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snowysosturn · 2 months ago

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Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 17

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, selling drugs, angst, cursing, mentions of death, mentions of guns, shooting, mentions of shooting

Y/n's POV

“Where’s this going to?”

“Longwood” Chris responds. “Why?”

“You have to go through Longwood to get to my place” I say, glancing over at Chris. “Just deliver this off, then drop me home. At least it gives me a bit more time with you.”

I could tell he was hesitant. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like I’m just throwing you home, either.”

“I’m sure.” I say firmly, crossing my arms. “Put it this way, it’s probably one of the last runs you’ll ever do, right? I’m glad to be here, ending this part of your life with you.” Giving Chris a small, reassuring smile, trying to not come off completely cold, but my chest felt tight, and I wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or regret.

We drove in silence to Longwood. Chris parked a little way down the street, away from the house he was meeting at. I stared at the rows of identical houses, their windows glowing softly with warm, yellow light. Families inside, having dinner, watching TV. A world so far from what we were doing.

“I’ll be right back” Chris said, locking his door behind him. He paused, looking at me while I gave him a small nod.

I watched him walk up the dimly lit street, his hoodie pulled up over his head. My eyes tracked his every move as he turned the corner to the house and disappeared from view, leaving me alone in the car.

The silence was oppressive. The occasional rustle of leaves only made it worse. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly overwhelmed by how out of place I felt.

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t my world. I wanted to prove a point, but now that I was here, all I wanted was to be back in my room, surrounded by the safety and normalcy of my life.

I slumped lower in the seat, glancing down the road, hoping to see Chris reappear. Minutes stretched like hours, and I felt every beat of my heart pounding in my chest.

Finally, I spotted him. Chris rounded the corner, his hands shoved into his pockets as he walked toward me. I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, relieved to see him coming back.

But then, something caught my eye.

Headlights.

Headlights that suddenly switch off.

Once bright and sudden, they appeared from behind me, but now a sleek black sedan with killed lights creeping slowly into view. I froze, staring into the rearview mirror as the car stopped several feet behind ours, parked awkwardly in the middle of the road.

I squinted, trying to see through the tinted windows. The driver’s side door stayed shut. My stomach twisted.

Before I could even process what was happening, the passenger side window of the sedan lowered just a crack. A glint of metal caught the streetlight, and my breath hitched.

A hand.

A hand holding a gun.

“Chris!” I screamed, but the word barely left my lips before the first shot rang out.

The sound shattered the quiet night, followed by the deafening crash of glass as the back windshield exploded into a million shards. Instinct took over, and I ducked down, covering my head with my arms.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All I could hear was the rapid fire of gunshots, the shattering glass.

“Stay down, Y/n!” I heard Chris’s voice, panicked and distant, but I couldn’t lift my head.

The sedan sped off into the distance, leaving the two of us there alone.

The world outside the car was chaos, but all I could do was curl up, praying that the storm would pass.

Chris ran toward the car and dove into the driver’s seat without hesitation. His movements were frantic, his hands fumbling slightly as he shoved the keys into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and with one hard slam on the gas, we fled the neighborhood. The tyres screeched against the concrete, and my heart pounded in rhythm with the adrenaline rushing through me.

The shattered back window sent gusts of cold wind swirling through the car, making me shiver. Every nerve in my body felt raw, exposed, and trembling with shock. Chris’s voice cut through the chaos, urgent and panicked.

“Y/n, are you okay? Are you hurt? Talk to me!” His eyes darted between the road and me, desperation etched into his face.

“No” I mumbled, barely able to form words.

“No? Are you sure?” he pressed, his voice rising in volume as if sheer force could pull more out of me. “Did anything hit you? Y/n, please!”

“I said no” I repeated, my tone cold, distant.

The truth was, I didn’t even know how I felt. My body was trembling, my fingers gripping the edge of the seat as if it were the only thing anchoring me to reality. My ears were still ringing from the sound of gunshots, the crack of the glass, and the wind howling through the now open back window. It all felt surreal, like a twisted dream I couldn’t wake up from.

Chris kept glancing at me, his lips moving as he asked more questions, but I barely registered them. One word answers were all I could manage. My thoughts were too scrambled, caught somewhere between disbelief and fear.

What just happened?

What the hell did I just let myself get involved in?

The drive to my house felt endless, each passing second dragging out as the breeze from the shattered window chilled the car. My arms wrapped around myself instinctively, trying to shield myself from the cold air, but nothing could shield me from the whirlwind of emotions building in my chest.

As we finally pulled up outside my house, I reached for the door handle before Chris even had a chance to slow the car completely.

“Y/n, wait- just let me-” he started, but I wasn’t listening.

The car door swung open, and I stepped out, my movements robotic. My legs carried me toward the treehouse on instinct, every step fueled by a desperate need to escape. To be alone. To shut out the world – Chris included.

I could hear him calling after me, his voice tinged with worry. “Y/n! Don’t just walk away, can we please talk?”

But I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.

By the time I reached the treehouse ladder, my knees were like jelly, but I forced myself to climb. My chest ached, every breath feeling heavier than the last. Once I reached the top, I climbed onto the balcony and slipped into my bedroom, locking the door behind me with shaky hands.

I leaned back against the door, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings of my room. It was the same as it had always been – safe, cozy, mine. And yet, nothing about it felt comforting right now.

Sliding down to the floor, I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. My heart was still racing, my mind replaying the moment over and over: the black sedan pulling up, the gun appearing from the window, the sound of glass shattering as the shots were fired.

It all felt so wrong.

I couldn’t shake the image of Chris walking back toward the car just moments before it happened, completely unaware of the danger. I’d been so stubborn, so determined to prove a point by coming along on this run, but now I felt like the biggest fool in the world.

What had I been thinking?

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I clenched them shut, refusing to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t erase what just happened. It wouldn’t undo the fact that I had willingly stepped into Chris’s world – a world I didn’t belong in, a world I didn’t even fully understand.

The breeze from the broken window still lingered on my skin, a cruel reminder of how close I’d come to being hurt – or worse. I couldn’t stop the questions swirling in my mind, each one heavier than the last.

What was I doing with him?

Could I really keep doing this?

Chris was everything I wanted and everything I feared all at once, and for the first time, I wasn’t sure which side of him was winning. All I knew was that, right now, I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to talk.

I just wanted to lock myself away and pretend, even for a moment, that this wasn’t my reality.

Chris’ POV

I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and immediately dialed Nate. The line barely rang twice before he picked up.

“Yo, what’s up?” he said, his voice casual, but I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

“Meet me at the docks. Now.” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone instantly shifting to concern.

“I’ll explain when I get there. Just hurry.”

I hung up before he could ask anything else, throwing my phone onto the passenger seat as I started the engine. My mind was racing, replaying the last ten minutes over and over like a broken record. The sound of gunshots, the shattering glass, Y/n’s terrified face – it was all etched into my brain.

I hit the gas, weaving through the streets as fast as I could without drawing attention. My knuckles were white against the steering wheel, my pulse still hammering in my ears. The cold air rushing through the broken back window only heightened the tension, making me feel even more exposed.

