#vw late bay

[safereturndoubtful]

Orkney - just passing through

25th June 2023

There are many beaches like Skaill on Orkney where it is possible to get the van just a few metres from an almost deserted beach. I’m only in transit through Orkney on this visit, as I spent a few weeks here just over two years ago. It seems a pity that it’s a short visit, as last night and this morning it has been at its very best.

When I last visited, it was in late May, and was unseasonably cold. The islands were also very empty, just a few weeks after the last lockdown of the pandemic. Usually tourists who come and go by ferry or plane are few compared to Orkney’s main source of income from the industry, the cruise ships. On the ferry I spoke to a local who said to me that typically in the high season there are 8,000 visitors a day from cruises.

As I read this morning more than 5 coaches pulled in for a five minute beach-taster, and the obligatory photographs of the beach, all the dis-embarkers clad in full winter outdoor clothing; though it was windy, it was 18C and sunny.

I know anyone reading this will immediately want to know what I was reading.. a novel about islands of course, more specifically climate-change-dystopian, which there seem to be many of at the moment. More on it later in the week.

We drove to the next beach to the north, about 3 miles, to the Bay of Marwick, where I wanted to hike the cliff track to the Kitchener Memorial. The Memorial commemorates the lives of 737 crew lost from the HMS Hampshire, which sank in 1916, more details in the picture below.

There were plenty of reasons not to hurry on the trek, even with the threatening cloud approaching..

I got chatting to an old guy in a VW T5 campervan who splits his time between homes in the Algarve and in Leek, Staffordshire - all his money is in his properties that he needs to sell, but can’t get his wife, who has quite a separate life though still married, to agree to. who was just heading back from Shetland.

At the cliff a supine woman pointed out two puffins which we watched for a while.

It was after 2 pm when we got back to the van. I knew rain was coming, and though it started showery it soon set in, abating just in time for a walk in the other direction, to some derelict fishermen’s huts from 1890 when their boats were moored there.

My ferry to Shetland had an 11:45 pm departure. More later..

[vanscape]

My dad sent me pics of this one this morning… I’m in love 😍

[malautomat]

WINDOW BAY

[katiesbasement]

Did a social-distancing cruise with some VW friends this weekend. Stopped by the graffiti wall in St. Louis, aka Paint Louis.

[4-corner-idle]

[collecting-stories]

Invisible Strings - John B Routledge

Request: Hi welcome back!!! I hope you are doing well ❤️ I am literally so obsessed with Folklore I would die for anything John B/Folklore. Maybe invisible string or peace?❤️

A/N: Okay so I had this finished and then re-wrote it this afternoon so hopefully it’s good...god I actually haven’t written Outer Banks in like a month. 

The TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

✰...one single thread of gold tied me to you✰

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

“I always forget that this is still here.” You mused, running your fingers over the carved part of the baseboard. 

John B looked over from the box he was packing, old dishware that had been given to his mom and dad when they were first married, stashed away in the house for a time that never came. It would go to the thrift shop tomorrow morning along with other, now useless items that littered the small house. On Monday you would call the realty office on the island and inquire about putting the place up for sale. John B had seen an apartment for rent, beach side, closer to Figure Eight, nicer than the Chateau and he’d suggested it as a starter apartment, something small that you both could afford.  

“Where was it going to go?” He teased, walking over to you. He pressed his legs against your back and you leaned your head to look up at him.  

“You could’ve painted over it.”

❖

The year that you turned ten your mom got re-married and your step-father decided to relocate the family to Tennessee where his new job would be. You cried for days over the prospect of leaving the Outer Banks but it wasn’t your decision, all you could do in the end was pack your belongings and move. In what little defiance you were awarded as a ten-year-old you climbed underneath the bed and carved your name into the baseboard. You thought about including some ominous request, perhaps a clumsily drawn ‘help me’ but decided against it at the last moment. Your mom was much more excited to be moving into what she claimed was a nice, big, house in Tennessee with your soon to be ‘new dad’. A step-up from the shoebox shack that you’d been getting by in. 

The house was sold almost immediately to a man and his young son, downsizing after his wife left them with next to nothing. Two bedrooms was all he needed and the view of the marsh was better than he expected to get in his financial state. His son was unbothered either way, sure they were moving but that only meant they were in a new house. He would still go to the same school and see the same people. Though he rode his bike passed his old house often that first year, wishing he could walk up the front steps and go through the door and everything would be the same.  

The carving remained unseen until he was thirteen. His best friend JJ was trying to flip off the bed when he fell against it, pushing it away from the wall. His head landed next to the baseboard. While most kids might’ve cried from the possible concussion JJ just rolled onto his stomach to get a better look at the wall and the writing engraved in it.

“Look.” He reached up to smack John B’s arm and pointed at the name carved into the wood, “you got a ghost.”

“It’s not a ghost you moron,” John B laughed once he’d seen the carving for himself, “probably the girl who used to live here.” He’d lived with pink walls, stenciled with butterflies for a year and a half before Big John finally caved and spent some of his money on paint instead of alcohol.  

After that John B found an odd sense of comfort in the carving. Sometimes he did his homework laying on the ground with your name staring back at him. A sort of imaginary friend he was too old to have. And when Big John disappeared at sea John B pulled the blankets off the bed and laid with his head at the baseboard, crying alone in his room while his uncle watched TV, oblivious to his nephew’s heartache.  

That same year, while they were still combing the shoreline for any sign of Big John’s boat, you and your mom arrived back in North Carolina. You were 16 and she was heartbroken, disillusioned with love and taking every opportunity to caution you against it too. You ignored most of her bitterness, concerned only with the new house and the new life that you were expected to settle into. The cottage style home was so close to the Outer Banks that you could see the island in the distance on the other side of the bay. Your mom talked about fresh starts and got a job working for the Department of Child Services. 

It was the year you heard John B Routledge’s name for the first time. She’d come in from work every day that summer and curse about the delinquent teen. It was her greatest source of reassurance that you didn’t hang around wayward teenagers who, though still grieving the loss of their father, unsure of their place in the world now that they were alone, were expected to move on from that. 

“Placing him with a family is going to be hell. No one is going to want to put out the effort for two years...I’m sure he’ll skip town the second he turns 18.” She would bitch over a bottle of white wine. 

“He could stay here?” It was a pointless suggestion. Your mother would likely strangle him in his sleep if he lived with you. 

“Absolutely not! I’m not a charity.” She had taken up social work only so her psychology degree wouldn’t be wasted but you thought maybe some people did belong behind a desk, in a cubicle, somewhere. Certainly not caring for children.  

Either way you weren’t too bothered to listen to those stories. You liked the thought of John B Routledge. He was like some character in a book, too good to be true. His story sounded sad but he didn’t. His life wasn’t a boring repetition of school and work and friends you didn’t particularly like. He was above all that. Like a Jesse Tuck, young forever, stuck on some magical island that you could see but never be a part of again.  

After graduation that all changed, just as life was starting to change. You got a job working in a beach front surf shop on the island. It was your first big strike out into the unknown and your mom was less than thrilled that you would be living in the Outer Banks until college started in the fall. But you’d saved enough to rent space and someone had listed a room available online. The ad boasted lots of outdoor area and featured a picture of a hammock and a VW bus behind it.  

“How do you know that it’s not some ploy to traffic young women and take them overseas or down to Mexico?” Your mom had pestered you as you dragged your suitcase out of the house to meet the Uber that would take you to the ferry. Away from boring hopefully. At least for a summer.  

“I‘ll let you know if I end up overseas.”  

“This isn’t funny!”  

“You’re being ridiculous mom, I already texted with the kid who owns the house, he’s like my age.” You replied. Someone named John had texted you after you emailed about the room. He seemed nice, he was funny, no red flags had gone up in your mind. The name hadn’t even occurred to you. It’d been a few months since you’d heard any mention of your mother’s tormentor.  

It was JJ’s idea to lease the room. The two needed extra money and working the docks or waiting tables or mowing lawns hadn’t cut it. JJ had two jobs to support his half of the rent and John B was working all kinds of hours when JJ suggested that they split it three ways.  

“Get a renter in here, it’s perfect.”  

“Yeah okay,” John B agreed because he wanted to keep his dad’s house and that seemed like the most logical way to go about it.  

You weren’t what he was expecting when you arrived. Having never rented before he’d spent more time making sure you could afford payments than he had finding out any details about you at all. But you stepped out of the car regardless and the immediate sense of nostalgia hit you like a wave. You didn’t mention that you used to live here and John B was too focused on getting through the tour of the shack that he didn’t even register the name you gave him.  

“This’ll be your room.”  

And just like that you were in each other’s space. Like two timelines fusing together, one of you had swerved and tangled your lives into a mess of summer and shameless flirting and parties on the beach. You realized early on that this John was your infamous John B Routledge, teenage outlaw, sadder in real life than you ever gave him the range for. You liked talking to him late at night when JJ was already passed out or lingering close to him at parties. Everyone, his friends and your new, adopted friends, knew that there was something there but none of them realized how deep it ran. Even you didn’t.  

It wasn’t until August of that summer, when John B was out and you were left in the Chateau by yourself, that you had wandered into his bedroom and pushed the bed away from the wall. There on the baseboard was the first of a million signs, the first place in your parallel timelines where your stories overlapped. The bed had knicked the wall enough times that the writing almost blended in with the other scratches but you could see your name clearly when you knelt down.

“What’re you doing in my room?” John B’s voice caught you by surprise and you turned too quickly, falling over, killing whatever tension might’ve arose from finding you supposedly snooping in his space. He cracked a smile and went to offer you a hand up.  

“Sorry, I-” you let him pull you to your feet, his skin warm against yours, “I wanted to see if it was still here.”

“What?” He looked rightfully confused.  

“I...carved that.”

“That was you?”

And somehow it was just a question of who had vandalized his bedroom but who had been there when he was fourteen and got so angry at his dad that he had slammed the door and jammed the lock. When he was sixteen, crying for days because his dad was missing and no one could tell him anything. When he was eighteen and all his friends were graduating from high school but he had failed out so terribly that his only options were repeat or get a GED. When you pulled up outside for the first time that summer and something in him just seemed to make sense, like all those loose puzzle pieces had figured out their pattern.  

❖

“What’s the matter?” John B asked, fitting the last box of donations into the Twinkie. You had followed him outside but you were just standing on the steps, staring out toward the jetty.  

It’d been four years of moving you in and out of dorm rooms, returning each time to this house. Four years of navigating dating when you already lived together, kicking JJ out when he interrupted nights you were supposed to have alone, avoiding every visit your mom ever made after she realized that the boy you were living with was the same one who’d caused her so much trouble years earlier. It was every argument, every holiday, every movie marathon, every stupid party, every lazy sunday...You’d spent ten years in that house without a friend in the world and John B had spent another eight trying to keep his head above water only to realize that what you had both needed all along was each other.

“Let’s not sell.”

“You wanna live here?” John B asked, sounding a little more surprised than he should’ve been. The apartment was everything he knew he was supposed to want but really he just wanted to stay in the Chateau with you.  

“We already live here.”

“Yeah but...Heyward said there are a lot of repairs that need to be done. Electrical stuff, plumbing, new water heater, new windows, the floor needs to be-”

“John B.” You stopped him short, walking the rest of the way down the steps to meet him in the yard.

“What?”

“Live in our house with me? Forever?” You asked, watching the smile that blossomed at your words.

“Okay.”

-

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[nalgenewhore]

Slipping Through My Fingers - Nine

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

warnings: none 

an: ...enjoy darlings 

“Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad—”

“Ko, Hellas, kid, what,” Lorcan groaned, rubbing his eyes as he rolled over onto his back. Kohana had snuck into his bed late last night and curled up on his chest to sleep. Lorcan hadn’t said a word, but he’d stayed awake for hours after, feeling his son’s tears drip onto his skin and the way Ko’s little frame shook. Of course, in the morning, Kohana was stretched out over the mattress, forcing his father to the edge of the bed with his vicious, subconscious kicks and pushes. 

