#shocking! girl steadily progresses in game and is surprised when the game progresses with her

[franeridan]

me sixty hours into totk with three temples done and most of the surface map explored: why are white enemies already here I barely accomplished anything???

[infernobot]

TEETH?

Teeth?

By InfernoBot

I had just finished recording, and was carrying my dog in from the office, when my mom handed me an envelope. Once I had my sweet pupper nestled into a blanket, I joined her on the couch and slit open my mysterious delivery. Inside was no note, just a brochure to something called ‘Furnal Equinox’ and an accompanying plastic badge bearing the image of a anthropomorphic dog, (maybe it was a wolf), wearing a graduation cap and gown.

As my eyes scanned the glossy pages, my excitement grew; some lovely person had sent me a weekend pass to a furry convention! This was my big chance to make a video detailing my adventures through a mass gathering of one of the internet’s most maligned and misunderstood subcultures. Over the coming weeks, I studied the brochure, read up on the panelists online, noted every question about the furry fandom that popped into my head. My itinerary for the whole weekend was mapped out. 

Super chats and KoFi tips managed to cover the cost of a bottom-barrel airline ticket, and I got a great deal on an Air B&B from a charming indiginous woman named Semide, whose sisters had enrolled in college and left their rooms vacant. She was even kind enough to include meals as part of the deal. The weekend of the con finally rolled around; I threw my things in a bag and I was off to Toronto.

Eighteen hours and three layovers later, I was sitting at my host’s kitchen table with a warm towel draped over the back of my neck, sipping a cup of coffee. It turned out Semide was a naturopathic healer and knew some kickin’ remedies for aches, pains and jet lag. I don’t put much stock in essential oils, but damn if I didn’t wake up feeling fresh and ready to face the day the next morning. The convention was being held on the waterfront about nine blocks from Semide’s place, not too bad for a walk, and I reckoned I could make the trek each day. 

I left late in the morning, well after the con had opened. No sense waiting in line, I figured. It was three blocks from the Westin Harbor Castle, when I saw the first fursuit. 

There was no explaining the rush of exhilaration I felt. This was real. This was happening. I was gradually being surrounded by dozens of people decked out in bright, elaborate costumes. Some that couldn’t afford full suits wore just heads and gloves, giving a ghoulish Frankenstein’s monster appearance to their character. Or the wolf-man caught mid transformation after being bitten by a neon fox in a rainbow pride shirt. The less daring, or particularly destitute, settled for headbands with animal ears and strap-on tails. 

Waiting to cross the last street, I was elbow to elbow with a giant Sonic the Hedgehog and a seven-foot tall purple giraffe sporting a quadruple-XL adult diaper. Something told me before the weekend was over, that particular garment would get filled. Before I could contemplate the logistics further, the light changed and the extremely polite, if curiously dressed herd moved into the street and we sorted into a semblance of a line being steadily processed through the doors into the main convention hall. I was in.

The lead-up to the main event hadn’t prepared me for what lay inside. A teenage girl in a ‘volunteer’ shirt thrust an opaque plastic bag into my hands before Big The Cat shoved me aside and began professing his undying love for her beauty. I stumbled into the row of booths on the main floor, further progress blocked by an electric green armadillo strumming an acoustic guitar with a stuffed fish tucked in the strings. 

This was it, I weaved my way between con-goers and took it all in. Clip-on LED cat ears. A custom-fit fang booth. Stacks of comics focused on humanoid animals. Racks upon racks of faux-leather collars and leashes. The waifu pillows. I pulled my phone from my pocket and approached the nearest open booth.

Time for an interview, I thought.

Eight hours, two energy drinks and a box of granola bars later, I was dead on my feet. There was no way of knowing how many people I’d talked to as the day progressed. Or just how strange my conversations had become. I think I spoke at length with Cool Cat about the merits of various vape pens, despite the fact I don’t smoke. But it hadn’t all been nonsense. 

Before I had degenerated into a gibbering wreck, I had chanced to be standing beside a fountain near the food court and heard a familiar warbling voice behind me. To my great delight, when I turned around I found a young woman with jet black hair, a hawaiian shirt and a black & yellow long-Furby draped over her shoulders; I instantly recognized her as Teya from Strange Aeons. After she’d finished speaking to her friend, I politely tapped her on the arm and introduced myself. She turned out to be super cool, excited to meet another youtube creator, and talked to me for about ten minutes as her girlfriend went off to wait in line for the bathroom. 

While most of our conversation centered around videos and our special boy Greg, my eyes kept getting drawn back to Thursday Plurbonym Boyporridge. His black and yellow checkered belly, his luxurious black fur, those piercing green eyes; it was all so captivating. I couldn’t quit looking at the charm necklace below his little yellow beak spelling out his name; Thursday. Eventually, I complimented her on her videos and her handsome long-son one last time and we parted ways. It had been a pleasant break, but even here, the persistent strains of Insane Clown Posse that permeated the space were grating on my nerves. 

When the time had come for all the furry folk to close up shop and head home, I staggered out into the street with all the lingering con-goers. Despite the initial culture shock, most of the people I’d met had been great. I could stand here, elbow to elbow with ponies, foxskies, giant pomeranians and adorable cat girl maids on the steps of Westin Harbor Castle, and just enjoy the last moments of the sun setting over Toronto. That is until the moment was shattered by an obnoxious voice that sounded more like it belonged outside a Patriots game accompanied by the echo of shattering beer bottles. 

“Now that the party’s over, we can get down to the afterparty at my place; which of you bitches wants to come home with me?”

My head swiveled like a tank turret toward the source of the voice, my face bearing the expression which must have read did this motherfucker just?

A man-child wearing a My Little Pony t-shirt that had been stretched over his prodigious girth, a pair of denim jorts hanging past his knees and sweat-stained socks encased in mandles, slid his oily bulk up behind a group of teenage girls dressed as some kind of anime cat maids. He leaned his acne-studded face in close to them and said, “Since you’re dressed as maids, how about I take you home and make you change my cumm-y bedsheets after a night of passionate love-making.” 

The overly-polite locals may have been in shock, but I knew a neckbeard when I saw one and knew immediately what to do.

“How ‘bout you back the fuck off bro, they’re kids.”

Maybe he wasn’t expecting resistance, but he seemed genuinely taken aback by someone speaking up. Once he got a look at me, he re-adjusted his fedora and stared me down. I admit, I might not look terribly intimidating; bulky, but not muscular, with my hair dyed bright teal and swept to one side. At least I had on a Pink Floyd t-shirt, that felt a little like a layer of protection against his fed-aura. He drew in a snot-choked breath and continued,

“They’re dressed as the maids from Painappuru No Oshiri, they’re harem girls that’re totally thirsty for the main character. Each maid is eager to bend over and present their ripe ruby star-fruit to their master. They’re, like, practically advertising how much they want it in the ass.”

“Why don’t you leave them alone, fuckmuppet?” I retorted. “You look like you're forty and they’re a bunch of teen girls.”

He was not pleased with my argument. The group of cat-maidens had shaken off their surprise and closed ranks. But they weren’t ready when he lunged forward and grabbed at the petticoat of the red cat-maid on the outside, lifting her skirts up to expose the shorts underneath.

“It’s not even a chick, it’s a dude. Chill out.”

A glance at the cosplayer’s face revealed a mask of burning red embarrassment, fear and confusion. Their friends were moving to grab at the neckbeard’s hand, but I was quicker. I swatted his arm like I was chopping down the internet itself and pushed right up in his face. Practically nose-to-nose, I couldn’t avoid the stench of fermented funyuns rolling off his breath.

“Keep. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off of them.”

His chins quivered slightly. 

“Oh, you wanna start something, Rainbow Brite? I bet you like it in the ass, prancy-boy.”

“For a supposedly straight guy, you sure are obsessed with getting your dick in a guy’s butt.”

The flab of his cheeks reddened to match his acne.

“You’re gonna regret that. I’m a man with a very particular set of skills…”

I cut him off; I didn’t have the patience for a real-life copy pasta.

“Is one of your skills getting punched by me? Cause if you keep talking, you’re going to be teaching a master class.”

I could feel that neckbeardy-bravado wavering. Perhaps he could sense the crowd around us had turned against him, moving to shield the cat-maids and staring daggers into his lumpy flesh. With one last snotty huff, he turned and stormed away; the sound of his mandles slapping on the concrete echoed off the face of the convention center. 

A group of several of the more adulty-er people had ringed the victims and were doing their best to calm them down. I shuffled over and started to apologize for the beardo’s behavior, when the red cat-maid began thanking me profusely and asked for a hug. Apparently, this was not the first time their group had been approached at the convention. We stood around chatting for a while, and they promised to check Evangelion when they got home. Once the cat-maids were safely in their Lyft, I waved them goodbye and turned to make my journey home for the night.

I started back up the street I'd taken this morning, but as I approached the doorway to a grimey building, I became aware of a fully-suited Yogi Bear propositioning a man dressed like Linda-Carter-era Wonder Woman. I was pretty wiped out and didn’t have it in me to process an altercation like this if they noticed me and instead took an abrupt right turn down an alley, intending to zig-zag back to my Air B&B. 

I was nearly out the other side when my ears picked up the slapping of mandles on pavement rushing up behind me. A searing pain burst into existence in my lower back, like someone put a cigarette out on my spine. 

I went down, hard. 

The mylar swag bag I’d been swinging around all day splashed into a puddle off to one side. I was barely able to heave myself over onto my back to get a look at my attacker. It was him. The Neckbeard. He stood over me, grinning, his yellowed teeth visible in the night. The little black box in his hand flickered with a blue spark as he triggered the taser again.

“Heh heh. You like that, princess? I aimed a little high so I wouldn’t damage your sweet ass.”

“Fuck….you….” I gasped out through the pain. My muscles were cramping like someone had dug a burning fork into my lower back and twisted it up like a plate of spaghetti. 