When I pulled up to the docks, Nate was already there, leaning against his car. The glow of a nearby streetlamp cast long shadows across his face, but I could still see the concern etched into his features as he straightened up.

“What the fuck happened to your car?” he asked, gesturing toward the shattered back window.

I climbed out and slammed the door behind me, running a hand through my hair. “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

“Try me” he said, folding his arms.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, but the words tumbled out in a chaotic mess. “I had a delivery to make, just a small one, a fifty bag. Y/n was with me, and she insisted on coming along. I didn’t want her there, but she’s stubborn as hell, and-”

“Wait, Y/n was with you?” Nate interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up. “Why the fuck would you bring her along for a run?”

“I didn’t bring her, man. She insisted, and I didn’t want to argue. I thought it’d be fine, it was supposed to be quick and easy” I said, my frustration bleeding into my tone. “But as I’m walking back to the car, this black sedan pulls up out of nowhere. Next thing I know, they’re shooting up the back window.”

“Jesus Christ” Nate muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“Yeah, no shit.” I started pacing, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. “Y/n was in the car when it happened. She ducked, thank God, but she could’ve been killed, Nate. They weren’t aiming for me, they were aiming for my car.

I turned back to Nate, my voice low but firm. “The black sedan. I’ve seen it before.”

His eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean? Where?”

“When I met you earlier, it was parked on your street. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now.. Now I’m sure it was the same car. And earlier today, at the gas station – I saw it there too.”

Nate’s face darkened, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. “You think they’ve been tailing you?”

I nodded, crossing my arms. “I don’t think it’s me they’re after, Nate. I think it’s you. And tonight.. they thought you were in the car.”

His mouth tightened into a grim line, and he ran a hand over his face, muttering a curse under his breath. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” I echoed. “They didn’t even wait to see who was inside. They just assumed.”

Nate’s eyes flicked to the shattered back window of my car, his jaw clenched. “You’re saying they were gunning for me, and Y/n was in the crossfire?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying” I said, my voice hard. “And you need to tell me why. What the hell did you do to get them on your tail?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Nate snapped, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, like he was running through the possibilities in his head. “At least, nothing that would make them go this far.”

“Clearly, they think you did something” I said, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “This isn’t just about territory or some petty beef. They wanted you dead, Nate.”

He paced in front of me, his hands gripping his hair. “It could be about Danny, he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“Danny?” I asked, stepping closer. “What about him?”

“I don’t know man, I found some shit in the house, I’m just trying to make sense of it all.” Nate shakes his head.

“What did you find?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“He was writing notes, kinda like a diary, saying how he wanted out of the cartel, out of the drug life, to start fresh and get away from it all. That he was going to talk to Vince. But I guess he never got to.”

“Oh shit man I’m sorry thats tough” I said.

“Yeah.. so just need to figure out who he pissed off in the process.” Nate says looking up at me.

“Yeah but now they’ve made it personal. They put Y/n in danger, Nate. That’s a line I’m not willing to let them cross again.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. We need to figure this out. But first, you need to get Y/n somewhere safe. She’s not built for this, man. She doesn’t belong in this type of shit.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I snapped, the anger and fear I’d been holding back finally spilling over. “She’s already shaken up and wont speak to me, and it’s my fault for not taking her home first. I can’t let this happen again.”

Nate held up his hands, his voice calming. “Okay, okay. We’ll deal with this. But you need to keep your cool, Chris. And the best move for now was to hide your car on the off chance anyone saw what happened tonight, it wouldn’t do us any favors to leave it out in the open. With the back window shot out, it was a rolling beacon for trouble.”

I stood looking at Nate, confused about where we could potentially hide a Mercedes in the middle of Boston.

“We’ll stash it in the warehouse” Nate suggested. “Sort out the window tomorrow.”

“Yeah” I agreed, running a hand through my hair as I glanced at the jagged remains of the glass. “Let’s get this over with.”

I started the car, wincing at the whistling breeze through the back, and drove toward the warehouse on the edge of the docks. Nate followed behind me, his headlights cutting through the shadows as we turned onto the gravel lot.

Pulling up to the old warehouse, I drove inside, the headlights illuminating the dusty, cluttered interior. I parked the car in the far corner and shut off the engine, the silence hitting hard.

Nate walked in right behind me, the gravel crunching under his boots as he followed my steps. Just as he got near, Nate’s boot kicked something metallic, the sharp clatter echoing across the room.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, bending down to pick it up.

The object glinted under the flashlight as he held it up. It was a knife – sleek, sharp, and engraved with one unmistakable word: Moretti.

Nate turned it over in his hand, eyebrows raised. “Jeez, Vince would wanna stop leaving knives lying around the place. Someone’s gonna end up like ground beef.”

He gave the blade a little toss, catching it by the handle. “Especially with H Block lurking around here. This thing’s practically begging for trouble.”

I snorted, but the tension in my shoulders didn’t ease.

Nate shrugged, slipping the knife into his pocket with a grin. “Guess I’ll hold onto it for now. Safer this way.”

“Safer for you, maybe” I muttered, locking the car doors and stepping away. “Let’s get out of here before we find any more surprises.”

Nate smirked but didn’t argue. As we headed for the exit, I couldn’t shake the unease settling in my gut. The events of the night were bad enough, but finding Vince’s knife lying around like that? It felt like a warning, intentional or not.

The line between us and the chaos surrounding the Crimson Cartel was getting thinner by the day, and tonight proved just how close we were to losing everything.

As Nate and I stepped out of the warehouse, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to Y/n. Her face when the shots went off, terrified, pale, frozen, was burned into my mind. I’d done some reckless things before, but putting her in danger like that? It hit differently.

She had every right to slam that car door and bolt for her treehouse without looking back. I knew she’d be locking herself in her room, probably cursing my name for dragging her into my mess. And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong.

“Chris” Nate called, snapping me out of it as he lit a cigarette. “You good?”

I nodded, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Yeah, just got a lot on my mind.”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, studying me. “Worried about Y/n, aren’t you?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know where to start, Nate. How do I fix this?”

“You can’t just talk your way out of this one” he said. “She’s not stupid, Chris. If you want her to stick around, you gotta show her you’re serious about getting out. No more excuses. No time wasting.”

I nodded, but the pit in my stomach grew heavier. Two weeks. I’d told her two weeks, but after tonight, even that felt like a lifetime. If I didn’t make moves fast, I was going to lose her for good.

As we left the warehouse, the breeze through the empty docks felt colder than usual. It wasn’t just the missing window on my car or the chaos of the night weighing on me , it was the realization that Y/n might not forgive me for what happened.

I’d have to prove to her, somehow, that I wasn’t just another dealer tied to this life forever. I’d have to show her that walking away wasn’t just a promise I’d made, it was a decision I was ready to act on. Because losing her? That wasn’t an option I could live with.