“Can I have breakfast now?”

Lorcan sighed through his nose and looked at his clock, “Man, it’s six am, go back to sleep.” Kohana pouted and crossed his arms. He made his eyes big and wide, dipping his chin. “It’s not even light outside, prince.”

“Pretty please?” 

Lorcan narrowed his eyes at his son and Kohana pouted harder, faking a sniffle. “Dude. That’s not even fair.” 

“But I’m hungry, até,” he whined. “I want breakfast!” He continued to pout and hold Lorcan’s eyes until he gave in and got up from bed. 

“Alright, let’s go then,” Lorcan conceded, rubbing his eyes again as he picked Kohana up and put him on his feet, herding his child downstairs. “Whaddya want, K-Man?” 

They arrived at the top of the stairs and Kohana hopped down, landing on each step with two feet. “Fuckin’ cereal.” 

Lorcan rose a brow, looking down at Kohana, “A bad word, really?” 

“Yeah,” Kohana said, hopping off the last step, “I think sometimes you need bad words, Dad.” He paused and titled his head to the side. “Right?” 

“That’s right.” 

Pleased, the five-year old ran off to the kitchen, climbing up on one of the barstools. He waited patiently as Lorcan got out two bowls and filled them with cornflakes and milk. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” 

“Can we watch a movie?” 

“Yeah, what do you wanna watch?” 

“Mmm. Dunno.” 

“Why don’t you think on that while you eat?”

Kohana nodded and started eating while Lorcan made his coffee. He loved the kid, but he could do without the before sunrise wake ups, especially if he had to see Elide later that day. Oh, fuck it all to hell. He’d forgotten all about that. 

“Dad, I decided. Cars.” 

“Solid choice, kid.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Her heart was so heavy. Elide almost couldn’t bear to open her eyes in the morning, but she had to. She couldn’t just wallow in her self-loathing and self-pity for the entire day, so she dragged herself out of bed and shoved on her retro, cat-eye glasses, not having enough energy to put on her contacts. 

Shuffling to her closet, Elide pondered what was an appropriate outfit for going to the mechanic to see someone she’d hooked up with twice and semi-broken up with once. Maybe twice, she hadn’t decided what last night was yet. 

Leggings and a hoodie from her alma mater would have to do, she decided. 

As she waited for her coffee to be ready, Elide accepted Nehemia’s call. “Hey, Mi.” 

“El, honey, how are you?” Nehemia’s voice was soft and gentle. After she’d gotten home last night, she had called Nehemia and Aelin and cried like a fool. 

Now, she breathed out shakily, “Oh, you know. Getting ready to go to the mechanic’s. How about you?” 

“I’m so sorry, hon. Are you sure about the date tonight?” 

Ah, yes. The date. Originally, she hadn’t been interested when Nehemia had asked her a few days ago, but she’d still said yes. Now, she was even less excited, but… “No, don’t cancel. It’ll be nice - I’ll get to take my mind off the Lorcan situation, right?” 

Nehemia agreed, “Right. Well. Ooh, we could go out and get a new dress, you know? I’ll call Aelin and pick you up at the shop.” 

Elide smiled and wedged her phone between her chin and shoulder as she poured her coffee into her ice-filled tumbler, stirring with her straw until it was cold. “Alright. That sounds nice.” 

“Good. I’ll see you later, then. Bye, honey!” 

“Bye, Mi,” Elide said. She sipped her coffee as she navigated to the Uber app on her phone and ordered a car. After confirming the ride, she grabbed her keys and wallet, stuffing them all in her front pocket. 

She shoved her hair up into a messy bun and tied her hoodie strings into a bow before putting on her old slip-on Vans and leaving her apartment. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

As soon as Lorcan parked the truck outside the shop, Kohana was unbuckling his seatbelt and leaping from the vehicle to sprint inside, the two braids he wore his hair in flying out behind him. He shouted his arrival to the entire shop. 

Lorcan followed at a calmer pace and smiled when he walked in to see Fenrys holding his nephew upside down by the ankle. “Morning, Fen.” 

“Hey, man. Tow truck just dropped off Elide’s VW,” Fenrys said, his voice piqued in curiosity. 

Offering nothing more than a hum in response, Lorcan headed off to his bay, smirking to himself when he heard Fenrys mutter a curse and quickly make his way over as Lorcan hung up his jacket and unlocked his tool chest. 

“Can I help you with something?” he asked Fenrys mildly. Fenrys huffed and switched his hold on Kohana, swiftly depositing the kid on the ground. 

“Man-Man, why don’t you go find Grampy? I think he could use some help.” 

Kohana nodded and was off before Lorcan could protest, looking to use his son as a shield of sorts against Fenrys’ next barrage of needling questions. Fenrys crossed his arms. “Why is Elide’s car here?” 

“Because her coolant reservoir is in need of replacement.” 

“And?” 

“An oil change, probably. Basic maintenance - you know how old cars are.” 

Fenrys scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Lorcan.” 

“Fenrys.” He was leveled with a cutting look and relented. “Hellas below, man, we were driving home yesterday and saw her and her car broken down on the side of the road. Gave her a ride home. Nothing happened.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Fenrys stared at him until he sighed through his nose. “I mean, a’ight, I guess. Whatever you say, L.” He made to go but then, “Hey. Are you still ok with that date tonight?” 

Shit. He’d forgotten all about that. “Um, I kinda forgot? I don’t have anyone to watch the kid, but if I did, then yeah.” Lorcan didn’t know what had possibly possessed him to say yes, but the presence at his shoulder urged him to go through with it. “I mean… as long as they aren’t, like, racist, homophobic or otherwise bigotted, I think we’ll be fine.” 

Relief flooded Fenrys’ face, “Ok, that’s good. Me and Mi will watch Man-Man tonight.” 

“Thanks. ‘K I need to get to…” he gestured to the car and Fenrys nodded, dapping him up before he left. 

Lorcan sighed deeply and sat on his wheeled stool, pushing himself over to the popped hood and looking into the car. “Alright, Bets, let’s see what we can do.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide thanked and tipped her driver, her iced coffee nearly gone as she climbed out of the car and stood in front of Scéalaí Auto Repairs, frowning up at the sign. 

An older man, with tanned skin and grey hair walked out, a familiar child on his hip. “Hello. Can I help you?” 

Kohana yelled her name, “Elide, hi-hi! Grampy, that’s Elide.”  

“Hey, Kohana,” Elide replied, smiling fondly before addressing the older man. “Hi, I’m looking for Lorcan?” 

“Oh, yeah, he’s in the back. Come on, I’ll show you,” the man said, beckoning her to follow. “I’m Malakai, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Elide. Kohana here talks a lot about you. “

She smiled and toyed with the string of her hoodie, “Well, Kohana just might be my favourite student. Him and Esther, of course.” 

The child lit up at the mention of his friend and smiled wildly as Malakai showed her to the back bay. “Son,” Malakai said, rapping on the bay’s door. “Elide’s here.” 

Anxiety swirled in her gut and Elide drank from her coffee just to have something to do. She heard the music - N.W.A’s Fuck Tha Police - turn down low and the metallic clink of tools being put down before heavy steps approached the door and Lorcan walked out. 

She had to physically stop her jaw from dropping open as he appeared, wearing a cutoff tee and a pair of dark washed jeans, slung low across his hips. His hair was half-up, half-down, two braids leading to a bun at the crown of his head. ”Hey, El. Cute glasses.” 

The nickname just sort of seemed to roll off his tongue and her heart did a happy little flip before she quashed the feeling and hid it with an eye roll of annoyance at his comment. “Hey. How is she?” 

Lorcan ducked his head and chuckled, “Betsy’s good. Just a little finicky but she likes me.” He smirked when she rolled her eyes once more. “Come on back, we can talk.” She froze and tried to school her expression. Evidently, it didn’t work because Lorcan held up a hand, the universal sign for chill, “About your car.” 

“Oh,” she felt her cheeks flush and drank the last of her coffee, hoping it would cool her down. “Yeah. For sure.” 

Malakai and Kohana, who had been watching the entire exchange, shared a weird look and promptly excused themselves. Elide followed Lorcan into the bay and smiled at her car, patting the headlight. “Hey, Bets.” 

A soft chuckle escaped Lorcan’s full lips and he sat down on a stool while motioning for her to take a seat at the desk. Elide stepped over to it and hovered, carefully moving things to the side so she could sit on it, her feet dangling in the air. “So. Let’s talk.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Mi-Mi!” 

“Ko, baby,” Nehemia said, crouching and hugging Kohana. “Oh, child, I missed you.” She stood up and picked him up, booping his nose which made him giggle. “Did you see your mama yesterday?” 

“Yeah, saw mama. We had pancakes, but Dad had waffles. Auntie D had pancakes too,” he told her, lying his head on her shoulder. “You know what happened, we driving home and sawed Elide, ‘cause her car broked, you know.” 

Nehemia nodded and hummed in response, rubbing his back soothingly. “Did that daddy of yours tell you you’re coming over to me and Fenny’s home tonight?” 

Shooting upright, Kohana gawked, “Really?” He smiled so widely when Nehemia nodded in confirmation. “Do I get to sleep over?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “You know what I was thinking?” 

“What?” 

“I was thinking… we could watch Atlantis and make you some grilled cheese and ice cream. What do you think?” Kohana straightened and pressed his nose against hers, looking fiercely into her eyes. She held his stare until he nodded and smiled again, his round cheeks dimpling. “Now, let’s go find that silly uncle of yours, huh?” 

Kohana giggled and carefully touched the shimmery, golden powder on her regal cheekbone, his eyes wide in near reverence. “So shiny, Mi-Mi. Can I have some?” 

“Of course you can, malaika,” she told him, putting him down when they reached the back office. “Fenrys?” Her husband snapped his head up from where he was hunched over something and grinned. 

“Man-Man, you ready for the best night of your life?” 

Kohana’s eyebrows raised and he asked, “The best night?” He looked to Nehemia for confirmation, repeating the question. 

“Swear on my mama. Best night ever, with your favourite auntie.” Kohana made a happy sound and wiggled to be put down. Nehemia obliged him and told him to be careful around the shop. He just nodded absentmindedly and raced off. She watched him fondly, smiling as she felt Fenrys wrap his arms around her waist. 

Nehemia twisted around to face him, “Hi, baby.” 

“Hi,” he said, toying with the hem of her crop top. “Not that I’m complaining, but why’re you here?” 

“I’m taking El out shopping after she’s done with Lor,” she smiled, smiling at him and rocking onto her tiptoes to kiss her husband. Fenrys hummed and kissed her back, pulling her tightly against him. “Speaking of, let’s go check on them.” 

Fenrys groaned when she pulled away and grabbed his hand, tugging him behind her as she walked across the shop floor to Lorcan’s bay. Without knocking, Nehemia breezed in, “Hello, hello.” 

They were obviously interrupting something. Elide had her hand on Lorcan’s cheek and her thumb dragged gently, almost reverently, over a smudge of grease on his sharp sharp cheekbone. They didn’t even realize they weren’t alone as Lorcan’s mouth parted and Elide ran her fingertips down to his plush lips, their eyes locked on one another as her teeth sunk into her bottom lip and Lorcan sucked in a breath. 

Fenrys coughed and the moment was shattered as they practically leapt apart, blushing furiously as they parted.

“Hey, Mia,” Lorcan said, standing to cross over to her and give her a hug. “Have you seen my offspring around?” 

