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jennygirl2014 · 4 years ago

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Birthday Cake~ Chapter One

Summary: You had good intentions. You really did. It just all went downhill so fast....

Word count: 3233

Warnings: 18+, NSWF, adult themes, swearing, masturbation

You were on your way over to Steve’s apartment, already feeling uneasy about your upcoming visit. There were several reasons why you tried to make good with America’s golden boy, but you just hadn’t been able to get on his good side. Working for Tony Stark, that was one thing, he and Steve butt heads all the time, and that didn’t work well in your favor. Second, you didn’t have the cleanest record. Tony had implemented an intervention program where he found local people who had previous trouble with the law, and he turned their lives around by turning them into technological whizzes. He called it Stark’s Restart Program. The public loved it, and it helped to further fund his many other operations. You got caught robbing houses at age 16, you were a professional even, but when you got the choice between going to juvy, and eventually prison, or entering Stark’s program, you gave up your profession. Were you a technological whizz? Not even close. Technology was not your forte, yet Tony kept you on as a regular employee, thus keeping you out of trouble for many years. No more drugs, no more burglaries, but still lots of partying, because that’s one thing Tony was all about. If it weren’t for him, you didn’t know where you would have been in life.

The third reason was obvious, the age difference. Being in your best years, you were all about fun, and trends and enjoying life. You had that “forever young” mentality, that” you only live once” attitude, you were in your prime and you were going to have fun. Steve, whose age you couldn’t even quite calculate, was the total opposite. You had a few tattoos, lip and nose piercings, and your hair always seemed to change colors. But why not? You worked hard, you played hard, Tony paid you well. You turned your life around. You deserved to have fun. Steve occasionally made comments about your appearance or what you were doing that somewhat rubbed you the wrong way. “What made you want to have purple hair?” “Another tattoo? You know those are permanent.” “Back in my day, we didn’t have to listen to music so loud we could go deaf to enjoy it.” “Women used to dress so…differently.” You were sure he didn’t see eye to eye with your lack of modesty, but that wasn’t going to change. You were civil with each other, but you wouldn’t have ever called him a friend.

Which was a shame…because boy was he one fine looking man. Although his traditional ways sometimes irked you, you could always look past it, as long as you found something good to look at. And there was always something good to look at when it came to Steve. You hated that he had to be such a prude, because his smile would make your temperature rise. Part of you felt rather embarrassed, but you couldn’t deny the way your mind sometimes went to those dark and dirty places. Just the other week he had bent over to pick something up and you ended up intently staring at his ass for at least three whole minutes. But at least knowing that you were not his type kept the daydreaming from getting too out of hand.

But what girl didn’t look at Steve Rogers that way?

“He should be home; you know with his curfew and bedtime and all that.” Tony’s voice carried through the Bluetooth speaker in your car. “Just use the drive I gave you to install the upgrade on his computer. I offered to talk him through it but…well, you know.”

“What’s wrong with his computer?” you ask.

“He says it’s been slow, and he keeps getting pop ups. He spends so much time surfing the web trying to catch up on everything, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a virus on there. Maybe you could check it out. You know, if you can handle that.” He jested.

“Listen, I may not know how to build a circuit board, but I can check for viruses. I learned some things.” You defended yourself.

“Yeah, I’m sure you have.” He continued to tease, “Anyway, in and out, no fuss. Oh, but don’t forget his present.” He reminded you. It was Steve’s birthday, and while Tony had offered a get together, Steve had declined. You looked over at the medium sized box with a ribbon on it sitting in your passenger seat and suddenly thought the worst.

“Tony?” you started.

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t another prank is it?” the last thing you wanted was to be caught up in Tony and Steve’s little rivalry. But Tony didn’t play by Steve’s rules, Steve would go about things diplomatically, while Tony sometimes just tortured the poor guy.

“No! Not at all, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He sounded honest, and you felt slightly relieved.

“Okay, because, you know he’s already not the fondest of me.”

“Don’t say that. He just doesn’t know how to handle someone like you. I mean, with the piercings, and the hair…” he trailed off. “You know most people wouldn’t hire you with that unique sense of style, but I find it exhilarating.”

“Yes, thank you again for allowing me to be myself.” You must have said it a million times to him over the years. And then you wondered why he was making himself out to be the world’s greatest boss again, aside from the usual ego trip.

“Anyway, just check out the computer, give him the present and call it a night.” Tony repeated himself.

Yes, that was the plan, but it was only part of your particular plan. Steve had generously lent you his jacket the previous week, which was extremely flattering, and you intended on returning it. Of course, you had held onto it a few extra days, just because. You may have even worn it once while sitting on the couch, eating ice cream and watching a few romantic movies, but nobody had to know. Another thing nobody had to know was that you had purchased a small cake, which was sitting neatly by the present Tony had asked you to deliver. It was nothing fancy, yellow cake with white, red and blue icing, and it simply read “Happy Birthday”, nothing more. It all appeared innocent enough, right? Were you making it obvious that you wanted to be in his good graces? Maybe. But “bold” was your middle name.

You parked on the street in front of his apartment and somehow managed to carry his jacket, the present and the cake all in your hands. The little USB drive simply fit in your pocket, no need to fuss with that. Of course, then again, you were there to install a new program on his computer, and if it was just sitting in your pocket, maybe it looked like it wasn’t the main reason for your visit. You started to overthink the entire situation, and decided to carry the drive in your hands as well, just to maintain the right idea. You managed the stairs, which wasn’t easy, especially in those pumps you loved so much. They weren’t easy to walk in, and your toes were starting to hurt in them.

Once you reached his door, you knocked lightly, somehow managing to tap your knuckles on the wooden door without dropping anything. There was nothing. No sound, no stirring, nothing. You knocked again. Still nothing. With a sigh you knelt down and placed everything on the floor and got your phone out of your purse, dialing Tony. It rang four times and he picked up.

“I thought you said you could handle checking for viruses.” Tony didn’t even greet you.

“Um… yeah, I can. Or at least I would, if he were home.” You corrected him.

“He’s not home? That’s odd.” Tony sounded perplexed. “Maybe he went out to some diner for the old timer’s special.”

“So…what now?” you asked your boss what to do.

“Well…” he paused, “You used to sneak into houses, right?” You blinked in disbelief of what he was possibly suggesting. “Hello?” you went silent.

“I’m here. And yeah, I did, but…”

“But what?”

“I’m not about to break into Captain America’s apartment.” You sounded astonished just talking about it.

“But you’re not really breaking into anything. You’re not going to break down his door or whatnot. You can just let yourself in, leave the USB drive, and the present, on his counter and let yourself out. He won’t mind.”

“How do you know that?” you weren’t so sure.

“Trust me. He really needs that upgrade and I really want him to get that present today. It is his birthday after all.”

You thought it over, and then huffed. “Fine.”

“That’s a good sport. Thank you much.” And Tony hung up without saying goodbye, in typical Tony fashion.

“Ugh, Tony.” You muttered as you stayed knelt down and drew in a deep breath. You looked around the hallway, over your shoulder on both sides to make sure nobody was watching before standing up.

Your fingers instinctively found the two bobby pins in your hair and you pulled them out. Perhaps it was some of that old habit that hadn’t died out of you yet, but two bobby pins in your hair was the norm. Just in case. You angled them in your hands, just as you remembered, and inserted them into Steve’s lock. You felt ridiculous, but at the same time, kind of daring. It was a momentary rush, just a small reminder of the thrill you used to get. You worked the lock for some time, not having any luck, and just as you were about to give up, you felt the pins insert into that perfect spot. You rotated your wrists and unlocked the door seamlessly. Bingo.

With a small grin you put the bobby pins back in your hair. “Still a badass.” You complimented yourself. You managed to get the armful of goods back into your grasp and stood up with them, shimmying your hips a bit to straighten out your skirt. The air stayed captive in your lungs as you slowly nudged the door open and allowed yourself to step inside to Steve’s apartment, and after taking a step in, you used your heel to close the door behind you.

You were eager to take it all in. You had always wondered what his place was like, and now you were seeing it. Even with the lights off, you could make out all the details around you from where you stood. The old black and white photos of Yankees stadium on the wall, his contemporary style light fixtures, which you were sure came with the apartment. There was a decent sized TV in front of a red couch. But over in the corner sat an old radio and record player, and next to that a blue recliner. It looked worn, and you were sure that he spent most of his time there, looking out the window and reminiscing of older times. It was the typical man’s apartment, no fancy centerpieces on the table, a couple books laying around, nothing special. But the air smelled of him, and you inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of musk, cologne and aftershave. There was a hint of cedarwood in the air that tickled your nose.

Finally, you remembered why you were there, and you took small steps further into the apartment, still looking around. The kitchen was small, and spotless. The carpet was a casual tan. You were tempted to take a quick look into his bathroom to see what soap and shampoo he used. You felt silly, like a little girl who finally got to see how their crush lives at home. But you didn’t belong in there, you had to get in and get out. So, you turned the corner, assuming the hallway led to his bedroom, and you saw the cracked door into the dark room. Only it wasn’t dark, there was a flickering light.

Maybe he was home and had fallen asleep. Maybe that was a second TV he had in his bedroom. You swallowed hard, worried that you would disturb him and wake him up, and make him mad. You shouldn’t have just let yourself in. If you just put the stuff on the counter and ran off, he would still know what you did. What about making it a surprise?

Yeah! That would work!

Just sneak in, catch him off guard but smile wide and say “surprise” as you give him back his jacket and present the tiny cake. And work on his computer. No big deal. So, you took another step closer to the cracked door, seeing the flickering light and holding your breath. It would be okay. He couldn’t stay mad with a present and cake, right? You could play it off, you were clever. Your elbow lightly touched the door and you started to lean in, preparing to ease the door open wider. A smile was already spreading across your lips.

But then it hit your ears, a weird sound. A moan? A groan? A yawn? Maybe he really was asleep. The sound came again, but then something else followed. A woman’s voice. Was there a woman in there? It didn’t sound like there was another person there, it sounded like it came through a speaker. His TV maybe, or his computer. Which you were there to fix. All good, no worries, it would be fine. You pushed the door open further, and then planted both feet it the doorway.

His back was to you, you would catch him off guard. He was sitting at his computer; his bed was against the wall to the right. Okay, don’t yell surprise, just whisper it, you thought. But then you saw it, the little bit of screen shining at you from around his large silhouette. Skin tones, odd. What was it? A movie? And then you saw what looked like a woman’s bare ass, shaking, jiggling, another moan. And his silhouette wasn’t smooth, it was moving. His right arm, shaking. A grunting sound?

He released a breathy moan that made it very apparent what was going on. The woman’s voice on the screen carried louder, that raspy pitch of a woman in the throes of pleasure. You had just walked in on the poor, innocent man pleasuring himself, to an adult movie. Captain America was in front of you, with his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him, and his dick in his hand.

You panicked, bad. That cold sweat kind of panic.

The words that were about to come out of your mouth were instantly sucked back into your lungs and your brain scrambled as you immediately realized you had overstepped your boundaries, big time. You went to shuffle backwards, preparing to dart out of the room, but your back hit the door that had partially closed behind you, knocking you off your balance. Your heel caught something, probably your other foot, and the next thing you knew, you were going down.

You went crashing down on the floor without an ounce of stealth or pride and everything in your arms spilled with you. The commotion of it all startled you, and it definitely startled Steve, who had no idea about your presence until that very moment. He shot out of his chair, standing and spinning around, eyes wide and his member still in hand. His pants dropped to his ankles as he scrambled to cover himself, letting out some sort of sound that could only be described as a half shout half snort sort of thing. You, on the other hand, shamelessly screamed. You held up your right hand in a flash, trying to shield yourself from his view, or rather block the view of what was in his hand from your eyes.

To make matters worse, in your mad dash to get back on your feet, you kicked the present from Tony, tearing off the lid and thus somehow setting free a flurry of glitter that erupted from the contents and covered half of the room in the matter of a mere second, including you where you sat. A mechanical, prerecorded laughing sound started emitting from the box. Was it laughing at you? No. This was no gift. This was a prank. Damn Tony and his lies. The mocking faux laughter continued as Steve gripped whatever contents were on his desk and attempted to cover his bottom half, a mix of papers, a book and a mousepad. By then you were scrambling onto your feet, but not before your hand sunk into the cake, which was now mysteriously missing its box and had been dumped on the floor, and your hand skidded forward, causing you to face plant in a mound of cake and icing.

“Y/N…!” Steve shouted, probably coming to his senses. You swore you heard his voice crack a little.

Somehow, by God’s grace, you had managed to get to your feet, despite your wobbly knees, and being partially blinded by glitter and icing, and you took off in a mad dash down the hall, back to Steve’s front door, leaving a trail of mushy cake and glitter in your blaze. You ripped that door open and pulled it shut behind you, but didn’t waste a moment to make sure the door actually closed, and your heels were click clacking as your sprinted your sorry ass out of his apartment building. Getting down the stairs would have been easier if you had just jumped from the floor you were on down to the landing, because you must have twisted your ankles a half dozen times as you stumbled down to the ground floor. You wondered how you managed not to break your fancy heels, or your ankles, or your neck, in the process of running from your shame. And what were you hearing as your ran? The echoing of your profanities.

“Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh shit, oh shit! Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!” you said it over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer turning into your last words. “Oh my God! Oh God! Oh shit! Oh shit!”

