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rawmeanderson · 4 years ago

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pretty please ― thursday.

ft. Kevin Hayes.

plot: with Kevin, Brady, and Jimmy all gone from New York and the new season about to start, everyone gets together for a long weekend. warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of anxiety/depression. word count: 4.9k notes: this is a slight AU I suppose, in the sense that the pandemic doesn’t exist here bc escapism, y’know? basically, this takes place in August 2020, where there was no pause and the season ended normally. also, this is kind of forgetting the fact that Kevin, Brady, and Jimmy didn’t live together during the last season they were all together in New York but whatever. Y/N is also plus sized!! title is from Pretty Please by Dua Lipa. there’s also more notes at the end!

Rain was hitting the windshield, the sky gloomy and grey as leaves on the trees outside the car. At least the weather was playing into your mood.

“Last time I checked, this was the only rain we’re supposed to get all weekend thankfully,” Sophie said from the driver’s seat as she adjusted the speed of the wiper blades. When she glances at you, you force a slight smile, nodding in acknowledgement. She looks like she wants to say something else but doesn’t, and you turn your head to look out the window.

The dread and disinterest swimming in your stomach, the car ride that seemed to go on endlessly reminded you of all the times your mother had driven you to your dad’s during the summers. You’d sat in the passenger seat then just like you are now, anxious, irritated, and on the verge of begging her to turn around.

You hadn’t wanted to come on this trip, knowing it was meant to be a last hurrah of sorts. Thursday to Sunday at a lake with friends sounded great in theory, but the changes that would be happening in the weeks that followed were what scared you. The finality of it all.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Y/N,” Sophie told you, and you could feel her glance at you again. She had been your roommate for almost 10 years now, since the start of college, and she knew you were doing your best not to spiral.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, opting to nod like you had earlier as your gaze drifted to your lap. Running your tongue along your teeth, you tried to think of something to say that would ease the tension in the vehicle. Un-crossing your legs, you shift in your seat slightly as you hear Sophie exhale a quiet sigh through her nose.

She knows your feelings aren’t personal, that you’re not blaming her for moving on with her life, but your general sadness about all of it weighed on her either way. She was right there, but that didn’t stop the preemptive pangs of loneliness that hit your stomach.

In the last two years, every person you’d spent most of your time with had left New York, until Sophie was the last one. And in two weeks, you’d be the only one left, leaving you feeling as grey and sad as the weather outside.

After chewing on the inside of your cheek for a while, you pick a piece of invisible lint off the fabric of your shorts. You’d meant to buy new ones before the trip since most of your pants cut into your waist anymore, fueling your self-consciousness. “I’ll...I’m sure I’ll feel a little better once we’re there and I’ve been able to take a nap,” you tell her, trying your best to sound optimistic about it. Blaming your bad mood and distantness on being tired, classic.

Sophie glanced at you and nodded, accepting what you’d said despite knowing you as well as she does.

It would’ve been hard to argue about it, considering you’d both been up before 5am to make this 4 hour drive. You’d left the city around 6, the car packed with the bags for the weekend, plus a good number of totes of Sophie’s stuff for Jimmy to take back to Buffalo with him. There was still about an hour left in the drive, and the iced coffee you’d chugged at the start of the drive had done nothing but make your heart race soar as you fidgeted in your seat.

Sophie had always been the early bird, with the two of you poised to be some of the first people to arrive at the lake. Jimmy and one of his buddies had gotten there last night, with everyone else slated to show up in the early afternoon. The only reason you’d agreed to leave so early was because Sophie promised to let you nap as long as you wanted once you got there. You were grateful that would allow you to avoid people for a while.

For what was left of the drive, Sophie didn’t speak, letting you sit there in your tired sadness as music hummed through the speakers.

When you parked at the massive cabin overlooking a lake that stretched as far as you could see, it was still raining. The sky was just as grey, and it gnawed at you, the perfect cinematic backdrop for what felt like the beginning of the end.

Your mood was sour, and as you unfastened your seatbelt to exit the car, you felt goosebumps rise along your skin even though it was warm out despite the rain. The same worry you’d had the whole drive was still swirling through your head, that your mood and your emotions would put a damper on the trip. You hoped that a nap would help calm those fears.

Jimmy was already on his way out to greet you and Sophie, his smile fixed on your roommate as you open the back door to grab your bag. He approaches with a grin as you’re already making your way toward the cabin.