“Heh. You’re the one taking it in the ass, rainbow bitch.” He stepped over me, squatting like a linebacker, bringing the taser close to my face. “Maybe I’ll push this in your eyeball and see if I can make it boil.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement between his legs. Something thin and dark darted up from the shadows, toward his exposed back. He let out a cry of surprise, and shot upright, swinging his arms wildly behind him, grabbing at something. He hopped wildly from foot-to-foot across the alley, the tail hanging from the back of his pants swaying wildly with the movement. I thought it was weird I hadn’t noticed the tail before, especially with how long it was, practically sweeping the ground. The fuzzy black appendage was moving...wrong. It kept curling up and twisting out of his hands as he grasped at it, almost as if it were...alive. 

“Oh Goddamnit!” He screamed. “What the fuck, dude?!” 

He dropped the taser and got a grip on the tail with both hands, tugging on it. A ripping sound echoed through the alley as the seat of his pants tore out. The thing was, the tail wasn’t attached to his pants, it was going in through his pants, nestled between his prodigious posterior cheeks like one of those fetish plugs. As he violently jerked it side-to-side, it was ripping at the fabric of his trousers, the same went for his less-than-tidey whiteys. 

“Get this fucking thing off of me!” He howled. 

He grunted as the tail slipped his fingers and wriggled another foot inside him. Tears were welling up in his eyes and he collapsed back against a green dumpster. Like a man who had gambled on a street taco truck and lost, he bit his knuckle and gripped his abdomen through his stained t-shirt. It might have been a trick of the light, but I swear I could see his belly distend and squirm; the words ‘Friendship Is Magic’ bulging as something rolled under them. 

His mandles dug into the alley grime as he feebly kicked his legs, and I could only watch in disgust as the rest of the fuzzy, black, thing slithered up inside him, forcibly dilating his leather cheerio. It was incredible. I could actually see its progress as it wormed its way through his body. He blubbered something about God and Jesus as his hand clawed frantically at his own belly, before his voice abruptly went silent. 

There was a long, drawn-out wheezing sound, like one of those novelty rubber chickens, as the bulk of the thing moved up his throat. I don’t know how his flesh distended and deformed without bursting, but it reached his mouth and his jaw opened wide. First one small black, fuzzy ear lined with black and yellow plaid popped up, then another, followed by the crown of this thing’s head, pushing his teeth outward like flower petals blooming. 

It rose before me, straight up from his mouth, its black and yellow belly slick, but not stained by his juices. His dislodged teeth clung to its matted fur like an obscene necklace. It swayed slightly in the moonlight, a pair of luminous green eyes fixed on mine, and its beak opened. With the rising inflection of someone asking a question, it uttered one word: 

Teeth?

[studentville-struggles]

A Double Life

Chapter 5!!

A self-indulgent Daniel Ricciardo fic.

Summary: Returning to old passions results in the start of chaos and living a double life. We say we hate chaos, but the thrill is unlike anything else.

Words: 1,941

Masterlist // Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

F1 was no joke.  

PhD’s were no joke.

You were exhausted. Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover how you felt. Were you dying? Who even knew at this point.  

One monday your legs finally gave out as you were walking into university, collapsing from the exhaustion you were fighting. Thankfully you had just made it into your building, the porters quick to call a medic. You actually ended up having to take a couple of days off of lab work and go home and just spend some time sleeping and spending time with your parents. Your supervisors were so worried for your health and the stress you had been putting yourself under they pretty much banned you from the lab for a week.  

You still did the workouts you needed to and prepped for races from home. You just did everything on more than five hours sleep. The luxury. It was so damn needed.

Speaking on the phone to Lando one night, the two of you becoming closer friends since being team mates and him checking in more frequently since finding out about you collapsing, you had been joking about how nice sleep was. 

“I used to think that being ordinary was boring. Now I’d do anything for a 10 hour nap and a chippy.”

Your little exhaustion moment had scared you a little bit. You’d always managed to do everything. You could have two intense lives and work it. You had felt that for the last three years you mastered juggling a double life. Was it finally coming to crumble around you? Was this it, was the dream over?  

You wouldn’t allow it. You couldn’t. Youd fought so hard for this, to have your cake and eat it. It was never meant to be easy and you knew that, this was just one more thing to overcome. Once you had your PhD you would be able to live any life you wanted. You might even be able to sleep seven hours a night on the regular.  

You would make this double life work for a little longer, you had to.

Having re-evaluated routines and switching things up so that you could make the most of both lives whilst still being healthy, you were feeling confident, comfortable and it was growing with each race that passed. Sure, not all of the results were what you dreamed off; after all you were yet to tip Lewis off his pedestal, but you were getting there. Getting the car to do your bidding was the first half of the challenge. Now you just needed to do that, but better than every one else on the track.

The other thing to come out of your health scare; especially after some of the drivers have commented on your less deathly appearance was an interesting change in your friendship with a certain Australian.  

Sure, you had the big change from thinking he was rude to being caught smiling at his texts, to hanging out in Australia at the start of the season. That you had kind of seen coming; but this? This was unexpected, and you weren’t quite sure what to make of it currently.

After finding out about your little incident, Daniels’ entire energy changed. He was visibly concerned about you, whether you were better now, how you were doing getting everything under control for good. His reaction to discovering the in-depth extremeness of your routine having binged watched your show – he claimed it was a curious interest to occupy his flight but you knew it was to be nosey and you didn’t mind that – was even stranger He had effectively cornered you at the paddock in China with a written out list and spluttering of expletives with the general message of “what the fuck, no wonder you're exhausted.’.  

The frequency at which you two texted and chatted was steadily rising as your friendship bloomed but after his discovery of ‘the incident’, it had sky rocketed. Both in general conversation, but also in his concern for you overdoing things. He’s started to make a point, like Lewis often does, to ensure you take a bit of time for you and to relax; so movie and game nights are now a little thing you get when you meet up for a face to face catch up.

The vibes between the two of you were shifting ever so slightly and you weren’t entirely sure where there were setting themselves.

---

You were very lucky in that your family would often come to support you, especially your mum and dad. Albeit your mum couldn’t watch half of the races due to her fear that her little girl was going to be hurt, but she was there every chance she had.  

As the season progressed and you were getting some races closer to home, you felt it was about time to invite the main group of people who were yet to see this side of you. Given the intense patience and grace they had given to you, supporting you though everything and allowing your camera crew all access; it was time to invite your boss. Well your other boss. Your supervisor.

Getting back into the swing of things at work in the lab after the Spanish Grand Prix, you felt it was finally time to give back to your lab family.

“I’d like to take you to work next week, and maybe a few others once I check numbers.” Your supervisor knew what ‘work’ meant for you but with more and more people questioning your regular three day weeks, you were starting to feel like letting your two worlds collide a little more.  

“Where is work next week? Monaco?”  

“Yup. I’ll give my media team a ring and see how many we can take including hotels and go from there”  

“Including?!”  

“Full VIP, would be rude of me not to.”  

A short phone call later, with some rough numbers figured out, you had five full VIP passes at your disposal. Given you rarely have guests at Grand Prix’ they allowed a few extra tickets this time. As one would imagine with a free weekend in Monaco, the academic staff in your research group snapped up those tickets in no time. Of course, with the amount of time spent in your offices and labs, you were safely assuming three of the five had no idea what your job was, though were very curious as to how and why it was taking you to Monaco.  

Academic life was no joke. Everyone was busy, everyone had very little free time. Watching sports was only done by super fans really. There weren’t any motorsport super fans in your office and somehow both your show and driving career had still remained unquestioned. How that was true with the camera crew still following you around, you had no idea.  

You had sent out a rough, and very vague itinerary, reminding them to be ready to leave work at 6 pm on Wednesday, heading straight to the airport. You had also sent strict dress code instructions- the smarter end of smart casual, knowing that they would likely, if not definitely, be appearing on camera.  

With some of your team meeting you at the airport, ready to get your race weekend media started, the confusion of your university colleagues was growing. It peaked as they had you film a short clip to start the weekends media off, it was only a short Instagram story, post hair touch up, to say hi to fans.  

“Hey guys, just me taking over the Instagram stories! We’ve just arrived at the airport to head over to Monaco! Can’t wait to see you guys this weekend and I’ve even brought a few colleagues from the university so you’ll be seeing my two worlds collide as well! See you soon!” Waving at the camera, you cut the video. With all thumbs up from your team, you uploaded it to your team Instagram, views piling in almost immediately.  

“Rachel what the hell do you do?!”

“Oh you’ll see soon enough, I don’t want to ruin the surprise now.” You teased, surprisingly enjoying the suspense.  

Walking up to the private jet having gone through security with ease, the shock was only increasing, though you everyone was feeling very excited for the flight now they saw the plane. Things were fairly calm after this, the journey quick, smooth and you avoided giving too much away.  

Arriving at the hotel you sent everyone off to their rooms, giving timings for meeting the next morning. You would be leaving before them to start greeting the media and doing some press conferences before your track walks, and so had arranged for a few cars to be sent for transferring the rest over to the main hub. Once they were all happy with the plans, not that you’d given many details, merely timings, you could head to your room where Daniel had snuck over waiting to reunite.  

He had many complaints about spending the evening having your catch up in a hotel when he had a perfectly good home a few minutes away. At some point during the evening, after the food had been demolished, the words said and a crappy Netflix original on the tv, the two of you had fallen asleep. When you woke a couple of hours later, you were awkwardly hunched on the sofa still, somehow having entangled yourself with Daniels body.  

Realising that it was far too late to send Daniel home, you both needed sleep if you were to survive the media day, and you couldn’t send him on his way in the small hours of the morning. Trying not to wake him too harshly, you start untangling yourself from the mess of legs. With Daniel starting to stir, you grab his hand, wordlessly pulling him from the sofa, over to the hotel bed.  