“Yeah, I think he went to annoy Luca. The boy’s working on a wicked hangover right now.” 

They all laughed at that and Elide hopped off her perch on the desk, grabbing her empty cup. “Ae texted me, she said she’s on her way.” 

“Oh, where y’all going?” Fenrys asked mildly. Nehemia shot him a weird look – he knew exactly where they were going. He subtly shook his head as he leaned against the doorframe. 

Elide frowned and did not look at Lorcan as she replied, as evenly as possible, “Shopping.” 

“Ooooo,” Fenrys said, looking way too entertained. He nudged Nehemia and she immediately started in on his shenanigans. “Whatcha shopping for?” 

“I don’t know,” she muttered, glaring daggers at Nehemia. 

“That’s not true – girl’s got a hot date tonight!” 

Fenrys gasped dramatically, “A date?” 

Elide shot the man a glare that promised a slow, slow death, unaware of Lorcan frowning for a split second and the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Yes. A date.” 

The smiling man contemplated something and then gasped again, “Oh my gods! You know who also has a date tonight?” No one answered, not that it really mattered. “That’s right – Lorcan!” 

Lorcan looked like he was praying that his Creator take him to the next life right that moment as his cheeks flushed and he intensely avoided looking anywhere near the petite, dark haired woman next to him. 

Nehemia and Fenrys were practically feeding off the thick cloud of uncomfortability hanging around the room. Elide chewed on her straw. Lorcan fiddled with the screw on his adjustable wrench. They did not look at each other. 

Elide shot Nehemia a look that screamed Help me and Nehemia nodded, smiling as she hooked her arm through Elide’s, “Welp, we should get going. See you later, boys.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“But, Dad, why can’t you stay too?” 

Lorcan looked down at his son, who looked up at him with a sad light in his eyes. “I have plans, kiddo.” 

“Can I come?” 

“No dice, K-Man. Remember, you’re gonna have so much fun with your auntie and uncle,” he said, knocking on the door of Nehemia and Fenrys’ townhouse. They waited a few seconds and then heard someone running to the door. 

Nehemia was smiling as she opened the door, “Guys! Hi, come in.” 

Kohana smiled and padded in, hugging his rainbow mini-Kanken packed with all his overnight stuff to his front. “Mholo, Mi-Mi.” 

“Oh, that is very good, Ko,” Nehemia said, smiling down at the little one as he put down his bag and sat down to take off his shoes. It was a little bit of a competition between all of the adults – whose language Kohana would speak the best. So far, it had been Eyllwe in the lead. That probably had something to do with Kohana’s favouritism concerning Nehemia. “What’s happening?” 

“Not much, you know. Dad has plans. I’m not allowed to go.” 

“Well, that’s fine – you’ll have more fun with me and your Fenny, anyways, right?” 

Lorcan huffed a laugh as Kohana nodded, “That’s right!” As soon as he had taken off his shoes, Kohana jumped up and started pushing Lorcan’s legs. “Bye-bye, now. Time to go!” 

Nehemia and Lorcan both laughed and the former deterred Kohana from further booting his father out of the house. “Why don’t you go see where your Fenny is?” He nodded and hurried off, yelling for Fenrys. Nehemia turned to Lorcan and ran a cursory look over him. “Looking sharp, Salvaterre.” 

“Thanks, Mi,” he said, rolling his eyes and standing still as she tutted over the state of the collar of his black dress shirt. She pursed her lips and dusted off his shoulders. “Mia, I gotta go, I’m gonna be late.” He glanced over her head and saw Fenrys coming down the hall, who echoed his statement. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, he looks fine,” Fenrys said, slipping his arm around Nehemia’s waist and kissing her temple.

Sighing, she nodded, “Yeah. Have fun, ok? I’ll call you if something goes wrong.” 

“Alright,” he said, not understanding why he felt his heartbeat quicken in anxiety. In a few short moments, he was leaving and making his way back to his truck. 

His heart still raced and Lorcan couldn’t figure out why. The only time he had felt like that was… around Elide. That morning, when Malakai said Elide was here, his heart had raced and he’d nearly dropped what he’d been holding. 

That was why he was even going on this stupid thing. To move on, from something that didn’t feel like he should’ve had to move on from. Him and Elide hadn’t even been together. At all. Shaking his head to dispel his spiralling thoughts, Lorcan turned on the ignition and drove off, making his way to The Willows. 

He parked a few blocks away and decided to walk to the restaurant. During his walk, his phone pinged and he pulled it out, smiling down at the image of Kohana that Fenrys had texted him. His son was smiling widely as he looked up at something, his eyes bright. His heart tightened at the pure and true joy on Ko’s face.

There was a soft smile that stayed on his lips as he opened the tinted glass door of the restaurant and walked inside, carefully making his way around the people waiting to get to the hostess’ stand.

The blonde woman waiting smiled semi-gently. It was very obviously her retail smile, the one she pasted on for customers. “Hi, there. Do you have a reservation with us?” 

“Yeah, Marama for 8:30?” 

She nodded, looking harried as she scanned over a list and nodded, “Alright, come this way.” The woman told him about the set menu and showed him to an intimate table out in the greenhouse portion of the restaurant. He had to admit – it was beautiful. Glancing upwards, he saw the star-spotted sky behind the glass roof. 

Greenery surrounded them, all sorts of creeping vines and lush greenlife. Lorcan thanked the woman and unbuttoned his jacket as he sat. 

It was all going to be fine. It was just dinner. Easy, simple. Nothing to worry about. 

He told himself that over and over for the next five minutes, his knee bouncing up and down uncontrollably. When he realized, he suppressed the urge to fidget, but it just came out as him drumming the beat of some punk song he’d used to play often at that old grungy club. 

Then, he heard a familiar voice – smoky and delicate and sultry all at once. He almost didn’t believe it and looked over. Lorcan’s eyes landed on a gorgeous person, their truly sinful curves wrapped in a black dress that hit mid-thigh, showcasing the black ink on their fair skin. His gaze travelled up their body, catching on the tattoos on their… collarbones. Laurel wreaths.

Oh, he was going to fucking murder the Marama-Ytgers.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: i would say im sorry for the cliffhanger...but im really not 🥰

also! i use Xhosa for Eyllwe! Translations: 

Malaika: Angel

Mholo: Hello 

@mythicaitt​​ @tinywolfofeyllwe​​ @schmlip-scribble​​ @the-regal-warrior​​ @empire-of-wildfire​​ @rhysands-highlady​​ @shyvioletcat​​ @alifletcher2012​​ @ttakeitbacknoww​​ @tswaney17​​ @ourbooksuniverse​​ @flora-and-fae​​ @thesirenwashere​​ @queenofxhearts​ @maastrash​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @cursebreaker29​ @superspiritfestival​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @queen-of-glass​ @sleeping-and-books​ @beccasophia95​ @exersize-me-i-dare-u​ @thewayshedreamed​ @hizqueen4life​ @ifinallygavein​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @awkward-avocado-s​ @b00kworm​ @mu-si-ca-l​ @lovemollywho​ @tacmc​ @soitsgorgeous​ @staarligght​

[gayenerd]

Another old article saved in a Word document, which I can only find behind a paywall now (but I linked it in case someone does have access to a subscription)

Green Day Rising Metal Mike Saunders, Bam, 28 January 1994 Popcore Ascending? Or Is That Just The First Phase Of 'The Greatest Band In America'?

'We were down in Irvine and Mike was having a pillow fight outside with his girlfriend. He was running away from her, and at the top of his stride he turned around, right into a horizontal beam five feet off the ground – Vhoom...Out cold. So that suggested the concept of ...misery.'– Billie Joe

WHERE IT all it the brick wall for me personally was 11th grade carpool. Four high school boys jammed into a VW bug, or worse, with the AM radio on for about 20 minutes en route to Hall High, Little Rock.

It was the season of the great Bubblegum Wars, that pint in time where the underground FM vs. plastic AM trench wars had reached the point of no return. Kids vs. pigs, rednecks vs. longhairs. Combat was the order of the day, even in music.

In the fall of 1968, the musical lightning rod was 'Chewy Chewy' by the Ohio Express: 'Turn it off' and 'Turn it down' were the majority opinions. I was for sure the only one going 'Turn it up!' The same routine was repeated just a few weeks later with the Archies and the 1910 Fruitgum Co. (the later with the classic top-five hit 'Indian Giver'), and it seems like ever since that point in time 'pop' has been a derogatory term. Something less than…what? 'Rock'?

What does this have to do with Green Day? Well, it’s like this: There’s this real lame tag – 'popcore' (say it once and erase it forever, pul LEEZE) that was kicking around for a while last year and was affixed to the East Bay trio’s style of music. Aw, hell, they’re just a great rock band.

If Santa came and went recently and there’s still no Green Day in your house, here’s a shopping list: 39 Smooth (Lookout!), Kerplunk (Lookout!), and Dookie (Warner Bros./Reprise). Forty-eight killer tracks by this country’s greatest band and, considering that only in the preceding 12 months did its members start to hit drinking age, possibly just the beginning of what could turn out to be an amazing career.

Proof is no farther away than the band’s new album, Dookie, its first for a major label, but proceeded by two LPs and three 7-inch EPs on Berkeley’s Lookout! Records.

Anyone who’s seen the threesome knows they can play like gangbusters; the difference between a tiny indie-label budget (try about $3000 for all 34 Lookout! Tracks combined) and a major-league endeavor is that for the first time you get proof 10 times over on tape. So you get raging guitar sounds and cracking snare rimshots that explode like the early who. Even the band’s chronic shortcoming – weedy studio vocals – has been corrected to an encouraging degree.

"Yeah," volunteers 21-year-old lead singer/guitarist Billie Joe, "for my vocals we used a Beyer microphone, which was used on some of the early Elvis Costello stuff. I’m really happy with the way it came out."

The entire album is a veritable role model for any guitar-heavy rock band. Says producer Rob Cavallo: "In the case of a raw, live-sounding record like this one, what I try to do is capture on the listener’s speakers the whole left-to-right stereo spread – what we heard in preproduction, listening to the band blast away in their practice room. The key to this, in Green Day’s case, is that they have such a focused idea as to what they sound like, and they’re great players in that style."

Specific elements of Dookie’s production style include a live rhythm guitar on every song, singletracked lead vocals only, and all vocal harmonies done by the second-stage voice, 20-year-old bassist Mike Dirnt.

Warner Bros.’ hands-off role, a characteristic of the company in the wake of its Mudhoney "creative control"-type underground signings, was crucial in shaping such a record. "Warner Bros. stayed out of the way and let us do exactly what we wanted to," says 21-year-old drummer Tre Cool. "All I can say is if you can get on Warners, you are one lucky son of a gun!"

The inclination to make a guitar-heavy record was present from the get-go. "I definitely wanted to get a bigger sound," recalls Billie Joe, "something with more meat to it." Which is achieved, in parts thanks to a borrowed vintage 1972 Marshall head hooked up to the same blue Stratocaster Billie Joe’s been battering since he was 11.

The wall of guitar sound was achieved with a live track and just one more rhythm guitar dropped in. "We had experimented a bit on previous records, stacking guitar tracks to try to get a thicker sound," recalls Billie Joe. "But this time with just the two rhythm guitars; we got a better distorted sound."

Like any other trademark-sound band, it’s the deviations on the record that are most interesting. We’ve got three here: 'Pulling Teeth,' 'When I Come Around,' and the album’s first single, 'Longview,' 'Pulling Teeth' leaps out of the album like a K-Tel cut buried in a techno set; it’s the tune Dave Edmunds never had to break his career Stateside. Tight harmony vocals frame a straight guitar-heavy country-rock melody with a conciseness worthy of the masters. Not one wasted word or second.