“Take any room you want,” he tells you, like he already knows that you’re going for a nap. You salute him in acknowledgement, deciding to greet him better later as he continues on to greet his girlfriend.

Your shirt is covered in raindrops by the time you get inside, glancing around curiously. There’s a couple of people hanging out on the sofas that you don’t recognize, but they wave to you either way then go back to their conversation.

After wandering down the hall, you nudge open a door and decide that the room is good enough. There’s a window looking out over the lake, and even as grouchy and sad as you’re feeling, you know it’ll be a gorgeous view when it’s not so gloomy outside. You close the door behind you and unceremoniously drop your bag on the floor while kicking off your shoes. Collapsing into the middle of the bed, you sigh, running on auto pilot as you pull the blankets over yourself.

Shifting around slightly, you’re aware of how the shorts are cutting into your waist and your bra is pinching somewhere, but you’re too settled to do anything about it as you stare up at the wood paneled ceiling. The sound of the rain hitting the roof is soothing, and you let out a breath that seemed to have been held since the moment you got in the car.

Your eyes trace the woodgrain, remembering when Sophie told you about Jimmy’s roommates shortly after she got with him, that they were funny, cool guys that she knew you’d get along with. You’d partied with them first, but it turned into movie nights, casual dinners, enjoying the group of newfound friends that you saw several times a week. With how often you ended up hanging out late or bar hopping in their area, the guest room had practically been designated as yours.

Then Kevin was traded to Winnipeg. Then Jimmy was traded to Buffalo. Then Brady was traded to Carolina. Your found family in the city had practically dissolved within a year, and now Sophie was two weeks away from moving to Buffalo.

You knew there was little choice in the matter for anyone really, that it wasn’t their fault, that it was just how worked, but it still hurt, remembering you’d be the last one of the group in New York. You had other friends that you saw every so often, but it didn’t stop how lonely it all made you feel. Being sad about it made you feel selfish, so you buried it behind frequent naps and iced coffee.

Your internal monologue continued until tears stung in your eyes, and you blinked them away, turning on your side as you willed yourself to get some rest.

By the time you woke up, it was mid-afternoon, and you stayed curled up on your side for a moment. Sun was streaming in through the window as you took a deep breath. You could hear people outside, along with splashing from the lake, and when you rolled over, you saw somebody zip past in a jet ski. After a taking a few minutes to scroll through your phone, you finally get up, stretching as you smooth your hair down.

You came out of your room and found Jimmy and Sophie in the kitchen. Yawning as you approached, Sophie smiled.

“Good nap?” she asked knowingly, and you nodded once you were close enough to hug her.

“Yeah, definitely,” you said, arms wrapped around her. She hugged back tightly, rubbing a hand between your shoulder blades before you pulled away.

You felt better. The nap and the better weather helped kick the sadness out of you. You hated this part, feeling better and realizing how cynical you’d been earlier.

“Good to see you, Slim Jim,” you told Jimmy, hugging him quickly as well. You were happy to see him, deciding to focus on enjoying and savoring the long weekend with everyone instead of being miserable with sadness. Leaning back against the edge of the counter, feeling content, you smile. “Who all showed up when I was out?”

“Uh, some friends of mine, Derek and Amy, showed up, Kev too, and he brought a friend,” he said, glancing down at the water like he couldn’t even remember who was there. “Brady’s about an hour or so out.”

The three of you chat for a while, catching up since it had been awhile since you’d seen Jimmy. He introduces you to the friends of his that were splitting the cabin for the weekend when they come through, and a moment later, you promise to catch up more later, deciding to head outside for a bit.

Outside, the sun beats down on you but you lift your chin to greet the warmth as you walk. It felt particularly good after the heavy rain of the drive in, the humidity from it clinging to the air still.

Making your way to the dock, someone you hadn’t met is standing there, football in hand. Kevin’s on the back of a jet ski with someone else driving, and it didn’t surprise you at all to see him jump off for the football when the man on the dock through it. No surprise, he missed the ball and landed in the water with a splash, and was already laughing when he resurfaced a moment later.

That’s when he spots you, hand shooting up in a wave with a wide smile. “Heyo!” he yells, already swimming toward the dock. You could hear the excitement in his voice, and nervousness pangs in your stomach.