You raced out to your car, limping and trying to frenziedly wipe the icing and glitter from your face, from your shirt, and your skirt, and your knees. You threw yourself into the driver seat and fumbled with your keys, dropping them and tossing them between your hands. “Oh man! Oh shit! Fuck! Fucking keys! Shit! Shit, shit!” your eyes were burning from the icing and glitter, both clouding your vision. You instinctively reached for your half empty water bottle in the cup holder, unscrewed the lid and dumped the water onto your face, trying to rid the burning from your eyes. More profanities and more yelling, and maybe now some tears thrown into the mix.

It all happened so fast! And yet, you felt like it was all in slow motion. You stomped on the gas pedal, aching ankle be damned, and you were out of there.

Nothing would ever compare to the humiliation you were feeling in that moment. You were convinced the shame would kill you, and you were even more upset that it actually wouldn’t.

#chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #captain america fanfiction

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justheretobreakthings · 5 years ago

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Remember Me - Chapter 21

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 4,366 (Total Word Count: 84,026) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

It was strange enough for the paladins of Voltron to have found another human this far from home, locked in a Galra prison. But it was stranger still when this human insisted that he knew them, and even that he was the former red paladin of Voltron.

That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? After all, if this Keith was actually a part of the Voltron team, then why does nobody remember him?

It was difficult to get a proper read on Keith over the next couple of days. Not to say that it wasn’t always difficult to get a read on Keith - how many of their problems could be solved if the guy just came with goddamn operator’s manual, Lance couldn’t even fathom - but more specifically, it was hard to tell how Keith was feeling toward Lance.

He wasn’t openly glaring at Lance any more, the way he had been during their last coalition meeting, but he wasn’t really looking Lance’s way at all, either. Not greeting him when he entered the room, not speaking with him, not smiling when Lance cracked a joke during a meal. Nothing.

And for the life of him, Lance couldn’t remember if this was a change or was a return to the norm. Was Keith giving him the cold shoulder, or was he just being the same grumpy, closed-off person he always was, and Lance was just now feeling more aware of it?

Part of him wanted to broach the subject, to walk straight up to Keith while he was on the training deck or in his room and ask whether the whole deal had blown over, or whether Keith was still mad.

The other part of him was sure that Keith was still mad, and that bringing it up would only fan the flames.

Still, whether the tension between them was real or just in his imagination, it was still leaving Lance feeling awkward whenever he was around Keith, unsure of his own footing. Which was not a feeling he relished. Fortunately, even now Keith wasn’t much more social than he had been when they’d first brought him into the castle, so the awkwardness only really had to be endured during meals and training. So far, at least.

He let the subject stew for his mind for a while before finally bringing it up with anyone, and he chose to spring it on Pidge and Hunk. The three of them had been hanging out in Hunk’s room, chattering about nothing important with toolkits open as they worked on a project. That is, Pidge and Hunk were working. Lance was dangling off of Hunk’s bed, feet against the wall and head on the floor, watching the proceedings upside-down; a while back they had instituted a policy that Lance was only allowed to assist with engineering projects up until the point that he broke something, after which he was relegated to watching from a time-out spot for the rest of the project. Today, it had taken him only four minutes.

They were doing… something, with one of the cleaning bots. Pidge had told him when they’d first started what they were changing, but it had seemed very complex and had mostly gone over Lance’s head. In any case, judging by the fact that some of the ‘upgrade parts’ Pidge had brought along looked suspiciously similar to pieces of the Altean blaster rifles he’d once helped Coran clean, he was pretty certain that the cleaning bot was going to be much more dangerous once they were done with it than it was when they had started.

The conversation had drifted toward reminiscence about their Garrison days, and somehow landed on talking about past school projects, so Lance had quickly been growing bored of that topic - he had suffered enough while doing school projects; it was just cruel to make him talk about them so long after the fact. It was high time for a subject change.

“Have you guys noticed anything weird about Keith?” he asked as he sat back up onto Hunk’s bed. He closed his eyes for a few seconds as the blood rushed out of his head now that he was right-side-up again.

Pidge glanced at Hunk before shrugging. “Well, yes, Lance, but that’s kind of old news by now, isn’t it?

Lance shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean - I meant, like, just over the past couple of days. Like, since that dinner on Thotirn?”

“Uh, he was hungover the day after,” Hunk said. “Does that count as weird?”

“What? No,” Lance huffed. “What about, like, his behavior in training and meals and - and with the way he’s acting?”

“Here’s an idea,” Pidge said. “How about instead of being weird and cryptic, you just tell us what you think he’s doing that’s so weird, and we’ll agree or disagree.”

Lance huffed out a frustrated sigh. “I’m talking about – about how he’s, like, avoiding me and not talking to me and – and seeming like he’s, um, in sort of a rotten mood…”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just how Keith is all the time,” Hunk said. He picked up a screwdriver and turned his attention back to the cleaning bot.

“No, that’s not – ugh!” Lance flopped dramatically backward onto Hunk’s bed, his foot narrowly avoiding kicking Pidge’s head as it swung out. “I’m trying to figure out if Keith’s mad at me! Have either of you noticed anything different about him the past couple days? Has he said anything about me to you guys? Or, maybe one of you’s seen him glaring at me when I’m not looking? Something like that?”

There was a pause before Pidge sighed. “Lance, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Lance insisted as he straightened up again.

“Why would Keith be mad at you for nothing?” Hunk asked.

“Well, I mean, not nothing nothing, just – see, back during that dinner party on Thotirn, Keith had nearly drunk his weight in alcohol, right? So I take him back to the castle and get him to bed so he doesn’t cause a scene or drown in his own puke or anything. And when we get back to his room, he starts having this, like, emotional breakdown. Just getting really riled up and crying, and I needed him to calm down, you know? To just settle down and go to sleep.”

“So you… knocked him out?” Hunk said as Lance paused for breath.

“What? No! I just told this little white lie to calm him down before he went to sleep. Thing is, by the time he’s sobered up next morning, he of course realizes that it’s a lie, and he’s real pissed about it. He chewed me out after training the other day and he hasn’t said a word to me since. So I’m just trying to figure out if this has all blown over, or if he’s still mad at me. Keith kinda seems like he’d be the grudge-holding type, you know?”

Pidge let out a thoughtful hum as she crossed her arms. “What lie did you tell?”

“I kind of, um - ” Lance scratched at the back of his head. “I kind of maybe sorta told him that when he woke up his team would be back?”

The other two stared at him for a long moment before Hunk softly said, “Dude.”

Lance held up his hands. “Okay, look, before you guys get all judgey - ”

“Too late,” said Pidge.

“ - I honestly didn’t think he would remember what I said. You two both saw how hungover he was yesterday morning; that should give you a bit of an idea of how wasted he was the night before. It’s a fucking miracle he remembered. And also, you know what, it was very obviously done to calm him down and make him feel better, right? Like, once he sobered up and all, he should’ve realized that.”

“Maybe,” Hunk said. “But that’s still, like, a really sore point for Keith. Not really the sort of thing you should be poking at.”

“Yeah, fine, in retrospect, yeah, I probably should have come up with something else, but it was a high-pressure situation and late at night and I don’t think we can dismiss the fact that I’d had a couple of drinks too and - and it’s way easier to sit here and figure out other options after the fact. Hindsight is twenty-four/seven, and all that.”

Pidge raised a brow. “It’s ‘hindsight is twenty-twenty’.”

“There aren’t twenty days in a week, Pidge, that makes no sense.”

“... Remind me how you passed the Garrison entrance exams, again?”

“Not important, Pidge,” Lance said with a scowl. “Look, I made a mistake, all right? I know it. And I apologized! I told him I was sorry, but he was being a stubborn ass as usual and decided that him feeling disappointed for a few minutes in the morning was the worst tragedy in the world, and of course he shouldn’t have been drinking that much in the first place – ”

“Is this how you worded your apology when you gave it to him?” Pidge asked. “Because if so, I have a theory about why he might be mad at you.”

“No, no, I’m just – ” He sighed again. “I’m just frustrated. Everything’s all tense now – as if things weren’t stressful enough already – and I just wanna, like, put the whole stupid incident behind us, you know? I’m making an effort here.”

“Have you tried talking to Shiro about it?” Hunk asked.

Lance turned to him, head tilted in question. “Hm? What’s Shiro got to do with this?”

“Nothing directly,” Hunk answered. “But he’s the leader of Voltron, right? If there’s a problem between team members, he can mediate. He’s done it plenty of times before.”

“I guess…” Lance said slowly.

Pidge nodded. “Right, ask Shiro. Seems kinda the obvious solution now I think about it.” She furrowed her brow as Lance said nothing in reply. “Lance? Don’t tell me there’s something up between you and Shiro too.”

Lance shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s… if Shiro’s gonna be doing conflict resolution or whatever, shouldn’t he be, like, unbiased? As a rule?”

“What about it?” Hunk asked.

Lance folded his arms. “What, you don’t think Shiro’s just gonna agree with whatever Keith says?”

There was a beat of silence as Pidge and Hunk cast confused glances at each other. “Since when does Shiro do that?” Pidge asked.

“Pretty much since Keith showed up, right?” Lance said with a shrug. “He was siding with Keith against Allura from day one, he’s been letting Keith get away with stunts in our battles that he would never let the rest of us do without getting a ten-hour lecture afterward, he basically believes anything Keith says and lets him do whatever he wants – ”

“Lance, that’s not true,” Hunk said. “Keith follows the same rules the rest of us do.”

“All right, yeah, maybe so, but he’s the only one with Shiro’s arm around his shoulder the whole time he does it. Come on, I can’t be the only person here who’s noticed it, can I? Go ahead, have either of you spent half as much time training with Shiro as Keith has? Or has Shiro talked to you nearly as much as he talks to Keith? You can’t honestly tell me you don’t see it!”

“Well, it’s – that’s not – ” Hunk started, but to Lance’s satisfaction, he was clearly wavering.

“You see it, right? It’s blatant – ”

“Lance,” Pidge said.

Lance ignored her. “Blatant favoritism, is what it is. It’s like he’s – like he’s more concerned about Keith. Like he needs Keith more.” His arms tightened over his chest. “What’s he need Keith for so badly, huh? He’s already got his team. He’s got me.”

A longer beat of silence rang in the room this time before anyone moved or made a sound, and it was only broken when Pidge unfolded her legs and stood, joining Lance on the bed. The mattress sank slightly as she took a seat, bringing her sock feet and letting out a long breath. “Back when the Kerberos mission crew was first selected,” she said, “Back when Matt and Dad first started training for it, I was kinda pissed.”

Lance blinked at her. He turned to Hunk, looking for an explanation, but Hunk appeared just as bemused as him. “Um… okay?” he said, turning back to Pidge.

“I guess there had been sort of a closeness there between Matt and Dad for a while already, on account of Dad working at the Garrison and Matt being a cadet there, then a junior officer right under Dad’s command. But once they were selected for Kerberos, they started having more and more time together. They were training and studying and running mission simulations and going to meetings. We could barely find the chance to do so much as have a meal together as a whole family. It was kinda like the family had been split in half, you know? The half that was going to Kerberos, and the half that was staying behind. And it kinda sucked. Matt was there at Dad’s side all the time, and I was starting to feel like an afterthought.”

She sighed and brought her knees up to rest her chin on them. “Came to a head this one night. See, back at home, first Saturday of the month was always Family Game Night. We’d set aside the whole evening for whatever game we could all play together for hours on end, and we’d been doing this since I was too young to even understand how board games worked. So this one night, Dad calls us up at like four o’clock to tell us that some important presentation got moved up at the very last minute and he and Matt wouldn’t be able to make it to game night, and I sorta lost it. Yelled at him over phone for a couple minutes straight, didn’t answer it when Matt tried to call me after.

“So, naturally, when they get home from their big important presentation thing, Dad sits us all down to have a ‘family discussion’.” She made air quotes around the words with her fingers. “And basically we just… talked it out, I guess. Like, got it all into the open. And on some level, you know, I’m feeling like a bratty little kid because, yeah, I know that he needs to be doing all this stuff for Kerberos, and I know that he’s not intentionally prioritizing Matt over me, it was – it was the circumstances. Still didn’t mean I felt good about it, though.

“So I tell him that, and in the end, I guess it did sort of need to be said. I don’t think Dad was really realizing how much the Kerberos prep was taking over his schedule and his life, and I mean, it was going to be a long mission away from us, Mom and I needed some time with him and Matt while we still could. I suppose in all that goes into working toward a space mission, some stuff winds up pushed aside even if it shouldn’t be. Not his fault. He’s only human, you know? And he was focusing on things he needed to focus on. Sometimes people need a reminder that there’s other stuff going on around them. Once he had that, we worked things out. Got actual bonding time scheduled with me, finally, so it did the trick.”

She lifted her chin and stretched out her legs. “We all know how badly what happened with Shiro affected him. I mean, we’ve all been around for flashbacks and stuff, right? So getting someone on the ship who’s apparently been dealing with something so similar, and getting to talk about the stuff and help someone out with all that shit is probably good for him. Shiro needs that. And Keith? Well, we’ve all seen that he’s all kinds of fucked up, so having someone like Shiro around to try and help sort out the fucked-up-ness? Yeah, I’m betting he needs that.

“That’s all it is, I think. They’re just focused on what they need right now, and other things are gonna end up falling by the wayside. That’s just what happens, you know? There’s only so much a person can focus on at once. And if it gets to be a problem, that’s when you sit down, have a family discussion, and get that shit out into the open. Tell me, Lance: have you mentioned this to Shiro?”

“I - ” Lance gritted his teeth as he hesitated.

“Well, there you go,” said Pidge. “If there’s a problem between you and Shiro, you’re not gonna get anything solved by complaining to us about it. Go to Shiro. Use your words.”