"We were down in Irvine," recalls Billie Joe of the song’s lyrical genesis, "and Mike was having a pillow fight outside with his girlfriend. He was running away from her, and at the top of this stride he turned ground – vhoom…Out cold. So that suggested the concept of…misery."

'Longview' hits a whole opposite style. It’s something you might imagine as a late’70s FM track, with a loping dumbo beat ("a rumble," suggests Dirnt) not too far off Tom Petty’s 'Breakdown', Lyrics about nothing, really-killing time, punching the cable remote, getting high. A two-chord riff to nowhere, then a basic garden-variety three-chord chorus. The trick is that the whole darn song is a hook. Simultaneously the dumbest and catchiest Van Halen guitar licks panning across the speakers.

"In a way, that song was cheap self-therapy for watching too much TV," recalls Billie Joe. "It was another case of writing about whatever mood I’m in."

Especially near to my heart (I’m from the South, y’all ) is 'When I Come Around,' an unintentional dead-on-evocation of Lynyrd Skynyrd at its top-40 hookiest. With a lazy turnaround beat like 'Sweet Home Alabama', it’s just about five degrees westward of the slightly ‘70s ballads 'Christie Road' and 'No One Knows' from the earlier Kerplunk album.

"On that one, we weren’t thinking country rock, but rather something that had a groove to it, almost like you could imagine having a martini and listening to it at the same time," explains Dirnt.

See, 80 percent of Dookie is in the trademark Green Day raging pop-punk. It’s this deviant 20 percent that makes one suspect they can pull off almost anything they want out of the trash-dump of earlier under appreciated rock styles. A mainstream audience could forge a very, very interesting alliance with this group.

Of the trademark pop-punk onslaught, averaging an airtight two minutes, 30 seconds apiece, 'Basket Case' and 'Sassafras Roots' are two of the strongest numbers. 'Basket Case' was about a friend who’s pretty loopy,' explains Billie Joe, 'but a bit about myself as well – like seeing your own trails in other people where it’s been taken to a total extreme. There are a lot more songs on this record that are about other people’s experiences, even though I might still be singing in the first person.'

The recording of Dookie went fairly fast by industry standards, the music and vocals finished last summer in three and a half weeks (at Berkeley’s Fantasy Studios), followed by an initial mix. The band then headed out on 40-date fall tour with the veteran LA punk band Bad Religion, which enabled them to come back to the project with a clean set of ears. The entire album was remixed with engineering whiz Jerry, Finn who paid special attention to the record’s amazing bottom end. At that point, the band’s 'creative input' reached its most extreme.

"We all three sat there for 10 days straight, 15 hours a day, and listened to every minute of the remixing sessions," recalls Tre Cool. Which is just short of four working-Joe (like me) work weeks without a day off.

Dookie is one of the rawest melodically oriented rock records to show up on a major label in the last zillion years. Usually when bands go from an indie to a major label, the result is a slicker product.

"When I listen to bad rock music occasionally, I just wind up going, ‘What the hell were these guys thinking of?" agrees Billie Joe.

I speculate that there have now been entire generations’ worth of bad drum sounds committed to record. "Huge room sounds on the drum with shitloads of reverb," responds Dirnit. "Flanged drum rolls," adds Billie Joe.

My favorite, rolls across the chromatic-tuned rototoms, comes in a close second.

While most bands with almost 50 tracks into their recording career hit the point of labored songwriting (that old saw about a band’s first album being its best), that hasn’t been the case with Green Day. "Actually, I think I was more comfortable with my songwriting on this record than I ever was before," insists Billie Joe. "I had a real good handle on what kind of melodies and hooks I wanted to come up with. Didn’t rush myself, just let them come out naturally. It was the previous time out, on the songs on Kerplunk, that I was consciously trying to outdo my previous songs."

The variation from Green Day’s uptempo style, now comprising a good one-quarter of the band’s most recent two albums, will continue. "We definitely are going to continue to expand the scope of our material; we don’t want to get into a rut where we rewrite Kerplunk or Dockie over again," explains Billie Joe. "There’s a lot of musical tastes that run through this band."

I did my homework on the band’s "song-about-girls" label (a tag, Dirnt complains, 'we got caught up in') going back to January 1992’s Kerplunk and assigning topics to each song. The tally was girls, four; mortality/meaning of life, three; neurosis/insanity, one; one novelty song; and alienation, motivation, and coming of age, one apiece. Dookie is more of the same, with topics ranging all over the map, the median perhaps being the pissed-off frame of mind of 'Chump' and 'F.O.D.' The girl-songs ratio is down around 30 percent.

The "girl-songs" tag must have sprung from what was the band’s classic 1990 debut, 39 Smooth, written and sung by Billie Joe and Dirnt at the ripe old ages of 17 and 16. A good 70 percent of the album’s songs related to the opposite sex, with the lead off track, 'At the Library', ranking as perhaps the best song ever written by a high-schooler.

One facet of a Green Day performance that’s impossible to capture on paper is the continuous bantering and riposting between the band and the crowd, much of it hysterical.

"It’s all part of making our audience feel like they’re at home, communicating on an eye-label basis," offers Billie Joe.

"See, before a show we’re usually making fun of each other – making a mess by playing baseball with apples or whatever, meeting new people who are funny and have jokes we haven’t heard – so we’re totally stoked by the time we get onstage," elaborates Tre.

It’s safe to say that after two trips to Europe, half a dozen ('at least') full American tours, and over four years of nonstop gigging, performance anxiety does not figure into this band’s equation. "We never have a list, we just make it up as we go," explains Tre.

I offer my theory that no matter how many fans a band has, there are five times as many people who think they stink, and 10 times as many who don’t care.

"I would see it as three different sections: the people who really like you, the people who really hate you, and the vast majority who are totally oblivious," muses Billie Joe.

The vast size of the record industry contributes to making yesterday’s barely gold act today’s 'Who?' (think Britny Fox, Vixen, and a half-dozen gold Loverboy albums). Indeed, if everyone who ever made fun of Motley Crue videos were assembled in one place, we would surely fill the Oakland Coliseum.

Speaking of videos, the world doesn’t faze our subjects – not yet anyway. "We’ve never done a video. They’ve got us scheduled to do one, so for now we think videos are cool," laughs Tre.

"We’re probably shooting the video in our house," adds Billie Joe, the "house" being what appears to be a subterranean Berkeley abode, complete with a tiny band-practice room; it’s not squalid, it’s absolutely slacker). "So…we figure our video concept will be kind of ‘Looks That Kill’ meets ‘Hot for Teachers’ meets 'Rock You Like a Hurricane'," quips Dirnt.

Given the absolutely superb quality of the band’s Warner Bros. debut, the only mystery is that a major label bidding war on Green Day took so long to materialize.

"Warner Bros. was the label initially considering the band," recounts band co-manager Jeff Saltzman. "But it was when Geffen and Sony/CBS jumped in with serious interest that Warners got serious about picking up the band."

Green Day never would have gotten so much done so fast, however, without the astute ears of Lookout! Records’ president and perpetual talent scout, Larry Livermore, who sent the band into the studio two months after first seeing the trio to record an EP called 1000 Hours, which was followed by the 39 Smooth album, which was recorded at the end of 1989 for less than $500.

"I knew Al Sobrante (Green Day’s drummer through mid-1990) from Isocracy, so I knew about his new band, Sweet Children [renamed Green Day six months later]," recalls Livermore. "My band, the Lookouts, were playing a house party up in Mendocino County, February 1989, so I invited Al’s band up to play also. I was so impressed with the band and their attitude, playing just in front of 15 people, that I hooked up with them immediately to record for Lookout! I never had any doubt about their potential, musically. I thought they were great the first time I saw them."

© Metal Mike Saunders, 1994

[crazy4tank]

Here's What's Special About The Volkswagen Corrado | HotCars

New Post has been published on https://coolcarsnews.com/heres-whats-special-about-the-volkswagen-corrado-hotcars/

Here's What's Special About The Volkswagen Corrado | HotCars

The Vw back catalog is an interesting thing to dig through. Not just did every ordinary vehicle they made have some type of special performance edition (assume GTI, GLI, Passat W8), but there were also some distinctive and unique models through the brand’s past. Some of these had been high-volume cars like the Schirokko coupe, other people were very low-volume distinctive cars like the Phaeton luxurious sedan .

The Corrado is a bit associated with both. It was VW’s alternative to the Scirocco in the 1990s, and an early attempt to attempt to push the brand upmarket with a sleek-looking sports coupe. The Corrado had a special look to it but moreover, its engine options had been both quite intriguing. Beneath the hood, you had the option of whether supercharged inline-4 or Volkswagen’s delightful 2 . 8l VR6, a narrow-angle V6 motor that put six cyl under one cylinder head, within an engine bay designed for inline-4s.

It was the FWD coupe, but which was common at the time. Honda plus Acura were segment commanders with cars like the Prelude, Accord Coupe, and the Acura CL and Vigor. Mazda also had the beautiful MX-6, Mitsubishi had the Eclipse and the American manufacturers were making too many FWD personal luxury cars in order to count.

It will take quite the effort for that marque best known for its boxy sedans and diesel hatchbacks to make a splash in the FWD coupe segment, and the Corrado was a competitive machine, yet unfortunately, it wasn’t the particular runaway success VW had been banking on. However , that doesn’t minimize how good the car was, plus there is something special in regards to the Corrado that makes it that much a lot more desirable than a Jetta or even Golf of similar classic.

You could argue that the foundational product for Volkswagen, the particular Beetle, is itself the "cool coupe, " because of its two doors plus reverence in pop lifestyle, but we're going to dig much deeper than that to trace back again the Corrado's bloodline.

The first "premium" sports coupe from VW was the beautiful Karmann Ghia, an Italian-bodied two-door hardtop and roadster based on the Beetle's underpinnings. This used the same rear-mounted air-cooled flat-four, but in the Karmann Ghia, it was tuned somewhat to make more power than the foundation Beetles.

Staying with air-cooled VWs, there was also the Brazilian-market exclusive SP2 in the 1972s . It was a very pretty-looking car, like the Karmann Ghia, but also like the Karmann Ghia it suffered from a bit of Beetle engine impotence. The air-cooled flat-4 produced just seventy five horsepower in the SP2.

Then within the 1980s came the Schirokko , the Corrado's forerunner, and the car for you in case a GTI wasn't prestigious sufficient, but you also didn't wish to spring for a luxury vehicle. The Scirocco had a comparable "shooting brake" two-door emerge design to the Corrado however it was boxier and more useful. It came with a number of motors, including the 16v 1 . 8l and the G60 supercharged motor that would also find the way into the Corrado's motor bay.

Lastly, just before the start of the 1990s, VW took the wraps off its latest sports activities coupe, the Corrado, replacing the Schirokko in the model range till that car made the return in the late-2000s.

RELATED: Here's How Much A Classic Vw Karmann Ghia Is Worth These days

The Corrado has been based on similar architecture towards the MK2 Jetta and Golfing, thus it was not an especially complex vehicle, at least, this wasn't any worse than a MK2. VWs of this vintage get their issues, but the Corrado wasn't some limited-run spectacular that cost more than its payments to maintain.

It was a 2+2 having a fairly sizable liftback, with the rear seats folded it had been quite a practical thing. The sloping roofline would take advantage of some trunk space, yet it's not impossible to carry the particular boxes full of spark connect coils and valve protect and oil pan mechanical seals you'll need to keep one of these vehicles running.

At the topic of running, the particular Corrado came with a variety of motors, but two of them particularly are worth mentioning right here. The first was an development of the 1 . 8l G60 supercharged inline-4 from the Schirokko. This engine produced regarding 160 horsepower and given the front wheels through a 5-speed manual transmission. While not creating a ton of power, this still made some fascinating noises and could be fine-tined fairly easily, although anybody who's fiddled with a G60 will tell you that it can be a really temperamental engine, and components are getting hard to find.