You had only seen him once since he’d been traded a year and a half ago, when he’d been in town for a game and you hadn’t even realized it. Sophie had invited you out, and there he was, happy as ever to see you. You were grateful that the bar had been loud and that Brady had been occupying most of Kevin’s attention. After a drink and a half and a quick conversation with Sophie, you’d taken off, managing to avoid Kevin other than the hug he’d given you as a greeting.

Since Jimmy and Sophie were together and Brady had Gracia, you and Kevin had been the odd couple out, paired together during group activities. It worked out at least, considering the two of you got along great.u seldom hung out once When all three of the guys lived together, the two of you always seemed to be the last two up, chatting or finishing a movie even after the others had gone to bed.

It had felt so natural to hook up with Kevin the handful of times it had happened in the months leading up to when he was traded. Each time had been when you were both the last two awake, lingering on the sofa, usually at least a little drunk. It had always been casual, and you told yourself the only reason it happened (and kept happening) were out of convenience. You’d certainly never seemed like his type, considering almost every girl you’d ever seen him talk to at a bar had the same slender build and the confidence that came with it.

You snapped yourself out of the thoughts, and tug at the fabric of your shirt self-consciously, feeling like it’s clinging to all the wrong parts of your body. Kevin’s eyes are on you still as he climbed the ladder to meet you on the dock, making you feel even more aware of yourself. He paused to grab a towel off the rail, rubbing it over his hair, then settling it over his shoulders. His swim shorts hung low on his hips and you force yourself to meet his eye, happy to see that he was smiling widely at you as he approached.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, sounding as sincere as you could ever imagine. It felt like his smile had grown, and it made it impossible for you not to mirror the expression right back to him. “I’d hug you, but in case you didn’t notice, I was just in the lake.” You had forgotten how deep his voice was, and you tell yourself that it’s the sun that’s making you feel hot all over.

“I’m good with a rain check,” you responded, nodding at him. From the golden tone of his skin, you can tell he’s been outside a lot this summer. He looked great, as always, and you hadn’t expected anything less.

“Good by me,” he told you with a laugh, bringing a hand out to ruffle your hair in lieu of a hug. You laugh with him, not quick enough to stop him. “How’s life been? Man, I feel like I haven’t seen or heard from you in forever.” You don’t let yourself think about his tone, how he almost sounds a little sad about it.

You shrug quickly in response to his question, still grinning. “Things are okay. Nothing’s really been going on, I guess. I miss you guys though.” Your hand comes up to shield the sun from your eyes, tilting your head up to see him better. He’s so tall that looking at him heads on would have you staring at the bit of hair that covers his chest, at how broad his shoulders are, and you were worried that you’d never stop if you started. “What about you? How’s Philly?”

“I miss New York, but damn, Philly’s been great, I can’t even lie about it,” he admitted with a bit of a laugh. It was good to know that he’s happy, and you can feel it radiating off of him. “It’s a good city, and a good group of dudes. And this guy, over here,” he paused, voice a little louder as he motions behind him to the guy who’d thrown the football, “is Nolan. We lived together this year.”

Nolan looked at the two of you, holding up a hand to wave before turning his attention back to talking to one of Jimmy’s friends that’s floating in an inner-tube close to the dock. You were both silent for a moment then before whoever was on the jet ski yelled Kevin’s name, waving for him to come back out.

“You should come swim,” Kevin told you, motioning to whoever it was that he’d be there in a minute.

Your eyebrows rose and you were quick to shake your head, even before self-consciousness dug its claws into you. “Nah, not right now at least,” you said, dismissing the idea with a wave of your hand. “I just came down to say hey, I’m actually going to go chill on the deck and read for a while, I think.”

For a short second, Kevin looked a little disappointed, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He instead nodded, smiling again already as his hand came up to your shoulder. “Yeah, gotcha.” It’s hard to ignore how large his hand is on you, the way he squeezes just slightly, his thumb brushing against your collarbone. “We’ll catch up more later.”

“Yeah, of course,” you told him, doing your best not to lean into his hand. Thankfully, he stepped away before your willpower went out, and you watched as he damn near sprinted back to the edge of the dock, jumping into the water in an effort to splash a friend.

You stopped in the cabin to grab your iPad, and on your way out to the back deck, a girl who introduced herself as Amy put a margarita in your hand and hugged you like she’d known you for years. It was a damn good margarita too, you realized as you settled on a lounge chair, stretching your legs out in front of you.