Still in the silence the middle of the night brings, Daniel shed the majority of his clothing, slipping under the covers in only his underwear, with you following soon after as you quickly change into your sleepwear.  

For something so foreign in your friendship, the ease and comfort at which you snuggled together, falling asleep again under the covers, was almost unnerving. Almost. In your sleepy state, you couldn’t recognise that, only time would reveal that.  

--

Having snuck off to begin your media day trackside, you were eager to see your lab colleague's reaction to where they were. It was as you were heading back into McLarens hospitality that you, as well as the whole group, could see the full magnitude of this job and how it differed to the Rachel they were used to seeing in the office.  

“You’re a driver?”  Shock? Disbelief? You couldn’t quite tell but the reaction was  

“Yes”

“What the fuck? But you’re in the lab like 10 hours a day”

“Now you know why I don’t have time to get things done otherwise in my three-day weeks.”

Once the shock wore off, the excitement and initial questions had settled, you set the group up with timings for the day and let them wander round the paddock freely as you headed back to your meetings, promising to see them during the lunch break.  

Having your worlds united felt good. It felt as though some of the pressure you hadn’t realised was there from keeping them separate, was melting away.  Although the feeling that was beginning to bubble away every time you bumped into Daniel was very close to being a distraction.

You needed to drive; just get in the car and block everything else out. 

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me - Chapter 17

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

It’s not exactly the way he’d wanted things to go.

Four months may as well have been four years; sexual frustration a very real and very powerful thing. Since he was fifteen, he’d never gone that long without it. There was always someone ready and willing to help put him out of his misery. High school girlfriends, girls that had been more than willing to play the role of ‘friend with benefits’ when he’d been single, an ex-wife (that had been given it more to other men than him, but that’s beside the point), Nik, women in different countries that were happy to see him when he was in town but didn’t expect more than just one night.  He’s not proud of it. It just is what it is. He’d been younger then; not worried about anything else other than what his dick wanted.  It hadn’t mattered if it lasted five minutes of five hours; the end result always the same, regardless of how long it took to get there.  But when you’re actually in love the person you’re with, when your life takes on more meaning that just sharing a bed with someone, your outlook drastically changes. Or at least it should.

Sex has always been a part of who they are.  It’s how things started in the first place almost seven years ago.  A profound and seemingly unstoppable sexual attraction that had let to the wildest five days of his entire life. It’s how the initial connection had been made; lust at first sight existing, love taking a hell of a lot longer to develop.   The promise of something more had been there; in those middle of the night chats amid rumpled bedsheets and the tangle of sweaty limbs. The way he’d been able to open up to another human being so easily. The trust had come easily and effortlessly, and he’d embraced it instead of questioning it. He’d found himself sharing the deepest and darkest secrets that he’d kept buried for years. Not thinking twice about talking about his wife’s infidelities while he was stationed overseas or Austin’s battle with cancer or the cowardly act of choosing to leave while his only child was dying. He hadn’t hesitated when talking about the things that scared him or how painful his guilt and regret were. For the first time in a long time he’d even found himself smiling and laughing. Genuinely. Not in a forced, almost painful way.  

Those were thing he’d never experience before. With anyone. Not even his ex-wife. So it had been a good sign; he was still alive and not as broken and helpless as he believed. And on the fourth night he’d been anxious to keep the job done and see where life would take them. They’d made plans to travel for a couple of months; spend their time getting to know one another outside of sex. To see if there was something worthwhile to pursue. For the first time in years, he’d actually had a reason to live. His existence suddenly meant something. And mattered to someone.

Love had taken a lot longer to discover. Maybe in a way, it had always been there; lingering just under the surface, Dhaka putting down the roots and a near death experience the start of the growing process. It’s a hell of thing to wake up from a coma and find a beautiful woman...the most beautiful he’d ever seen as far as he was concerned...sitting next to you. Even hopped up on a massive amount of pain meds he’d been relieved to see her; sleeping in a chair pulled up to the side of his bed, her forearms crossed over one another on the mattress, the side of her head resting on them, her face turned towards him. He’d felt the gentle weight of her head against him and it had been comforting. He’d woken up in a state of sheer terror and panic; not remembering what had happened, not knowing where the hell he was, not understanding where there were tubes and wires coming out of what seemed like every possible inch of his body. And the pain...it had been intense. Even with the morphine drip providing near constant relief and the fog that hung heavily over his brain and made his limbs feel heavy.  

But her being there had immediately calmed him. Feeling her head against the side of his thigh, how soft her hair was when he’d brushed his fingertips across it, the sound of her soft, rhythmic breathing.  It had filled him with relief; he’d no recollection of anything that happened after Farhad had shot him. If she’d even managed to get OFF the bridge.  Alive or dead.  The mere touch of his fingertips to her hair had been enough to wake her, and she’s given him the most incredible smile he’d ever seen and had taken his hand and squeezed it impossibly tight for such a small thing.  And then she’d teased him about ‘sleeping his life away’.

You learn a lot about someone...and yourself for that matter...when they selflessly give everything up to stay by your side. When you see them fighting with doctors and therapists over unacceptable prognosis's and what they viewed as ‘bullshit, half assed care’. When you realize that there’s one person willing to fight for you, even when you want to give up.  She’d kept him going on the most painful and exhausting of days; putting up with all the shit he’d put her through. The angry outbursts, the mean, hurtful words brought on by frustration and pain. You start to realize just how strong someone is when they tolerate crap like that and still stick by your side. She could have walked away.  Dozens of time. And he wouldn’t have blamed her if she did. But every time he’d open his eyes in the morning, she’d be there, and he’d always be relieved and thankful that he at least got one more day with her.

And then they’d found out about Millie.  

It hadn’t come as a total shock; they’d been reckless and nowhere near as careful as they should have been during those days in Dhaka.  In fact, it would have come as even a bigger surprise if they hadn’t had least had a ‘scare’.  She’d told him that she didn’t expect anything from him; of he didn’t want any part of it, she’d walk away and never contact him again.  He’d been hurt. Angry. That she’d even think that little of him. Maybe he hadn’t given her a reason to think any different; in her mind, maybe those five days had meant nothing to him, and she was expendable.  That a baby was nothing more than a lasting reminder of what happens when two broken and desperate people take solace in each other.  But it had never been JUST that. There’d always been more.  Something thriving under the surface. They just hadn’t been given the chance to figure out just what it was.

Then one day he’d just looked at her and he knew; that he was in love with her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. She’d been almost five months pregnant and he’d been allowed weekend visits home from the rehab facility; care he’d been receiving not just for his physical issues, but to help him kick the powerful addictions to pain meds and booze. They’d been sitting on the couch in their new apartment, watching a movie and eating ice cream right out of the carton and he’d looked over at her; her hair loose and falling around her face and down her back, wearing one of his t-shirts because she was already self-conscious about her steadily growing baby bump.  And he’d leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek and laid a hand on her stomach, where their baby...HIS baby...was safe and thriving. It was the first time he’d ever told her that he loved her. Not just saying the words, but actually feeling them.

That was almost six and a half years ago; Millie making her appearance four and a half months later. There are days it seems like sixty years ago, others where it feels like six. And through all the tough times and the bullshit that should have broken them, sex had been the one constant. The one thing they knew they couldn’t fuck up.  Sometimes it’s nothing more than pure enjoyment; it feels amazing, they like doing it, and they love making each other feel good. Other times they use it as a band-aid of sorts; a temporary fix after a fight, or a way of apologizing for something hurtful that was said, or for being gone for so long on a job.

It hadn’t been until they’d started seeing a therapist that he’d realized just how unhealthy it actually is. Before he’d never given it much though. If any. Sex was just part of who they were so why question something that makes you feel that good?   Until it had been pointed out that it could actually destroy a marriage instead of making it stronger. It can’t be the only thing keeping your relationship together; the only thing connecting the two of you.

Hence the guilt he feels now. He’d had every intention of just lying with her in bed, wrapping his arms around her and just being with her. Using words instead of sex to apologize for not only all the things he’d said during their fight, but all the ways he’d fucked up over the years.  That had been the plan. Only she’d had other things in mind and had been hell bent on getting what she wanted. It had been four months after all; they’ve been given the greenlight and there was no reason to waste any time.  Neither did he. But did it really have to happen THAT way? It should have been better. Longer. Not that kind of frantic and desperate fucking you resort to when the kids are napping.

The therapist would tell him that these kinds of thoughts are ‘impressive progress’. He thinks they make him seem like a soft, pathetic little bitch.

Esme stirs beside him, rolling from her stomach to her side, back towards him.  Issuing a long, content sigh that makes him grin.  

He moves onto his side, wincing at the pain that creeps into his left shoulder. That’s always been the good one; the last thing he needs is it going as well. Not with having to train Ovi and the very real possibility of having to temporarily get back in the game if the kid fucks up.  Pressing a kiss to the back of her head, he places a hand on her shoulder and allows it to drift down her arm; tips of his fingers gliding over the top of her wrist before entwining  his fingers with hers and placing their joined hands against her stomach.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah...” she sighs again, even longer and more content. “...are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re not usually THAT quiet afterwards. You’ve become quite the master of pillow talk in your old age.”

“I didn’t have anything to say. What did you want me to talk about?”

She shrugs. “You could read the telephone book for all I care. As long as I get to listen to that voice.”

Tyler chuckles. “So I’ve never actually had to say anything worthwhile? I’ve just had to talk? You’re just telling me this after almost seven years? You know how much effort and embarrassment I could have saved?”

“What’s there to ever be embarrassed about? You should never be embarrassed about anything. Not with me”

“I don’t exactly know how to say things properly sometimes. You know, serious things.”

“You seriously underestimate yourself. You say a lot of serious and important things just fine.”