“I shouldn’t have to talk to Shiro about it, you know?” Lance said. “He’s the team leader, the Black Paladin. He’s – he’s supposed to know what’s going on, and know what to do, and – ”

“And walk on water and cure the blind and ride his magical unicorn over a rainbow and into the sunset?” Pidge finished, a smirk hovering at the edge of her mouth.

Lance grimaced. “I didn’t say all that.”

“Lance, I’ll have you know that this is the same Shiro who once narrowly avoided getting expelled as a cadet because Matt dared him to go streaking on a campus tour day. He’s a great guy, and a great leader, but it’s always dangerous to put someone on a pedestal. Talk to Shiro.”

“…Okay,” Lance sighed. “Okay, I’ll have a talk with Shiro. But I’m still not thrilled about the idea of having a big conflict mediation with Keith.”

“If you don’t wanna have a counseling session, maybe some sort of grand gesture would do the trick for Keith,” Hunk suggested as Pidge slid back onto the floor. “I’ve had success in the past with baking apology cakes, writing ‘I’m sorry’ in icing on the top. It’s hard to be mad at someone who gives you cake.”

“Hey, there’s an idea,” Lance said, face brightening. “Could you make a cake for me to give to Keith?”

“It’s your apology, man. You’ve gotta bake the cake.”

“Mmm, I dunno if I wanna bake…”

“Then maybe get him a greeting card,” Pidge said. “Hallmark sells ‘I’m Sorry I Messed With Your Sense Of Reality’ cards, right?”

“Very funny,” Lance grunted.

“A balloon bouquet?” Hunk said. “Flowers? What flowers are good for apologies?”

“This isn’t helping at all,” Lance groaned. “What the hell would Keith even want with flowers or balloons?”

“Well, what does Keith want?” Hunk asked.

Lance furrowed his brow as he thought it over, and the right answer came to him soon after. He let out another long groan and dropped his face into his hands.

Keith had better fucking forgive him after this.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance left Hunk’s room once Pidge had declared their project finished, and before she and Hunk had a chance to test out the cleaning bot’s new upgrades. He still wasn’t entirely sure what those upgrades were or how they were going to test them, but if by tomorrow the Castle was still in one piece, that would likely be the sign that the project was a success.

He went to the living quarters, coming first to Keith’s door and knocking. He didn’t identify himself – Keith was less likely to ignore the knocking if he didn’t know who was on the other side of the door – but he still got no response from inside. He pressed his ear to the door just to be certain, and when he heard nothing, decided to move on to Shiro’s room instead.

His fist was raised and poised to knock when a voice sounded from behind him. “Oughtn’t disturb him right now, Lance.”

He jumped an inch in the air and whipped around to see Allura strolling around the corner, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “My apologies,” she said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Lance said.

“Oh?” Allura quirked her brow. “You jumped.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I was startled. I’m just… battle-ready.” He stretched his arms and leaned languidly up against the doorframe. “Sharpshooter reflexes, you know? Gotta always be on my toes.”

“Ah. I should have guessed. In any case, if you plan on visiting with Shiro, you ought to save it for later. He only just went down for a nap a few vargas ago. I believe he had one of his restless sleep cycles this past night, needs to catch up a bit.”

“Oh. He was with you?”

Allura nodded. “And Coran. We’ve been sorting and studying coalition reports and correspondence for the better part of today. I certainly don’t blame him for being tired, it can be frighteningly dull work.”

“I see.” He knew what she meant. Coran had roped Lance into helping out with coalition correspondence before, and even without the additional tediousness of him having to run every line through translator programs, the supply and logistics reports were so boring to take notes on that it made even his dullest math classes back at the Garrison feel like a non-stop party in comparison.

“Did you need him for anything urgent?” Allura asked.

“Nah,” Lance said, shaking his head. “Mostly just looking to chat. I’ll save it for tomorrow.”

“If you have time to,” Allura said. “I’ll let the rest of the team know at dinner and we’ll brief you all this evening, but tomorrow we’ll be assisting the Blade a bit. There’s a supply depot on one of Mapukil’s satellites that they believe may be involved in one of the transfer routes they’ve been trying to track for that odd strain of quintessence the Blade’s had its eye on, but they’re having difficulty travelling into that sector undetected. We’re going to try to wormhole through and investigate the depot on their behalf.”

“Sounds like fun,” Lance said. “We planning on attacking or – ?”

“Not if we can avoid it.”

“Less fun. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be good. We’ll be in and out in no time. By the by, you seen Keith anywhere? Wanted to chat with him too.”

“I passed him returning to his room from the training deck a little while ago.”

“Already checked, he’s not there.”

“Most likely in the kitchen, then. You paladins do tend to get peckish after exercising, don’t you?”

“True,” said Lance. “I’ll check there. See you ‘round.”

Allura waved him off as he turned and set off toward the kitchen. Sure enough, he walked through the entrance to find Keith sitting on the counter, feet dangling, a bowl in his hands filled with some berry-like fruit that only Coran could pronounce and popping them into his mouth.

Keith looked up as Lance entered, then immediately dropped his gaze back to his fruit, and Lance wasn’t sure if he was imagining the scowl that had just appeared on his face, or if it was just due to the angle. He sighed internally. Well, best get this over with. “Hey, Keith,” he said.

Keith’s only reply was a wordless grunt, and Lance tried his best not to be offended by that. Instead, he strolled across the kitchen and hoisted himself up onto the counter as well. Not right next to him – Lance was pretty sure anyone besides Shiro trying to sit that close to him uninvited would wind up with a black eye – but on the opposite side of the sink. Keith seemed to stiffen, but he didn’t make to leave or tell Lance to go away. He counted that as a win.

“So, uh…” Lance began cautiously. “Whatcha eating?”

Keith tilted the bowl toward Lance so he could see the fruits better, then popped another into his mouth, chewing audibly.

“Cool, cool. Do you, uh, do you mind if I have one? Haven’t eaten anything since – ”

“What do you want, Lance?” Keith asked, his tone flat and eyes still on the bowl.

Lance quickly turned a frustrated huff into a little cough. He was here to make nice with Keith, not get into another spat with him. “Well, I actually, uh, needed to talk to you about – about something.” He paused, and when Keith didn’t ask him to elaborate, he went ahead. “See, I guess some of the Lions have been feeling a little, um, lonesome as of late, on account of us all being busy with our missions and training and meetings and all that. And I’ve been doing better about that with Red lately, trying to visit her more often, but I think she’s kinda bored, you know? Like, needs a bit of variety?”

“Okay…” Keith said slowly. “So what’s that got to do with me?”

“I was thinking about, like, how you had asked about, um, visiting with Red sometime? And I know I had been kind of, uh, not sure about whether Red would be cool with that, but, um… I dunno. I think, you know, long as I stick around and oversee the visits, she might be okay with having someone else pop in a few times and chat with her. She’s more of an extrovert than she pretends to be, I think. So, there you go, if you wanna visit Red…”

Finally Keith had lifted his gaze to Lance’s face, and Lance couldn’t read his expression. Keith blinked at him for a moment before saying, “Are you serious?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be?” Lance started swinging, bumping his heels against the counter, keeping his posture as casual as possible. “So, you wanna do that or not? We could hang out in the hangar after dinner or tomorrow morning or something, your pick. I mean, if you want to.”

“…Yeah,” Keith said. “Yeah, I’d, uh – I’d like that.”

“Okay. Okay, cool. So, um.” He cleared his throat and slid off of the counter. “So, whenever you’re up for it, just find me and we’ll head down. Whenever.”

“Yeah,” Keith said again with a nod. “Um… thanks.”

Lance nodded back. “Right, no pr– uh, you’re welcome.”

He rocked uncertainly on his heels for another few seconds before the awkward silence got to be just too much, and he made his hasty goodbyes and headed out of the kitchen, leaving Keith to his fruit. He let out a relieved breath once he was back in the hall. He did it. Apology made, apology accepted.

Perhaps things were looking up.

#vldgen #lance #keith #pidge #shiro #my writing #fic: remember me

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help-its-a-dot · 5 years ago

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Alright so when I took this job they said all I had to do was narrate. You know, just follow this guy around and relay what he’s doing, make it sound interesting, yada yada yada.

Ok now that I say it out loud I realize that I’ve probably looked like a stalker for the past few days.

Fun.

ANYWAYS I was going somewhere with this; I had a point. Right. My point was that I didn’t think I’d end up in the middle of a burned down park, cowering in absolute terror behind some rocks that I really wish were bigger, and longing with all that's left of my heart that I could be one of those people that are, given the situation, naturally sprinting away whilst screaming at the top of their lungs.

Should I run away? I mean, it seems like the more logical option here; If I could get over that bridge, then I’d-

*bridge disintegrates*

Well there goes that.

Looks like I’ll be narrating then! Yippee. So, I should probably warn you, I haven’t exactly been paying attention to my assigned main character, ergo I don't have that much background knowledge. Oh who am I kidding, I have none.

Anyhow, sorry, I know I should be narrating. I’m getting to that. Background knowledge. What do I know?

Uh, actually nothing much happened to this dude. A few weeks ago he found a dead body in his bathtub. Now that I think about it, that’s probably where I should’ve started paying attention….

Ah, fucked this up, didn’t I.

Also, as a side note, I’m gonna be calling this dumbass Jake because my dumbass kind of sort of didn’t ever really at all catch his name.

Alrighty folks! I’m gonna…. Be brave…. And peek out from behind these rocks…. Did I mention how much I wished they were bigger?

Ahem. *clears throat*. Narrator voice. *nods decisively*. Lets go.

There’s fire everywhere. On the tops of trees like snow at the peaks of mountains (how are there even still trees here) bushes have morphed into bonfires, while patches of grass are practically leaking little flames like a dope game of ‘the floor is lava’.

Jake stands, looking at the devastation with wide eyes. Smoke billows out into the sky, painting the already grey clouds black.

A deafening crash sounds behind him- you know, the kind you get when a boulder squishes a four story building like it’s a three year old’s structure of off brand legos. He’s thrown to the ground, and waits, breathing heavily.

Aw god why did I forgot my flask of vodka today? I freaking need it.

And as if that weren’t enough, a spaceship just blipped into the sky.

Should I run?

I should probably run.

Sorry, sorry, I’m not very good at this narrator thing. In my defense, I didn’t think they were serious! Alright, I’m gonna try that again.

Suddenly, and quite literally out of nowhere, there’s a fatally blinding blue-red light, making everyone in the immediate vicinity-- which isn’t that many people anymore, most have used their last few remaining drops of common sense and fled for their lives --squeeze their eyes shut and hastily bury their heads in whatever was nearest and most convenient to shield themselves from impending blindness, wailing in a mix of surprise and agony. All flames previously terrorizing the verdure are extinguished and the smoke is blown out as a single gust of forceful wind, which also effectively topples the few remaining, yet charred nonetheless, trees, buildings, and people.

Augh, ew, eurgh, I got a mouthful of Martin’s grocery bag. How do I know it’s Martin’s? They have a distinctive taste of mild sadness and resignation. Right, right, the spaceship.

See, when I say spaceship, I mean cool looking flying saucer thingy appearing like it was plucked right out of a conspiracy theory and given some upgrades. It’s a giant, azure/ultramarine blue, except for the bottom which shines in a weirdly mesmerizing yellowish glow, squished sphere. Oval. Pancake. Sorry, I don't know my shapes. It seems to be practically thrumming with energy, like it drank five red bulls followed by ten extremely caffeinated coffees and finished it all off with a few five hour energy drinks.

I cannot tell you how much I hope it doesn't do what it looks like it’s gonna do and explode.

Meanwhile, Jake has picked up… a sword. Well shit. Medieval, much? Not a gun? No? Personally, I think a gun would be extraordinarily effective against the horde of what looks like blobs but are probably extravagantly dangerous aliens filing in a weirdly orderly single file line out of the saucer and immediately beginning to lomp closer and closer and closer crap did I mention they were getting closer?

Should I run?

I should probably run.

Hold up, no, that reminds me, I’m supposed to be narrating. God, I’m atrocious at this, aren’t I.

He feels sweat break out on his brow. The sword is heavy in his hands, and he can barely lift it, let alone decapitate a blob, but he’s in too deep to let his weariness show. He’s gotta be strong and save what’s left of these people, this city, or die trying. Which is probably what’ll happen in a few minutes. But ah, well, he’ll die fighting for Americanos , which can’t be all that bad.

Technically, if you think about it, he’s suicidal, because his colossal ego will not, quite literally, for the life of him, allow him to take a smart route, like getting into that convenient truck and bowling over all the blobs, or snatching up a gun from that store across the street, or even just alerting someone who is actually capable at dealing with an event like this like the authorities.

But what can he do, he is American, after all. It's simply unavoidable; part of the culture description. *white people i swear

He watches morbidly as Martin’s grocery bags blow past from the ruins before him, and glances up as the spaceship above him gives one final thrum and blips away, probably back to wherever it came from, leaving him alone with an army of blobs bouncing threateningly towards him.

In truth, he didn’t know what they were. All he knew was that if they kept destroying everything at this rate, there won't be a single McDonalds left in America, and he couldn’t have that. Of course, by then there wouldn’t even be an America, and everyone would have to go to the McDonalds’ in Russia. Russia has McDonalds, right? Oh, he simply could not do that to his fellow citizens!

He pondered this, along with whether or not Australia exists, all the while counting down the seconds (...7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… dammit 3, 2, 1… 3, 2, 1… 3, 2-- he’d get it eventually) until his doom and willing his arms not to shake with the incredible weight of the sword in his hands. Whose idea was it to make swords out of metal, anyways? It’s incredibly stupid-- nowadays 90% of America wouldn’t even be able to muster the courage to touch one, let alone the strength to lift one.