“Let’s get out of here” I said to Nate as we got into his car. My mind was already racing, planning the next steps. First thing tomorrow, I needed to call someone about that window, but more importantly, I needed to figure out how to keep Y/n safe, and how to win her back.

a/n: if i manage to get all the part i want up this week we're in for a BIG one

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#snowy speaks #allies or affiliates?#dealer!chris #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo series #chris sturiolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo

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laurentbis · 6 months ago

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Cf., Jean-Paul Kauffmann, The Black Room at Longwood, 1997

A striking portrait of the young sailor Robert Grant (1799-1820) by George Watson (1767-1837). Although he tragically died on his 21st birthday, Grant’s legacy lives on both through this imposing piece and his historically fascinating memoirs detailing his life on St Helena Island, guarding the exiled Emperor Napoleon.

Philip Mould & Company

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joachimnapoleon · 5 years ago

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“The first depiction of Napoleonic melancholy...”

Excerpts from Jean-Paul Kauffman’s The Dark Room at Longwood on Antoine-Jean Gros’s famous painting, Napoleon on the Battlefield of Eylau (also known as The Eylau Cemetery):

***

Delacroix claims that “It is the most magnificent and most certainly the most true to life portrait that has been done of him.” In any case, it’s the most disturbing. Gros only reveals a part of the secret. He gives us some indications of the Emperor’s sadness, but in veiled terms. The mystery of Saturn on horseback. Napoleon extends his gloved hand over the battlefield, while in the distance fire consumes Eylau. The sky is dark, swirling clouds of smoke rise from the burnt-out plain. With artists, light is always the signature of a painting. In this picture everything is black. The snow looks like soot, the Emperor’s pale face is half hidden by a dark growth of a beard. The face seems burned from the inside.

The king who worked miracles is now incapable of producing one. His gesture is dull, tired, and above all quite senseless. The victor, who looks like a ghost, doesn’t know what to do.... The most extraordinary thing is that he refuses to look at the battlefield; his moist, almost fearful eyes are gazing at the sky. (...)

Twenty-seven painters had taken part in a competition on this subject set by Napoleon and commissioned by Vivant Denon, the director of the Imperial Museums. Encouraged to enter by Denon, Gros was the last to apply. It’s interesting, this obsession of the monarch’s with wanting to immortalize the first great slaughter of his reign. (...)

Napoleon had ardently desired the art competition. He wanted to create the image of the conqueror full of pity. Of the illustrations required, the most essential one was mercy: the Emperor had to be shown in a compassionate attitude. It was not enough to reproduce the carnage; the artist had to go beyond the vision of horror through commiseration, comfort, indulgence. The victor sends help to the vanquished. (...)

Gros has included many details, like the bayonet dripping with bloody frost crystals. The painter asked Murat to make a sketch on the back of the preparatory drawing. He even went as far as asking Empress Josephine the favour of examining the hat and fur-trimmed coat Napoleon had worn during the battle. “He may keep them as long as he likes,” the Emperor replied. Gros kept them until the day he died. (...)

Everything is a portent in The Eylau Cemetery: resignation in the face of the fatal hour, hostile nature, the glaciation of memory, not to mention the comic note that inevitably accompanies the horror. In the center of the massacre is Murat, got up like an oriental prince, his leg showing to advantage, astride a bay horse bedecked with jewels. It’s an astounding, over-the-top image. Gros is apparently respecting the conventions of hagiography. The subjects’ gestures and the general impression of the battle conform to ideological necessities. Yet every detail works against the official propaganda. Gros tries to lessen the cruelty of the carnage by accentuating Murat’s self-conceit.

He was no doubt unaware of the caricature. Once he had finished the work, the artist had dreadful misgivings: had he given too much importance to Murat to the detriment of the Emperor? Gros was a very vulnerable man. In despair over the failure of his Hercules and Diomedes, he committed suicide in 1835.

Of course Napoleon, the sagacious leader of men, had understood it all.... What extraordinary expectancy, what uncertainty at that moment when Gros presents his painting and when the monarch sees his double with the mad, staring eyes for the first time? What will the icon say? (...)

He takes his own decoration of the Legion of Honour from his jacket and pins it on the painter’s chest.

#Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Joachim Murat #Eylau #art #paintings #Antoine-Jean Gros #history #19th century #Napoleonic wars

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rosewood-liars · 4 years ago

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I’m disappointed that the producers of the PLL TV Series wrote out the fact Hanna is canonically Jewish even if she is non - practicing and had a blended tradition family ( Ashley Marin is not to my knowledge also Jewish ). There’s a whole scene in the books where Tom tries to bond with Hanna again, recognizes that the christmas celebrations are bumming her out & makes it up to her by celebrating Hanukkah. ( I’ll probably transcribe that encounter from the companion novel at the end of this post. )

I mean, maybe I should not be as upset by this as I am - because I’m not religious and have never been Jewish ever in my life.

However, I’ve also had experienced the frustration and big sad™ when something that me and a loved one did together was discarded and this just doesn’t set well with me.

( I think I will make more references to this ( even if she is non - practicing ) as a nod to the fact Hanna felt it was important enough to mention to Isabel during the Christmas party. )

First Reference:

Hanna drove slowly the rest of the way home, taking deep, cleansing breaths. After gunning the car up her family’s driveway, she nearly crashed into a line of vehicles she didn’t recognize. There had to be about fifteen sedans, SUVs, and crossovers parked in the circular drive. Then she noticed something blinking by the garage. Christmas lights. And was that a glow-in-the-dark Santa and an inflatable gingerbread man in the front yard? She took tentative steps toward the house. Dot, wearing some kind of bizarre headpiece, yipped at her feet when she walked inside. Wait. Were those reindeer antlers? Hanna scooped him up and stared at the two plush stalks on his head. Each was tipped with a tiny jingle bell. “Who did this to you?” Hanna whispered, ripping them off. Dot just licked her face. She looked around the living room and gasped. Holly leaves snaked around the banister. A mechanical Mrs. Claus waved from the console table that had once held Hanna’s mother’s austere ceramic vases. A tall, tinsel-laden tree stood in the corner, and the fireplace, which Hanna couldn’t remember the family ever using, was ablaze. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” played on the stereo at maximum volume, and the whole house smelled like honey-glazed ham. “Hello?” Hanna called out. Laughter floated out from the kitchen, first Isabel’s goose-honk chortle, then her dad’s booming guffaw. Hanna rounded the corner. The kitchen was packed with people holding champagne flutes and appetizer plates filled with mini quiches and wedges of Brie. Many of them wore Santa hats, including Hanna’s dad. Isabel stood in the corner, wearing a red velvet dress tipped with Mrs. Claus white fur on the cuffs and hem, and Kate had on a tight-fitting red jersey sheath and black-and-white Kate Spade heels. Mistletoe hung from the chandelier, a carafe of mulled cider sat on the counter, and plates and plates of the most delicious-looking Christmas cookies and appetizers filled the island. Isabel spied Hanna and glided over. “Hanna! Feliz Navidad! O Tannenbaum! Merry Christmas!” Hanna sniffed. “Um, actually, I’m Jewish. And so is my father.” Isabel blinked dumbly, like she couldn’t comprehend that anyone, let alone her own fiancé, could celebrate anything other than Christmas. Mr. Marin appeared at Isabel’s side. “Hey, sweetie,” he said, ruffling Hanna’s hair. Hanna stared at him incredulously. “Since when do you celebrate Christmas?” She said the word like she might have said Satan’s birthday. Mr. Marin crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I’ve been celebrating it with Isabel and Kate for the past few years. I told Kate to tell you.” “Well, she didn’t,” Hanna said flatly. “We do the Twelve Days of Christmas every year. We always kick it off with a bash.” Isabel took a sip of champagne. “It’s a wonderful tradition. We started early this year with tonight—kind of a housewarming-meets-Christmas thing.” “And we’d like you to be a part of the tradition too, of course,” Mr. Marin added. Hanna stared at all of the red and green paraphernalia. Her family had never been that religious, but they lit menorah candles every night of Hanukkah. On Christmas Day, they ordered Chinese takeout, watched movie marathons, and went on a long family bike ride if the weather was decent. She liked those traditions.