The rest of the afternoon ticks by easily. The margarita is rather strong, relaxing you into the chair as you read for the next hour and a half until Brady showed up. You’d been able to hear laughter and the occasional shouting from the water every so often, Kevin’s voice usually the loudest. Brady, Sophie, and Jimmy joined you on the deck a while later, and the four of you take the time to catch up a little more and figure out how to spend the next few days.

The sun had just stating to set when pizza arrived for dinner. The air is still warm, and someone was already working on starting a bonfire. Sophie was to your right at the picnic table, a little tipsy as she munched on some garlic bread.

Across the table, Brady was talking about his upcoming nuptials. Gracia hadn’t been able to make it for the trip, but you were glad he’d decided to come. Next to him, Kevin interjected with a dumb comment at one point, making Jimmy snicker.

“By the way, Kev, do you need a plus one? Have you been seeing anybody?” Brady asked, turning his head to look at him rather pointedly. It takes everything you have not to snicker a bit, lifting a slice a pizza to your mouth.

“Naah, I’m not seeing anyone,” Kevin responded, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m sure I could find someone to go with, but I haven’t really dated much since Y/N.”

You freeze when he says your name, your mouth already half open to take a bite. What the fuck is he talking about?

“We never dated,” you said, the words more sharp than you’d meant them to be. Your eyebrows have practically shot up, and you look away from him as an awkward silence hangs over the table for a beat until Sophie exhales a laugh.

Jimmy really came to the rescue by changing the subject, and your cheeks were burning by the time you met Kevin’s eye again. He actually looked a little amused, but rather than making you feel relieved, it makes heat curl down your spine.

By the time it was completely dark, part of the group had settled on the sofa and chairs in the living room to watch a movie, while others decided to go on late ride on the lake. It was still plenty warm out, and you’d really hit a stride in the book you’d been working on, so you ended up back in the same chair you’d spent most afternoon in. The line of string lights gives the deck a nice glow to it, and you can hear the buzz of the TV in the living room.

The sliding glass door opens then closes, at you look up to see Kevin walking towards you.

“Is the movie no good?” you asked, tilting your head as you look at him. He had a beer in one hand and a hard cider in the other that he offered to you. The fact that he recognized your favorite brand in the fridge made you smile as you thanked him quietly for it.

“Movie’s fine, just thought I’d come see if you wanted to go for a walk or go hang by the water,” he responded, shrugging as he took a sip from the beer still in his hand.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You shrugged back at him, flashing a grin as you got to your feet. Leaving your iPad on the seat for the time being, you follow him to the stairs, then down the trail to the dock.

“How are things in New York?” Kevin asked after a moment’s silence, and you glance up at him with a skeptical look.

“I thought we talked about this earlier,” you counter, taking a sip of your drink. He scoffed, shrugging beside you as the pair of you started down the dock.

“Yeah, I guess we did, really, how are things?” Kevin’s voice was lower this time, making your back straighten when he looked at you again. “How are you?”

You weren’t expecting such a direct question, and you’re grateful to deflect it for even a moment longer as you take the time kick off your shoes and sit on the edge of the dock. An answer still hasn’t found you, so you take a drink instead of speaking. Kevin watched you all the while as he sat next to you, making self-awareness prickle at the base of your neck.

“Life’s fucking weird right now,” you admit finally, looking at the reflection of the moon on the water. “And it actually kind of fucking sucks too.” Kevin doesn’t respond right away, but when you took a deep breath, his elbow nudged yours lightly.

“You’ll get through it,” he assured you, with such sureness in his voice that you looked at him with a warm smile.

“I know I will. It’s just hard, but I’m dramatic, so of course it feels like the end of an era or something.” Your shoulders rise then fall in a shrug, still looking at him. “And then I feel selfish for even feeling that way to begin with. I know it wasn’t your choice to leave, or Brady’s, or Jimmy’s. I’m trying not to let myself be too sad about it.” You were surprised that your voice remained even as you spoke.

The words hang in the air and Kevin nodded, bring a hand up to touch the back of your shoulder. You feel warm all over as his fingers splay over your upper back, and you find yourself biting the edge of your tongue when tears sting in your eyes.

“I was sad about leaving too. I knew I’d miss the guys, that I’d miss you, but that’s what makes trips like these nice, getting to catch up and just hang out for a few days,” he said finally, his hand still on your shoulder when he met your eye. “I’m honestly surprised you’re not following Sophie to Buffalo.”