Ugh, he knew he should’ve gone with that plastic light saber he’d seen at the mall. At least then he could’ve gone down with style.

As if on cue, there’s another, at this point expected, crash resounding behind him, and he turns to watch in despair as said mall tumbles almost comically to the ground.

There goes the light saber.

And another McDonalds.

Ohh, things were getting bad.

The park, if you could still call it a park, is deserted now save for the occasional Martin’s grocery bag skittering about, and he can’t help but give in to the desire to reflect upon his life. He wasted it, playing video games and other shit like that all day, every day. This is the first time he’s been outside in a long time. He now knows with absolute certainty that if he were ever granted such an opportunity he’d go back and redo it all. He’d try harder to beat that level, he’d get the better controller, he’d stay up later working on his technique. But all that was a distant dream now, something he could not hope to accomplish now.

He wished that maybe, just maybe, heaven would have a nice game console for him.

When he’d gotten selflessly sucked into this adventure, he never thought he’d actually die, never expected anything to really happen- If he had, he of course would never have turned the power of his last 8 braincells away from a computer screen and into the real world to start investigating.

Ah fuck, sorry for interrupting, I think I twisted my wrist or some shit while trying to get a better vantage point on these still too small rocks.

Should I run?

I should probably run.

On a different note: I’m really sorry guys. When you take a narrator job they never tell you anything about your person. Had I known he was American, I would have immediately sabotaged this entire thing; I could never in good conscience have subjected you guys to.. well.. this.

But alas, now I’m stuck narrating an American who is going to get me killed.

Unless… Unless there’s a loophole. My parents were lawyers, so I excel at finding those.

The rules are, you have to stay with your hero and narrate their adventure. How an American turned out to be one of the heroes, I know not, it must be a glitch in the system. But I’ll be fucking damned if this glitch gets me killed. Literally. So! Once the hero, inevitably, dies, you’re free to go. There’s nothing much left to narrate afterwards. And since Jake is closer to the horde of blobs coming our way than I am, as soon as he’s bowled over I’ll sprint. To the side, like a smart immigrant would do. Not straight back, because then the blobs’d just follow me and kill me, so the only logical conclusion is to circle around them and see if my apartment is still intact. I didn’t finish my cream puffs and I really don't want them to melt.

They’re getting closer. He can hear their squelching, and the chicken nuggets in his stomach churn unpleasantly. There’s bits of goo flying off them in all directions, and when said goo makes contact with something it immediately disintegrates that unfortunate something, leaving nothing behind. Is this really the fate that’ll befall him? Is this how the world ends?

Well, death by disintegration it is then. Oh, he can’t wait to brag to his boys about this.

Oh, wait, no, that’s not right. He’ll be dead.

And, in the last few moments before the blobs reach him, he reconsiders. There’s still so much this cruel world has to offer, and he never took advantage of any of it. Nor was he ever grateful for much of it.

He suddenly feels a new feeling. Determination. He will destroy every single one of these vile creatures, and he WILL come out of it intact. He has to.

With new resolve he scrapes together the last of his strength and raises his trusty sword over his head, every nonexistent muscle tense, ready. They’re getting closer. Closer. 50 yards. 30 yards. 20. 10. Just a few feet.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes dramatically. Swings his sword.

And is immediately squashed with the most sickening squelch there could ever be.

Ew.

Should I run?

I should probably run.

Yeah, I’m gonna run.

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charmingturkeysandwich · 8 years ago

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Knock, Knock Ch. 22: The Long Way Home

Forgive the transit fantasies (USA doesn’t have as many trains as I’m suggesting), but I hope you like this chapter! Stuff is on the horizon.

Read on AO3.

Read from the beginning on Tumblr (links to next chapter at the end of each).

“I think you two are the only non-terrorists I’ve ever known to wind up on the no-fly list.”

Ugh. Leave it to Ruby to find this very terrible predicament they were in just so damn funny.

After security had escorted them out of the airport and Ruby had found them sulking on the curb of long-term parking, Killian had just assumed that he and Emma would laugh it off and enjoy the rest of their vacation (well, the start of it, really). But Emma’s cheeks were still burning red, even an hour after the incident, and the weight of the logistical nightmare they were now dealing with – you know, how the hell do you get the whole way across the country without a plane? – well, he wasn’t exactly laughing it all off himself.

The plus side: Emma wasn’t mad at him. Nor was he mad at her. They knew they were doing something stupid and they were clearly both willing participants. If anything was to blame it was their hormones. Or something. But the downside: not being mad at each other doesn’t make the other glaring problems go away.

“And, what, you’ve got a lot of terrorist buds out there?” Emma snarked back, the first words she’d actually spoken since Killian regaled the Washingtonians with their tale of love, lust, and losing their right to take domestic and international flights for an undetermined amount of time.

“Hey, I’m proud! Wasn’t too long ago you didn’t care enough about anyone to risk that kind of nightmare. It’s a good thing when baby’s in love.”

“Baby is in a fucking mess, thank you very much, Ruby.” Emma was tapping at her phone furiously, whether it be taking out her frustration on Angry Birds or researching alternative forms of travel - Killian couldn’t be sure.

“I might be able to get you on a flight if one of my fancy doctor friends is headed East,” Whale offered, only mostly failing to hide his amusement at this whole… thing.

He was a good guy, Whale. He was good for Ruby and he made such a genuine effort to be part of things, when other boyfriends might be jealous of the circle of friends their girlfriend maintained – especially if it included attractive men. But Whale wasn’t like that. He truly did want to help Killian and Emma, and, more importantly: he was trying to wait until they weren’t in front of him to burst out laughing.

That’s a good man for you.

Emma groaned. “No, it’s OK. Killian has meetings he absolutely can’t miss and I have a lot of preparing to do, so we can’t just wait around until the perfect coincidence happens. It looks like there are train routes the whole way from here to Boston, but it’ll take…” Emma paused, scrolling through what was likely a travel site on her phone. “Almost three full days.”

“But you were only going to be here for four days!” Ruby cried, the gravity of the situation actually hitting her. Finally.

“Looks like that’s been reduced to one. Think you can condense that massive schedule of yours?”

“Fine. But there will be zero time for sleep. Or any more closet sex. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Killian mumbled, entwining his fingers with Emma’s as they locked eyes and telepathically agreed they were idiots.

They were literally the world’s biggest idiots.

Who the fuck gets kicked out of an airport for having sex in a closet? It’s not like anyone saw them. It’s not like they were hurting anyone. But it was “inappropriate” and “not tolerated” and all kind of other condescending shit from a TSA agent who was so clearly not getting any.

It was their fault. That much wasn’t lost on her. But her anger still wouldn’t subside. Why could life be like movies, where the couple joins the mile high club in the fucking airplane and when they leave the bathroom they just get a knowing smirk from a fellow passenger and an eye roll from a flight attendant?

Nope, in real life you get caught and banned from flying for 6 months. Or something. She wasn’t quite listening about the details since she was so busy trying to figure out how the fuck they were going to get themselves home.

And things weren’t any better now that she’d found the solution. Miraculously the airline did refund their return trip money, so the $450 in train tickets were covered by money already spent. But three days on a series of trains that probably smelled like stale food and feet? Not exactly the happy vacation Emma had been planning.

They could use that time to their advantage, of course. Emma wouldn’t be flying solo as much when it came to organizing the schedule for the summer, since Killian would be trapped at her side. And they really were about to be apart from each other and insanely busy for quite a stretch of time. So while she’d have loved to spend those 3 extra days with Ruby and Whale… well, at least she wouldn’t be alone.

How weird, not being alone.

Finally.

Ruby whisked them off to her ridiculously fancy loft (“Quite an upgrade from our shitty apartment, huh?” “There are more perks to dating a doctor than him knowing anatomy” “Ruby!”), and the still-mortified pair dropped their bags in the guest room before Ruby promptly opened her cell phone and started re-plotting. Reservations were cancelled and rebooked, new friends were texted and weather was checked and before Emma even had a chance to check her makeup, Ruby was herding them out the door and into an Uber she’d apparently had hailed three minutes before.

“You’d better get ready for a whirlwind, sweetheart!” Ruby flipped her perfectly coiffed ponytail and yanked open the Prius door, motioning for Emma and Killian to slide into the back with her as Whale took the front. He politely shook the driver’s hand – a college kid, without a doubt – and murmured something low about a ‘very promising opportunity’ and suddenly she was feeling like Katherine Heigl in 27 Dresses, having her own personal chaperone for the day, with some very important strings attached (did this mean the night would end in singing Benny & The Jets on a bar? Because that level of humiliation was nothing compared to what she’d just suffered).

Catching Emma’s train of thought, Ruby whispered, “it’s easier to have one driver than a thousand. This kid has been our little cabbie before. He’s cool!”

What on Earth were they getting themselves into?

The first part of their one-day adventure was all legs. Sure, the Uber kid stuck around to get them the long distances, but everything else was pure sprinting: through the Museum of Pop Culture and Pioneer Square, up Queen Anne Hill to Kerry Park to stare at the Space Needle, and then, of course, to the Needle itself. They took a ferry and stared at the big Ferris Wheel, without stopping to ride it (“I’d have loved to kiss you at the top, love,” Killian had said. “Don’t you think we’ve had our fill of kissing this trip?” she’d responded, smacking his chest for good measure). Finally, they’d moved on to the eating portion of the evening, grabbing coffee at Storyville (“Starbucks is for tourists!” -Whale) before devouring pizza at Serious Pie. Emma may or may not have taken a nap in the Uber, the poor college kid yawning himself, until they hit the clubbing stage, Ruby introducing her to more people in the span of one hour than she’d met in the previous two years.

Drinking was a bad idea. They were barely going to sleep before they had to be at the train station. But fuck it all, Emma had come to Seattle to have fun with her best friend, to take a break from stressful reality, to let loose and just be. And it seemed Sober Emma was actually the more dangerous when it came to breaking international rules of travel and shit, so what was really the worst that could happen with Drunk Emma?

It had been the most glorious day. His legs were sore, so deeply sore he’d feel it for weeks, but they’d taken him to some truly incredible places. His lungs were still burning from all the steps and hills and finally the dancing, but maybe a 24-hour speed vacation was exactly what he’d needed. It’s simple. Efficient. And most of all it filled him with a carefree joy he couldn’t remember having since probably his first date with Emma.

Not because his life hadn’t been full of joy since then. It was quite the opposite actually. And truthfully, even that first date wasn’t carefree. No, it had been bliss, but it was also worry. Worry that may have been entirely unnecessary, but had existed nonetheless. But this day: the worst had already happened. He and Emma had landed themselves on the no-fucking-fly list. Was there really a lower low than that? No! So Ruby did what Ruby was best at: she lifted them up and showed them the goodest good time imaginable.

Seeing Emma’s face when they got a glimpse of Mount Rainer from the top of that hill, watching her discover weird and wonderful food, experiencing the pure hilariousness of her trying to convince a bouncer that she was that doctor from House and was obviously on the VIP list – he’d never trade any of that for his freedom to fly on a plane. Never.

(He’d also enjoyed the way Emma had sipped at her rum just a little too often, had let her inhibitions go and had danced against him like they were in some semi-dirty fairy tale at a slightly risqué ball. But that wasn’t specific to the Experience of Seattle or of Hurricane Ruby. That was just Emma, pure, joyous, Drunk Emma.)

For as nearly-royal as she’d looked at the bow of a Seattle ferry, her eyes serene and her golden hair whipping in the wind – well she’d looked the exact opposite now. The college kid had finally had his fill of Whale’s very deep pockets and they’d called for a new driver, an older, fabulously snarky lady by the name of Ursula. She’d vowed deep revenge if Emma tossed her cookies in the shiny semi-new vehicle and half-asleep Emma had mumbled something about Ursula sounding like a fire-breathing dragon. Killian had tried to cough over her words to muffle the half-insult, but Ursula had simply responded: “you have me confused with Mal. I’m the sea witch, and I’ll drown your sorry ass. Got it?”

Emma kept her mouth shut after that one.

They’d gotten back to Whale and Ruby’s place with no more than two hours to nap before their appointment with Pacific Railway or whatever the fuck company was shuttling them across the damn country.

“’Least we’ll see some more of ‘merica. It’ll be patriotic,” Emma mumbled through her knotted, frantic hair, echoes of a few entry stamps having rubbed off from the back of her hand to the apple of her cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll sing the Star Spangled Banner through each state we pass. And then I’ll sing some God Save the Queen and really confuse people.”

“Oh, shut up, you stupid Brit or I’ll throw your tea in the ocean!” The threat might have been a little more believable if she hadn’t yawned through it.

Killian wobbled slightly but made it out of the car and pulled Emma along with him. Whale and Ruby – tightly holding on to each other either for cuddling or for structural integrity – unlocked the flat and followed them inside.

The tiredness was setting in pretty heavily so the group of them mostly just mumbled their thanks (and apologies) to each other, the girls getting somewhat weepy in their drunk-to-hungover emotional daze, and they all said their goodbyes since there was no way Ruby and Victor would wake up before Emma and Killian had to bolt.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Emma whined, stroking Ruby’s hair.

“I miss you already,” she responded, reaching her hand out to poke Killian. “You, too, mister.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

God, she’d thought she liked ferries but these ships wouldn’t shut the fuck up. And why were they trying to make port in Ruby’s spare room, anyway?

A body shuffled behind her, pushing and poking at her as it stirred.

Killian, right?

“Emmaaaaaaaaa.”

Why wasn’t he more alarmed there was a damn ship in their house? No, Ruby’s house. Where was Ruby?

