as far as to build B7 RS4 Avants in the US, the real difference is that this car intends not to be a B7, but retain some of the B6 characteristics to imagine what it’d be like if Audi ever built a RS4 before the 2005.5 body style rolled out.

Rob himself states it best when explaining his goals for the build:

My goal, again, was not to build a “B7 RS4 Avant clone”—-that car has already been built; no—-what I wanted to build was a car that Audi never created, or at least a transitional platform: what I call a “B6.5”. I wanted to see what it would look like if Audi had ever built an RS4 on the B6 platform—-not the B7—-or again, at least a transitional platform, that blends in various elements of both platforms. And yet everyone who sees it swears it looks OE—which of course was the entire point. Parts were sourced from the UK, France and Belgium—-took me about 9 months to gather it all (notice the front and rear bumper covers—-no corner markers like US-spec).

The main differences from this and a B7 RS4 clone is the B6 rear end, specifically the tail lights & tailgate are entirely different, as well as more subtle things like the B7 fuel door is larger and in a slightly different location, and most importantly; the B7 body line is different and more curvy, whereas the B6 has a straight, clean, uninterrupted body line. The B6 doors are also slightly flatter, and a few other elements, that involved more custom work to pull off but also gives the car a different (and cleaner?) look.

To maintain the B6 body lines and work with the B6 doors, Rob’s team had to pound out the B7 body line on the aluminum RS4 fenders and build a B6 body line onto them so that it would match from front to rear. It took countless hours to get it right, but it came out super clean and OEM. The rear doors also had to be flared out to blend in with the rear fenders, which was no small feat.

Even more challenging was getting the rear bumper to be integrated. The B6 and B7 Avant rear tail lights are mostly identical going from the top-down about 5 or 6 inches, but the B6 ones were much taller and larger than B7, presenting a serious challenge.

To make it work, the B7 RS4 rear bumper cover had to be cut down to fit underneath the bottom of the much larger B6 tail lights, then a shelf had to be built on top of the bumper to go underneath the bottom of the tail lights.

Another challenge was the bottom outside corners of the B6 tailgate are more squared off than on a B7, so custom work had to be down to cut down the B6 rear tailgate had to be cut down and get welded back up underneath to be rounded off enough to work with the B7 RS4 rear bumper cover.

There were a number of smaller items that had to be done too, ranging from the underbelly pans to headlight plugs. You can read more about it in Rob’s build threads which goes into extensive detail.

The end result is nothing short of incredible in both it’s attention to detail and how everything worked out.

The more you know about Audis, the more you are likely to appreciate it…so it’s no surprise it won “Best Audi in Show” at the 034 Motorsport Summerfest this past year.

By now you’re probably saying “ok, ok great job on the body – but it’s not a real RS4 conversion unless you also updated the engine.”

Fear not my friends, Rob is two steps ahead of you.

Rather than going with a B7 RS4 engine, Rob again wanted to something a little different and a throw back to some of the best options in previous S4/RS4 generations. Rob chose the 2.7L twin turbo engine instead, best known for being used in the B5 S4 but also featured in the A6, Allroad, and a few other applications.

This 2.7L TT motor is capable of much more power than the V8 it replaced, and it also doesn’t have the carbon build-up issues associated with the B7 RS4 motor, either. While the naturally aspirated V8 sounds amazing, it is somewhat limited in its ability to add power, and even super expensive parts like superchargers add a fairly nominal amount of power.

Rob’s B5 S4 twin turbo engine conversion, on the other hand, is running the XSPower Stage 3-plus system at about 493hp. This is quite a bit more than the RS4 motor of either the B5 or B7 generations.

I’ve driven Stage 3 2.7L TT engines and I have to say it’s among the most thrilling of any car I’ve driven, yet alone of an Audi…and the ability to add power is near limitless. The only downside is that the motor can be a bit high maintenance and changing out things like the water pump is quite the chore, but no high horsepower engine isn’t without its quirks and downsides.

On the inside, the modifications are slightly more subtle and minor.

Most noticeable is the rear seat delete and the custom diamond plating throughout the rear. Cargo room galore!

I asked Rob about the rear seat delete as it is a bit of an unusual mod in a station wagon, but he said the rear seat was never used and the weight savings was substantial – and on top of that, he was able to build custom storage into the false floor to hold detailing supplies, make it more practical too.

The car also has a custom stereo, carbon fiber trim throughout, and will eventually have custom Recaro front seats to assist with both weight savings and keeping the buttocks planted through hard cornering.