Your nose scrunched at the thought and you shook your head, exhaling a quick laugh. “I honestly thought about it, but I know she’s excited to be moving in with him, and I don’t want her to feel like she has to always keep me company or something,” you explained, peeling at the edge of the label on your bottle with your thumbnail. You weren’t sad enough about being alone in New York to justify moving upstate, you knew that much.

“Philly’s not far from New York, y’know. You can always come hang with me and Nolan, and I know there’s a few other guys on the team you’d have a good time with,” Kevin offered, taking a long swig of his beer as his hand finally fell from your shoulder. “Or I could visit you. We could go to that one bakery you like so much, watch movie or TV all day, just kind of chill.”

A wide smile spread across your face. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, taking the chance to nudge him with your elbow. Kevin nodded, still grinning as he nudged you right back. It felt good to be talking to him, to have him close enough to smell his cologne for the first time in a year and a half.

There was another pause, and you both took a drink, the sound of frogs and crickets hanging around you.

“Sorry for putting you on the spot like that at dinner. It was meant to be a joke,” he said finally, taking another drink to finish off the bottle. You glance up at him and it almost looked like he was blushing a bit over it.

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, but Kev, you know we never dated,” you told him, laughing as you finish off your own drink.

“We kind of did!” he responded, laughing with you. “We went out plenty of times!”

“Dude, texting me ‘hey, are you hungry?’ at 11pm, then going to a 24 hour diner does not count as a date.” You snorted, shaking your head. When he caught your eye, he was smiling almost bashfully.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, holding your gaze. “The next time we go on a date, I’ll make sure you’re aware of it, deal?”

Your response is to laugh again, nodding and looking away this time. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re back on the sofa in their old apartment at 2am. A chill ran down you and you exhaled a breathe, watching the way the water rippled as a breeze swept through.

“I’m really did miss you,” Kevin told you, and from the corner of your eye, you know he was watching you again. Nervousness plucked along the back of your neck, and you kept your eyes on the water. “Like, way more than I miss Jimmy and Brady, honestly.” You don’t fully believe him, but either way, the sentiment makes your heart ache.

With your jaw clenched, you exhaled a breath as your eyes burned with the threat of tears. “I missed you most too,” you assured him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Good.” He paused, tilting his head up to look at the stars for a moment. “Can we watch season two of Fleabag sometime this weekend?” Kevin looked at you a second later and blinked as you laughed.

“Yeah, of course. That’s an oddly specific request,” you said, letting your eyes move over the lines of his face as he shrugged.

“I haven’t watched it yet, I was waiting until I could watch it with you.” His words made you blink, and your throat swelled, hating this rush of emotions now that you’d felt happier for most of the day. You didn’t really know what to say, so you just nodded again, suddenly feeling the urge to lean into him to bury your face in his neck comfortably.

A few months before he had been traded, you’d started the first season at 1:30am after a night of drinking. Brady had been at Gracia’s, and Jimmy and Sophie hadn’t even made it through the first episode. Considering the season consisted of six 25 minute episodes, it was easy for you and Kevin to stay up and watch the entire first season, curled up together on the couch.

You and Kevin had spent the following half hour making out like teenagers until he absolutely begged you to come to bed with him. Feeling heat beside your thighs, you now wish you had said yes, just to have that extra memory.

The two of you spend the next several minutes in silence, sitting side by side on the dock in the dark. You can hear music playing from the cabin behind you and the murmur of voices surrounding the fire pit that was a dozen feet away. Your heart was racing as you fidgeted after a while, trying to ignore the feelings for him that you had buried when he was traded that were now bubble at the surface.

Eventually, Kevin mentioned going up to the house for more drinks, and you agreed, getting to your feet with a sigh. You looked up at him briefly, then toward the house behind you.

“Before we head up, can I cash in my rain check for that hug from earlier?” he asked, running a hand over his hair as he watched you.

“Yeah, of course,” you responded, smiling widely as you walked into the arms he held open for you.

You let out a breathe as he hugged you tightly, your face pressed into his chest. He smelled as good as he always did, and warmth of his hand rubbing over your back had you relaxing into him. Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt when he kissed the side of your head once, then a second time.