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Get uuuuup.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Why won’t the ship stop? This isn’t the harbor!” Emma insisted, still unable to pry her eyes open.

She shifted, trying to roll toward Killian so he might do something about this mess. Which was when she moved her head and realized the ship might have run over her skull because holy hell it hurt.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Emma Swan, where is your fucking phone.”

Damn, Killian was angry. It wasn’t her fault the ship was…

Her hand grazed over something cool and hard and vibrating.

Her phone.

It wasn’t a ship ruining her nap. It was her phone. Alerting her that she needed to wake up and begin their extremely long journey home.

Once she was physically capable of silencing the alarm, Emma dismissed it and mumbled a few apologies to Killian, kissing all over his cheeks and ears and neck to coax him out of his slumber a bit more nicely.

God, why did they think it was a good idea to act like there was no fucking tomorrow the night before? If you’re going to behave like the world is ending, you damn well better make sure it is. And not that you’re beginning three full days in a tiny train seat (well, several tiny train seats, but that was beside the point).

“Good morning, Swan,” Killian groaned, dropping a kiss on her forehead before sitting up the whole way.

“It’s… morning. I’ll give you that.”

The two of them didn’t have much to do in the form of packing, considering they’d barely had any time to unpack. So they were out grabbing a muffin and some non-chain coffee and hailing a cab within a half hour, giving them plenty of space before their departure time to ensure there weren’t any more travel tragedies in one trip.

“So what’s the game plan?” Killian asked, opening the calendar app in his iPad.

“Well, I have a lot of calls to make to confirm reservations and catering and all that boring crap. But I’m thinking we should sleep off the tornado first? Then we can divvy up responsibilities and get as much done as possible during whatever’s left of the ‘work’ day.”

“Look at us, being all business-y,” Killian smirked, his eyes practically twinkling with pride.

“Killian, I can still smell the vodka seeping out your pores. We’re not exactly in the running for Power Team of the Year.”

“Oh, darling, if there’s anything I learned at Uni, it’s that the important stuff is even greater an accomplishment when you do so while still having fun. ‘Work hard; play hard,’ right?”

“OK, but I’m getting too old to play quite that hard. It was fun, but once we’re on that train I’m going to be out of commission for quite a while.”

“Worth it though?”

She scooted over their bags and took the iPad off his lap, sliding herself into its place. “Always worth it.” She kissed him just passionately enough to convey her feelings – but held herself back so as to keep them from making a scene. (Again.)

Wasn’t time supposed to pass more bloody quickly when you were busy?

They’d been on this damned smelly train for what felt like three days already. When it reality it had been only five hours.

They’d slept the first two, but the rails were bumpy or shaky and there was an odd amount of non-mechanical noise considering it was quite early in the morning and it was a long trip. There was a pack of excited schoolkids somewhere prattling on about the goings on of high school. And a couple of businessmen were making slews of phone calls. And a woman toward the front of the car seemed to be playing therapist to her sister who may or may not have slept with her boss and her boss’s cousin? It would have been mildly entertaining if Killian had been at all wanting to be in the world of the living.

Emma was even crankier about it all. He’d gotten out her headphones and she’d shoved them in her ears so hard she might have sustained ear drum damage, but neither of them could get back to sleep, so with the sun still low in the Eastern sky, they started their work.

Emma had made calls and crafted innumerable emails. Killian had checked in with the most recent clients to make sure everything had been satisfactory and to encourage them to write a review. He scheduled a few drafts for the Instagram posts he wanted to put up between now and when he was traveling to take care of the insurance and ownership stuff. It had been three solid hours of getting shit done like procrastinators before a deadline… but when it came down to it, their deadline wasn’t approaching all that fast. Their destination wasn’t approaching all that fast. The only thing that seemed imminent was their combined loss of sanity.

So they agreed to take a little breather. They played some HangMan. Some Alphabet Game. Some Name that Tune and Guess the Celeb and even some I Spy – which didn’t go so well in the spans of uninhabited land. They finally resorted to playing a few phone apps until their eyes were bugging out from the lack of sleep and excessive screen time. And all that had taken…

Two hours.

They were never going to survive this.

It was so good to be spending time with Killian. It was. And they’d been so productive! And had a bit of fun, too.

But lord help her, Emma was about to go to jail for hitting a teenager with his own selfie stick (who even used those anymore?!). She was hungover, tired, and irritable. She was still angry at herself for her inability to keep it in her pants in an airport. And she was deeply thankful for the previous day’s wonderful adventures but sadly those moments were in the past and her present and near future were all mumbling kids and rigid, uncomfortable seats, and trying desperately not to take out any of her frustration on poor Killian who didn’t deserve any of it.

(He’d been her punching bag before and she refused to let that happen again. Not for anything, but especially not when he was suffering just the same as her.)

After Killian had (seemingly intentionally) lost their last life on Candy Blast Mania, Emma took her phone back and put it in her pocket, reaching back over Killian to put away all their other devices and notebooks and any real sign of business.

Deep breath. (This could go badly.)

“Let’s play hypothetical future.”

“Hypothetical?”

“Yeah. Like pillow talk. But, you know, ugly train cushion talk.”

Killian looked half-terrified, which was probably fair. They didn’t talk much about the future. And he’d always been justifiably afraid of her castle-like walls and overstepping and scaring her into bolting.

But that wasn’t her. Not anymore.

“You sure you want to open that door?”

“Babe, I think once you’re on the no-fly list together, you’re pretty solidly in it. Just saying.”

“OK, soooo. Where would you live? If you could choose anywhere.”

“Probably some tiny-ass cottage in the woods away from people like in Snow White. But I’d hire seven servants to cook me food instead of the other way around.”

“What, you don’t trust me to feed you?” Killian quirked his eyebrow adorably, and her heart skipped like she was a twelve year-old sitting next to her crush on the school field trip.

“Oh, they’d feed you, too. We’d be busy doing other things.”

“Other things?”

“Running businesses. Getting kicked out of more places for indecency. The usual. Where would you want to live?”

“Other than on my ship? Probably back in Ireland. It’s breathtaking there. You know I spent most of my childhood in England, but I did have some family near Dublin and I was totally in love. Thought about going there during a few of my darker moments, but I thought that was a place better saved for happier times.”

“Look at you having optimism!” Emma squeezed his cheeks and he scowled at her in return.

“Well, good thing I did or I’d have never found you.” His eyes were bloodshot and so very tired, but she could still see the sincerity there (nothing hypothetical about that).

“I don’t know. I’ve never been very optimistic and I still found you.”

“Nah. You had it on the inside all along. I know you well enough to know that much.”

Instead of answering, Emma tucked her head under his chin, hugging him as closely as she could in the cramped, shaky train seat. “Maybe.”

The hours passed much more quickly – and far less painfully – as they named their hypothetical dogs and bought their hypothetical cars and planned their hypothetical vacations. It was soothing to sink into the world of fantasy closely enough related to reality to believe it all could be true in some nebulous someday.

(Hopefully one not too distantly in the future, if Killian had anything to say about it.)

More than once he thought of bringing up their business partnership, of telling her about his intentions to make that far more official – but then he remembered exactly who he was talking to. Emma was soothed by the fantasy part of their pillow talk, of the ability to be honest without it really mattering since it wasn’t imminently real. If he were to have broken that fantasy with talks of actual upcoming real-ness, she very well might have snapped.

(Another part of him, the hopeful part, probably, whispered that she might have been perfectly fine with it. That telling her now might have been the better choice for Future Killian if he didn’t want Future Emma to hate him. But he ignored that hopeful bastard living somewhere deep in his chest and just kept on laughing about Emma’s list of retirement plans, one of which involved raising goats and another being an investigator for Interpol.)

That evening they had a couple hours to kill in a transfer, so they feasted on burgers and absolutely no alcohol, walking around for as long as possible afterward to combat the stiffness in their sore legs. The next train was larger, more comfortable, and for that they were endlessly grateful. They could stretch out as they typed away on their laptops, working on some more business stuff before the time came to sleep.

It wasn’t the worst night’s sleep he’d ever had – at least he’d been afforded the opportunity to sleep the whole night, unlike the previous one – but he slept fitfully, having odd nightmares about tortured baby bears and malls that were booby trapped with IEDs. Emma seemed to have gotten slightly more deep sleep than him, her bright smile oddly radiant when he finally opened his eyes. They pulled out the tray table in front of them (yes, this one actually had some accommodations beyond a toilet and some bags of chips for sale), and less angrily got to work.

The next two days passed much the same: sleeping, eating, playing Boggle on their phones, watching movies, and planning out details of their upcoming excursions. Emma had been a miracle worker, getting their schedule almost totally solidified for the summer. She’d worked around all the other community camps to make sure they had the potential for good turnout. She’d partnered with the local daycares and even a Vacation Bible School to have different little outings specifically for them outside of the public camps. Killian had never known Emma to be a particularly religious person, but her enthusiasm at planning how to turn his “pirate” ship into Noah’s Ark was nothing short of adorable – especially when she squealed over the possibility that one of Mary Margaret’s friends might even be able to bring a few animals to the ship for the day, so long as Emma was OK with having to clean their messes.

It’s not like the three days passed quickly necessarily. But they passed without torture. The West Coast slowly but surely became the East Coast and a very tired and sore Emma and Killian were hailing an Uber to take them from the train station to the airport – just so they could pick up the car and keep on driving back home.

It was probably 3am when they finally pulled into the tiny parking lot of their shabby little apartment building. Emma had drank about five cups of coffee and was still on her last leg. And Killian had been using one of his “pirate” rings from his luggage to pinch himself conscious.

It had been a long fucking journey, but they were finally home to sleep in their bed.

Well, one of their beds, anyway.

The exhaustion was so deep, he didn’t even pay attention to which door he unlocked or where he threw his bags (and hers) – he only knew that for the first time in four days, he and his love were finally sleeping in a damn bed. And nothing had ever felt so good.

When Emma woke up, Killian was already gone.

She knew that had been the plan. The reason they’d had to take the marathon of trains home in the first place was because Killian had an appointment he’d had to get to. But Emma had assumed he’d wake her up in the morning – intentionally or otherwise – so she could at least see him off. But no, she’d slept until almost noon and he was probably already waiting at the insurance guy’s office and she was left to make breakfast all by herself.

The quiet was oddly comforting, after several days of absolutely no privacy.

Emma decided on something simple for breakfast – a pair of Pop-Tarts and a nice large mug of coffee – and some Netflix to top it off. There were new Kimmy Schmidt episodes to watch, but Killian wouldn’t forgive her cheating if she watched without him, so she put on an old crime procedural and just zoned out.

It was at least three episodes in before she realized something odd. There wasn’t actually any reason she couldn’t have gone with Killian now. She’d gone into Wonder Woman mode on the business planning and everything she’d been slated to take care of while Killian was off having his meetings… well, they were already done. Emma really had nothing to do beyond a few confirmations and details that could have been coordinated from anywhere – and yet Killian hadn’t asked her to go with him. And he knew how productive she’d been.

He was exhausted, just like her. And she hadn’t realized it until he was hours and hours gone. So that’s probably what happened with him, too.

Right?

The partners on the screen were having some arguments and tension related to miscommunication and misunderstanding and it was all very cliché for these kinds of shows, but quite honestly it was giving Emma some paranoia, so she switched over to Forensic Files and figured if there was anything on that show that reminded her of her relationship with Killian… well, let’s just say that meant she had bigger problems.

She texted him after a case involving a footprint in a hamburger bun, and he texted back a few emojis and exclamations of disbelief. He tried to call her a half hour later, but of course that happened to be when she was in the shower.

So she tried to call him back, but it turned out he’d had another meeting that day and he was in a dead zone on his way to driving there. He called her once he had service and they talked for a couple minutes about some hilarious panicking texts Killian had received from David about his impending fatherhood before Killian had to head into the meeting. When he was out of it, he texted Emma asking if it was a good time for him to call her back, but she was out shopping with Mary Margaret for baby items – apparently it was a two-man job since you needed to look up safety ratings and consumer reviews while walking through the store. (Of course, Emma knew why David had made an excuse to get out of that task the second they walked into the store and Mary Margaret started barking like a drill sergeant.)

She texted him when she was relieved of her shopping duties, but Killian had been on the phone with Will – apparently there’d been some issue with Belle? And before Emma could wonder too long about it, Belle showed up at her door asking for a place to stay.

Ten minutes later the wine was poured and the PJs were on and the words were finally flowing. “So the landlord needed me out for just a couple of days because they had to entirely turn off the water. To the whole building! So I just kind of assumed he’d let me stay with him and he panicked and called me a gold-digger or something ridiculous like that. And then accused me of moving too fast! Emma, I literally just wanted to sleep there. Which, by the way, I have done. Many times!” Belle gulped down her very full glass of wine all in one motion. “I wasn’t suggesting anything. I just needed a place to crash. It’s not like it doesn’t… benefit him, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, Belle, everyone knows what you mean.” Emma good naturedly rolled her eyes at Belle’s attempt at euphemism – it was odd to think of a badass who’s busted up drug rings and organized crime as so innocent at times. But she was sweet down to her core, and truly at a loss for words when it came to Will’s unfortunately predictable behavior.

“Here’s the thing,” Emma started, taking a long breath. “Will’s… kind of like me. He’s been burned before. He was pretty guarded – just in a different way. An assier way if you recall. But that’s what it was. He had walls. And you brought those down! Or at least a lot of them. But now he’s panicked. You stay over after you try half the Kama Sutra and that’s no big deal. But you actually plan to sleep at his house, no post-coital bliss and sleepiness to cover the reality, and his instincts kick back in. I’m not saying it was OK of him to behave that way. I’m just telling you – it’s not you. And I know that sounds cheap and horrible and believe me, I’m down for TPing his place if that’s what would make you feel better. But I think you guys have something good! And I don’t want his knee-jerk reaction make you think he’s only … a jerk, I guess.”