Rob supplied a mostly complete mod list below, but this is a car that he’s owned for years now and has had so much custom work this list is far from exhaustive:

Engine Mods:

Full 2.7T conversion

XSPower stage 3+ upgrade: K04/025/026 turbos with RS6 hotsides; larger MAF; custom CAI; RS6 all aluminum IC’s

Rowetech Stage 3+ tune

Custom-made, mandrel-bent full 3″ downtubes by GBE Exhaust, Portland

Custom made, mandrel-bent full 3″ exhaust by Stan’s Headers, Auburn

Dynomax stainless mufflers, Vibrant Performance stainless resonators and Redtail tips

South Bend Stage 2 “street” clutch

034 Motorsports Carbon Fiber RS4 intake y-pipe

Wheels & Suspension:

Bilstein PSS9 coilovers

Stern adjustable upper control arms

RotorLab 18Z brakes up front, cross-drilled rotors front and rear

VMR V810’s in 19×9.5 ET25

Body:

One-of-a-kind complete “B6.5” RS4 body conversion, using all OE parts sourced from the US, the UK, France and Belgium (European front and rear RS4 Avant bumper covers that have no sidemarkers, etc)

DeutshceTek rear wing

Roof rail delete

Handmade black acrylic front splitter

Interior:

One-of-a-kind permanent rear seat delete

UK Sounds rear OE-lookalike sub box

Full carbon fiber interior trim package

Handmade diamond-plate aluminum Audi Sport-emblazoned floor mats

Weight Loss:

Rear Avant crossbar, gone: 52lbs

Roof rails, gone: app 12 lbs

Rear seat, both pieces, gone: 128lbs, replaced by permanent rear seat delete project, weight 18lbs, net loss of 110lbs

Factory B6 S4 spare n tire: 56lbs, gone, replaced by 2009-only B8 19″ steel spare (17lbs), net loss of 39lbs

B5 S4 motor conversion resulted in a 45lb weight savings

VMR Flow Forged wheels – 11lbs unsprung weight

More planned (lightweight seats, etc.)

Personally what I love about this build is two things.

Firstly, the passion of the build – it’s clear from the way Rob documented and explained everything that an obsessive level of detail went into every single decision and modification that went into the vehicle.

Secondly, the vision. It would have been much easier, and cheaper, to build a B7 RS4 clone, or to just flare out the fenders on a B6 and call it a day. By envisioning this B5/B6/B7 hybrid he was able to achieve an OEM look without being limited by trying to follow a playbook Audi had already done in Europe or otherwise.

I also like that he was willing and able to take risks. The rear seat delete isn’t something for everyone, nor is the custom hood vents…but Rob didn’t build this to please others, he built it for himself, and to follow-through on his vision.

Last but not least, a car like this is never done. Rob tipped me off on a few custom touches he’s working on, that I’ll probably go back and update this post on when they’re complete.

I think this may be the best B6 ever built.

What do you think?

In terms of partners for the build, Rob would link to thank Aaron and his crew at Vicious Custom Auto Body in Fairview, OR for the expert craftmanship in turning his B6.5 RS4 dreams into reality, and obliging with his passion for details on things like the doors, flares, and rear hatch. Rob would also like to thank Ceder Rowe and his crew at Rowetech in Portland who did the 2.7T conversion and custom tune to make the most out of the power plant.

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#Yammine

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amplesalty · 6 years ago

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Day 4 - Santa Who? (2000)

On the forth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

Four armed elves!

We’re going back to the turn of the millennium here with a made for TV movie starring good old Leslie Nielsen as Santa, nine years on from donning the suit in All I Want for Christmas.

We start in flashback to an orphanage where little Peter Albright is finishing off his letter to Santa. Rather a simple one too, all he wants is a loving family for Christmas. That probably should have clued me in to this being an orphanage but then one of the sisters says she's just spoken to his father and it's been decided he's staying here permanently. He's not even a real orphan! He storms off in a huff and then the sister promptly burns his letter. I always knew those Catholics were no good.

Don't worry though, Santa is here to scoop up the ashes of the letter from the chimney stack. Must be something special in those ashes, like in Return of the Living Dead.

Back in present day and Peter is now a TV reporter, trying to interview shoppers but not getting much of a reaction short of being told to piss off. After his boss turns down more cynically edges stories about the suicide rate around Christmas (stop stepping on the toes of my BAE Phoebe Cates, bro) or the criminal background of mall Santas, Kriminal Kringles. After sarcastically suggesting donning a Santa outfit with a camera in the hat, his boss loves the idea and sets the wheels in motion.