The VR6 engine has become the engine by which the Corrado is best remembered. It first showed in that car, launched in the center of the Corrado's production operate in 1992. For the uninformed, the VR6 makes an exclusive growl that some evaluate to the Wookie language through Star Wars. Geeky references apart it, was a truly revolutionary engine, cramming six cyl in a tight V-angle so that they fit under one cyl-head, making the engine a lot more compact than a traditional slanted V6.

It had been also quite power-dense whilst being more reliable compared to G60 engines. With a shift of 2 . 8l, the particular 12v engines made one hundred and eighty horsepower at around five, 800 RPM, and almost the same in torque. Western european markets got a somewhat hotter version with twenty-four valves, but it only produced about 10 more HORSEPOWER than the motor sold in The united states. It fed the front tires through a 5-speed manual transmission.

RELATED: Which Made The VR6 Motor One Of A Kind

The Corrado remained in production till VW pulled the plug-in 1996 due to declining product sales. It was never the most inexpensive vehicle, and its high asking price meant it wouldn't become a massive seller. That uniqueness likely made these things an unusual sight even when new, great they're almost impossible to find.

Running a search from the classifieds across Canada, there was only a handful of cars detailed for sale in varying states associated with disrepair, from a near-mint recovery project to a clapped out there parts car in somebody's backyard. Nice ones are usually fetching exorbitant amounts of cash, anywhere from $30, 000 in order to $50, 000 for actually clean examples. You can find all of them cheaper than that, less expensive even, but prepare yourself to get a laundry list of typical older VW issues to be tackled and parts becoming tougher to get your hands on.

The Corrado is quickly becoming a collectible vehicle. Within 2003, Top Gear's Richard Hammond called this a future classic , and it also seems that prediction has from ages rather well. These vehicles used to be more common and more inexpensive, but as time marches on and cars break apart, they're disappearing.

If you're into VWs, you are already aware that this car is a bit of the holy grail. Finding a clean Jetta or Golf with a VR6 is hard enough, let alone a coveted R32 model , but the Corrado is a much more elusive animal. But , still, it's not a good impossible car to maintain in order to use as an everyday automobile. That said, seeing the ideals of clean ones, you may not want to subject it towards the abuses of daily generating.

The Corrado is one of those old VWs that is a perfect storm associated with reasonably reliable, rare, sought-after and cool. The VR6 engine is a gem by itself, and covering it up in the Corrado's sports shape is the best way to encounter it . Find one of the cars and hang onto this, because it appears to be a rare part of the car world - a good appreciating asset.

NEXT: This Is How The Vw Golf GTI Has Developed Over The Years

[missedstations]

“Self Portrait as Last Pawn Shop in New Jersey” - James Hoch

Lately I have not been feeling myself. I walk around like a figure missing its ground. I see a braid of smoke a hand passes through and envy hands, how smoke stays on skin, the faint hairs of a cheek a hand brushes against. Used to be enough to be the blown engine of a VW outside of Durango, whiskey we killed watching our father die, a bad painting I loved because our mother loved bad paintings, without irony. Lead sinkers in the gray bay of self— There! I’d say, strapped to the mast of a tall ship in a Turner painting, or a grip dangling from the center pole of a circus tent above a troupe of dachshunds trying to find the tiny pedals of tricycles. I collected myself like I was vying to be the last pawn shop in New Jersey. Now I am not even a whir of gnats on a dirt road, a threadbare cloud on a ridge line, the steam riding off an old man stepping out of a sauna. Days nothing seems to tie me to me. The more I live, the more the rucksack lightens, the more I can’t find myself in the mirror of the world, and roam storefronts as if I have misplaced myself. When I was a kid, I used to keep a Pringles can filled with volcano rocks someone once sold as Apache Tears, one weird-ass way of marketing pain. Gone now, as the name of the boy I bailed out for stealing CDs from Walmart for the girl he crushed on. Which is not really a crime I explained to the cops. The girl loved Stevie Nicks so much I found her stoned under blackberry bramble, listening to Landslide on a Walkman. Perhaps it matters to say they were Apache or Pueblo, Inde or Kewa, that they were minor thieves flung far from home. Perhaps all they wanted was the ground inside each other. But even as I say Landslide, Walkman, I feel the scree of words, the pawn shop emptying out. The things that made me are ether now, as clear as those who went and died and took what mattered—bodies, a joke, a late meal that wove itself into morning— as if they had packed for the afterlife. And empty and whole and empty, the air inside me tastes like leaving, and leaving tastes like rain that never comes. Which I love like breath on a window, like someone else drawing a heart, a face, a pleasure in the taking. No wonder, I am marveling over the demo crew slaying each other: Fuck wad, lug nut, waste of skin— Cuts, we used to call them, nicking wing, heel, gutting into laughter. Then, tender tender, as one with angels or dogs, where the wound is transom, the words hold them to the ground, and I am whatever hovers when they go.

[malautomat]

VW T2B

[alfaromeole]

Let us sell directly from the car…

Late Bay Volkswagen T2b (1972–79)

[aspencreek]

Smoke Bitten Excerpt

1 "Are you okay, Mercy?" Tad asked me as he disconnected the wiring harness from the headlight of the 2000 Jetta we were working on. We were replacing a radiator. To do that, we had to take the whole front clip off. It was a rush case on a couple of fronts. The owner had been driving from Portland to Missoula, Montana, when her car blew the radiator. We needed to get her back on the road so she could make her job interview tomorrow at eight a.m. The task was made more urgent by the fact that the owner and her three children under five were occupying the office. She had, she told me, family in Missoula who could watch her children, but nobody but her alcoholic ex-husband to watch them in Portland, so she'd brought them with her. I wished she had family here to watch them. I liked kids, but tired kids cooped up in my office space were another matter. To speed up the repair, Tad was taking the left side and I was working on the right. Like me, he wore grease-stained overalls. Summer still held sway-if only just-so those overalls were stained with sweat, too. Even his hair showed the effects of working in the heat, sticking out at odd angles. It was also tipped here and there with the same grease that marked the overalls. A smudge of black swooped across his right cheekbone and onto his ear like badly applied war paint. I was pretty sure that if anything, I looked worse than he did. I'd worked on cars with Tad for more than a decade, nearly half his life. He'd left for an Ivy League education but returned without his degree, and without the cheery optimism that had once been his default. What he had retained was that scary competence that he'd had when I first walked into his father's garage looking for a part to fix my Rabbit and found the elementary-aged Tad ably running the shop. He was one of the people I most trusted in the world. And I still lied to him. "Everything's fine," I said. "Liar," growled Zee's voice from under a '68 Beetle. The little car bounced a bit, like a dog responding to its master. Cars do that sometimes around the old iron-kissed fae. Zee said something soft-voiced and calming in German, though I couldn't catch exactly what the words were. When he started talking to me again, he said, "You should not lie to the fae, Mercy. Say instead, 'You are not my friends, I do not trust you with my secrets, so I will not tell you what is wrong.'" Tad grinned at his father's grumble. "You are not my friends, I do not trust you with my secrets, so I will not tell you what is wrong," I said, deadpan. "And that, father of mine," said Tad, grandly setting aside the headlight and starting on one of the bolts that held in the front clip, "is another lie." "I love you both," I told them. "You love me better," said Tad. "Most of the time I love you both," I told him before getting serious. "Something is wrong, but it concerns another person's private issues. If that changes, you'll be the first on my list to talk to." I would not talk about problems with my mate to someone else-it would be a betrayal. Tad leaned over, put an arm around me, and kissed the top of my head, which would have been sweet if it weren't a hundred and six degrees outside. Though the new bays in the garage were cooler than the old ones had been, we were all drenched in sweat and the various fluids that were a part of the life of a VW mechanic. "Yuck," I squawked, batting him away from me. "You are wet and smelly. No kisses. No touches. Ick. Ick." He laughed and went back to work-and so did I. The laugh felt good. I hadn't been doing a lot of laughing lately. "There it is again," said Tad, pointing at me with his ratchet. "That sad face. If you change your mind about talking to someone, I'm here. And if necessary, I can kill someone and put the body where no one will find it." "Drama, drama," grumbled the old fae under the bug. "Always with you children there is drama." "Hey," I said. "Keep that up, and next time I have a horde of zombies to destroy, I won't pick you." He grunted-either at me or at the bug. It was hard to tell with Zee. "No one else could have done what I did," he said after a moment. It sounded arrogant, but the fae can't lie, so Zee thought it was true. I did, too. "It is good that you have me for a friend to call upon when your drama overwhelms your life, Liebling. And if you have a body, I can dispose of it in such a way that there would be nothing left to find." Zee was my very good friend, and useful in all sorts of ways besides hiding dead bodies-which he had done. Unlike Tad, Zee wasn't an official employee of the garage he'd sold to me after teaching me how to work on cars and run the business. That didn't mean he was unpaid, just that he came and went on his own terms. Or when I needed him. Zee was dependable like that. "Hey," said Tad. "Quit chatting, Mercy, and start working. I'm two bolts up on you-and one of those kids just knocked over the garbage can in the office." I'd heard it, too, despite the closed door between the office and us. Additionally, just before the garbage can had fallen, I'd heard the tired and overworked mom try to keep her oldest from reorganizing all of the parts stored (for sale) on the shelving units that lined the walls. Tad might be half fae, but I was a coyote in my other form-my hearing was better than his. Despite the possible destruction going on in the office, it felt good to fix the old car. I didn't know how to fix my marriage. I didn't even know what had gone wrong. "Ready?" asked Tad. I caught the cross member as he pulled the last bolt. A leaking radiator was something I knew how to make right. Before I'd left work, I had showered and changed to clean clothes and shoes. Even so, when I got home, IÕd gone across the back deck to go in the kitchen door because I didnÕt want to risk getting anything from the shop on the new carpet. I'd disemboweled a zombie werewolf on the old carpet, and one of the results of that was that I'd finally discovered a mess that Adam's expert cleaning guru couldn't get out of the white carpet. All of it had been torn up and replaced. Adam had picked it out because I didn't care beyond "anything but white." His choice, a sandy color, was practical and warm. I liked it. We'd had to replace the tile in the kitchen a few months earlier. Slowly but surely the house had been changing from the house that Adam's ex-wife, Christy, had decorated into Adam's and my home. If I'd known how much better I'd feel with new carpet, I'd have hunted down a zombie werewolf to disembowel a long time ago. I toed off my shoes by the door, glanced farther into the kitchen, and paused. It was like walking into the middle of the last scene in a play. I had no idea what was causing all the tension, but I knew I'd interrupted something big. Darryl drew my eye first-the more dominant wolves tend to do that. He leaned against the counter, his big arms crossed over his chest. He kept his eyes on the ground, his mouth a flat line. Our pack's second carried the blood of warriors of two continents. He had to work to look friendly, and he wasn't expending any effort on that right now. Even though he knew I'd come into the house, he didn't look at me. His body held a coiled energy that told me he was ready for a fight. Auriele, his mate, wore an aura of grim triumph-though she was seated at the table on the opposite side of the kitchen from Darryl. Not that she was afraid of him. If Darryl was descended from Chinese and African warlords (and he was-his sister, he'd told me once, had done the family history), Auriele could have been a Mayan warrior goddess. I had once seen the two of them fight as a no-holds-barred team against a volcano god, and it had been breathtaking. I liked and respected Auriele. Auriele's location, which was as far as she could get from Darryl and remain in the kitchen, probably indicated that they were having a disagreement. Interestingly, like Darryl, she didn't look at me, either-though I could feel her attention straining in my direction. The last person in the kitchen was Joel, who was the only pack member besides me who wasn't a werewolf. In his presa Canario form, he sprawled out, as was his habit, and took up most of the free floor space. The strong sunlight streaming through the window brought out the brindle pattern that was usually hidden in the stygian darkness of his coat. His big muzzle rested on his outstretched paws. He glanced at me and then away, without otherwise moving. No. Not away. I followed his gaze and saw that the door to Adam's soundproofed (even to werewolf ears) office was shut. As I turned my attention back to the occupants of the kitchen, my gaze fell on my stepdaughter's purse, which had been abandoned on the counter. "What's up?" I asked, looking at Auriele. Maybe my voice was a little unfriendly, but Jesse's purse, the shut door of Adam's office, Darryl's unhappiness, and Auriele's expression combined to tell me that something had happened. Probably, given the people involved and my insight into a few things going on in Jesse's life, that something had to do with my nemesis, Adam's ex-wife and Jesse's mother, Christy. The bane of my existence had finally returned to Eugene, Oregon, where I'd optimistically thought she might be less of a problem. But Christy had a claim on my husband's protection and a stronger claim on my stepdaughter's affection. She was going to be in my life as long as they were in my life. Christy's strikes on me seldom rated a level above annoyance. She was good at subtle attacks, but I'd grown up with Leah, the Marrok's mate, who had been, if not as intelligent, infinitely more dangerous. I would pay a much higher price than dealing with Christy to keep Adam and Jesse. That didn't mean I was going to be happy about her anytime soon. I might be able to take her on just fine, but she hurt Adam and Jesse on a regular basis. Auriele's chin rose, but it was Darryl who spoke. "My wife opened a letter meant for someone else," he said heavily. "This is your fault," she snapped-and not at Darryl. "Your fault. You have Adam, her place in the pack, the home that she built, and you still won't let Christy have anything." I might like Auriele, but the reverse was not true because Christy had a way of making everyone around her hyperprotective of her. Auriele was a dominant wolf, which meant she started out protective anyway. Christy just put all of Auriele's instincts into overdrive. Still, I couldn't see her opening anyone else's mail because I was Adam's wife instead of Christy. I decided I didn't have enough information to process her accusations. So I asked for clarification. "You opened a letter from Christy? Or for Christy?" "No," said Darryl, staring at his mate. "She opened a letter for Jesse." Auriele glanced at the table, and I noticed, for the first time, that on the table in front of Auriele was a stack of mail. On the top of the stack was a white envelope with Washington State University's distinctive cougar logo-and all the pieces clicked. I pinched my nose. It was a gesture that Bran, the Marrok who ruled all the packs in North America except ours, did so often that it had spread to anyone who associated with him for very long. Since I'd been raised in his pack, it was bound to get to me sooner or later. It didn't help with the frustration, though I felt like it helped me focus. Maybe that was why Bran used it. "Oh, for the love of Pete," I said. "Jesse told me she was going to call her mom a week ago. Let me guess-she put it off until yesterday or this morning. And Christy called you. You came over, found the letter from WSU on the table-" "In the mailbox," said Darryl. I raised my eyebrows, and Auriele's chin elevated a bit more and her shoulders stiffened. Yep, even in her current state of Christy-born madness, she was a little embarrassed about that one. "We got here just as the mail carrier left," she said stiffly. "I thought we could take the mail in." "You found the letter in the mailbox," I corrected myself. "And, given the urgency and trauma that Christy expressed to you about her daughter's change of plans, you had to open it to find proof that dire shenanigans were afoot." Jesse had been accepted to the University of Oregon in Eugene, where her mom lived. She had also been accepted to the University of Washington in Seattle, where Jesse's boyfriend, Gabriel, was attending school. Both were good schools, and she'd let her mother think that she'd been debating about which way to go. Adam and I had both been sure she intended to follow Gabriel-boyfriends outranked parents. I understood why Jesse hadn't wanted to tell her mother-witness the current scene with Auriele. Though putting it off had just been postponing the explosion. But all of Jesse's schooling plans had changed thanks to recent events. Our pack had acquired some new and very dangerous enemies. A week ago Jesse told me she'd decided to stay here and go to Washington State University's Tri-Cities campus. I'd agreed with her reasons. Jesse was a practical person who made generally good choices when her mother wasn't involved. The only advice I'd given Jesse was that she needed to tell Adam and Christy sooner rather than later. "Hah," Auriele said with bitter triumph, pointing at me. "I told you it was Mercy's idea." I opened my mouth to retort, but the door to Adam's office jerked open and Jesse stalked out, her cheeks flushed and her fists clenched. She glanced past me at Auriele and gave her a betrayed look that lasted for a long moment until she rounded the corner and took the stairs at a pace that was not quite a run.