He smiles, kissing her temple and then her shoulder before resting his cheek against hers. “Any pain?” he inquires and let's go of her hand in order to place his palm against her stomach.

“A little,” she admits, and he frowns.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Tyler, think about this for a second. It had been four months. It was going to hurt regardless. I don’t know if you’ve ever actually looked at your dick...”

“A few times.”

“Well, take your dick and what it looks like into consideration and you’ll understand exactly why it would hurt after THAT long. No matter how gentle you tried to be. And maybe pain isn’t the right word. More discomfort than actual pain. I’m fine. Stop worrying so much. You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me.”

“Maybe we should have waited," he suggests. “A couple more weeks at least.”

“Believe it not, some couples have sex almost immediately after having a baby. Some don’t even wait three weeks like we did. And I know my body and what it can handle and what it’s capable of. So just relax. You were fine. Better than fine. Way better.”

He grins and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It just wasn’t the way I wanted things to go after four months.”

“When did you become so serious about sex? You’re usually the one that’s ready and willing for anything.”

“Shouldn’t the first after that long be...I don’t know...better?”

“How much better did you want it? You didn’t enjoy it?”

“Of course, I enjoyed it. That wasn’t obvious?”

“So what is the issue?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler admits. “I was thinking about what the therapist said. About how sex can destroy things if we’re not careful. How it’s a bad thing if that’s the only connection people have.”

“Okay...wait a second...” Esme rolls over to face him. “...you hate going to the therapist and you bitch and moan every time we do. And that’s the one thing you remember her saying?”

“I remember other things. I do listen to her. Sometimes.”

“And you happened to listen to her that day?”

“We were talking about sex. And I’m a guy. We just hear the word and we automatically pay attention.”

Her forehead rests against his; fingertips tracing the various scars that take up residence on his collarbone and chest. “And you think that’s the only connection we have?”

“I never said that. Do YOU think that’s the only connection we have?”

“Oh no,” she laughs. “You’re not turning it around. You brought it up, you can talk about it. I know how you work. You bring something up and then somehow, I end up being the one that does all the talking. You started this; you finish it.”

“I didn't say that’s all we have. Just that sometimes maybe it feels that way.”

“It’s always been a part of who we are though,” she reasons.

“Which is kind of fucked in its own way, but okay.”

“So...” she runs a run a nail over his Adam’s apple and around to the scar one the left side of his neck. Sometimes it still bothers her; seeing it and what it represents.  Today a brief frown tugs at her lips and then disappears. “...you’d never have sex.”

“What?” It’s his turn to laugh. “That is nowhere near what I’m trying to say. I just worry, I guess. That maybe you feel that’s all we do. I mean, we have five kids. Isn’t that a sign that’s all we do?”

“It’s sign that we love each other, and we wanted a big family.”

He smirks. “And that we like to fuck.”

“Well...yeah...” her knuckles brush along his jaw; liking the feel of his beard against her skin. “...is there something wrong with that? That we enjoy it? That we’d like to make each other feel good?”

“Only if that’s all we do. You think that’s all we do?”

“We just went four months without doing it,” Esme reminds him.

“Because we had to.”

“You want to wait another four months and see how you feel then?”

“Fuck no. That is NOT what I want.”

“Then what is the issue?” Her fingers move up his face; trailing over the scar that travels across the bridge of his nose, over the one near his left eyes, then up to the one that runs down his forehead. Even all these years later she’s fascinated by them; all those little imperfections that make him, him.  “Sex is either the enemy or it’s not.”

“Okay, I don’t think we’re looking at the same way. Were you sleeping during that therapy session? Because that's not what was said.  Was I the only one actually paying attention? She said it was a bad thing if that’s all a couple have in common.”

“You really think we’d still be married if that’s all we have in common? I think you’re reading way too much into what she said. We’re consenting adults. If we want to have sex, that’s fine. As long as it’s not the only thing that keeps us together. And it’s not. Far from it. As incredible as it is....”

“Yeah...” he grins. “It’s pretty good.”

“...there is more to us than that. I have to say though, I like this side of you. The Tyler that has these profound, serious moments. You aren’t just a pretty face and big muscles. You’ve got a lot going for you. Especially up there...” she kisses his forehead. “...I like that I get see these things. These different sides of you.”

“Other than the one that’s a raging asshole and huge fuck up.”

“Okay first of all,” she shoves him over onto his back, then kisses him as she straddles his waist, hands on chest. “I never said you were a huge fuck up. Because you’re not. You’ve fucked up. There’s a huge difference. You’ve made some mistakes. We both have.”

“Your mistakes are nowhere near as epic as mine.”

“I didn’t bring those things up to hurt you. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt. You’re the last person on earth I’d ever do that to.  I just needed you to realize that things need to change. YOU need to change. Because I can’t live like that. Feeling controlled and suffocated. I just can’t.”

“I never meant to make you feel that way. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. All I want is to protect you. That’s it.”

“You’ve been protecting me for almost seven years without going overboard about it. I’ve always felt safe with you, Tyler. Even in Dhaka. And you were nowhere near as bad as you are now.”

“Well we didn’t exactly have the connection we have now, so...”

“I need you be more like THAT Tyler. And less insanely paranoid and overly protective Tyler.  And...” she places a hand lightly over his mouth to prevent him from speaking. “...I understand why you are the way you are.   A lot of things have happened since Dhaka. Things have really freaked you out. Especially the whole McMann thing. And I also know that a lot of it is your PTSD and your mental stuff fucking with your brain and making things seem so much worse than what they are.”

“Can talk now?” His voice is muffled against her palm.

“Are you going to argue with me?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to argue,” she says, as she removes her hand from his face. “We’ve done enough arguing for today. For a long time. I know couples argue, but...”

“We kind of take it to the next level.”

She nods.

“I don’t want to argue,” he lays his hands on her thighs, running his palms along the smooth skin. “You’re the last person I want to fight with. No matter how good the making up is. And I’ll try. To be that other Tyler.”

“I just need you to take it down a notch. A few notches, actually. You can protect me without being like that. You’ve always protected me. I’ve never felt like I was danger. Ever. You need to trust yourself. And your instincts. Stop letting your brain immediately react from an emotional standpoint and actually think about what’s happening and what you’re hearing.”

“It’s hard not to be emotional when it’s something to do with you or the kids.”

“And I get that. I do. But Tyler, the way you are? The way you get? That’s not good for me or the kids. Or you.  So I need you to trust yourself and your instincts. I need you to rely on them. Like you relied on them in Dhaka. Things turned okay, didn’t they.”

“If you think getting shot in the throat and nearly dying is ‘okay’.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the decisions you made.  You did what you had to do, and you got Ovi and I out of there. That’s why you don’t need to be the way you are now. I trusted that Tyler seven years ago. Way more than I trust this Tyler.”

He frowns.

“You’re taking that the wrong way. I trust you. With my life. With our children's lives. But when you get...I don’t know...unhinged...it’s scary. And I don’t want to be scared of you. Because you go off the deep end and you freak out and I don’t even know who you are when you’re like that.”

“I don’t want to scare you. Ever. That’s the last thing I want.”

“And that's why I need you to stay on your meds and I need you to start thinking rationally instead of emotionally and I need you to trust me. I would never, ever do anything to hurt our kids. In the same way I’d never do anything to hurt you. I spent years doing the job, remember? I spent years learning how to read people. Without them realizing I was doing it. Do you really think those skills just die off? That I can’t read the new neighbor? That I haven’t just sat back and watched her and listened to her? She’s harmless.”

“It’s not the same as doing the job. These are my...our...kids that are involved.”

“Which stands to reason that I’d be extra intense when reading Salena. You underestimate me, you know. You always have.  I’m a lot smarter and a lot craftier than you think.”

“I’d say sneakier, not craftier,” he teases.  “And I’ve never underestimated you. Ever. I knew what you were capable of. As soon as you went off on me in Dhaka because you didn’t like me telling you what to do.”

“Well in all fairness, I don’t like anyone telling me what do.  And your rules were bullshit and I wasn’t afraid to tell you that. I wasn’t giving you a free ride because you were nice to look at it.”

He smirks. “You gave me a lot of free rides.”

“Well played,” she laughs, and leans down to kiss him, then buries her face in between his neck and his shoulder. “You’re getting quick as you get older. Maybe I need to stop underestimating you.”

“Like a fine wine,” he reasons, hands sliding under the bottom of the t-shirt she’d refused to remove –citing the distaste in her post baby appearance- and up her back. “Better with age.”

“I’m going to agree with that. At this age, other guys are getting flabby and getting dad bods.  I get a trophy husband. Total eye candy. Who am I to complain?”

“You definitely were not complaining a half an hour ago,” he teases, and skims his knuckles down the length of her spine.

She gives a small shriek, her entire body arching against him. “That drives me insane!”

“In a good way.”

“In a very good way,’ she giggles, then groans when her cell phone –charging on the next stand- springs to life. “That’s not good. That’s the ringtone for the school.”

“It’s probably one of those automated calls they send out when they want parents to remember something.”

“I doubt it. It’s been a good week. It only makes sense that it ends bad. That is definitely about your son.”

“So now he’s just my son?”

“You answer it. I do not want to deal with them.”

“They’ll hang up if I answer. They don’t like me.”

“It’s not that they don’t like you. They’re scared of you. The secretary is especially terrified of you.  I’ve tried telling her to ignore your resting asshole face and to just enjoy the fact that you’re this nice tall, cool, glass of water but...”

“I’ll try not be offended you didn’t say tequila or at least beer,” Tyler chides, and then dumps her onto her back and leans across her, reaching for the phone before it goes to voice mail.  “You sure you want me to deal with this?”

“It’s your turn. I’ve had enough bullshit for one day,” she tousles his hair, presses a kiss to his lips and then slides off the bed. “Good luck, honey,” she says, as she disappears into the ensuite bathroom. Then briefly pokes her head out to add, “And try not to kill someone, okay?”