Second Mention:

She pulled into the driveway of her house, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and watch hours and hours of bad TV. Strangely, her father’s car was still in the driveway—not at Longwood Gardens. And the Christmas decorations that had festooned the front of the property were gone. When she opened the front door, it no longer smelled like fresh pine and cinnamon sticks but more like . . . potato pancakes? “Hanna!” Mr. Marin appeared from the kitchen. “There you are! Come in, come in! We have a surprise for you!” He whisked Hanna through the living room, but not before she noticed that the mechanical Mrs. Claus had vanished, the Christmas tree was unlit, and the stockings that had hung over the fireplace—there were monogrammed ones for Isabel, Kate, and Hanna’s dad, and a blank one presumably for Hanna—had been taken down. The old silver menorah Bubbe Marin had given Hanna’s parents sat on the mantel. Three candles blazed. “What’s going on?” Hanna asked suspiciously. Mr. Marin turned Hanna toward the dining room. There was a huge spread of food on the table, and Kate and Isabel were sitting in high-backed chairs, tepid smiles on their faces. “Surprise!” Mr. Marin crowed. “Happy Hanna-kah!” Hanna blinked at the items on the table. There were all the traditional Hanukkah foods her grandmother used to serve: latkes, jelly donuts called sufganiyot, kugel, chocolate coins, and a large brisket. Off to the side were the old dreidels she and her cousins had spun for hours, turning the game into a kind of truth or dare—if the dreidel fell on the gimel side, Tamar, her younger cousin, had to steal a dollar out of her mother’s wallet, and so on. A blue foil banner with Star of David cutouts was draped across the windows, and candles glowed around the room. Small gifts wrapped in silver paper sat on everyone’s plates. “I thought you guys were going to Santa’s Village,” Hanna said slowly. “Oh, we can do that any day,” Mr. Marin said. “I thought you might be a little upset since we’re doing so many Christmas activities, so we thought we’d celebrate our holiday tonight! Hanukkah—or Hanna-kah!” He gestured to the food on the table. “Kate and Isabel did some baking this evening, though some of this came from the kosher deli near Ferra’s Cheesesteaks.” “Your dad says you know all of the Hanukkah stories, Hanna,” Isabel said politely. “I’d love to hear them.” “This is all so nice.” Hanna’s heart expanded, just like the Grinch’s. This was definitely the nicest thing her dad had done for her in a long, long time. Her father passed around plates, and everyone began serving themselves latkes and pieces of brisket bathed in sauce. Hanna took a moderate amount of food, feeling virtuous from boot camp. Wine was poured—even Hanna and Kate got some—and everyone opened their gifts. Kate and Hanna got gift cards to Fermata Spa. Isabel got a small Christmas tree–shaped charm to add to her silver Pandora bracelet. Mr. Marin had given himself a new Swiss Army knife. He immediately unfolded the scissors and cut the tag off of Isabel’s bauble. Then, Mr. Marin launched into stories about Bubbe Marin, who used to make the best potato pancakes in the world. “We used to go over there every night of Hanukkah,” he explained. “She’d always have huge gifts for Hanna.” “Isn’t that sweet,” Isabel trilled, looking surprised, as though she’d never imagined someone would shower Hanna with gifts. “And she had this African gray parrot, Morty,” Mr. Marin went on, spearing a latke. “He knew every swearword in the world.” “He was crazy!” Hanna giggled. “I think I learned some new ones from him!” “And he loved to watch those tabloid shows—what were they called?” Mr. Marin’s face was flushed. “E! News,” Hanna repeated. “He was obsessed with Giuliana Rancic. Remember? He said she was such a pretty bitch in that crazy bird voice!” “Who’s Giuliana Rancic?” Isabel asked, blinking quickly. Hanna’s father was too busy shaking with laughter to answer. Hanna laughed too, also not bothering to fill Isabel in. It felt nice to have an inside joke with her father again, something from their lives before Isabel and Kate. They continued eating, sharing stories about Hanna’s grandmother’s obsessions with yard sales, animal figurines, and her crush on Bob Barker from The Price Is Right. By the time the meal was over, Hanna and her dad kept bursting into laughter but not bothering to explain themselves. Isabel rose to clear the table, but Mr. Marin waved her to sit down. “I can clean up,” he said.

Third Reference:

Now, Hanna sighed. After her new family had thrown Hanna a Hanukkah bone a few nights ago, everything had gone back to normal shortly afterward. The Twelve Days of Christmas nonsense had resumed, though Hanna had been able to get out of a lot of it because of boot camp.

#• What Fresh Hell Do We Have Today ??? Let's See ... • ( Dash Commentary. )#• ... Maybe I Shoulda Kept My Enemies Closer ? • ( Hanna Headcanon. )

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tigerbus2-blog · 5 years ago

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Dyson Repairs

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#vaccum cleaner

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mysymmetry · 5 years ago

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2010 Heck, I was still in highschool. Walking home down Longwood, that stretch between the industrial buildings that dragged, then the turn onto Aberdeen where time slipped away, and everything went faster. Hearing the guitar build in the Arkells “I’m Not The Sun” but not understanding the lyrics, not really.

2011 Graduating highschool, and the silly drama that ensued with Darcy Schwenger and his stoner friends. I was so jealous of S’s new girlfriend in her blue one-shouldered dress at prom.

2012 First year. Living in the cinder-block cave of residence, my room entirely plastered in magazine cutouts. Visiting the on-campus Emergency department several times for concussions, a ruptured cyst, debilitating anxiety. Not realising that there was a different experience to be had, in life, without anxiety.

2013 Second year. Starting as an SLG leader. The library. The crush of Bio-Med: Molecular and Cellular Biology. Molecular Biology and Genetics. Biochem I. Biochem II. Dropping Stats with a 33% and taking it again the next semester, finishing with a 97%. That summer, I drove to Alberta in the red hatchback alone, days after Eric broke up with me.

2014 A lift, maybe. And a lot more drinking. Sitting in the back of War Memorial Hall every morning for Human Physiology, often hungover on Friday mornings. I put cream in my coffee because that’s how my mother took it. Because I never saw a woman drink it black. I can still smell the funk of cream rotting as I unsuctioned the lids from my forgotten reusable cups.

2015 Anatomy. Epic was sound again and I often wore breeches into the dissection lab, coming straight to campus from the barn. This was the semester that Sofian and K were interested in me. I spent the summer in New York City. Long pause. In the fall, Casey Ford was my professor.