Belle was quiet for a long time, just staring intently at the lipstick stains on her wineglass and the fingerprints she and Emma had both left on the stem. Belle’s brows furrowed and she shook her head like she was trying to erase the memory of the last day and finally she looked back up at Emma. “He’s being an ass and I’m not happy about it. But you’re right. He’s probably just reacting badly because… well, because of the past. I’ll talk to him. You know, after he sweats it a while, right?”

“Right.”

Emma grabbed the wine bottle and they each had just a splash more, before finding a nice revenge movie on Netflix and going to sleep.

He’d only been away from Emma for a little over a day and he was going nuts already. They’d texted a little here and there and had gotten brief little phone calls in between all their obligations and unscheduled craziness (Belle and Will were certainly talk-blockers this time rather than the other thing). He wanted to hear her voice and hold her and just exist for a while.

You know, before he told her that he’d legally signed over half his business to her without her knowledge.

That hopeful part of him had risen up on his drive to the city. It had crawled from the back of his heart right up to the front of his brain and said you idiot I’m not some optimistic fool; I’m actually your fucking voice of reason, dumbass (his voice of reason was apparently very profane now that he’d been so vehemently ignored). And Killian knew it was right, too – Emma was going to be confused as hell at best – and very possibly infuriated at worst. Who gives someone half a business without fucking consulting them first? He was a damn, daft fool who was apparently so afraid of fucking something up that he was inadvertently fucking it up even faster.

Fuck.

Hopefully she’d have some free time when he got home. Hopefully they could cook a meal together and take a walk and make fun of Will & Belle and Dave & Mary Margaret. Hopefully they’d connect and relax and have time to just be themselves before he dropped the goddamn bomb that could put a giant fucking crater in the middle of their relationship.

He’d stopped to get gas about a half hour from home and shot her a text (can’t wait to see your beautiful face, love), but hadn’t gotten a response. She was probably on the phone with Belle or caught up with Netflix or charging her phone in the other room. It was impossible that she was already mad at him for something she didn’t know about yet.

Or could she have found out somehow? His lawyer assured him that they didn’t need her information or signature at that time in order to name her part owner. Could he have sent something to her that was meant for the lawyer? Did he accidentally call and confess in his sleep?

He was so caught up in his worst-case-scenario spiral that he almost missed the fire truck roaring up behind him, its sirens blasting and its lights flashing.

Damn, he was clearly in a pretty deep panic spiral if he almost missed that coming up behind him. He forced a few deep breaths and focused totally on the road – he was only about five miles away, so he’d have the relief of seeing happy, normal, not-yet-mad-at-him Emma in just a few minutes. He could deal for that long.

But less than one song length later, more flashing lights popped up in his rearview mirror. He pulled over by the local golf course as two more fire trucks and three police cars passed him. Jesus, was the whole town burning down or something?

He called out to his phone and triggered the voice dial to call Emma – she’d been with Belle who would obviously have a scanner. She’d know what was going on.

But it went to voicemail.

Emma had always been intrigued by these kinds of things – she’d worked alongside law enforcement, after all. Maybe Belle had gotten called to the scene and Emma had tagged along.

(Killian loved how passionate Emma could be about solving crime, righting wrongs. If they made enough in his/their business endeavor, she really could retire into a life of intelligence briefings and investigating or something.)

He finally saw the smoke when he passed the gas station at the edge of town. It was mostly gray on the outsides with some white puffs throughout, but there was a menacing plume of pure black right in the middle. It was still far off – there were blocks of houses and trees between himself and the smoke – but it was definitely within the town limits. People were gathered all over the place, just staring, pointing, doing what people do when something terrible is occurring (just like what he was doing, in all technicality).

Killian kept driving, curving around the mayor’s house and past the high rise for retirees, across the painted 5K race finish line and through the stretch of Chestnut Street that really needed some renovating. The smoke was getting closer – he could smell it even though his windows were rolled up – and one more sharp left turn later… that’s when the flames were visible.

As was the building the flames were bursting from.

It was his building.

(Theirs.)

The whole roof of the three-story building had caved, most of the damage coming from the East side on the second floor. Charred bricks were falling as flames licked up the structure, smoke twirling through unseen tunnels caused by temperature changes and drops in pressure. The windows had blown out on all floors – including the second and third ones back from the front on the first floor, also known as his window and Emma’s.

A blockade was set up about a hundred feet around the building on all sides, so there was no way he’d be able to get to their parking lot to drop his vehicle. Instead of trying to beg his way past the emergency crews, he pulled into a church lot a block or so away and leapt out of the vehicle without so much as locking it behind him. He frantically tapped at his phone, trying to get to his recent calls to just fucking hit redial, but his fingers were shaking so bad he hit the wrong contact twice (sorry Will). He finally tapped the right line, but Emma’s phone just rang and rang, the cheery lilt of her voicemail message grating at him during this very non-cheerful moment.

The bed and breakfast near their apartment didn’t have any caution-taped Do Not Enter warnings, so he sprinted in that direction, ducking under bushes and through swing sets to get to their parking lot without drawing any attention.

Maybe Emma had gone out with Belle. Maybe she’d been far away and wasn’t inside burning with all of Killian’s worldly possessions.

(He couldn’t watch his heart burn. Not again.)

He hoped and he prayed to every God known to Earth, but lo and behold, when he turned the corner to his building’s designated lot, that silly yellow Bug was parked exactly where Emma always left it.

Fuck.

Killian had thought that today’s worst outcome would be living in a world where Emma was mad at him.

It hadn’t crossed his stupid fucking mind that he could wind up living in a world without her.

#cs ff #cs au #cs fanfiction #cs au ff #keisha writes #knock knock

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classicrosie · 8 years ago

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Be More Chill Act 1 Lyric Starters

“I'm waiting for my porno to load.”

“My brain is gonna freakin' explode.”

“And now, of course, it's time to hit the road, which means I'll be uncomfortable all day. But that really isn't such a change; if I'm not feeling weird or super strange my life would be in utter disarray, 'cause freaking out is my okay. Good morning time to start the day!”

“Ugh, God. I wish I had the skill to just be fine and cool and chill.”

“I don't wanna be a hero, just wanna stay in the line.”

“I follow my own rules, and I use them as my tools to stay alive.”

“I don't wanna be special. No, no, I just wanna survive.”

“I'll only have sex with you if you beat me at pool.”

“My Mac Daddy game couldn't be more limp.”

“Accept that you're one of those guys who'll be a virgin 'til he dies.”

“I don’t want to be a baller, I just want some skills to count on.”

“You look like ass, what's wrong?”

“Evolution’s survival of the fittest, right? But now, because of technology you don’t have to be strong to survive. Which means there’s never been a better time in history to be a loser! So own it!”

“Why try to be cool when you could be getting stoned in my basement.”

“I'm never gonna be the cool guy, I'm more the one who's left out.”

“Of all the characters at ______, I am not the one who the story's about.”

“Teach me how to thrive, help me to more than survive!”

“No, I'm not into self-harm. Dude, I swear, here check my arm!”

“Why am I telling this to you? Guess there's a part of me that wants to.”

"I don’t want to be special, don’t even need to survive. I just want to know that _____ knows I’m alive.”

“This is some top-secret, can't-even-look-it-up-on-the-internet shit.”

“The quantum computer in the pill will travel through your blood until it implants in your brain and tells you what to do.”

"Look, I apologize for treating you like human garbage all the time.”

“It's better than drugs, ______.”

“It’s an effed up world but it’s a two-player game!”

“Dude, you are cooler than a vintage cassette, it's just that no one else but me thinks that yet.”

“High school is whack, but we have each other's back.”

“You know that you are my favorite person.”

“Is it really true? I'm your favowite person?”

“Yeah, we're never not gonna be a team. ________ is shit, and you gotta help me conquer it. It's just what we do, we make it a two-player game.”

“Oh, everything about you is so terrible. Everything about you makes me wanna die.”

“Don't freak out and don't resist. And have no doubt, if I assist you will be more chill.”

“Don't smile. Stare intensely. Speak like you don't care about your own death.”

“Don’t ya say no, ______, can you be coerced?”

“______, you can't just listen, you have to obey.”

“______, if this is going to work you need to do as I instruct!”

“Everything about me is just terrible, everything about me makes me wanna die.”

“But ______, soon you'll see that if you listen to me that everything about you is going to be wonderful!”

“Still not gonna be the cool guy, but maybe not so left out.”

“All in all a not too heinous day!”

“Say there’s this person you pass in the _____ every day, you’ve known him since ___________. You’re used to thinking about him from the persona that he displayed. Then something changes. And he changes... from a guy that you’d never be into, into a guy that you’d kinda be into.”

“Being here with you right now, our future is so clear, our union is so near.”

“Your life was so pitiful before, now it’s time to go all the way and more. You gotta get an upgrade!”

“Don’t worry about the guilt you feel, just take a breath and seal the deal.”

“Do you want to come over to my place tonight? My parents won’t be home so it’s alright. They laundered money, now they’re on the run... Which means the house is empty, so that’s fun!”

“Well, I am flattered, this is new. Still not sure what I should do.”

“I already know what it’s like to be the loser, I should find out what it’s like not to be the loser.”

“Tried to be genuine and true, but now it’s time for something new.”

“Optic Nerve Blocking: On.”

Act 2

#be more chill #bmc #be more chill the musical #Joe Iconis #Joe Tracz #rp starters #lyric starters #rp stuff #my stuff

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saltandlimes · 8 years ago

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This is so awesome that I’m posting it so the rest of the world can see. I hope you don’t mind, dear! Also like super random, but wow is this awesome research and information for people. (Also I slightly edited because, as you say, mobile sucks)

[SW headcanons at the end]

WELL OKAY IF IT’S ESSENTIAL INFORMATION and I’m procrastinating on some technical writing like nobody’s business HERE IS AN ATTEMPTED BREAKDOWN OF WHAT DIFFERENT KINDS OF “GLORIFIED METAL STICK” MOBILITY AIDS ARE GOOD FOR FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF WHY I’M DESIGNING WITH THEM

Insert disclaimer that the only person whose body I have extensively studied these things on is my own and I’ve been using various mobility aids for less than a fifth of my life so this is not magic gospel etc whatever MOTION INCLUDING VIOLENCE TIME

Basic-as-heck term definition party: canes are what you think they are, o reader; forearm crutches are those things that look kind of like canes that go up to your elbow (for example, these are mine https://www.ergoactives.com/products/crutches); armpit crutches are the design family that, uh, go up to your armpits, I guess that is kind of obvious. This includes the off-the-shelf ones you see people with broken legs and stuff with, as well as fancy shit like my beloved www.djoglobal.com/products/donjoy/rebound-crutches that spawned this discourse in the first place.

The way I walk it’s a successively escalating trade off of increasing quality of walking with my hands at the expense of being able to use my hands for other things. Canes I have a free hand no matter what, and all the ones I’ve had have been aluminum with a wrist loop and so very easy to either just drag up off the floor when I pick my hand up or hook the handle over my wrist and treat like an awkward bracelet. Nothing else has that degree of unobtrusiveness, but it’s at the expense of the least increase in physical function. They’re the most versatile for combat because they’re just three feet of metal with a handle; I can flip one up into my hand to hold it like a sword with the handle as the pommel in one gesture without taking the wrist loop off, or throw it in the air and catch it at the base and swing it using the handle as a hammer. Most of my sparring with fencers has been with canes; any higher than that up the scale (the scale is both figurative and my arm) requires moving to a set of combat motions that are fairly unique.

Forearm crutches are kind of like canes without the wrist motion; my wrist is locked straight and it doesn’t make any sense to flip them upside down to use as a bat instead. I can swing from the elbow–even aside from trying to hit people, one of the tics I have with forearm crutches that I don’t with anything else is swinging them in a little sideways arc with each step instead of just back-and-forth if I’m on uneven ground, because that motion is much easier from the elbow than either the wrist or the shoulder–and I can bend my elbows, which means I can, for example, cross one or both crutches in front of my body to prove a point or block projectiles. Motions are increasingly exaggerated and unsubtle, but generally have more force behind them.

The only armpit crutches I can speak for are mine–the question-mark shape as opposed to the kind of triangular ones, I’ve tried them, we had deep disagreements–but given what I know about playing soccer with the other kind of armpit crutches there might not be a huge difference here. At any rate, they move with my arms and not only do I not have wrist rotation I basically have none in the elbow; what I can do with them is limited to the range of motion of my shoulders with a metal bar jammed under them. Trying to hit things with armpit crutches without taking them off (see below for the alternative to that) is all big, openhanded or overhead swings and jabs, and I can’t cross them like forearm crutches.

On the other hand, armpit crutches have the second-largest range of motion when standing still, and the largest range of motion without taking them off! Where propping my elbows up on forearm crutches so that they stay put without my hands on the handles is weird and a bit precarious and the added motions are basically “ability to use a phone”, and the versatility of a cane is mostly just that I can lift it easily, if I stand still and don’t lift my upper arms above my shoulders armpit crutches will just stay put. So I can text, or read, or do fine manual labor, or curse people out with appropriate gestures, or even stick my hands in my pockets or behind my back. There’s way less violence/other uncommon physical actions one can do without preparing for it, but if you’re going to be standing still and need continued physical support (strictly you’re not supposed to put weight through your armpits and also no one actually follows that rule) it’s the closest you’ll get to a loophole giving you the range of expressiveness of someone without crutches. The best physical example I can think of is if I was teaching a class and I had to use a high whiteboard frequently (ugh) I’d probably just give up and use one forearm crutch or a cane so my writing hand would be free, but if I’m /lecturing/ armpit crutches are basically invisible.