“Will you still love me if I do?”

“Always,” she promises.  

****

Millie lingers in the front hallway of the school when he arrives; slowly sipping water from one of the many fountains situation throughout the building; TJ’s backpack and shoes on the ground beside her, eyes darting back and forth between what he knows is the office and the front entrance.  And those eyes widen when they see him; no doubt expecting her mother to show up to handle things. She’s the more levelheaded one, after all. That parent less likely to raise their voice and spew profanities at the staff.

“Daddy!” She rushes over, tossing her arms around his legs in a quick hug, then looking up at him. “Oh my God...” she breathes. “...it was so awesome”

He scoops her up with one arm, pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her back down on the ground. “What was awesome?”

“Tyler totally fucked them up!”

He scowls. “Amelia...”

“Sorry,” she gives a sheepish, apologetic smile. Messed them up. He was so mad, and they so deserved it and I don’t blame him one bit. They had it coming!”

“There was more than one? I thought there was just one kid.”

“Nope. There was three. Plus, the kid who started it!”

“Four kids?”

She nods enthusiastically. “And he beat the shit...I mean crap...out of them. All of them. By himself.”

“Out of all four of them?”

“It was so freaking awesome. Everyone was cheering for him. EVERYONE. Even the grade eights! I’m so proud of him. He can fight! Not as good as me. But still!”

“Amelia,” her teacher appears by the water fountain. “Back to class, please.”

“I’m talking to my dad!” she exclaims. “Mind your own!”

“Hey,” Tyler scolds. “Watch your mouth. What did I tell you? About that being your teacher and not to get mouthy with her?”

“Ughhh,” Millie huffs. “She’s a pain in the ass!”

“You know what’s a pain the ass?”

“Bad language,” she sighs dramatically. “I know. But she is.  You’re not going to get mad at him, are you daddy? Tyler did the right thing.”

“You know, I’ll decide if he did or not. Go back to class. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“You can’t take me home too?”

“Go back to class,” he gently orders.

“Fine,” she rolls her eyes, and then saunters off, giving him a wave before disappearing around the corner with her teacher.

The office staff is not happy to see him.  It isn’t his first time going in there and raising hell; Millie had beaten the crap out of an older kid for looking up her dress while she was on the playground and the staff had been insistent on punishing her and not him.  Ever since then, he’d been branded as ‘that parent’; the kind they view as confrontational and aggressive and probably have an entire file devoted to.  After the Millie incident, they’d filed a report with Australia’s Child Protection Services saying he was aggressive and abusive and things at home ‘needed to be checked out’. Nothing came of that visit, and he’s been holding a grudge against the school ever since.  

“Where’s my kid?” He doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, and the secretary blinks; both in surprise that he’s shown up and not Esme, and at tone of his voice. He doesn’t fuck around, and they know it. And hate it.  He isn’t the kind of parent they like to deal with; he isn’t submissive and agreeable and isn’t afraid to question their decisions or call them out on their bullshit.

She nods at the row of chairs behind him, where is son sits with an ice pack on his face, a towel stained with drops of blood in his lap, and his knuckles bruised and swollen. And he crouches down in front of TJ, gently pulling the five-year old’s hand away from his face; frowning when he sees the damage is even worse than he’d though. A gash across the bridge of his nose, a split lip, likely some loose teeth, and the start of a black eyes.

“Mate,” Tyler sighs heavily. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” tears immediately fill TJ’s eyes and his lower lip begins to tremble. “I didn’t mean to.”

“We talked about this,” he uses the corner of the towel of clear blood from his son’s lips and chin. “You can’t keep doing this. Getting into fights.”

“But I didn’t start it! He did.”

“Who’s he?”  

“I don't know what his name he’s. He’s in grade four. He’s always picking on the little kids and that kids that are in wheelchairs and have special needs and stuff. And no one else stands up for them.”

“So you did?”

“Not today but I always do. He was picking on Tanner. And he made him cry. That’s my brother. You don’t on my brother and make him cry. So I got mad and I hit him. Hard. And then his stupid friends jump me. So I hit them too.”

“And they obviously hit back.”

“I don’t care about that. No one picks on my brother. Or kids that can’t stick up for themselves. Someone has to stick up for the good people. Someone has to make the bad people pay for being bad.”

Tyler nods in agreement, then lowers his face so the secretary can’t hear him.  “What do the other kids look like?”

TJ gives a proud, confident grin. “Worse. A lot worse.”

“Atta boy,” he tousles his son’s hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Millie’s got your stuff. Go to her class and grab it and then we’ll go home, yeah?”

TJ nods, then wraps his arms around his father’s neck in a tight, appreciative hug before sliding off the chair and heading for the door.

“Excuse me!” The secretary calls to him. “We’re not done with you, young man.”

“Yeah, you are,” Tyler says, as he stands up and nods towards the hallway, giving TJ permission to leave. “You’re done with my kid. Not like you do much with him anyway. Where’s the principal? Hiding in his office shitting his pants because he knows I’m here?”

“We don’t appreciate that kind of language here, Mister Rake,” she scolds. “So...”

“You know what I don’t appreciate it? My kid being the only one in here getting in trouble despite the fact he was defending his brother. Where’s the little asshole that started all of this?”

“You cannot call a child a little...a...a... what you just called him.”

“An asshole? What I should I call him? A little prick? Is that better?”

She frowns.

“So my kid is the only one in shit even though the little prick that started it likes to bully smaller kids? Kids with disabilities? You actually allow that kind of crap to go on here?”

“Your son broke four other kids’ noses and tried to choke one of them to death with his bare hands.”

“He’s five.  He hardly has the power to choke someone to death. I know how much power it takes, so....”

The secretary’s eyes widen. “We need you to sign some things,” she says. “We were expecting your wife, but...”

“My wife’s had it with your shit so she sent me. What’s this?” He nods down at the papers she slides in front of him.

“Suspension papers. Four days.”

“For what? Because he embarrassed four older kids?”

“You son cannot go around beating up other children. That’s assault.”

“He’s five.”

“It’s still assault. And those parents could press charges.  I’m sure they’ll forgo them in favor of an apology.”

“They can kiss my ass. I hope they show up at my house looking for an apology. Give them my address. I’d like to remind them that my son is only five and still managed to beat the shit out of their kids. At the same time.”

“Well I can certainly see where all of his hostility and temper issues come from,” she huffs.

“I’m not signing shit until the other kids get the same treatment. Tell the principal I said that. And that if he has a problem with that, he can come and talk to me instead of hiding like a little bitch.”

The office door pops open and TJ pokes his head. “Daddy? Can we go now?”

“We are not done,” the secretary scowls. “With either of you.”

Tyler just smirks, then slams the door closed behind him.

[damn-aesthetic-blog]

d.u.i

Wind howls in the midst of the night; light posts whirring with little conviction. Trees absentmindedly sway from their roots - mocking the cold winds. Lights are off in the buildings close by, no one brave enough to stray from the morning lights: thus letting them be comfortable enough to roam about. The only lights on where street posts and the lone bar in Hawkins - empty besides the bartender muling in their own sadness and lack of energy.

  Most nights are like this. For ten years the town of Hawkins has been a place of silent brewing. The events that took place at the Hawkins lab were released to the public but at disclosure of the Police department. It was a relief that there wasn't more corruption forming in Hawkins, but the damage was still done.

  For starters, Eleven had sacrificed herself to save the Dungeons & Dragons group - this extending to potentially Hawkins and bigger masses of life.  The AV club was able to (through much shock and drained minds) go back to their respective homes. Able to recover from that of the Demogorgon. But Will Byers was traumatized. He couldn't go outside by himself for extending periods of time without fear of being taken back by the Demogorgon. Joyce Byers wouldn't let Will go anywhere without knowing his location, or let him leave Hawkins for the fact that he wouldn't be in safe enough premise. Over the years, Will gained more independence from his home thanks to counseling and relief finally settling in with the Byers.

  Dustin and Lucas were okay enough - some anxiety was stirred, but not permanent. Lucas often felt guilty for being negative towards Eleven, and Dustin for not appreciating her as much as he could have. Besides that, they were able to function and progressively become much more social and successful over the years. They both attended university in Indiana and studied engineering.

  Micheal Wheeler was another scenario, though. After the events in 1983, Mike was in worse shape than Will. With Eleven disappearing after saving Mike, he couldn't accept himself and so he blamed himself for her death. Instead of going to University with Dustin and Lucas, he stayed in Hawkins and sulked. Hell, after 1983, Mike stopped going to D&D nights and stopped the game altogether. He tried hanging out the AV club members but eventually stopped hanging out with them in general. Later on, once they had started high school, he had already quit the AV club and changed his whole demeanor. What was once the nerdy, tall, and lanky Mike turned into a lone character who wore black and was taller and skinnier than before. When the others tried to call Mike to ask what was wrong or why he wasn't  talking to them anymore, all he would reply with was "My name's Micheal.".

  Mike, for the whole following year, for 351 days, he tried to call Eleven on his walkie-talkie in hopes she'd still be alive. That maybe she didn't die when she saved him, but instead was hiding from something, or maybe she was nearby but couldn't reach out for help.

  Throughout high school, the AV club continued to grow closer to one another, while Micheal Wheeler went farther down the whole than he ever had. By graduation year, he was one with the Popular Crowd. While Dustin, Lucas, and Will were focusing on school and science fairs, Mike was quickly raising his alcohol tolerance. He was constantly going to parties and getting shit faced. The AV boys dated and found relationships all through high school and college. This was the one area that Mike never dabbled in. For as many parties Mike attended, and as many girls would hit on him he never once showed any interest -  instead, becoming irked and leaving whatever he was doing.