2016 I moved to Montreal very quickly, without a job, in the dead of winter. Kat helped me move all of my boxes in and then we went for Pho. I loved that tiny studio apartment. I expanded into so many languages and roles and drugs and ways of being in the world, so many friendships. I volunteered at Moksha and worked at Hardbacon and Rachelle-Bery and Startl.Us and SendItToSarah and later, Cafe Noble. I saw someone jump in front of the subway train, and I lost my friendship with Greg.

2017 I achieved some dream of being a barista at a reputable cafe but very quickly decided to leave it, and everything I’d tried to prove myself as in Montreal. It felt right. I moved to PEC and into this paradise life of wine and pizza and parties and friendship and abundance. I trusted people. I trusted myself. I walked back into my privilege, for better or for worse. By the end of the year, I went to New Zealand without looking back.

2018 Bron had her accident. I left my trip to New Zealand and went to Germany without an idea of how long I would be there - a week? I didn’t leave for 4 months. I came back to Canada to work for 2 months, then went back to Germany. Finally, in November, I broke and said I couldn’t do it any longer and came home to rebuild.

2019 I rebuilt. I got a job and started saving money and fumbled for places to live every 4 months. I restarted with a sense of duty and responsibility: to no longer be a liability. I sensed that there was no room in my family for me to fail, or die frivolously. I started therapy. I did The Artists’s Way. I met Zak.

2020 I lived through the COVID-19 Pandemic. I will be able to say this. I got an apartment with Zak. I did YTT. My life felt immensely more sensible and constructed. I had a savings, I paid for insurance and utilities and my friends started purchasing 1200 dollar sofas and new cars. I felt a desire to settle down - to simply lay my bones in an apartment, to let things fall. To forget stuff. But I also felt a loyalty and a lift towards travelling - to carrying only what was necessary and joyful, to connecting intensely with near-strangers, to exploring and deciphering and experiencing newness firsthand. And especially after reading all of this, and seeing just how completely my life was going somewhere when I was in New Zealand, remembering that openness, I know that I must go again. I must trust that I will not be punished for leaving my family behind. I must leap into the arms of the world and let it catch me.

Because, a decade.

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gsgaragedoors1 · 5 years ago

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DIY Garage Door Repair - Replacing Worn Opener Gears

Garage doors are always a conspicuous part of any home. Most of the time, it is the largest single piece of moving object in the home. As such it is a subject of much care and maintenance - no one would like to run into the door instead of the garage itself simply because the sensor or the opener failed to function.

To perform effective garage door repair, it is best to know first how garage doors work. The doors have remained relatively the same since their first conception in the ancient times as covers for chariots stored in gatehouses. In the early years of the 20th century, garage doors under the moniker "float over doors" started appearing in the catalogs of manufacturers such as the Cornell Iron Works. The upward-lifting garage door system that we know appeared at around 1906, and since has caught up with the continuing technological advancements.

Currently, most garage doors work with the aid of garage door openers, which are motorized devices used to open or close the doors. These devices were originally invented by C.G. Johnson in 1926. These devices did not become popular until after World War II, and are now part of almost every garage door installation. Garage door repair also involves knowledge in the maintenance of these pieces of equipment.

Most garage door openers work with chain-driven systems, and shredded plastic gears are a common problem. Fortunately, garage door repair concerning worn gears of these door openers need neither be difficult nor expensive - all it takes is the right knowledge.

When performing garage door repair on the opener installation, it is important to unplug the unit and shut the door by hand. Then, it is time to inspect the gears themselves. If they are worn out, new gears need to be installed. It is important to make sure one gets a compatible kit, which typically includes two new gears, washers, and some grease.

When proceeding with the installation, one may find it handy to loosen the circuit board of the installation to provide more elbow room to work. The chain should also be loosened from the tensioning rod by means of a wrench.

The entire assembly next needs to be lifted out of the unit. After removing the helical gear (secured by a pin) and the set screws using a hex wrench, the gears and washers can be slid off. The retaining screws on the motor should also be removed.

The new gears can then be installed, before replacing the motor assembly (basically the inverse of all the processes done so far). Make sure that the chain is tightened according to the instructions that come with the unit's manual, as improper tightening can cause further damage. After these simple garage door repair steps, the opener should now be functioning smoothly.

However, it is to be remembered that garage door repair jobs that exceed the basics should be checked by a licensed professional. can be very dangerous, and it is much better to let qualified specialists repair it that risk bodily injury or property damage.

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sylphidine · 5 years ago

Text

[Prologue-ish scraps of what I have so far for the NDU story that is a follow-up to “Capable”.] Portions of dialogue and character influences originated in discussions with @piratekingpitchblack and @ksclaw.

_________________

Working title:

A LITTLE TIN OF TARANTULA SKIN AND A HOUSE FULL OF BUTTERFLIES

_________________

“Whatcha reading, baby girl?”

“Daaaaad, really.”

“Sorry! So sorry! Okay, whatcha reading, Sera-pheeeeeeeena Stringa-beeeeeena?”

That earned Coz a snort from his daughter, although he could tell she wanted to laugh. She held out the book to him so he could read the title on the spine. “THE CHARTER OF THE FOREST, huh. Sounds kind of cool. Makes a nice change from those bug books.”

“B+ for effort, Dad. It *is* one of those bug books.” Sera crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and blew an unruly lock of hair out of her eyes. “John Longwood Blaine was a great entomologist, and he died way too young. I wish I’d known him.”

It took her a moment to realize her father had turned the book over in his hands and was staring fixedly at the photo on the back. He muttered, almost too low to hear, “So that’s who that guy was.”

“Huh? Did you know him?”

“No, but your uncle Piki did.”

__________________

"Aunt Tallulah, I really don't know what to tell you. He's better, but he isn't well. Not by a long stretch."

"And no one in the family thought to inform me until now except you, Pitch darling? Such behaviour from your dear mother and father, not to tell me my one and only godson was suffering from a crisis of nerves. I am hurt… hurt, I say!"

Pitch grimaced in sympathy for the benefit of the webcam. He knew Tallulah wasn't really offended, since she was for the most part considered an outlier by most of the Blacks. But he also knew that this first cousin once removed, who he and Piki both called "aunt", did actually care about the twins and was masking her worry with faux histrionics.

On the screen, he could see Tallulah sprawled nonchalantly on a black-and-white-striped loveseat. The red scarf pinned rakishly to the shoulder of her simple black dress and the red of her lipstick were the only splashes of colour in the living room of her Gramercy Park apartment. Everything else was silver chrome or smoked glass or upholstered in white or black, chosen as a backdrop to complement her pale skin and artfully-maintained dark hair with its dramatic silver streaks. Photographers loved her look and her decor.

Pitch knew her languid pose was just that… a pose. Tallulah's mind was sharp, devious, and ever-active… a trait honed over generations of Blacks. He felt confident that she would assist him in getting Piki to rejoin the human race. Pitch was having problems of his own now and couldn't keep dividing his attention. It was time for Piki's godmother to apply one of her stylishly icepick-toed shoes to Piki's bony backside.

And Tallulah did not disappoint. "I'll take over from here,darling. Don't worry about a thing."