[blessyourhondahurley]

October 24 - Movie Night

[Read on AO3]

"C'mon guys, grab your snacks and let's go. Movie Night is about to begin!" Dean stands in the doorway of the Dean Cave and hollers down the hall for his family to gather. He waits for the sound of approaching footsteps before he takes a seat on the right side of the sofa.

Sam gimps in, carefully supporting his sprained ankle with a pair of extra-sturdy crutches they'd found in the med bay. His injury gives him automatic dibs on one of the two recliners in the room, regardless of whose turn it otherwise would be. (Dean's. It would be Dean's turn. But it's fine. The couch is fine.)

Cas follows close behind, and he's carrying Sam's bowl of popcorn as well as a larger one for the rest of them to share. He hands off the food, one to each brother, then turns to the mini fridge behind the bar.

"Before I sit down, who wants a beer?" Two hands shoot up and are summarily filled with frosty bottles, then Cas sits down on the couch. "What are we watching tonight?" he asks Dean.

"Titles are not revealed until everyone is seated. Where's Jack?"

"I'm here, sorry!" The boy bustles in, ripping open his bag of fun-sized 3 Musketeers bars as he enters the room.

According to the chart that Dean had drawn up when they'd decided to make weekly Movie Night official, the other recliner is Jack's tonight. But instead of claiming his rightful spot, he makes a beeline for the couch and squeezes himself in on the left-hand side, putting Cas in the middle between him and Dean.

This seating choice is a breach of protocol, but it's not a completely unexpected one. Jack has been clingy lately, cuddling up to one or the other of them whenever possible, and asking for frequent hugs throughout the day. He's even ended up having a sleepover in Sam's room a couple times, claiming that his room was "too empty."

Dean gets it; they all get it. Just like the rest of them, the kid has been through a lot. None of them is so hardened by the hunter life as to begrudge someone they care about the simple comfort of affectionate touch. So Cas scoots over to make sure his son has enough room to sit, and once he's settled, Cas puts his arm around Jack's shoulders to pull him into a brief sideways hug.

Now they are all assembled, and Movie Night can begin. But Dean's been struck dumb, dangling on the horns of a dilemma. Because the recliner is up for grabs, and there's no good reason for him not to be the one doing the grabbing.

No good reason, that is, except for one – the warmth of Cas's thigh, pressed against Dean's. It feels so good that Dean forgets what he was doing. It feels so good that Dean almost forgets his own name.

Sam, as always, is ready to be of assistance. "Dean!" he barks. "We're all here. Let's get started!" He doesn't seem to register the vacant chair next to him, focused instead on the arranging his crutches so they're close by for him to grab if he needs a bathroom break but not so close that they might knock into his sore ankle or block his view of the screen. "...Dean?" he prompts after  minute.

"Right, yeah," Dean replies with a shake of his head. "Let's do this! Tonight's theme is Spooky Cinema. We've got, uh..." Cas leans even closer into him as he grabs a handful of popcorn out of their shared bowl, and Dean feels his brains liquefy further. He has to look at the DVD cases piled on the end table next to him for a reminder. "The Shining, the first Nightmare on Elm Street, and Re-Animator." He hits PLAY on the remote and tries to focus on the screen as the camera sails across the Colorado landscape and zooms in on the Torrance family's little yellow VW Bug.

It's impossible, though. He can't follow the movement on the screen, can't make any sense of the opening titles as they spool past. The Shining is a masterpiece of cinematography and suspense lasting just under two and a half hours, and Dean doesn't notice a single minute of it.

By the time a deranged Jack Torrance is chasing his wife and son through the snowy hedge maze of the Overlook Hotel, Dean is dizzy, half-hard and out of breath with the closeness of Cas's body. Cas is deliciously warm, his thigh so thick and firm... He smells so good, like popcorn and clean linen and Dean's shampoo. The movie ends, the credits roll, the DVD menu starts to play, and Dean is oblivious, immersed in a fantasy of the two of them, alone.

After a minute, Cas gets up to swap the discs, impatient with waiting for Dean to do the honors. The movement briefly snaps Dean out of his reverie, and he's just starting to feel his head start to clear when Cas sits back down, somehow managing to end up even closer to Dean than before. Now they're pressed together from ankles to shoulders, and the emptied popcorn bowl has been tossed aside, leaving no distracting occupation for their hands.

On the screen, Freddy Krueger constructs his trademark glove and uses it to chase poor Tina Gray through her nightmares. But on the couch in the Fortress of Deanitude, a very different story is playing out, one involving the slow encroachment of the Angel Castiel's right pinkie finger into Dean Winchester's personal space.

At first, Dean thinks he's imagining it, that the sensation along the side of his thigh is part of the fantasy he's once again disappeared into. But when he looks down, he can see Cas's little finger slowly stroking over and over against the seam of his jeans. There's no question that it's deliberate, and a tiny nuclear bomb goes off in Dean's brain, right in the neighborhood where Denial and Repression share a sprawling condo with Self-Doubt.

There are no survivors.

The blast site is washed out in a cleansing deluge of Desire and Relief, and Dean decides to stop thinking about his emotions in Capital Letters and start responding to Cas's questing digit. He lets his own pinkie stray into its path, brushes them together.

The second movie plays out, and only Sam and Jack pay it any attention. Dean and Cas give their full focus to the 17 square millimeters where their skin is touching. Eventually, one of them grows bold, and moves his hand to press against the other's. They twine their fingers together this way and that, thumbs stroking and palms sliding together.

The second movie ends. Dean twitches and makes an abortive attempt to pull his hand away, but Cas squeezes gently and he stills.

“Jack,” Cas murmurs with a nudge. “Can you switch the movies?”

“Oh, sure,” the boy replies, obligingly scurrying to the player and swapping the discs. The low-budget gore of Re-Animator starts up, and Dean and Cas go back to ignoring the movie completely.

Twenty minutes into their last movie of the evening, Dean's about ready to have a heart attack. It feels like he and Cas have been making out for the last two hours, and all they've done is hold hands. He's so turned on he thinks his dick has stopped speaking to him. He needs more. He needs more skin. He needs more Cas.

Dean brings their joined hands up to his lips. He twists his wrist, plants a soft kiss in the palm of Cas's hand, and listens to the angel's breath hitch. Then there is a kiss behind his ear, teeth gently nibbling along his throat. “I think that's enough of Movie Night,” Cas growls. “There are things I've been waiting to do to you.” Dean couldn't agree more.

He stands and pulls Cas up with him.

“Hey, what's up?” Sam asks. “You guys not gonna watch the rest?”

“Nah, it's not like I haven't seen it. Me 'n' Cas need to...” Dean gestures at the door. “You guys watch it, though. Have fun.” “You too!” Jack says, all good manners and feckless innocence.

“We plan on it,” Cas replies with a smile, tugging Dean down the hall to his room.