  So when Mike found himself with the opportunity of a university, Mike didn't go. He stayed in Hawkins; but not for long. Three months later, Mike (after a rough night of extensive beer pong) packed all of his belonging and flew out to California to escape the hell which was his home. He still couldn't forget about the girl he fell in love with first; her curious gaze, her fair skin, or her timid smile. At the same time, though, he didn't really expect to. He wasn't sure if he even really wanted to forget, either.

  What he didn't expect nor want was to later find himself getting pulled over by Chief Hopper in the town of Hawkins.

Driving through the main street of Hawkins, Indiana was an old, yet familiar rush for now 22-year-old Micheal Wheeler. He had returned due to the excessive begging of his Mother and sister, Nancy to attend Christmas with the rest of the Wheeler's due to missing holidays with them since his Senior year of high school. They weren't expecting him until the following week, but he figured he mind well go as soon as he could - hence as soon as the population starting to blare Christmas music in the malls and start the deal, he decided to pack his car full of his clothes and belongings; deciding to shack up with his parents as long as he needed until he was able to afford a new place time. He'd grown tired of the blaring sun and decided he wanted to go somewhere colder. New York, Maine, somewhere different.

Mike also looked much different than high school. He was somehow even taller before; chillingly somehow skinnier, too. His hair was shaggy and it's usually straight demeanor changed to wild curls. His cheekbones had hollowed out. He was practically the real-life Edward Scissorhands. He was dressed in loose sweats - a sad attempt to hide his thin frame and lack of mass.

As he was nearing one in the morning, he saw the glimmer of the bar. Deciding to grab a beer to loosen up from his long journey from the West, he pulled up to the curb; half attempting remembering to shut the car's door behind him. Upon entering the bar, he was met with two simple things. One is that he was the only one who seemed to be alive due to the lack of activity. The second thing is that the bartender looked a hell of damn familiar.

Walking up the counter, Mike was meet with the tired face of Steve Harrington. With a faint smirk, Mike shook his head in silent laughter and sat at the counter. As Steve raised his eyes to finally address his only customer, he jolted slightly in surprised and let out a gasp-like noise.

"Micheal? Are you telling me Micheal Wheeler just walked into my bar after God knows how many years since you just left? And you're skinnier than before too? Damn, Wheeler. Only you could manage that too, huh?" Steve ushered as he leaned over the counter and embraced Mike.

  During Mike's more 'adventurous' times and moments, he had grown close to Nancy's ex-boyfriend Steve Harrington and a newer male figure introduced to Hawkins by the name of Billy Hargrove. Besides the bickering and ego-based fights between Billy and Steve, the three proceeded to become Hawkin's most notorious for trouble and the party scene. Whether it was graduation parties, or getting arrested for fights at the cinema over pride, they were the most talked about through Mike's grade. Even with his new friends, though, Mike was still troubled. Once he decided to leave Hawkins, he didn't tell anyone he was leaving; no exception for he newfound male companions.

Letting out a chuckle, Mike hugged Harrington back. "Yeah, I did I guess."

Pulling back to look into his old friend's eyes, Mike looked back towards the bar's counter and nodded towards one of the beer kegs. "Pour a glass for your old pal?"

Looking back to where Mike was looking, Steve understood what Mike was implying, he shook his head as he moved over towards the keg with a somewhat distressed laugh.

"You haven't changed a bit since your youth, huh?" Steve said as he handed Mike the brew.

Throwing it back, Mike placed the now empty glass on the counter and looked Steve in the eye with the same look he's projected since his Freshmen year. "Of course I've changed, Stevey Boy. There aren't many different ways to be addicted to alcohol though, is there?" Mike barked with a huff.  

Steve huffed back and looked at Mike until he met his eyes.

"Micheal, why did you leave Hawkins four years ago?"

Looking at Steve with an unknown emotion, Mike moved his eyes to look at his empty glass and starred for a moment. Sighing in exasperation, he pushed the glass back to Steve and nodded to him. "For the same reason, we even know each other, Harrington. For the same reason, I hung out with Hargrove. For all the same reason I did anything in Hawkins. Because I couldn't stand this place, Steve. When I look around, all I saw was how alone I am. Yeah, I've got my buds and my family, but it's still not right, man. Even now, I feel out of place. Like I'm not in my body".

Like she's still here. Like I should still be looking for her.

Steve shook his head once again and went back to cleaning the glass he was cleaning before Mike had come inside. Refilling Mike's glass, Steve went back to cleaning the bar here and there - this continuing for several rounds of beers and small talk for the two men to catch up with one another.

After an hour more of this, Mike gave Steve his new phone number and promised him that 'they'd hang out soon' and promising he was fine to drive due to his 'iron stomach', Mike stumbled to his car with no eyes to witness. Throwing himself ungracefully into his car's driver seat, he started up his engine and continued to swerve into the driving lane.

Trying to keep a steady wheel but not being able to be fully focused due to his physical state, Mike began to swerve in the road; entering and exiting the opposite driving lane for oncoming traffic. With tired eyes, Mike's vision started to blur and he felt himself drifting off while he was still in town - getting lost due to new streets and road signs; confused as to where his family home was.

Mike was jostled from his current state when blue and red lights entered his vision and the sound of sirens blared into his eardrums. Pulling over as steadily as he could, Mike cursed as he put his car into park and slammed his hands into his steering wheel out of frustration.

With his heart thumping in his chest, he was directed to look to his left at the knocking on his window with a flashlight shining into his car. Mumbling curse words to himself in half-annoyance, half-pain due to the bright light, he rolled his window down and peered at the officer that pulled him over.

Or to be more accurate, the Cheif that pulled him over. None other that Cheif Hopper had pulled him over, and Mike's own shock was mirrored by Hopper.

Clearing his throat, Mike put on his most believable poker face and nodded to the Cheif. "Why, hello, Hopper. How are you?" Mike said with the least amount of slurring that he could conjure.

Grunting at his poor excuse for hiding his alcohol-ridden influence, Hopper yanked open Mike's car door and didn't even bother with his Miranda Right's. Shacking Mike into handcuffs, Hopper dragged Mike out of his vehicle and shoved him into his police car with some effort due to his limpness caused by being wasted.

"You know, Wheeler. I wasn't expecting to pull you over tonight. Nor was I expecting you to ever become this stupid. Fucking hell, you've really let yourself go. The high school you was smarter than this. Fucking hell, you're somehow lighter than you use to be."

Trying to talk was useless since at this point, all Mike could muster was grunts and groans; slowly slipping into a slumber that he couldn't fight off anymore.

-

this idea came to me today and i decided i mind as well write it. hope you enjoyed this somewhat. reblog and all of that stuff for an update, if y'all want one.

 damn-aesthetic

[toonzania]