Not conspicuous in the slightest.

Whilst inside the mall, some kids harass him with their present request and one little brat even punches him in the stomach. He promptly keels over and the real resident St Nick offers to help him up. Unfortunately, in doing so he crashes through the fence of his grotto and falls all of about 1 foot.

Oh come on! You broke your leg from there?!

Meanwhile, up at the North Pole, Santa is feeling a little disenfranchised about the festive season. All these kids these days, viddy games this, stereo systems that...not one please or thank you amongst the millions of letters he receives! One of his elves, Max, suggests he takes his mind off it by taking the sleigh out for a ride. He hits a spot of inclement weather and things take a turn for the worse. It's his own fault for not taking Rudolph with him.

Good God almighty, Santa must have fallen from 10, 20, 30,000 feet in the air! Fortunately, he lands on Pete's car and doesn't even leave a scratch on the bonnet. Bullshit, when Harry fell through the roof of a car in Home Alone 2 he totalled the thing and he barely left the ground from that catapult.

Pete sees a solution to his problem of playing the mall Santa, and hopefully buying himself out of any potential lawsuits, by setting up forgetful Claus here as his replacement. He has no idea what the hell is going on though and doesn't get the part. I mean, he is up against some prime candidates here. This one dude's overacting would put Tobias Funke to shame.

STELLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

They have no choice to bring him in though after Pete kills off yet another Santa. This one breaks out in a coughing fit so Pete slaps him on the back, sending him crashing through another fence to the ground below. That ground is covered in cotton wool to act as fake snow, it should be a pretty comfortable landing! It's not like it's the spike put from Mortal Kombat or anything.

The North Pole are naturally worried about Santa being missing and set off to find him. They've got it narrowed down to one particular spot on the map. I guess because their map is centered around the North Pole it looks odd. I don't recall it being explicitly mentioned but going by the map, I assume we're in New York.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, they're 'randomly selected' for a extensive screening measures at the airport. Lot of domestic flights going out of the North Pole? Good travel links at North Pole International? Apparently the guy who plays Max was in a dedicated spoof of Pulp Fiction called ‘Plump Fiction’. I never knew that was a thing. Probably on par with Ricky 1.

For what seems like the first time in a long time, we get the long forgotten trope of 'watching It's A Wonderful Life'. Well, not quite watching since they don't show any footage but it counts, right? Maybe somewhere along the lines of when it came up in Exorcist III. Santa posits that if it's a wonderful life, why is George trying to take his life? This is all an effort of Pete's annoying step kid to try and trigger Santa's memory. Despite his best efforts of showing him this, Miracle on 34th Street, The Grinch and Rudolph, it's no luck.

Speaking of Miracle, Macy's is really skimping on it's parades these days, huh?

Pete and St Nick have a heart to heart over some milk and cookies, we get a deep look into the psyche of Pete and his traumatic Christmas past. Santa suggests that perhaps the sister was of Danish or Norweigan descent, apparently Scandiweigans have a tradition of burning their letters to Santa so that the wind carries them to the North Pole. You know, most people just use a stamp...

Despite Pete's insistence in getting Santa back with his family, or just about any family will do, for Christmas to ensure a feel good story that will get him that career advancement he's been angling for, he eventually comes round when they find his old letter in Santa's suit.

Since the movie never bothered to establish a villain to have a big finale, outside of the old 'Dad working too hard to spend time with his kid' cliche, we're instead left with the thrilling finale of Zack being stuff in Santa's slay that they found crashed and hauled off to display in a toy store. This must be NYC because St Nick is climbing up the store display like he's Spider-Man.

They even skimp out on the big dust up between the elves and the security at the tree lot where the reindeers ended up. There's this whole western motif going on squinting and music fresh out of a Clint Eastwood movie. The Good, The Bad and the Elvish. But all we get is the sound effects of a scuffle that takes place in between edits before cutting back to the security guards tied up. Boo!

So Santa flies off to make up for lost time and deliver Christmas to all the boys and girls of the world, including one family who seem to have a picture of the European Championship trophy above their fire place.

I've probably said this before but it really does feel sometimes like these Christmas movies all run together.

Leslie Nielsen as Santa? Check.

Someone with amnesia playing a mall Santa? Check.

Bunch of elves coming to the big city to find the missing Santa? Check.