[airmighty]

AirMighty Gallery - Late Bays from 15+ years ago 😎🤘🏻 — www.AirMighty.com shop.airmighty.com #airmighty #airmightymegascene #aircooledvw #vwgallery #vwlife #vwmagazine #vwbug #vwbeetle #vwporn #vw #vwbus #vwsplit #vwtype3 #vwsplitscreen #slammedvw #vintagevw #vwlifestyle #karmannghia #vwbrezel #vwkafer #vwbaywindow #latebay #latebaywindow (bij AirMighty Megascene) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAK3BLAgGis/?igshid=94gtdru4bw4k

[parkerspicedlatte]

Disconnected-Chapter Eight (Luke Hemmings)

Summary: In an alternate universe where everyone has a soulmate, Luke and his soulmate share the rarest of them all. Some people have matching tattoos, others feel each others pain/emotions, but mental connections are the least common. The connection that Luke and Lynn share is that they can hear whatever song the other is singing. When they are close together they will be able to hear each others voices but for the meantime, they can only hear the recorded versions.

Pairings: Luke Hemmings x Lynn Corby (OC)

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of injuries, alcohol, a cuss word???

Featured Songs: If I Could (Jack Johnson)

Lynn felt the most relaxed she’d been in weeks. She finished the song she had been working on, she’d done very well performing on stage at the bar a few days before, and she had the apartment to herself for a few hours. She finally got to sit down with a mug of peppermint-spiked hot chocolate and the book she’d been meaning to read for a while. Lynn was at peace with herself and with the world around her, which seemed a little odd since she and Kylie had had an argument just a few hours prior.

She thought to herself that Luke must be relaxed and having a good time at that moment. Lately Lynn had been feeling certain emotions that she was certain weren’t her own; a random spout of anxiety when she wasn’t doing or thinking of anything that would cause her to be anxious.  Sometimes even a sudden feeling of satisfaction when she was down in the dumps. The only explanation Lynn had was that somehow her connection with Luke had strengthened immensely.

“If we can hear each other’s songs and feel each other’s emotions, the only mental connection we don’t have is proper telekinesis.” Lynn had told Kylie.

Her peace however, was interrupted by the sound of her phone nearly vibrating off of the coffee table beside her. Lynn set her book down on her lap and reached over to check the caller ID. Kylie. Lynn let out a sigh, mentally debating on letting the call go to voicemail. She knew she would be furious if Kylie was asking her to come and join herself and her underage sister at the bar. She slid her thumb across the screen anyways.  

“Hello.” she answered in a monotone voice.

“Heeeey!” Kylie squealed on the other end followed by a drunken giggle. Lynn threw her head back against the couch in annoyance and they hadn’t even gotten past the ‘hellos.’ How on earth could Kylie be that drunk sounding when they’d just left less than two hours ago? she wondered to herself. It was nine o’clock, the summer sun had barely set.

“Um me and Avery have a question for you. You know since you have a –hiccup- a car badge thingy.”

A car badge thingy? Oh she means a drivers license.

“Are you by any chance calling to ask if I’ll pick you up because you’re too drunk to get home on your own?” Lynn asked, her voice doused with frustration.

“How’d you know?” Kylie squealed over the phone, her fake drunk state could have fooled even the bartender who knew she had only served them two drinks each.

Lynn dropped her head into her free hand, trying to not scream at Kylie. What kind of irresponsible person takes their sixteen year old sister to a bar, gets them drunk before nine o’clock and has to call their roommate to drive them home?

Lynn half considered hanging up and letting Kylie figure it out herself. She couldn’t do that, not when Avery was in the mix. She couldn’t leave a sixteen year old at a bar, inebriated without a way back. Lynn knew damn well that Avery and Kylie could handle themselves but it still went against every moral standard she had in her body.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” she sighed into the phone. “Just don’t go anywhere or do anything stupid please.”

“We won’t.” Kylie hiccupped back. “See you soooon! Bye love yah.” Click. The call ended.

“Looks like someone forgot we were arguing earlier today.” Lynn huffed as she walked over to her bedroom to replace her pyjama pants with a pair of jeans. If she had to walk into the bar to collect the Dubois sisters, she at least didn’t want to look like a slob, especially since she was trying to build herself a reputation there with her music.

Lynn threw her long strawberry-blond hair up into a ponytail while she searched for her car keys. Once she found them she made her way to the beat up VW Jetta in the driveway.

“How could she be so irresponsible?” Lynn thought aloud as she pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. “She’s older than me by two years yet she’s the one acting like she’s eighteen again.” she said into the steering wheel.

A few minutes later Lynn pulled into a parking space a few buildings down from the bar. As she walked towards the front of the buildings she saw the party house in full swing. Lights lit up the large bay windows in the front, people were laughing, singing and dancing to the beat that Lynn could hear from outside. She didn’t care, she had a mission in mind and that was to find Kylie and Avery so that she could get them back home safely than spend the rest of the night taking care of their drunk asses.

Her blue eyes scanned over the crowd not actually looking at the faces, rather, for the wild curly brown hair; a trademark of the Bubois sisters. Lynn finally spotted them at the bar counter towards the far right. They were talking and clapping along to the band currently playing while sipping away at their drinks, looking sober, perfectly sober.

“What. The. Hell?” Lynn muttered under her breath, a mixture of aggression and bewilderment. Lynn marched over to the pair wondering what on earth was going on.

Avery saw Lynn first. “Show time.” she said, arching an eyebrow to her sister, a signal they shared with little discretion. 

Both sisters turned around to give Lynn an identical sheepish smile.

“What the hell is going on?” Lynn demanded, “You sounded like you were drunk enough to fall off your chair when you called me ten minutes ago. Now you don’t even look like you’ve had more than a few drinks. You’re not even flushed! You two better have a goddamn good answer!” Lynn said; smoke practically pouring out of her ears.

“We do. I mean, I do. This is my doing, don’t blame Avery.” defended Kylie. “Before I explain further, I need you to look behind you.”

“Why? What is behind me that has to do with why you lied to me about being too drunk to get home?”

“Please, just trust us.” Avery said using the words her sister had practically begged of herself not even an hour previously.

“Trust you? You guys just lied to me and now you won’t tell me why.” Lynn crossed her arms. “Right now I do not trust either of you.”

“Just turn around!” Kylie leapt off of her barstool to grab Lynn by the shoulders and spin her around, having had enough of the short conversation. “Look at who is directly in front of you.”

Lynn’s eyes met those of the grumpy diner owner from down the street. He frowned at the commotion going on between the girls and went back to his drink at hand, a scotch on the rocks.

“What does Greasy Al have to do with this?”

Kylie groaned. “No, not Greasy Al, the guy behind Greasy Al, in the white shirt, right there.”

“The blond guy?”

“Yes! Yes do you see him?”

“I see the back of his head.” Lynn mumbled, annoyed at her roommate’s behaviour.

“Okay just wait until he turns around.”

“What does the blond guy have to do with any of this?” Lynn tried to turn back around but Kylie held her shoulders tightly, not letting her go in case Lynn missed it. In case she missed seeing her other half, her soulmate. Luke. Freaking. Hemmings.

“Everything. Everything has to do with this.”

“Kylie, you’re being extremely vagu-ohhh fuck!”

Lynn’s eyes finally settled on the face of the stranger across the bar. The stranger who just so happened to know more about her than most people in the room, even the ones she’d known for years. He wore a smile that made his eyes dance with joy. Lynn felt butterflies dance with pure ecstasy. She felt Kylie’s hand loosen and slide off of her shoulders but she didn’t move; she couldn’t.

Her soulmate was right in front of her. Lynn could take less than twenty steps and be standing directly in front of him. She could finally be connected.

“Sooooo! What are you going to do?” Avery squealed from behind her, not being able to contain herself any longer.

“I-I-I don’t –shit I don’t know!” Lynn suddenly felt her body sway. Her head felt light. The room was unbearably hot. Lynn couldn’t catch her breath; they were coming in quick and shallow. She could feel hands grab at her arms as gravity took her body to the floor. Everyone around her was miles away. She could hear her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears.

A voice, she could hear a voice but it sounded like it was underwater.

“Are you okay?” the voice asked. “Can you hear me? She needs to be brought outside, there’s too much commotion in here.” The voice felt like silky sheets on soft bare skin, it was heaven flowing through her ears.

“Lynn, I need you to wake up.”

Something inside of her told her to follow the voice, to trust it. Lynn felt her body shiver. Her eyelids felt cool, so did her finger tips. She could move her fingers.

“There you go, keep going. Come on, you’re almost there.”

She felt a cool breeze blow across her cheeks.

“Lynn, come on, wake up!” a voice sobbed, sounding desperate and close to tears. The voice still didn’t sound as close as it should have but it was a start. “Focus, just focus on something.”

Lynn did just that. She listened for the voices that were getting closer.

“When was the last time she ate?” One voice, a new stranger.

“I don’t know, we haven’t talked since this morning.” Kylie’s voice.

“Oh my gosh this is all our fault!” Avery. So far three voices.

Something was on her face. It felt warm and comforting. Come on Lynn, focus. What is on your face? Whatever it was, it kept moving from her forehead, down to her cheek, then to her chin and back to her forehead. Fingers? A hand. Somebody’s running their hands over my face. Why? That’s kinda weird.

 “Come on Lynn, wake up.” Kylie’s voice begged of her. “Avery, run inside and ask Mitchy for some water, cold water.”

“Who’s Mitchy, and what are you going to do with the water?” Lynn wasn’t sure but she thought it was Avery’s voice asking the question.

“Mitchy is the bartender you dummy.” Kylie, definitely Kylie’s voice.

“Okay! But what about the water?”

“Gee Ave, I’m thirsty, what do you think I’m going to do?” Yep, one hundred percent Kylie. “I’m going to pour cold water on her to hopefully wake her up faster.” Oh shit no!

Now Lynn was determined to wake up. Her mind was becoming clearer by the second but she still couldn’t still couldn’t move anything other than her fingers, so that is what she moved her focus to. Thumb. Index. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Thumb. Index. Middle. Ring. Pinky. She tried bending them all one by one.

“Does she do this often?” a fourth voice, this one she didn’t recognise. Thumb. Index. Middle. Ring. Pinky.

“She used to when we were kids but she hasn’t in at least a year or two though.” Thumb. Index. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Wrist. WRIST! Lynn rolled her left wrist around. The feeling in her arms was starting to come back in a fuzzy haze. She groaned a little at the new pain shooting through her head. Did I hit my head on my way down?

A flurry of voices all around her all interrupted her concentration. Lynn couldn’t differentiate between any of them.

“She’s starting to wake up!”

“Hey look, her hands are moving.”

“Did you hear her?”

“You heard that right?”

She heard the sound of the bar door open and close, the music inside getting louder then quieter as the sounds were stopped from any further escape.

Avery went into the bar to get cold water! Shit!

“No I’m up.” Lynn tried to say before Avery could get to her. “Avery, no wait.”

Too late. An ice water filled pitcher was thrown over her upper body from head to ribs.

Lynn gasped, body convulsing for a split second at the torturous change in her body temperature. Her eyes flew open but she couldn’t see anything except a few blurry lights.

“It worked!” declared Avery triumphantly.

“Lynn! Oh my gosh you scared the hell out of me!” Kylie screeched.

“Are you okay?” asked another voice, the sweet voice belonging to the man she heard earlier.

Lynn shivered letting out the smallest of whimpers. She still couldn’t find her voice. Her eyes slowly began to regain focus and the blurry images began to fade into clearer, crisper ones. Directly above her, Kylie’s worry stricken face loomed, brows furrowed and lips slightly trembling. Kylie lifted one her hands from Lynn’s face to cover her own mouth, holding back a sob.

Beside her, Mitchy held a phone to her ear, talking to somebody while retelling what had just taken place. Did she call 9-1-1? What would she do that? Geez how long was I out?