KB Story - RAINY YET SOLID ROMANCE

It was light rainy afternoon in Mellowbrook, and 16-year-old Kick Buttowski and his sidekick 13-year-old Haley Trenton, who is just competing in a mud-skiing contest, in which Haley won. Kick congratulated her and promised to buy her pizza at the Food-N-Fix if she won. Wade: Hey, Danger Dude and Hailstorm! Kick: Hey, Wade! Hand me a whole bacon-burger-shrimp pizza! Haley: My favorite of course since I won the mudslide against my best friend! Kick: All right, all right, squirt. Let's take it easy! ---: What's the occasion, guys? Kick and Haley turned to see Gunther and his girlfriend Julie with Kendall, who returned from Fort Knox, Texas. (Gunther, Julie and Kendall are 16 here) Before she left for Texas for a while, Kick and Kendall decided to be more civil to each other. Kick has a secret crush on Kendall for a while, especially with some good moments with her like getting working together to get their hands stuck together from cave sap and to mix their skills for Dance Appreciation. After those moments, his love for her progressed steadily. Kick knew Kendall liked him back, but he wanted to make a big move when he told her, instead of the usual 'I like you, be my girlfriend' approach. Haley: Hey, sis! Welcome back! Kendall: Thank you, sweetie! Hey, how are things with you, 'Shortstop'? Kick: Hey, that name only worked when I was little and short. Kendall (playfully): Still a nice name for you, Clarence. It's not that bad. After Kick and Kendall had that truce they become more playful when it comes to banter and rivalry, but still friends none then less. Although, they'll be a little more than friends today. Kick loves Kendall's playful banter. Gunther: I can't stay for too long. Julie and I set up a date for the rodeo in West Mellowbrook. Julie: Tambry's driving us. I can't wait to beat Gibble in that race! Kendall: Good luck, guys! Julie: Thanks, sis! Haley: I'll leave you two alone. Catch you later, Wade! Wade: Later, Hales! Kick: Careful of the rain, kiddo! Haley: I will! Haley joined Gunther and Julie when they left the place, leaving Kick and Kendall (and Wade) alone. Wade: So how are things from Texas, Danger Dudette? Kendall: I'm chief captain of my team, but my team is gonna move in a vicinity near here. So that means I'll moving back here. Kick: Really? Kendall: Mm-hmm! Kick: I kinda missed you. Kendall: Really? Kick: Yeah. Come on let's get to your place. Kendall: Sure. When Kick and Kendall were about to exit, they see the rain grew heavier. Kendall: I don't know if we can make it in this heavy rain, Kick. Kick: I got my bike, you'll just to hold on tight. Wade, you got the spare raincoats for emergencies. Wade: Got em ready, amigo! Kick: Thanks, Wade! Ready Kends? Kendall: Are you sure we'll make it in all of this rain? Kick: Positive! Kick with Kendall holding onto him, drove all the way to Cul-de-Sac in the heavy rain. Kendall: This is insane, Kick! Kick: True but also fun! They reached Kendall's house and got off Kick's bike. Kendall: Thanks a lot, Buttowski! I'm drenched! Kick: Sorry about that. But at least it was fun. Kendall: Oh please... well, it was a bit fun. But being overly soaked, not so much. Kick: Yeah. Kick and Kendall rushed inside the living room of Kendall's house, being completely soaked all over from heavy rain. Kick: Hey, despite the awesome dodging the rain part, I really I got you soaked. Kendall: Kick, it's okay. You didn't know the sudden change in weather. You never exactly what'll happen next. Kick: That's true. Kendall: Since it's rainy very heavily here. Wanna stay here for a while? Kick: Really, you mean it? Kendall: Of course! Since you are my friend anyway. Kick: Thanks a lot. (You won't be just my friend for long.) Kendall: My pleasure, Shortstop. Kendall came upstairs get her and Kick some dry clothes. She got him Julie's red sweater and blue sweatpants. Kendall is wearing a blue long-sleeve top, green skirt and bright purple nylons. Kendall: Hope they're not too big. Kick: They're fine. Kendall: Hope you'll like em. Kick: You look really nice. Kendall: Oh, thank you. It's nothing really. Kick: No really, you look sexy in that. (Did I just said that out loud?) Kendall: I do? Kick: (Well, I did. Oh well.) You do. Kendall: So let me show you something. She brings him to her basement where there are plenty of the raddest stuff. They had a flat-screen tv with several games. Kendall: You want Dr. Pepper? Kick: Sure! Let's play a car race game. Kendall: Okay. You sure? Kick: Surprise me. Kendall: Okay. Kendall put in a random game into the console and they started playing. After playing for at least an hour, they raced through the whole game with Kendall in first place. She stuck her tongue playfully at Kick. Kick: (This is it, my chance to make a move. We're alone with no one to bother us.) Let's play a different game. Kick put on his mischievous face and looked straight at Kendall while throwing the controller to the side. He grabbed Kendall's leg and pulled her under him as he got up on his hands and knees. She looked at him completely shock and red as a bet. She wasn't sure what was happening, everything was going too fast. Then as she was processing of what's happening, she felt a tickling sensation on her neck. She tried not to laugh until she processed that Kick was kissing her neck! She started laughing hysterically as they fell off the couch. Now she was now on top of Kick, and he was looking at her lovingly. Kendall (hopefully): Does this mean what I think it means? Kick couldn't stop thinking about really cute Kendall was. He rolled them so that he was completely on top of her, with one under her head and the other gently stroking her face. They were so close their noses were touching, and they looked into each other's eyes. Kick: Only if it means that I want you to be mine. If you though it was something else, then the answer is no. She looked up at him and joy overwhelmed her. She kissed him passionately and felt his body fall even more onto her own. She then felt all of his weight leave but the kiss wasn't broken. She opened her eyes to see that was going on, only to feel his arms lift he up in the air back onto the love seat. Kick: Let's see how ticklish you are and cute your laugh is. Kendall (giggling): Oh no. Kick: Come on, sweetie. You can make it. Kick helds Kendall's foot, and started to tickle her foot, making Kendall laugh and beg him to stop. He refused to stop the first few times she asked. Eventually he stopped tickling and then kissed her foot. Kick: So you ARE ticklish. And you have the most adorable laugh of any girl I ever met. Kendall: Oh, thank you. Let's see how ticklish are you. Kendall blew underneath Kick's nose which tickled him. Kick: Hey! Kendall: Yeah! Wait is that a nose? Kick: Uhh, yeah. Kendall: (squeals) Your nose is so cute! (kissing Kick's nose few times) Kick: Okay, okay! (held Kendall close) There's something I wanna give you. Kendall: What is it? Kick brings a box dressed like a gift to Kendall, who was anxious to open it. When she opened it, it revealed green slippers with pink trends and slipped them on, and they fitted perfectly. Kendall: Thank you! Thank you! I love these!! Kick: You're welcome. Kendall: How do you figure my shoe size? Kick: Let's just say, your sister Haley wanted to help me with something big. Kendall: What? Kick: Kendall, I've come think to terms of how I liked you, and realized now is that... Kendall: What? What is it? Kick: ...I love you. Will you be my girlfriend? Kendall: Oh, Kick!! Did you mean it? Kick: Of course! Kendall (pinned Kick to the couch and kissed him all over): Yes! Yes! I love you! I love you, Clarence Francis Buttowski! You never knew how much I longed for this. Kick: Well, with the help of kissing you in the theatre when we were younger may help with this! Kendall: Wait a minute, didn't you already asked me? Kick: I didn't say the official words. Kendall: It still counts, sweetie, and I love you for it. Kendall brings Kick to a long kiss. Kick one hand is hold her waist, the other is stroking Kendall's hair. Suddenly, Haley came into the basement, bringing box of pizza to the couple. Haley: I got you some string cheese pizza! Kendall: Oh, thank you, sweetie! Kick: Thanks, kiddo! Haley: The rain is still is bit of heavy and the wind's a bit strong. So Wanna watch a movie? Kick: Great idea. Haley played a gameplay version of Batman Arkham Asylum in the TV. They all enjoy it. They later fell asleep. Haley with Hansel on her lap, Kick with arms around his girlfriend. Gunther, Julie, Tambry, Tim and Kathy. Gunther: There they are. Tambry: Should we wake them up? Julie: Nah, I think they look cute. They're at the living room. Tim: Kinda nice of Kick is holding on Kendall. Kathy: Well, he always kinda liked her, but he hid it a long time. They aren't fight anymore. Tim: Yeah, that's a great start. Kathy: Did you think Kick popped the question? Haley: Only one way to find out. Gunther, Julie, Tambry, Kathy and Tim looked to see Haley, Hansel, Kick and Kendall awake. Kick: Hey guys, might as well tell you. Kendall: It's okay, sweetie, I'll them. Kick and I are officially dating. Julie: Well, I knew it's bound to happen. Haley: I knew it all the time! Gunther: I always this would go this good! Haley gave Kick her phone, Kick's mom is on the line. Kick: Hey, mom! Honey: Hi, sweetie! I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Kick: Haley should've told you and yes I'm fine! Honey: Yeah, she told me! That's good! Kick: There's something else. Honey: What is it, sweetie? Kick: You remember, Kendall, right? Honey: Of course. Kick: She and I are pretty much dating. Honey: Aww, that's great, sweetheart! I'm so proud of you! Kick: Thanks, mom! Honey: My little's Kick all grown up. You can stay with her tonight if you like! Haley: Don't worry, Mrs. B, I got some spare stuff for him! Honey: Good girl! Catch you tomorrow! Love you sweetie! Kick: You too! Kendall: Looks like your mom enjoys it! Kick: She always liked you! Kendall: D'aww! Kick: So do I!

So thus the romantic couple has become officially solid thru rainy seasons.

Characters (c) Sandro Corsaro & Chris Savino

[thedubiouscat]