This one is so-so, a forgettable affair down to the fact that it shares so many familiarities with other movies. Leslie Nielsen has his charms as Santa though, even if the script demands that at all times he's either asking questions about Christmas or answering other people's questions about him with a 'I don't know'. A little bit of a redemption for him in my eyes after that horrible Dracula movie.

#Christmas 2018 #Santa Who?

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itsworn · 6 years ago

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He Bought His 1971 Mustang Mach 1 New as a Teenager, Sold it to his Uncle, and Bought it Back 28 Years Later

As soon as he could hold a toy car in his hand, the fixation with cars began. As a kid, Mike Querio spent hours leafing through car magazines, racing slot cars with his friends, building model cars, and loitering around car dealerships collecting sales brochures near his home in Walnut Creek, California.

Mike grew up around cars and trucks, and his father favored the “Family of Fine Cars” produced by Ford. The Rett-White Ford dealership was located just next door to their family-owned trucking company in Walnut Creek, and his father was a good customer. Querio remembers Fords were always in the driveway. “My mom had a 1957 Fairlane,” he says, recalling his childhood. “One day my dad traded it in on a new 1968 Mustang coupe without discussing it with her. I thought it was great, but she did not. My mother complained that the Mustang was too small for a family car, and of course she was right. Soon the Mustang was gone, replaced by a brand new 1969 LTD with a 429 under the hood.”

Determined to have a new Ford of his own, Mike set his sights high. For his first car, he would not settle for a used one or a family hand-me-down like most teenagers. He not only wanted a brand new Ford, but a hot new muscle Mustang. All through high school he worked hard at the family trucking company, plus he worked as a busboy in the evenings. Most Friday and Saturday nights his friends were going to movies or on dates while he worked at the restaurant. The tips were much higher on the weekends, and he wanted that money to buy his car. He still rode his bike to school even after he and all his friends got their driver’s licenses.

As soon as he graduated high school, cash in hand, he went to the Ford dealer to purchase his dream car: a new 1971 Mustang Mach 1. The newly restyled, lower, longer, and wider 1971 Mustang SportsRoof featured a windshield slanted at a 60 degree angle (a slope increase of 5.5 degrees). The extreme fastback design came with an almost flat back glass that looked sporty, but offered minimal visibility for the driver. It was an interesting and futuristic design to Mike, who was about to begin college as a design student. After all the hard work, hours of lusting over images of the new Mach 1 in magazines, and drooling over them at the nearby Ford dealer, at 18 years of age, Mike was ready to place his order.

He knew precisely what he wanted from the option list. The first thing he specified was the 429 Cobra Jet engine with a four-speed transmission, Hurst shifter, and Traction-Lok differential. He also chose front power disc brakes, power steering, and a set of F60-15 white-lettered Wide Oval tires. He chose not to opt for the popular Magnum 500 wheels, knowing he was going to mount some aftermarket mags on the car soon after he took delivery.

Wanting some luxury to go with his muscle, he checked off several deluxe interior options, including the Mach 1 Sports interior group, a tilt steering column, console, instrumentation group, Sport Deck (folding) rear seat, tinted glass, and a “Stereosonic” eight-track tape system with AM radio. The most expensive and lavish luxury item ordered was air conditioning at a cost of $412. The finishing touch was to order the car painted in Light Pewter with optional body side tape stripes. The only thing left was to wait for his dream car to be built. Or so he thought.

A few days later the Ford dealer called. The salesman told him he received a Telex from the Dearborn factory informing him that Ford had discontinued the 429 engine in the Mustang. After some thinking and number crunching, the order was changed to an M-code 351 four-barrel with Ram Air. He could have ordered the higher-horsepower Boss 351, but that would have been more money, and he was tapped out financially.

In August 1971 Mike took delivery of his new Mach 1, and not long after he started to personalize the car. The steel wheels with hubcaps and trim rings were among the first things to go, replaced by a set of 15-inch slotted mag wheels mounting big, L60-15 tires. He jacked up the back of the car and installed a set of Gabriel Highjacker shocks and traction bars. Under the hood he installed a set of Hooker headers and an ACCEL Super Coil. The stock intake and carb were removed in favor of an aluminum Offenhauser intake and a Holly 780 carb crowned with a Cobra air cleaner. A set of fog lights was installed, as well as a pair of rear stereo speakers. At a local body shop, he had a radio antenna frenched into the right quarter-panel. Some of these mods might make you shriek today, but in the early 1970s they were considered cool by many.