Lastly Lynn noticed the familiar strangers around her. They all stood looking down at her figure lying on the pavement and then back to each other. All of them save for one, the one with the gentle, light blue eyes that looked nowhere but to her. He was crouched on the pavement with Kylie, going the extra mile to get close to Lynn, not exactly knowing why. His eyes were curtained by loose strands of curly blond hair. Lynn was so lost in him that if she’d had more control in her arms; she would have subconsciously moved his hair back to get a better look at his face, her soulmate’s face.

Luke stared down at the girl lying on the pavement. Her head was resting in the lap of who he assumed to be her close friend. The girl’s strawberry blonde hair had fallen out of its ponytail in the kafuffle and was strewn in a soggy angelic mess across the legs of her friend. The neon lights from the bar windows reflected blues and reds across the pale skin of her face and chest.

“Are you okay?” he heard himself asking again. Luke wasn’t sure why he was as concerned as he was about this girl. She was a complete stranger to him; he’d never seen her before in his life but something in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Something in him was drawn to her. There was a slight physical strain in his body pulling him towards her. Something in Luke made him want to pull her body against his, to tuck her head into his chest and run his fingers through her now wet hair.

Her eyes roamed from person to person before finally landing on himself. Luke felt his heart flutter then skip a few beats when their eyes met. A warmth flooded through his body causing him to visibly shiver.

“Lynn can you hear anything? Please say something.” Kylie. So far Luke knew that the girl on the ground was Lynn, the girl freaking out was Kylie and the younger copy of Kylie was Avery. Kylie rubbed gently at Lynn’s temples, down her cheekbones to her chin, then back up again.

Lynn nodded slowly, moving her eyes back over to Kylie’s. “Can you tell me what day it is?” Kylie asked.

“T-Tu-Tuesday.” Lynn stuttered out. Luke felt a sense of familiarity wash over him at hearing her voice. What’s the matter with you Luke? Why are you being like this? People pass out all the time.

He hadn’t even noticed Ashton, Calum, and Michael standing a few feet back, observing quietly. If he’d looked back at that moment Luke would have seen Calum and Michael looking concerned, yet confused at the same time, wondering why Luke had run out of the bar with the girl. If Luke had looked back he would have seen Ashton beside them both, a small tight lipped smile on his face and fingers crossed at his sides. Somehow Ashton knew exactly what was going on. While Ashton had yet to experience the connecting of soulmates himself, he had witnessed it happening on enough occasions. He’d seen it enough to recognize the look of complete awe between Luke and Lynn.

“I-I’m going to k-kill Avery.” Lynn shuddered once more through her clenched teeth.

Everyone around her chuckled nervously, everyone except Avery.

“How long?”

“A few minutes.” Kylie answered. “Not the worst but not the best. Think you can sit up?”

Lynn thought for a moment before nodding. “I think I can.” She placed both of her hands on the pavement just above her hips to prepare to push herself up. She felt like her every movement was being analyzed from every angle. The thought made her uncomfortable.

“Okay, on the count of three.” Kylie began her countdown. “One, two, three.” Lynn pushed up on her hands while simultaneously bending her knees in attempt to unsuccessfully steady herself.

Luke’s arms flew out to catch her before she fell back on the pavement.

Once Lynn was sitting upright against the brick wall of the bar she was eye to eye with Luke. He now noticed the small yet constant constellations of freckles that were especially pronounced across her blushing cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Luke saw that her eyes were not as blue as he’d initially thought. Rather, they had more grey tones in her irises without the help of the neon blue lights.

“Lynn, hey earth to Lynn. How are you feeling?” asked Kylie while waving her hand in between the blondes faces. Kylie didn’t want to get in the way of soulmates connecting but she still needed to know that her best friend was okay.

“I-I’m fine.” Lynn replied, not tearing her eyes from Luke’s.

A few moments passed by going unnoticed by the pair on the ground. Everyone else however, stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do. Finally, Avery cleared her throat, bringing all five other bystanders attention away from Luke and Lynn.

“Maybe we should, uh, you know, head back in. she suggested. Ashton nodded agreeing with her.

“Come on boys, let’s give them some space.” he said to Calum and Michael.

“What? Why?” Michael asked.

By then, Calum was starting to clue in on what was going on. He looked back at Luke jealousy as he walked towards the bar.

“Michael, let’s go.” Calum said in a low voice. Michael shot him a weird look but stepped with him towards the bar entrance anyways. Ashton followed behind them. He bent to lean into Luke’s frame.

“See you in a bit mate, congrats.” he whispered into Luke’s ear before patting him on the back and joining the boys with Mitchy in tow. One word hung over the entire group but nobody dared to speak it. Soulmates.

Last to leave was Kylie. She hadn’t even noticed that everyone else had left until Avery gently placed her hand over her sister’s shoulder reassuringly. Kylie had been with Lynn since they were in elementary school, since before Avery was even born. She’d been on the soulmate search train with Lynn for so long now that she wasn’t sure how to get off. But the train had stopped. It had reached its destination.

“Ky, come on.” Avery urged her. And just like that, Kylie stepped off of the soulmate train’s platform and away from the station. Once inside, she watched from the large front windows. Ashton was on her left side and Avery on her right.

Back outside, the blondes remained lost in world that consisted of nobody but each other, each taking in every single detail of the other in the most comfortable silence that either of them had ever known.

“I almost passed out at the same time you did.” Luke said breaking the silence. Lynn didn’t know how to respond so she didn’t. Instead Luke cracked a slight smile as he looked into her doe like eyes. “I got a little dizzy and light headed, then I looked over and you had hit the floor. Figured it wasn’t just a coincidence. Are you sure you’re alright.”

Lynn nodded. “Better now.” she whispered almost inaudibly. She looked away once she felt a blush creep up from her neck to her cheeks, illuminating her entire face with a pink tint. Lynn played with her fingers that were resting in her lap. Luke’s brought his own larger hands to rest cautiously on top of hers, as if to see if she would reject them.

She didn’t, instead she smiled down at their hands. Luke took it as a sign that he was in the clear. Slowly he engulfed her cold hands in his own. He brought them up to his lips, blowing warm air into them, pressing a small, chaste kiss to her knuckles.

“Are you even real?” he whispered against them, looking up at Lynn through his eyelashes.

“I think so.” Lynn whispered back, a tear slipped down her left cheek and ended at her pale lips. “I’m sorry.” she said quietly. So quietly that Luke almost didn’t hear her.

“What?” he asked softly. “Why would you be sorry?”

“Because I knew.” Lynn sobbed, an ugly sob that made her entire body shake. “I knew, but I didn't do anything. It’s all my fault. I’m selfish. I’m so sorry.”

Immediately Luke moved his hands from Lynn’s hands to wrap them around her back. He swiftly moved to sit beside her against the brick wall. He then pulled her gently against his body, sensing that she wasn’t going to be made upset by his actions.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, each too caught up in their own emotions to do anything.

“I don’t want you to be sorry.” The silence was broken by Luke once again as he uttered those words into her ear. Lynn’s body shook against his. Luke brought a hand up to run his fingers through her wet, unruly, mop of hair. “The universe wasn’t ready for us to meet, fate I guess.” he told her.

“But were you ready?” Lynn sniffled.

“I think,” Luke paused, trying to find the words that felt right. “I think that I wanted to meet you, but just because you want something, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re ready for it.”

Lynn sat up to see Luke’s face. She carefully studied his expression, looking for any trace of anger or sadness. She looked to see if he was telling her the truth. She found no signs of deception.

Finally Lynn nodded her head slowly, showing that she agreed with Luke.

“You know, it’s almost like everything that’s been going on these past few weeks, has been fate preparing us to finally.... maybe get us ready to meet.” she told him while bringing a hand up to wipe away her tears. “You could feel it too, right?”

“I could feel it.” He reassured. “I could feel you.” Luke said not even noticing his involuntary smile that took over his face. “I could feel when you were excited about something or when you got anxious.”

They both thought back to moments when they could feel each other’s emotions. Then suddenly Luke remembered.

“Hey, what’s the deal with the Jack Johnson song? The last time I heard you sing it I thought you were going to die.”

Lynn smiled sheepishly down at her hands, chuckling lightly. She knew damn well that he was going to ask her that one day.

“It’s stupid, you’re going to laugh when I tell you.” she told him, having finally calmed down enough from her prior incident to speak clearly again. 

“What? Why?” Luke smiled, already falling in love with his other half.

“I was uh, I was doing an open mic thing at the bar that night, in front of people. I’d never done that before.” she confessed in a whisper.

Luke felt his heart swell with pride for her. The butterflies that danced around his heart felt more like a swarm of chirping, singing birds. Once again he tugged her body into his, bringing her onto his lap and engulfing her in his arms.

“It’s okay, everybody gets nervous on stage.” Lynn could feel him smiling into her neck as he spoke. “I still do and I’ve been on stage since I was sixteen.”

“You sang along that night.”

Luke nodded suddenly remembering the feeling of their connection growing stronger as they sang the lyrics together.

“That helped me out a lot, thank you.” 

Time froze. Luke and Lynn were caught up in each others eyes not noticing anything around them, just their other halves. Slowly, they moved into each other. Lynn could smell the cologne on his jacket while Luke could smell the coconut scented shampoo in her hair. Their faces so close together, lips centimetres apart.

“Hi.” Lynn giggled.

“Hi.” Luke whispered. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked ever so gently.

Lynn nodded, not even missing a beat. “Yes.”

Luke leaned in nearly the rest of the way but froze just before their lips touched. He didn’t know why he froze. This was his soulmate. Luke was going to spend the rest of his life with her. Why am I so scared of this? Why wouldn’t he be scared?

Lynn suddenly brought her lips to his, confirming what they already knew with a kiss. 

Luke took no time in kissing her back. Her lips felt like coming home after a long tour. They felt familiar. Luke felt every insecurity about his soulmate not wanting him wash away like the receding tide.

Lynn felt safety in him. She felt how carefully and softly he kissed her back.

While Luke could only think about their lips, Lynn noticed everything between them. She noticed the feeling of his arms wrapping around her protectively and lovingly. She noticed his fingertips pressed into her sides. She noticed how his bottom lip felt between hers before switching to capture her bottom lip. What they both failed to notice however, were the spying eyes of their friends from the other side of the bar’s large bay window.

Luke pulled away first, out of breath. Lynn took a few seconds to register that their lips weren’t connected anymore. Slowly she opened her eyes, afraid that he wouldn’t actually be there when she opened them.

She glanced up to see a pair of bright blue irises looking down at her in awe. His lips were pink with a slight glistening sheen and had pulled up slightly in a grin. His thumbs stroked up and down her cheekbones in admiration.

“Hi.” he whispered as he had only moments ago.

Lynn looked down at her hands that were each bunching his shirt. Neither had even realised until then.

Every so often a car would drive by on the street. Their headlights would illuminate the newly connected couple, the smaller in the lap of the taller. His legs bent a little to cage her into his body protectively. People passed them on the sidewalk. Some giving them funny looks of disapproval, but neither Luke nor Lynn noticed. Even if they did, they wouldn’t care or give them a second thought.

If somebody had stopped, however, they would have seen more than just a young couple, they would have seen passion. They would have seen the result of over a year of torturous strain the couple had been through to finally find each other. A cruel game of cat and mouse that neither of them could run from nor capture.

But nobody stopped and nobody saw.

“Let’s get you into some warmer clothes, hmm.” Luke suggested. His forehead learned against hers, nose bumping against hers.

“I like that idea.”

“Your place or mine.” he smiled.

“Well... my clothes do happen to be at my place so...”

Luke laughed. “Good point. Should we get our friends or leave them?”

Lynn thought for a second. “I don’t know about you but I don’t think it would be the craziest idea if we got everyone together. I mean, Kylie lives with me and Avery is up for a few days. I say we all go up to my place and celebrate.”

“Perfect.” Luke said bringing his lips down to hers.

 To be continued…...

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