Walk of Shame

Blue. A deathly pale blue flashed against the battered, hollow hall like god thrown lightning within a terrible storm, dying all in a mournful silver come blue. Battled sounds, like that of a warring banshee reveling in the rush of sacred battle, slammed against the smooth journeyed floor, flinging their intended force across the now shattered tiles as repeated judgement commenced unhindered. This was not the first fated encounter of wanted battle, nor truly the last of them. She exceedingly knew this with a deadly passion… yet still she cared not of the pain she inflicted. The torturous agony imposed upon her youthful flesh a deterrent to her sinister action, yet this would never stop her knowingly liquid step for long. Never had the cruelly delivered blue and black marks of wishful force shifted her all-knowing grin of manic glee as she bestowed her repulsive ‘mercy’ upon others. Slowly Sans contemplated her seemingly gleeful continuation of her past errors that slanted towards a murderous inclination. Her ‘innocent’ cherub smile flashed at every bone breaking strike as if she was purposely mocking him, mocking his given pain and grief, and taunting his judge given wrath. Was it that simple smile she had used when she wholeheartedly tore through Papyrus, crushing his bones with a dark curiosity that put even Gaster to shame? Was it that hideously malicious smile of twisted tooth she had used when she had betrayed the given love and devotion of a wanting mother, exiled from the family that was held dear to her old goat heart? No! The impervious smile she played Sans was not the blighted grin of one in stolen control, it was the savage grin that was the worn habit of an animal bound by its primal instincts. Instincts used solely when hunting its much sought after prey and reveling in the ensuing chase. Only now and then did her endlessly dark and hollow eyes of lost innocence betray a hint of a crimson coloured intelligence truly befitting what she was… a murderer. Quickly he launched yet another tireless array of conjured, living bone towards her hapless form and hoped that it would end her miserable existence, and again she nimbly evaded each strike with liquid motion. Purposely she danced, a smile upon her cherry lips, through his powered barrage of cold calculated vehemence. Taunting his grieved mind with a lullaby of childlike laughter as she quickly evaded all of his gavel strikes with an experienced precision that betrayed her young age. Again he struck with all of his gathered might, and again she remained completely unscathed. Abruptly she turned and bounded over the endlessly thrown blue assault as if it were but a small hindrance towards her ultimate efforts. Slowly as Sans judged her, his mind scanning through every minute detail of her flawed and twisted being, did his dormant marrow become inflamed by a rapid frenzied passion of determined will that bubbled and boiled within his bones, a will made strong to avenge all those who had fallen to her false ‘mercy’. Gently did she descend upon the broken floor, a wondrous angel of haloed death upon a myriad of new destruction. Not even a forced solitude within all the seven hells would be able to contain her unstable insanity that had been nurtured by repeated dust born death. Steadily she began to ready her much worn weapon of delighted choice, an ordinary dagger stained by the lingering dust of those who fell before her terrible might, and expertly parried his repeated barrage of bountiful bones. Steadily she inched forward, bones breaking beneath her small feet, a tattered map of repeated experience and developed memories of high detail her obvious advantage. The silent dust of the innocently fallen had covered her tattered clothing like a trusted armour strapped to her small developing frame. A visible holy testament to her elated intent of perfect genocide. With an enduringly determined will Sans readied yet another potent cascade of white washed bone. Each containing his condensed and undiluted fury, a strange beckoning force of fearsome rage that welcomed brutish battle, and a persisting guilt that leaned towards cherished memories of his departed brother. With all of his might once again gathered he let loose each deadly strike with calculated need and endless want. Wishing upon the countless departed for each gavel born strike to poison the vile and vicious determination that she held oh so dear. Each carefully conjured blow slammed heavily onto the once gilded surroundings, slowly and deliberately destroying the chosen court. Manically the young girl grinned, her deathly weapon glowed faintly with a determined ‘love’ as she slowly edged closer towards Sans. His extremely fragile form an alluring target for her demented ‘affection’. Her darkened blade of wicked use glinted maliciously as wave upon restless wave of a potent, abysmal miasma formed across its well-used, dust touched surface. A scarlet intent radiated around her petite youthful form and her penetrating eyes, an endless whirlpool of black and red, bore deeply into Sans’ progressively tiring bones that silently rattled due to the vast exhaustion of their forced battle. With continually exhausted grace he painstakingly swallowed at the still, heated air and panted faintly from a grown battle-fatigue. It whistled breathlessly within his blue covered cage of natural bone restriction and pounded upon his phantom heart, a set rapid rhythmic beat, as if it were an endlessly beaten drum of tribal use. He daringly continued as each endlessly repeated confrontation grew exceedingly longer than the last. He continued to believe in a just victory where only she would truly lose, that her vile determination would wilt under his righteous onslaught. Even as she expertly danced and weaved between his summoned, blue tinged assault as if she already knew each possible outcome. Even as doubts began to slowly began to trickle into his heavily enclosed mind, he still believed that he could force her downfall, that he could destroy her determination. Sadly, not even Sans’ dwindling confidence could forever endure against her tireless assault of his absolute ruled verdict. Even as he wantonly dyed her vibrant red, soul-rich essence a forceful bitter blue as to firmly grab hold of her knowingly determined core; even as he excessively battered her small struggling form against the crack ridden passage walls and shattered floors… she gleefully endured. Her wide, sinister grin was a clear indicator to him of the bone shattering futility of his duty-bound conflict against her murderous inclinations. Even as sheer exhaustion came to claim Sans’ sweat drenched body – a made construct of magically modeled bone and turbulent magic born from excess soul – he struggled against her evasive stride and passionately renewed his assault against her – a broken phantom clad in stolen flesh – once again. Her eerie, youth filled laughter boomed towards him across the hollow, travelled hall. Her sickly sweet, widened grin of murderous glee stretched ever further as, finally, her ultimate victory loomed ever nearer towards her outstretched grasp. A soulless prelude towards a wanted nothing. Sans then abruptly winced, a minute battle-dulled pain spread throughout his quickened marrow as heavy exhaustion took it’s sought after toll. A frozen shiver ran down his bent spine as the hopeless thought of her victory dawned on him, and petrified fear began to echo within his dull cobalt blue eyes. His combatant’s ever faithful bladed weapon then viciously flashed as a fulfilling-final and deadly strike bit deeply in his magic-bound essence. His face widened in deathly shock as surprise rattled his stunned mind… she had finally won. Listlessly Sans looked down towards his now torn clothes as an endless, deep red seeped forth, a flowing froth of death, from his broken bones. It bore upon their once smooth surface a myriad of chips and cracks. His burning red marrow now timid in movement trickled down towards his dragged feet. How could she, a vile fiend of primal nightmare, have endured against his might? How had she nimbly evaded all of his conjured strikes and remain completely unscathed by the unearthly strength of each willing blow towards her young flesh? Slowly Sans succumbed to bitter gravity, a slave to its absolute force, as new born dust formed at the clear rough edges of his tired limbs, his sworn duty now undone. All his forced pain and woeful regret, was it all but a useless game of murderous pleasure to her? Slowly, with deliberate care, did Sans drag himself up from the battered floor. He would not give her the simple satisfaction of viewing his powdered death, and so, lethargically, did he walk away with a noticed limp in his step as he inched towards his departed brother. ‘Affectionately’, she watched as he retreated down the abandoned passage of fatal conflict, a twisted sense of pure LOVE radiating towards his fleeing blue clad back. Silently, she wondered forward, step after spent step, but not towards her foe – a dead man stumbling. No, she went on. Poisoned silence her trusting companion through her darkened journey of blighted intent, down the battle crippled hall and onward did her steps flow, liquid upon the broken tiles. Fluid motion unimpeded, by shame she dare not acknowledge.

[bestmovies0]

The 10-a-game poker player who won $2.6m

Image caption John Hesp( Photo: Joe Giron)

John Hesp sells caravans in Yorkshire for a living and plays poker once a month at his local casino – so it was a huge shock when he went to Las Vegas and won a small luck. But perhaps it’s just as surprising that his life hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still selling caravans, playing poker with a PS10 ($ 14) bet, and going on holiday two hours’ drive from his house.

I’m at a poker festival in an east London casino and with more than 300 tournament musicians around 34 tables, the room is thrumming with the muttering of calls and elevates. There is a victory whoop here, a groan of overcome there, and the constant clacking of chips riffled by players contemplating their next move.

There are lots of dark sunglasses and hoodies, sported by those striving for the textbook inscrutable “pokerface”. There are scarves and snoods to disguise neck-vein humps when attempting a major bluff. With a PS440 buy-in and five-figure prizes up to PS43, 000 for the top five finishers, for many participates this is serious business.

One player, though, is taking no such precautions. Clad in a loudly-coloured jacket and Panama hat, John Hesp, a 64 -year-old caravan seller and grandfather from Bridlington, seems more concerned with chatting to his neighbours and flashing smiles at the trader. Compared with his younger, stiffer tablemates, he’s conspicuously relaxed.

An unknown figure this time last year, having only ever played in low-key games at pubs and his local casino in Hull, Hesp built history in July by entering the game’s more prestigious tournament – the World Series of Poker( WSOP) in Las Vegas – finishing fourth out of 7,220 entrants, and winning $2.6 m( PS2m ).

The unorthodox Yorkshireman captivated the poker world with his colourful attire and jovial demeanour. Many of the game’s biggest names, having been pipped by the amateur to the final table, aimed up rooting for him to win.

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Media captionJohn Hesp: “I’ve been living the daydream, I’ve loved every minute of it”

“I’d never have dreamed in my wildest dreams that it could happen, ” Hesp says, during an interval at the 888 Poker Live London Festival.

“It’s just something that was on my bucket-list for ages. My aim was to finish in the top 1,000 and have some fun.

“I’m not a seasoned player playing four or five times a week – it was once a month at my local casino in Hull on a PS10 buy-in. So to progress to PS2m and international poker superstardom almost overnight has been a proper fairy tale.”

While many in his shoes would immediately have chucked in the day-job and jetted off to the Caribbean, John returned to his Bridlington caravan business where he continues to work four days a week. He did permit himself a short break, but not on a tropical island – at his static caravan in Pateley Bridge in the Yorkshire Dales.

Image copyright BBC Sport Image caption John Hesp and his wife Mandy enjoying traditional fish and chips( Photo: Robert Rathbone)

“I have to say I’m very boring, ” he says. “I don’t spend large sums on flashy clothes or Rolexes. I’ve gifted a big chunk of the money to family and invested in another business as a sleeping partner. But I’m still driving the same car.”

The car is a silver Land Rover Discovery, with 25,000 miles on the clock – though he likewise owns a classic DeLorean sports car, the type stimulated famous in the Back to the Future films.

More mystifyingly, for poker tournament organisers and the professionals he trounced in Vegas, John has returned to his local PS10 buy-in games, PS200 his biggest win since, and simply appeared at the 888 Poker event at the express invitation of the organisers, who belief his fun-loving image is good for the game.

It was that very carefree nature that unwittingly ran in John’s favour in Vegas, making him virtually unreadable to pros accustomed to the expressionless poker faces of the game’s younger competitors.

“Youngsters who’ve been growing with videogames and the internet often don’t have a social side to their play, ” he says. “They sit quietly with their tints and headphones, some looks a lot like they’ve never seen daylight. They should enjoy it more, and not be afraid to socialise at the table.”

Another difference between them is that John has never bothered with cyber-poker.

“Online poker has never became me on, ” he says. “It’s only not the same when you can’t see the colour of your opponents’ eyes, or feel the atmosphere in the room.”

Do ladies poker musicians have an advantage?

Image caption Cat Hulbert in one of her many costumes( Photo: Cat Hulbert)

I have this arrogant varnish to me. A frosting. And the male foe that sees no anxiety in a woman – that drives him crazy, his competitive desire to crush her is so high. One period, I had a $500 poker chip hurled at me as I sat down at the table – money to go away because one of the assembled humen “didn’t play with girls”. I sent it back with my own message: “And I don’t play with assholes – but I don’t have a option either.”

Cat Hulbert: How I get rich beating men at their own play

At the London tournament, interestingly, John doesn’t perform nearly as well as he did in Vegas. Foes are eager to grab grinning selfies with him during the intervals, but back at the table John’s chipstack is steadily eroded until he’s clinging on for bare life. The mountainous stack he amassed at the WSOP final table is a distant memory.

In an uncanny replication of a late hand he lost to eventual winner Scott Blumstein( prize $8.15 m ), John runs “all in” with his remaining chips against an adversary fatefully comprising a pair of aces. With the gamble called and cards revealed, John is suddenly checking train times back to Bridlington a day earlier than anticipated.

“I was hanging on at the end but ran into hotshots again, ” he reports, immediately afterwards. “It seemed as though everyone’s trying to bust out John Hesp, which puts you under pressure – not sure if I like it.”

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John Hesp, Poker winner

from https://bestmovies.fun/2018/02/24/the-10-a-game-poker-player-who-won-2-6m/