Most young men would have tossed the original parts removed from the car and forgotten about them, but Mike was not your average young man. As he explains, “A lesson I learned from my Dad when we started to restore Model A Fords in the 1970s was to always save your original parts. You never know when you’re going to need them. So I boxed them all up and stored them in the attic.”

In 1975 his then-girlfriend (later his wife) purchased a 1966 Shelby G.T. 350. After riding in and driving the Shelby he was hooked and wanted one for himself. Mike purchased a 1966 Shelby for $3,000 for himself, but that meant the Mach 1 would have to go. His uncle had always liked the Mach 1, so he sold it to him, along with all the original parts he had stored, with the stipulation that his uncle would offer him the car first if he ever decided to sell it.

That stipulation took effect 28 years later when, in 2003, his uncle asked him if he would like his old car back. Of course he said yes and went over to pick up the car. His uncle had installed a hot rod 351 Cleveland engine, but he had only put 5,000 miles on the car the entire time he owned it.

Even though the car was in need of restoration, it had gone only 70,000 total miles, and it had been parked inside a garage the entire time. As part of the deal, the replacement engine would go back to his uncle, however the original engine was sitting in the garage right next to the car. His uncle had saved all the original parts Mike had given to him with the car and handed everything back to him, still in the same boxes he had packed them in.

The Mach 1 was in really good condition, with a well-preserved original interior and an uneven, but original, metallic paint finish. After 30 years, Mike had grown out of his teenage hot rod tastes, and in 2007 and decided to return the Mach 1 to exactly how it looked when he took delivery in 1971.

It was time to remove all the aftermarket parts Mike had bolted on it when he was a teenager. “I had to un-screw-up my own car,” he says. “I wish I could go back and talk to that 19-year-old!”

As restoration began, the car revealed itself to have a super-solid body and an exceptionally clean interior, including a beautiful, and intact, dash pad. One of the challenges was repairing the damage to the rear interior sheetmetal where speakers were mounted more than 30 years ago. To do the repair to the damaged speaker areas correctly, an entire rear clip section from another 1971 Mustang fastback was acquired. The needed metal was surgically removed and carefully installed in Mike’s Mach 1 to look perfect. A bonus was a set of N.O.S. carpets, purchased by his uncle years ago at the Ford dealer, still in the original box.

The restoration took about a year to complete, and the result is stunning. Everything on the car is now correct. Resisting the urge to add Magnum 500 wheels, a rear spoiler, or any modern upgrades, Mike took great pains not to deviate from the build sheet, returning his car back to exactly as it had left the factory. Having all the original parts was a big help.

At a Glance

1971 Mustang Mach 1 Owned by: Mike Querio Restored by: Kenn Mann Engine: 351ci/285hp M-code V-8 Transmission: 4-speed manual with Hurst T-handle shifter Rearend: 3.25 gears (required with A/C) with Traction-Lok Interior: Black vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 15-inch steel with hub caps and trim rings Tires: F60-15 Goodyear Polyglas GT Special parts: Factory tachometer and gauge package, Ram Air, AM/eight-track player, Mach 1 Sports interior group

Larger than the ponycars that came before, the 1971-1973 models are considered the final restyle of the first-generation Mustang. Mike Querio drooled over these cars at his local Ford dealership as he saved money for his very own Mach 1.

During the years Mike’s uncle owned the Mach 1, he installed a hopped-up 351 Cleveland. But the original-issue M-code 351 was stored right next to the car, and went back in it during the restoration.

A look under the hood shows the functional Ram Air plenum and the bottoms of the twist-style, chrome-plated locking hood pins that came as part of the package.

Mike’s desire to return the car to absolute as-delivered condition meant putting steel wheels with hubcaps and trim rings on. He originally ordered the car that way, instead of ordering Magnum 500 wheels, knowing an upgrade to slotted mag wheels was in his plans.

Long-term storage by his uncle kept the original interior in Mike’s Mach 1 in mint condition.

Mike treated himself to a few interior amenities when he ordered his Mustang, including a tilt column, console, air conditioning, and the eight-track/AM radio.

If you were a teenager in the late 1960s/early 1970s, your tape selection probably looked a lot like this, too.

The pop-open gas cap was available on the 1971 Mach 1 only; it was replaced by a more conventional twist-style cap for 1972.

Today the Mach 1 triggers an early-1970s flashback for Mike every time he gets behind the wheel. He loves popping in an eight-track tape and going for a drive, back to 1971.

The post He Bought His 1971 Mustang Mach 1 New as a Teenager, Sold it to his Uncle, and Bought it Back 28 Years Later appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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