“Thank you, Aunt Tallulah.”

But Piki proved a tougher nut to crack than expected.

_________________

"Anton, darling, I need your help."

"What is it, Tallulah."

"Piki."

"Judging from your tone, it's bad. What are we looking at."

"Moaning over heartbreak. He was in a bad place, but somehow Pitch got him past that. Now he thinks being constantly dramatic will solve it all. And he just turns into a brat when I talk to him."

"Tell him I'm on my way and he better straighten up if he knows what's good for him."

#nightmare dork university #piki black #tallulah black deyvill #anton eglantin #footlights and frontispieces au #sylph writes #strange fruit from a twisted tree

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napoleondidthat · 6 years ago

Note

Any books with titles more clever than just "Napoleon"?

Not really LOL. I have one called “The Last Phase”, about Napoleon’s exile on St. Helena. But it seems the predominant winner in titles for Napoleon books are “Napoleon”. Sometimes, just to spice things up, you’ll get a subtitle:

Napoleon, A Life.

Napoleon, The Man.

Napoleon, A Political Biography.

Sometimes his name gets attached to someone else’s, sometimes with a subtitle too:

Napoleon and Josephine, A Love Story

Napoleon and Josephine, An Improbable Marriage

Napoleon and Wellington

There are these two about Saint Helena that are slightly different:

Napoleon’s Last Island

The Black Room At Longwood (excellent book btw)

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riddledeep · 5 years ago

Photo

Apt. 002, Rapunzel Apartments - Inkblot City, Pixie World

A study of Pixie design choices built with Sims 4. Pixies share apartment suites with peers in their age group and don’t live in individual houses. They share their genes with eusocial paper wasps, so a roommate system works well for them.

The apartment featured in this build is the one Sanderson, Hawkins, Wilcox, and Vice President Longwood share; other Pixie apartments are nearly identical. Not a lot of variation in Pixie World. Sanderson and Hawkins share the upper right room while Longwood and Wilcox share the lower left one.

The windows aren’t accurate to my vision (They can’t move in apartment builds), but overall I’m pleased.

Check out the Head Pixie penthouse suite HERE

Compare with Gary and Betty’s Pixie-designed Dimmsdale apartment HERE

Key points of modern Pixie architecture:

- Monochrome color scheme of grays, whites, and blacks.

- Whenever possible, Pixie rooms are not as boxy as rooms of Fairy design; slanted walls are expected. Overall, Pixie architecture is angular but flows smoothly.

- Pixie apartments are intended for sleeping, storing clothes, and washing up. Socializing within the apartment is not a priority, so you won’t see many seats. When off the clock, pixies most often socialize in the recreation building, where they can work on their hobbies and converse with others in a larger space (Hobby items are stored in locker-like closets, freeing up space in the apartment for life essentials).

- Most apartments feature a desk with a computer in the entry hall. Pixies may love technology, but they generally keep electronics out of the bedroom. You wouldn’t see TVs mounted on the wall, laptops in bed are shunned, and even those who stay up on their phone don’t stay up long. If you work in Pixie World, high-quality sleep is a must.

- The ceilings of Pixie rooms are not as high as those of Fairy rooms; for Fairies, expressing dominance or submission in quiet but visible ways (like floating height) is incredibly important because it keeps the peace without stepping on toes. Pixies, composed entirely of gynes and drones, are sensitive enough to pheromones that they identify rank instantly and constantly without requiring the strict floating positions of the Fairies.

- Pixies certainly don’t have separate sleeping and mating bedrooms like Fairies do- their culture discourages those affections to the point that they didn’t keep that crucial element of Fairy design at all. If a pixie does mate, it will most likely be done outside of Pixie World entirely; this contributes to the stereotype that pixies are an innocent, submissive race.

- Bathrooms are never connected to master bedrooms directly; there is always some sort of hall. Pixies are neat freaks and distinguishing the rooms clearly is a must. No one wants to sleep with their head near a bathroom door.

- Note the cushioned benches in the bathrooms- these are for sitting on while pixies clean each other’s wings. Fairies normally clean wings in the bedroom (which is usually where dressing occurs) while pixies are more likely to dress in the bathroom following a quick shower and a toweling off. This reflects the differences in each culture’s time management; Fairies tend to ready themselves for the day leisurely, sitting in bathrobes and eating breakfast, while pixies are prompt creatures who get in and out.

- Few decorations, even on shelves. Bookshelves (if any) hold textbooks, Da Rules, dictionaries, and citation guidelines instead of novels.

- Floors are tile or wood; carpet and stone are not common. Pixies use electric lighting instead of torches or oil lamps.

- Half-wall kitchens are signature to Pixie design, providing more openness in a small space. Expect a coffee maker in every Pixie kitchen, even though they’ll probably buy a cup on their way to work anyway.

- Dining tables are not staples of Pixie architecture. Rather, breakfast nooks provide small tables and a few chairs. Some pixies prefer the table farther from the wall with four chairs around it, though two usually serves just fine.

- Worth mentioning that most pixies don’t do their own laundry. Laundry workers rank among the lowest of the Pixie social hierarchy, so when pixies return home they might find folded clothes waiting for them. Or, clothes might ping on top of them if they were in bed at the time (Blame Rosencrantz).

Related: Pixie Class Overview || Fairy Design || Anti-Fairy Design

Click HERE for my Fairly OddParents worldbuilding masterpost

#RD Pixie stuff #RD worldbuilding #RD Sims #RD location #RD general #RD Sanderson #RD Longwood #RD Hawkins #RD Wilcox #RD canon characters #RD side characters #Fairly Oddparents #Cloudlands AU

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microcosme11 · 5 years ago

Photo

Baron Antoine-Jean Gros, Napoleon on the Battlefield of Eylau (1808)

This painting and battle is a subject in the book, ‘The Black Room at Longwood’ by Jean-Paul Kauffmann. The author was a prisoner or hostage in Lebanon under far worse conditions than Napoleon. He became intrigued by Napoleon’s captivity and wrote an elegaic book about a visit to St. Helena. He was allowed to wander around Longwood by himself and stayed for hours in the Emperor’s bedchamber. It’s an English translation.