Which is how I got here: thinking about gesturing relating to giving orders etc., versus hitting people, and who I would prioritize those around! Which brings us to: MEANWHILE BACK AT THE STAR WAR as long as we’re here and in a format I can do links here’s where I’m at for the grab bag of characters I’ve slapped stuff on so far. Sorry for the ugly links and the fact that I am in love with a few designs specifically, I very much play favorites.

It would probably make more sense for at least some lightsaber users to have canes instead of forearm crutches but I am the boss of me and also working off of not having any specific disability headcanons and instead going “what would I need to cosplay this person” so forearm crutch party it is. Between https://www.ergoactives.com/products/crutches and millennialmedical.com/forearm-in-motion-crutches.html the canon saber colors are covered and I haven’t gone through Jedi-by-Jedi to figure out which handle is more their #aesthetic for the most part.

I haven’t seen any Rebels let alone S3 (booo me, etc.) so I know what color I’d give Thrawn (the Millennial blue anodized aluminum) but not if the way he moves would tip him over into forearm crutches vs the fact that I’m giving most high command kinds of people armpit crutches. So blue millennialmedical.com/in-motion-pro-crutch.html versus millennialmedical.com/forearm-in-motion-crutches.html and disclaimer that it’s not just aesthetic; I get the impression if forced to pick a color he’d pick a definition of what he is that includes species over rank, I think?

On the complete other side of the “how much of your identity is your rank” spectrum, we have established that I can’t /not/ give Krennic those same Millennials in white, look at this shit, I am being personally persecuted. millennialmedical.com/in-motion-pro-crutch.html Even aside from being the right color they’re nominally severe and elegant while also being kind of weird and having a lot of potential for casual damage. Also this became a character analysis project at some point.

Hux gets mine (www.djoglobal.com/products/donjoy/rebound-crutches), that’s kind of just a given. “Black metal with a single red bar is The Aesthetic” is what got us here. …That and the fact that things I have established I can do while wearing mine include standing still with my hands clasped behind my back, and wandering around wearing a (leather) greatcoat as a cape, so… They fit him more than plain black armpit crutches would, and that train of thought is how I realized that was the general model (damn it. Puns. Go away) to go with for command staff in the first place.

Speaking of black and red, my roommate’s reaction (“Darth Emo Douchebag (sic)”) when I got them aside there’s not enough red in them for Ren BUT there is in the red-bodied version of the Millennial ones!

Also I’m giving Ren armpit crutches despite having established that forearm crutches are my favorite for combat for three reasons. Two and a half? His canon saber is fucking absurd in design in general and also in /size/, this is not a dick joke, it is a fucking magic space broadsword, having it be in the same design family as everyone else’s would be weird. And the caveat to how limited my range of motion for hitting people with armpit crutches on is that they’re about a foot longer and if I take one off and hold it like a bat while leaning on the other I suddenly have four feet of metal to swing–which is the most effective/intimidating combat option for me, and also the one involving highest burn-out rate (I have two crutches for a reason) and undermining of the purpose of having crutches itself. Which seems appropriate. (And if you’re weaponizing forearm crutches you can block. Even without taking them off the range of motion for armpit crutches–like, imagine your arm is four feet long, entirely straight, and there’s about 20 degrees less range of motion from the shoulder–makes them offense-only, and a form of offense with long, telegraphed strikes that require complete commitment to the arc.)

Back to people who aren’t primarily hand-to-hand combatants: the fact that I’m flying by the seat of my pants basing these choices off of what they would mean for my daily life means that, basically, command staff etc get /either/ canes or armpit crutches–because they’re the two options that give you the most expressiveness with hands without dropping them–based on whether I think they’re also someone who’d prioritize increase in daily walking range versus increase in dexterity.

So Sloane, in the continued tales of ‘not-very-anon just really wants to upgrade to the In-Motions but has literally no justification for it and so is giving them to space fascists instead’, gets these, too millennialmedical.com/in-motion-pro-crutch.html but in the gunmetal/charcoal gray. Even though she now holds a rank that means a white uniform, she doesn’t strongly identify with it; metal in the steel-to-gunmetal range registers to me personally as much more of a generic authority thing, and it wouldn’t clash with her olive/black uniform or the white one.

But I gave Tarkin one of these instead https://smile.amazon.com/Hugo-Mobility-Adjustable-Handle-Reflective/dp/B005IV0AZ6/ref=sr_1_8_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1486768005&sr=8-8&keywords=Hugo%2Bmobility&th=1 because I feel like he’d prioritize use of his hands to what on me would be a fault, and similarly take the narrow tip for pinpoint turns over “being sure that you won’t fuck up your entire balance if you miss the ground by more than ten degrees”. I briefly considered the amber color because it matches the highest rank he’s attained but honestly the 'it’s the gun color’ logic holds here too.

The other thing canes are easier for is getting up/sitting down quickly, so for someone who either alternates between desk work and short distances, or is going to be probably seated but jump up and yell at people on short notice, it’s the intuitive choice there too. So the other cane-user I have a solid design claim for is Carise Sindian and she gets the cane that’s actually my current backup/job interview cane (it intimidates people less, idk, I don’t get it and I don’t like it but oh well): https://smile.amazon.com/dp/B005IV0C2W/ref=sr_ph_1_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1486768449&sr=sr-1&keywords=Hugo+mobility, in aquamarine. Bright, obviously a deliberate fashion statement without being frivolous if you have any idea what you’re looking at, I like the wider bases even though they make me less graceful in specific circumstances because they also stand up on their own so if you need to look like you know what you’re doing in unfamiliar environments (like, say, Random Politics Events) you don’t have to play the game of “whoops where can I lean these up against oh they fell on me again ow this was definitely intentional”, and for her I’d want to prioritize the appearance of intentionality and dignity.

I know I want Sinjir (hey, look, it’s someone who isn’t a villain! I swear I like them sometimes!) to have a cane with a molded left-handed grip and the tack-hammer-shaped handle that is a good, well, hammer in a pinch if you flip it around and hold it by the end of the cane, but I haven’t found one I can link.

Similarly, Leia strikes me as either a walking stick person or as someone with a folding cane who actually disassembles it, with no middle ground, and I have no idea what to look for there because I am not either of those kinds of people, so I am going to stop now and do my overdue Thing instead and hope that the stream of consciousness didn’t make this unreadable and that it was in fact interesting!

#disability headcanon #submission #this is such a great set of both aesthetic and practical thoughts

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nefariouscryptid · 3 years ago

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Thanks for the encouragement. My biggest issue is that I'm uneducated about the political state, climate and culture of the world regions I have in mind. I also have to find out waaay more about the under-the-surface conflicts within those societies and the overall mentality/attitude of people. And that's not mentioning the mechanics of crime organisations or the possible technology upgrades of near future and the economic environments fostering these. Ugh, LOT of reading to do. I have my doubts

It’s easier to get yourself emerged in these topics when you’re genuinely interested in them. I recommend watching YouTube videos on commentaries about certain political views or events, as well as going on news outlet websites and read some articles. It also depends on what viewpoint you want to focus on politically.

If you want to present something that’s based on more conservative viewpoints, go on conservative news outlets or articles online and read up. YouTube videos are always a go to. Same if it’s for a more liberal mindset. You don’t have to agree with the viewpoints, I don’t agree with any form of government or political ideologies outside of an antigovernment and anticiv perspective yet my story revolves heavily around the idea of an existing government and power, albeit heavily critiqued. These things also vary depending on what region your story is in, and if you plan on making a place up it’s best to at least base it on something that already exists.

However if you want to touch up on anarchist ideologies, a great place to start is reading up on the anarchist library. Some topics to start on is anti consumerism, anticiv, and others ideas like that. There’s many different kinds of labels for anarchists that are worth reading up on but they all have their flaws. Most prominent ones I’ve seen are anarcho-communism, green anarchism, feminist anarchism, and queer anarchism.

However, a universal amongst people if we are talking about the general public WE know is that they’re led to believe that there must be some kind of ruler/government and that society cannot function without it, no matter how totalitarian and human rights violating they are. Why do you think socialists exist? They’re anti the government we have but are still desperate for some kind of “normalcy” hence their drive for a socialist economy and democratic government. Many people find comfort in the world we live in, even if they’re in pain and having their rights violated. So any kind of true revolutionary acts are going to scare them. You can’t polish garbage!

A general rule of thumb, regardless of what your political standpoint is, all government is completely based on a power imbalance. Because the leaders are not leaders, they’re authority figures.

As for crime organizations, it depends on what their motive is. Groups such as ISIS have the goals of spreading Islam by any means necessary. The cartel wants power and does so by their huge drug market and brutal executions that instill fear into people. The Mafia has many people who want to strike rich by illegal means. It depends on what you’re going for. Figure out what the goal of your crime organization is and look into real life groups.

If your group does executions I would also look into methods that groups tend to do that with. The cartel acts like mad scientists and will torture someone brutally to get a message across (funkytown gore… shudder). Some groups just do a quick kill. Depends on what the message is they want to put out.

Aaaaaas for economic systems, capitalism, communism, pure free market, mixed economy, socialism ect are all forms of economic systems shown in the world (please don’t make the mistake of calling a government capitalist or communist… governments are democratic, monarchy’s, oligarchs ect). Also it’s worth looking into what gives money value (for instance U.S dollars have no real value, so their value is given by the government saying it has value while other forms of money are actually backed by something), class structures, and the usual cause of economic crashes. I say that last part because it plays hand in hand with what gives money value.

Technology has a huge impact on society, so with technological advances you can illustrate on the collapse of certain industries and even nature’s decline as more oil or other resources are harvested for said technology. Remember, the industrial revolution and it’s consequences are a disaster for the human race.

BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY… have fun! This is all just something that you enjoy and want to put time into, don’t make it into a chore. Develop what interests you and research what interests you. Don’t turn this into a job. I wish you luck

#alex banters #asks

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jobsearchtips02 · 5 years ago

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Working from Home Because of Coronavirus? These Are Your Tech Fixes

And on the umpteenth day of the coronavirus panic, the overlords commanded: Thou shalt work from house.

As brand-new cases of the viral infection appear within the U.S., many business have actually begun preparing staff members to work from home– or what the cool kids call “WFH.” Some organizations consisting of Twitter are motivating workers around the world to work from their personal homes until further notice.

For some, it’s a dream. Sweatpants and slippers all day long? Sign me up! For others, it’s a nightmare. Slow internet and chatty relative? I ‘d rather work from the germ-laden

McDonald’s

ball pit– heck, the Wi-Fi might be better

In search of the greatest work-from-home tech inconveniences and services, I got in touch with WSJ tech writer Christopher Mims, who simply invested six months composing a book– from house, naturally.

” I ‘d state the best obstacles have nothing at all to do with tech,” Mr. Mims informed me. “To work from home, you should change your mind-set and discover a place in your house that feels completely different. The modification in your tools will follow.”

As constantly, he’s right. As you prepare to telecommute, the first thing you need to do is specify your area. He’s likewise a little incorrect: That physical space must be dictated by your various tech needs, consisting of Wi-Fi strength and room for peripherals.

I gathered nine of the most significant WFH tech annoyances and dug up some options.

Just bear this in mind as you read: While many business might lack the best remote-work tech and security tools, they might also have rules about what you can and can’t utilize. Make certain to contact your organization’s IT contact prior to using any third-party software application, etc. I do not want any upset emails from your hard-working admins.

This is Christopher Mims, not Joanna Stern. Among the WFH-friendly gear in his personal armory are Rainbean’s $18 adjustable laptop stand; LapGear’s $55 lap desk with built-in mousepad; the $13 Grifiti Fat Wrist Pad; the $30 MOFT X tablet stand and Arteck’s $25 stainless-steel Bluetooth keyboard. Dog sold separately.

Image:. Amanda Shepherd.

Little Jim is playing Xbox like there’s no tomorrow. Not-so-little Susie is FaceTiming with all her pals. And it’s taking permanently to download a 600- page deck.

According to my coworkers’ reporting, most U.S. homes do not utilize the majority of their bandwidth. You might experience downturns throughout durations of heavy usage due to a variety of elements– not simply your service provider and your screen-addicted kids, but also your router and your location in the house.

You can evaluate your Web speed via Ookla’s Speedtest, though you’ll need to be able to understand things like “megabits per second.”

” Unless you have a low-bandwidth internet service provider connection, you’re most likely not lacking web bandwidth. More likely you are exhausting Wi-Fi bandwidth,” stated Tim Higgins, managing editor of router-review website SmallNetBuilder and my on-call networking guru.

The best solution for superior connectivity? Given that most laptops do not have Ethernet ports any longer, you’ll need a dongle for that.

Amazon

( Anker is my preferred dongle brand) You’ll also need an Ethernet cable television to link to your router.

If Ethernet isn’t a choice, relocation as close as you can to your Wi-Fi router. “Devices that are getting weak signals eat up more bandwidth,” Mr. Higgins said. “So if Susie is continuously FaceTiming from the back bedroom that is far from the router, she’s most likely sucking up airtime.” Household bonding the 2020 way: Everybody ’round the router, singing campfire tunes.

A mesh router can assist. WSJ’s Joanna Stern and her miniature friends describe how the brand-new Wi-Fi router systems work– and which is the finest one to purchase.

Wait, the Wi-Fi is just fine. I think … perhaps … Gmail is just down?

Bookmark Is It Down Right Now?