#Antoine Gros #paintings of Napoleonic battles #books on napoleon

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truecrimecrystals · 6 years ago

Photo

Anjelica 'AJ' Hadsell vanished from Norfolk, Virginia at the age of 18 on March 2nd, 2015. At the time, AJ was a freshman at Longwood University. When she vanished, she was visiting her hometown, Norfolk, while on spring break. When news about AJ's disappearance was initially reported, it was believed that AJ was last seen by a neighbor while driving away from her mother’s home on Millard Street. However, suspicion quickly fell upon AJ’s adopted father/ex-stepfather, Wesley Hadsell. The day AJ was last seen, Wesley abruptly left his job around noon after telling his co-workers that he had to meet up with his daughter to give her some money. He returned about two hours later, but his co-workers stated that he appeared agitated upon his return and he ended up needing to take the rest of the day off. Initially, it appeared that Wesley was going to great lengths to deflect suspicion away from him. In fact, within the first week of AJ’s disappearance, Wesley broke into a home and reportedly “found” AJ’s jacket. He claimed that the person who lived in said home kidnapped AJ, which is why her jacket was there. Wesley was arrested for breaking and entering after that, and many suspected that he actually planted the jacket there himself. At this point, Wesley was officially named a person of interest in AJ’s disappearance. The 38 year-old was already no stranger to the police–he was a convicted felon with previous bank robbery and burglary convictions. As the investigation into AJ's disappearance continued, Wesley continued to publicly deny harming AJ, even after the investigators searched his motel room and seized his van. Inside the motel room, investigators found several rounds of ammunition; which he is forbidden to own as a felon. Inside the vehicle, investigators found a shovel, duct tape, and a pair of black work gloves. In April 2015, investigators received an analysis report on Wesley's van’s GPS, which revealed that it had been driven to an abandoned home close to the North Carolina border on the day AJ vanished. The report states that the van remained on the property for about 20 minutes. On April 9th, 2015 detectives went to the property and found AJ’s body buried in a ditch behind the abandoned home. Now, investigators were tasked with putting her killer behind bars.

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my-own-beloved-muse · 6 years ago

Text

Robin Han: I

genre: angst, bank heist au

description: six boys just trying to make ends meet so that they can survive, will they?

word count: 2441

warnings: medication, illness

“We’re going to enter here and-” Jisung feels a slap on the back of his head and sits up quickly, “What the fuck?”

He looks up, a scowl on his face, “What was that for?”

“Are you even listening? We are doing this tomorrow, don’t you think you should be paying attention?” The brown haired boy sighs, rubbing his head.

“We have been over this for months, I’m pretty sure I have the just, Minho.”

“The just isn’t good enough! You need to know this bank in, out, and sideways!”

A raven haired boy sits back in his seat, rubbing his eyes while Jisung gets up, stabbing his finger towards the map.

“I do! The exit is facing 24th, the entrance is facing Brenners, the first side exit is facing Longwood and the second is facing Blackwell! And I know how to get to all three of our warehouses from all of those! I know what I’m doing!”

Minho stands there sputtering and the freckled one sits forward, “Glad to see him shut up, huh, Seungmin?”

Seungmin just shakes his head and takes a sip of water, “Jisung got cheeto dust all on the map.”

Minho looks down and blanches, his jaw clenched.

“It’s not my fault, I was hungry!”

Chan snorted out a laugh, wiping the dust away, “It is literally your fault.”

Minho rubbed a hand down his face, “We don’t have time for this.”

Jisung felt it then, a sharp prick of worry for older boy. He put a hand on Minho’s shoulder, tilting his head, “Hey, you know we’re going to be okay, right? This isn’t the first and it won’t be the last, okay?”

Felix nodded, massaging his hands, “We’re going to be doing this for a long time, Minho.”

“I’m just worried.. This is higher security than we’re used to working with.”

Chan laughs and flexes, looking over at Minho, “They’ll be too afraid of these guns to do anything, Min.”

Minho chokes and Jisung squeezes his shoulder, “Of course, they’ll be afraid of a boy with muscles, but not of the literal guns that are going to be pointed in their faces, of course.”

Felix laughs loudly and gets up, “Now if that’s all, can we sleep? If no one cares, we are robbing a bank tomorrow and I would like to be properly rested.”

The tension in the room is gone, but Minho still looks worried.

Seungmin starts to nod and gets up, “Agreed, all we need is for one of us to fall asleep during a heist.”

Jisung chuckles, shooting him a look, “I know you’re just being grouchy and you have faith in us, yes?”

The black haired boy nods, “Yes, of course.”

“I don’t believe him, dogpile?”

“Touch me and I will bury you alive.”

“I don’t doubt you would, Minnie,” Chan nods, patting his shoulder, “let’s all get some rest! Breakfast in on me in the morning!”

Felix grins and pumps a fist in the air, “Yes!”

The groups head off to their rooms and get changed.

“Min? Are you awake?”

There is a grumble.

“What is it, Ji?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“..No.”

“Then yes, you did.”

“...You know I was paying attention earlier right?”

Minho groans and props himself up on his elbows, “Ji, are you serious right now?”

“I just don’t want you to think I don’t care is all!”

Jisung climbs down from the top bunk and sits beside Minho’s bed, “I do.”

“I know you do, I was just stressed earlier. I want to make sure we all get out of this safely.”

“We will, we always do, Min.”

“Good to know.”

“...”

Minho look over at Jisung, “You want to sleep in my bed, don’t you?”

“It’s cold up there, Min!!”

Minho snorts and covers his mouth, “God you are something else, come here.”

Jisung crawls into the bed beside him and lays his head on Minho’s chest, “I’m scared.”

“I know, I think we all are.”

“I agree with Min.”

Jisung looks over at the lower bunk, “You awake, Felix?”

“Mhm, you dorks woke me up.”

“Are you cold?” Minho asks, already scooting over to make more room.

“I am actually, can we not afford heating?”

“No, we couldn’t this month, I’m sorry. wanna come lay over here?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Felix shuffles over and drops beside Minho, curling up into his side.

“You two are loud.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung mumbles, wrapping an arm around Minho and reaching out for Felix’s hand.

Felix intertwines their fingers, shaking his head, “I don’t care.”

“Get some sleep, okay? We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Oh my god, you’re a nerd, Ji.”

Jisung giggles and squeezes Felix’s hand. “Says you.”

A figure appears at the door, “Hey can you guys keep it down, Minnie’s having trouble sleeping.”

Felix pokes his head up, “Oh man, sorry, we’ll go to sleep!”

Chan shakes his head and walks over, “It’s okay, I bet you all are worried sick.”

Minho nods, “We’re all a little worried, Chan.”

“Wanna have a cuddle pile in the living room? It is pretty cold.”

“That sounds great actually, I’ll grab the blankets,” Jisung offers.

“Thanks Ji, we’ll be right there.”

Jisung untangles himself from Minho and scoops up all of the blankets, “Don’t take too long.”

“I’ll get Minnie,” Felix yawns, climbing over Minho.

He waddles out and Chan looks down at Minho, “We’re going to be okay, Minho.”

Minho gets up, rubbing the back of his neck, “I hope so. What would he do without this money?”

Chan tilts his head back and forth, “We’d figure it out, Min. He’s like a brother to all of us and Seungmin loves him. You know that.” Minho rubs a hand down his face and Chan pulls him into a hug, “He’s going to be okay, Min, I know it.”

“He’s not getting any better, Chan, the treatments, they’re not.. I talked to the doctor, he said he doesn’t have much longer left.”

Chan doesn’t stiffen, just pulls Minho in tighter, “Do the others know?”

“I don’t know how to tell them, Chan, I’m scared.”

The room is dark, but Chan can feel the wetness on his shirt. He pulls back and wraps an arm around Minho's shoulder, “We'll tell them tomorrow, after the heist.” “Are you sure? What if they don't..” “Take it well?” Chan finishes, squeezing his shoulder.