I can not potentially be productive without my 2nd, 3rd or 53 rd monitor.

Apparent service: Purchase a screen for house. Take a look at The Wirecutter’s suggestions I bought a $150 Asus display nearly five years back and we’re still really happy together. Dongle alert #2: You’ll likely require one to link to a more recent USB-C laptop computer.

Not-as-obvious option: Utilize an iPad. Sure, it’s a smaller display, however I discover it excellent for setting up a messaging window or a crucial site I regularly need– especially since it’s a cordless connection. If you have a Mac running the current MacOS Catalina and an iPad with iOS 13 you have actually a function called Sidecar. This allows you to wirelessly utilize your iPad as your Mac’s 2nd screen. Fire up the Sidecar app on your Mac and it’s real easy to establish. ( Detailed guidelines from Apple discovered here)

If you have a Windows PC or an older Mac, try Duet, an app that lets you do the very same thing. You’ll likely need a good iPad stand to make this work– or among these cool arms that connects your iPad to your laptop computer screen

The canine! The kids!

Noise-canceling earphones, individuals.

Ugh, email. It’s so much simpler to just walk over to somebody’s desk.

Opportunities are your business is set up with some sort of chat or video-conferencing tools.

Apple’s latest $249 AirPods Pro assure a much better fit thanks to the new, different-sized silicone ear tips, however how well do they remain in? WSJ’s Joanna Stern got on a mechanical bull and recruited some street performers to discover. Picture illustration: Adele Morgan/ The Wall Street Journal.

Sometimes, however, it’s easier to hash something out on the phone or via video chat. You’ve got great deals of video-calling apps to select from– Skype, Google Hangouts, Zoom or even FaceTime. Select whatever your coworkers use and feel comfortable with.

I’m not going to supply pointers on how to finest video-chat. Just keep in mind: The electronic camera is on, and your associates do not wish to see your zebra-patterned pajamas. Oh, and lights should be in front of you, not behind you– no backs to the window.

Enjoyable fact from Mr. Higgins: Video-conferencing services are likely to be larger bandwidth hogs than.

Netflix

Streaming apps download streams in chunks of information, while video chat needs to be continuously streaming.

Crap, there’s an important file on my work desktop.

Business now offer cloud drive storage that’s protected and simple to utilize. You can tuck files you might require in there for safekeeping and remote access. If your business doesn’t have the alternative, you might utilize the storage available devoid of Google,.

Apple,

Microsoft

or.

Dropbox,

or spend for an upgraded strategy. Despite the fact that cloud drives are personal, it’s on you to make certain you’re not copying over anything that could be deemed specifically delicate by your company.

There are likewise ways to access your desktop remotely, but this falls under the domain of your IT department, and I don’t suggest you do it without your employer’s approval and support.

SHARE YOUR IDEAS

What are your greatest tech obstacles when working from home? Join the discussion listed below.

Martin in Sales: Your child is cute and all, however we don’t wish to hear “Let It Go” for the 100 th time.

Mute your mic, aka MYM. Write it down on a Post-it, your hand, I don’t care. If you’re on a call, simply mute whenever you aren’t talking. And please share this tip with Martin in Sales!

I use my desk phone to make abroad calls, and there’s no way I’m using my smartphone and paying overage expenses.

Google Hangouts, WhatsApp and Skype allow you to make phone calls over the Internet to anywhere in the world for very low rates. And if you’re both on the service, the call is complimentary.

Speaking of calls, you’ll likely be on a lot of them. Keep a portable battery charger useful. Again, I like Anker– especially this design

I decided to rapidly clip my toe nails in the bathroom, and now my employer is flipping out that I’m not responding.

Communication is the toughest part of telecommuting. Supervisors, the very best thing you can do is set expectations ahead of time. One excellent, however by no means foolproof, solution? If you’re utilizing Slack or Google Hangouts, set a status message that informs your colleagues you’ve stepped away and when you’ll be back. In Slack, click the down arrow by your name (upper left corner) and select “Edit Status.”

In the interest of openness: I composed this column not in your home however at The Wall Street Journal head office– where my toenails may or may not have also been clipped. Don’t forget to send me your WFH gripes or helpful tips.

—- For more WSJ Technology analysis, evaluations, advice and headings, sign up for our weekly newsletter

Write to Joanna Stern at [email protected]

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from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/working-from-home-because-of-coronavirus-these-are-your-tech-fixes/

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somar78 · 5 years ago

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The Ford RS200 – The Fastest Accelerating Road Car In The World (For 12 Years)

This article was written by Nathan Duff, the founder of Retromotive Magazine and a contributor to a number of magazines including Top Gear, CAR, Wheels, and MOTOR.

Andrei Shinkarenko likes things that are rare, different and unique. He’s refreshingly left of centre and unashamedly so. I had that impression even before we meet, as I park my car next to ‘Rex’, the dinosaur in his front yard. “Might be Rexona.” He quips as we greet. “We’re not that friendly yet.”

Andrei, or Andy, is an engineer. “We’re a different breed,” he explains. “We think differently – genetically, we are created, were not just taught to be engineers. Russians have a long history of engineering. We don’t invent new stuff, we perfect old stuff.”

“I put myself through Uni working as mechanical engineer.” Andy was fortunate enough to land a job with Ifield Engineering. “R.J. Ifield was a God.” He explains. “112 patents – among other things, the hydromantic slipper bearing; it’s the most import thing in hydraulics…. ever.” He goes on to mention a number of other inventions and innovations. He explains them in such detail that, unfortunately, the scope is a little lost on my humble intellect.

“I love things that are rare. If you’re going to do it, make it worthwhile.”

That’s the thing with Andy, if he takes an interest in something he is in, balls deep. (It’s a pun; it’ll make sense soon.)

“I started my own engineering business in ‘88 and the planets kind of lined up for me. In ‘94 the RTA decided to make the engineering signatory system the code of practice.”

In simple terms, you needed someone like Andy to sign off on your vehicle mods in order to make them legal. He was a very busy man after that

“There were only 4 of us in Newcastle, so it was busy. Especially when the kids would take their cars down to Nobby’s Beach and the cops would block off the road. 50 cars would get defected and need to be certified by an engineer. I easily would have done 3000 vehicles over 20 years doing that.”

These days, Andy is on the cusp of retirement and is itching to spend more time tinkering on projects like converting his swing car to be fully electric. Ever heard of a swing bike? Same principal, but in a car. Andy loved the concept of the bike and once he had mastered riding it, thought “Hmm how can I make this better?” Long story short, Andy now has swing car. He engineered the whole system into a Rickman Ranger that he does skids around his front lawn with.

Along with his mind bending engineering projects, he has 30 odd cars in his collection that need some miles put on the clock. Like the Ex Stirling Moss 904 Porsche GTS Carrera, the last of the road registered Le Mans cars. An Electron – a Hyundai Getz-based electric vehicle briefly produced by the Australian company, Blade Electric, but killed off due to government-introduced ESC requirements that the company couldn’t meet.

At the moment, he owns and operates a squash court. “It takes a lot of my time up. I’ve been playing squash since the mid 70’s.”

Andy’s no slouch either. He competed in the Pan Pacific Masters games in 2016 and won a silver and bronze. There was a 10-year hiatus from squash when he decided he wanted to be a power lifter. “I made the world team and came 8th in the world.”

Throughout all his achievements though, cars have remained a constant for him.

“I had worked really hard and I thought it was time to buy a supercar. I used the money I had made from my first business.” (Andy had developed a special type of Diesel Injector and sold the business to a large consortium.)

“I bought a Lamborghini Espada which was a real heart breaker. Ugh,” he sighs, “Lamborghini quality, it’s just not there. If you take it for a run, you gotta call the tow truck. I had a few problems with it and decided to park it up in the shed.” That was 23 years ago.

“There are special cars out there on the planet – the RS200 is one of them. “It was a blank sheet of paper for them to engineer the perfect rally car. That aspect appealed to me straight away. They didn’t have to build a road car – just build what is right.”

“An aluminium honeycombed section with an inbuilt roll cage that you can’t even see! Fibreglass ends and steel structures to hold the engine and diff was ahead of its time.” He says excitedly.

The RS200 was developed so that Ford could join the hugely popular Group B rally category. The Escort was no match for the Audi Quattro or Lancia Delta so they needed something truly special to get noticed on the world stage.

“I first seen the RS200 along with the Audi Quattro and Lancias on an old documentary called ‘Too Fast To Race’. It was right at the end of that era that the RS 200 came in.”

Ford invested over 10 million pounds in producing the RS200, which, considering it wasn’t going to recoup anywhere near that amount for knock on sales from the car, is testament to the times of the Killer Bs.

The RS200 was a very complex, technologically advanced four-wheel drive car. Power came from a mid-mounted, 1.8 litre, four-cylinder, turbocharged Cosworth BDS engine with a roof-mounted intercooler.

To aid weight distribution, the transmission was mounted at the front of the car. This required the power from the engine to go up to the front wheels first and then, be run back again to the rear.

The body was designed by Ghia and the chassis was designed by former Formula One designer Tony Southgate. The RS200’s was assembled at the Reliant Plant (yes, those funny 3-wheel cars) because of their experience with assembling fibreglass bodied cars.

Proof of their cars complexity is stuck to the inside of the windscreen with its strict ‘Cold Start Procedure’. This states: “It is essential not to exceed 1500 rpm for the first 30 seconds after starting. Do not drive with the oil pressure above 6 bar. Allow water temperature to reach normal before using maximum power. Failure to observe correct procedure may result in expensive engine damage.”

“The first one I found was at a museum in LA. They wanted 200k and it wasn’t even going.” The RS200 in question had apparently been parked up without fluids for 25 years, everything had seized – not good.

Andy discovered one in New Zealand owned by the Hoffman Ford dealership. They had found it in a barn in America with only 900 miles on the clock.

“I’ve only done 70-80 miles since I got it.” Admits Andy. “I got very nervous driving it around, not because it was too quick, I just don’t want anybody hitting me in their clapped out Gemini,” he laughs. “But all that has passed now and I’m comfortable driving it anywhere.”

“The first time I took it out, it felt like a dog – like it had major clutch shutter.” Andy spent a good deal of time researching how to fix the issue before a member of the RS200 club suggested an odd fix. ‘It’s nothing to do with the clutch, it’s the spark plugs.’

“I changed the plugs and 100% better. But everything is so, so tight. People blame the car – it kind of feels like the handbrake is on at low speed, you really need to drive that thing.”

It’s not just Andy, Chris Harris rates it as the “Easiest car to stall I’ve ever driven.”

“The RS200 is quick – record breaking quick. It held the record for the fastest accelerating production car for 12 years – that’s against Porsche, Ferrari, Lamborghini.”

The record Andy refers to was accomplished by Stig Blomqvist in an EVO RS200 for a Guinness World run. He set a 0-60mph time of 3.07 seconds. The record stood for 12 years.

The EVO’s were developed a year or so after the RS 200 debuted for the 1986 season. While they had some success, it was clear some upgrades were needed in order to really dominate the category. 24 of the original RS200’s were re-purposed which included an upgrade from the 1.8 BDT engine to 2.1 BDT-E engine capable of anywhere between 600 to 800 horsepower.

The plan was to run in the 1987 season of group B, but due to some horrendous accidents and fatalities the category was killed before they could be used.

It was a crazy time for rally and unfortunately, watching back over some of the footage from that era, it was only going to be a matter of time until there was a fatality.

Scenes of drivers leaping over blind crests, parting the sea of spectators like Moses, hands flying out trying to tag a 500hp monster as it scuttled past were common place. It looks like the automotive equivalent of the ‘Running of the bulls.’

Marc Surer, a Swiss Formula One driver, crashed a RS200 against a tree during the 1986 Hessen-Rallye in Germany, killing his co-driver, Michel Wyder instantly.

During the second leg of the 1986 Corsica Rally, Henri Toivonen’s Lancia Delta S4 went off the side of the road and plummeted down a ravine. It crashed on its roof exploding on impact. Toivonen and his co-driver, Sergio Cresto were killed instantly. The fire was so intense that the Delta S4 was unidentifiable.

In an interview just before the crash he stated; ‘After 4 hours of driving – it’s hard to keep up with the speed. So, with a modern car like this, it’s just impossible to race here. It’s physically exhausting and the brains can’t keep up with it anymore.’

At the Rally de Portugal, a RS200 was involved in one of the most horrific accidents in WRC history and the catalyst for the end of the era.

3 spectators were killed and 31 others injured when Joaquim Santos came over a crest to be greeted by spectators on the road. Trying to stop, he lost control and plunged into the crowd.

The accident set off a series of events, which lead to the FIA abolishing Group B after the 1986 season.

The RS200 EVO went on to have a second life as an absolute monster in Rally Cross. Ken Block, Ford fan and master of the skid, has recently acquired the Ford factory RS200 EVO and it’s rumoured to be part of Gymkhana 10.

Even though homologation rules stated that 200 needed to be built to be eligible for the category, it’s documented that only 146 cars were ever fully constructed and sold, with the remainder being broken down for spares.

The RS200 was but a blip on the scene. Initially, it wasn’t terribly successful and played its part in the demise of Group B. But all things considered, it’s still an amazing piece of history worthy of its cult status.

The RS200 ticks all the boxes for Andy, but he is currently testing the waters by offering the RS200 for sale. “If it doesn’t sell, I’ll be happy, the way that car looks. Would I be proud to just have it in the shed? Absolutely.”

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Images: Nathan Duff

The post The Ford RS200 – The Fastest Accelerating Road Car In The World (For 12 Years) appeared first on Silodrome.

source https://silodrome.com/ford-rs200-group-b-rally-car/

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