Minho nods and leans into his side, grabbing a fistful of Chan's sweatpants, “What if Seungmin..” “He won't,” Chan says, his teeth gritted. Truth is, Chan doesn't know what Seungmin will do. Any of them for that matter. What would life be without Jeongin? Chan shakes his head and gently undoes Minho's fist, “Seungmin will be okay. We all knew there was a chance it wouldn't work. We'll all work through it together.”

There is a loud bang and Minho jumps backwards, causing Chan to stumble, “Min?” “I'm okay, let's go check on the boys, alright?”

Chan puts his hands up in front of him, stopping Minho, “Are you going to be alright in there?”

Minho's eyes flash defiantly and Chan puts his hands down. “They are my boys, they won't hurt me. I know that.” The brunette nods and lets Minho pass, catching his hand on the way out and leaving with him.

“Took you long enough,” Felix says, curled up on the floor. There is a layer of blankets and pillows, Seungmin and Felix laying atop it. Minho looks around and sees Jisung leaned up against a wall, his eyes fluttering open every few seconds before closing again.

“Baby..” Minho says gently, putting a hand on Jisung’s cheek. “Hmm.. Was.. waiting on.. you..” Jisung mumbles, leaning into Minho's palm and stretching out his arms. “Nuh uh, let's go lay down.” Jisung grumbles and allows Minho to lead him over to the blanket pile. Chan gives Minho a small smile before laying next to Felix, “Scootch.” Felix shakes his head and wraps a leg around Chan, “Nope, you're staying here. I'm freezing.” “We have to try and pay heating next month,” Minho whispers to the brunette.

He nods and wraps an arm around Felix, “I'll make it, I promise.” Seungmin groans, “Guys, shh. Jisung is asleep.” Jisung claps a hand over Seungmin's mouth, his eyes closed. “Shh you.” Minho smiles and moves his hand, “Thank you, Minnie.” Seungmin nods and curls into Jisung's side, yawning, “Whatever.”

Minho watched the sun rise over the tops of the nearby buildings. By the time the heist was over it would be late afternoon, people would be getting off of work. The sky was tinted with purples and blues. Everytime a heist rolled around, Minho liked to watch the sunrise, because who knew if he would make it to see another one.

“Minmin?” A small voice yawns. Minho turns around slowly, to see Jisung unwrapping himself from Seungmin. “Go back to sleep, Ji. We don’t have to be up for a few more hours.” Jisung ignores this and walks over, wrapping his arms around Minho and putting his hands in the boy’s back pockets, mumbling into his neck, “Come back to bed.” Minho stood there, wanting to savor the moment, “I’m okay, Ji.”

“Please?” Jisung looks at Minho and he nearly gives in until he hears a groan, “I’m so cold.” Minho peeked over Jisung’s head to see a stretching Seungmin. Jisung smiles at Minho, “Only one of us need to get up now, did Chan already leave?” Minho nods, running a hand through Jisung’s hair, “A few hours ago, said he wanted to get some hours in before everything, some extra cash.”

Seungmin walks the short distance to the coffee machine, rubbing his eyes, “Did he look okay?” Minho knew what the question meant. Chan had trouble sleeping, more than the other boys, sleep deprivation was easy to spot on him. “He looked tired as always, Minnie.” Seungmin frowns at that and Jisung shook his head, “Is the medication not working? The doctor said this one had better chances.”

Seungmin rattles a pill bottle from the counter, “He hasn’t been taking it, it’s empty.” Minho curses and pulls out his phone, “I’m calling him, we’re talking about this over breakfast.” Jisung unwrapped himself from Minho and sat down against the wall, his head in his hands, “This isn’t healthy. He said he would try this time.” Seungmin lifted himself onto the counter and stared at Minho, who had just got Chan’s voicemail, “Why do you think he did it?”

“For the money, you know how much those would go for on the street?”

“But he said he wouldn’t sell them anymore.”

Minho looks up from his phone, a hard glint in his eyes, “Well he lied.”

Jisung looked over at him, “Don’t get angry at him, Min.” Minho grimaced and shoved his phone into his pocket, ignoring Seungmin’s heavy stare to glance out the window. The sun was up now. They had so little time. “I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”

A few minutes went by in silence, the only sound being the coffee dripping into the pot slowly, it was broken. They couldn’t afford a new one. Then a phone rang.

“Minho, baby, what’s up? You called!”

“We need to have a chat, all of us.”

Chan heard his voice change, “Why, what’s wrong?”

“Your pill bottle is empty, Chan.”

“Look, I-”

“We’re going to talk about it over breakfast, get to the diner on 17th in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Chan snapped his phone shut and cursed, they hadn’t checked his bottle in a few days, he thought they wouldn’t notice. Apparently, he thought wrong. He leaned against the brick and knew it was the only thing supporting him.

A motorcycle sped in the alleyway, rushing against the clock. He couldn’t be late this time. The least he could do was make it on time. He pulled to a stop in front of a group of four boys. His boys. He pulled his helmet off and stared over at them. “You made it,” Felix breathed, his lips cold. “Of course I did,” Chan commented, walking over. Minho looked angry and hurt and disappointed but he pulled Chan into a hug anyway, “I’m so disappointed in you.” Chan nodded and leaned his head back, looking up at the sky, “I know.”

After a minute or two, they all made their way inside and slid into a booth where the table was missing a leg. “Did you sell them?” Seungmin asked, his hands in his lap. “Yes.” Chan couldn’t lie to them. “For how much?” “A grand.” Jisung took a sharp breath, “What did you just say?” “I said a grand,” Chan whispered, nearly shaking. He knew he messed up, he knew it, now he had to deal with the consequences.

“You have to take your medication, Chan, you’ll start going through withdrawal,” Minho said, grabbing Chan’s hand, squeezing it. “I’ll deal,” Chan shuddered, hating to even imagine what it would be like. “At.. at least we won’t struggle for heat this month,” Felix said, a fake smile on his lips. Chan choked out a laugh and Minho rubbed a thumb over his hand, “Y-Yeah, we might even cover rent.”

Jisung looked over at Chan and tilted his head, “How bad will it be?” “I won’t die,” Chan mumbled, hoping he was telling the truth. Minho gripped his hand tighter, “We’ll do what we did last time.” Chan froze and reached up, gripping Minho’s hand unconsciously, “Minho I can’t do that again- I can’t- it was-”

Chan starts frantically shaking his head and Jisung wraps an arm around his shoulder, “Hey, Chan, hey, breathe. Hey, take a deep breath, love.” Jisung pulls him into his side and starts timing his breaths, muttering numbers into Chan’s ear. Minho’s hand feels like it’s about to break before Chan’s grip finally relaxes. “We’ll figure something out,” Seungmin whispers, gripping Chan’s other hand. Minho hates seeing him like this. Hates that Chan felt that pressure to sell something his body was dependent on.

“I don’t want to take it again,” Chan muttered, struggling to stay in control of his breathing. “I couldn’t think and I was never hungry and I hated it. But I can’t- I can’t do that again.” Minho nodded and rubbed circles on his hand, “Okay, okay, how about we call your doctor, love? We can figure something out, okay?” All Chan can do is hope. That is going to have to be enough. “We’ll figure something out, I promise, Chan.”

#stray kids #writing #bang chan #kim woojin #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #han jisung #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin

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