“It’s gonna be a good weekend, yeah?” he murmured, the words muffled against your hair. It took everything you had not to shiver against him, and you nodded, happy to keep yourself nuzzled securely against him for a while longer.

A FEW MORE NOTES: Well, this fic feels a lot more emotional than I’m used to writing, and it’s one of those things that I really like where I’m heading with this, but I worry about it seeming whiny or wishy-washy, but here it is anyway. How typical of me to vanish for months, then show up with a new story when everyone’s been waiting for Bring You Back to Me’s next chapter 😂 I love whoever of you are still reading at this point, and I hope you enjoy this fic. I loved the first part, but I’m so not used to writing anymore and that, paired with my ever present self-doubt, I’m like “is this fic good at all??? let’s fucking see!!!” and here we are 🤷🏻‍♀️

FRIDAY

#kevin hayes #kevin hayes fic #kevin hayes imagine #hockey imagine #forever terrible at tagging these whoops #pretty please

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Note

Can you imagine Chris with a fever? Trying to tell jake he doesn’t feel well, he wants to be held, but the high fever only makes it harder to talk? Everyone in the safe house crowded around, desperate to cool him down bc they can go to a hospital?

CW: Feverish, sickness, mentions of symptoms of sickness + references to past noncon/dubcon, plus fucky thought processes around that. Vague references to past torture.

Timeline: Chris’s first week at the shelter.

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

His bones hurt, but he keeps that to himself. It's just bones, after all, and he's had way more of him hurt much worse than this.

At least, it starts with bones, just in his upper arms and in his thighs, and he thinks maybe it’s because he is always tense in this strange new place. The house seems small compared to Sir’s mansion but he is allowed to move around all of it, not just one hallway of rooms.

This makes him nervous but he does, anyway, padding silent and still as a mouse around the hallways and down the stairs at night, searching for signs that this will be a life he understands.

He finds none.

There is no basement, or if there is, they don’t show him. He doesn’t know what happened, exactly - there was a night where Sir had a party, and then he was put in a car and then another car and then there was this new place, these new people.

No, at first it’s really just his thighs, an ache buried so deep under the skin that no amount of rubbing against it seems to work it out. After that, his arms start to hurt, and then down his calves, and finally it settles in at his hips like two hands are gripped on tight. The ache is familiar, a memory of a life he doesn’t have to live any longer.

They tell him he doesn’t, anyway.

They tell him he doesn’t have to do that, here, but there are two men and three women and he thinks maybe eventually he will have to be good. He’s not trained for women but it can’t be that different, can it? He tries not to think about it very much, and hopes if he just stays quiet, and still, and holds his hands in little stone fists at his sides that no one will notice him.

If they don’t notice him, they won’t ask, and he won’t have to, even though he kind of wants to, but also he doesn’t, and he can’t remember if he ever really did or if it was always a voice inside him that someone put there on purpose to make him like this.

He wants to be held but he is scared of what it means, because it’s never just holding. It always means having to be good. Maybe not right away, but always, sooner or later.

Does he actually want to be held? Or did they do that to him, with all the time he spent alone, praying someone would open the door to the white room?

He wants someone to hold him while he feels like this, but… his bones hurt too much for what happens after the holding, and he feels so cold, like being back in the white rooms that have all blurred together.

Once all the other hurts are joined by a strange, pounding headache that won’t lift, a weight like his brain is solidifying inside his skull, the boy takes a big soft blanket right off the bed of the larger man who lives here and finds a place to hide.

They're all downstairs, the other people here.

There’s a storage room at the end of the hallway where all the bedrooms are, and the door isn’t locked - at Sir’s all the doors are locked except the rooms he’s allowed in, so that must mean he’s allowed in here.

He’s having trouble walking, there’s a dizzy lilt to his footsteps and he seems to keep bumping into the wall even though he thought he was walking straight. He trips on the blanket as it trails the floor, over and over again. Somehow it never occurs to him to pick the blanket up.

The door looks wrong, for reasons he can't explain. The boy gets briefly lost in the swirl of the woodgrain, staring at what looks like another set of wood-eyes, frozen in surprise, staring right back.

He has to blink again and again and again to get the wood-eyes to fade away.

They are laughing at something downstairs and the sound makes the boy nervous - Sir laughing usually meant things Sir thought were good, and the boy had to be good but he never thought they were good. He has to hide, or they'll see his wobbly legs and play games with him.

Sir likes games, when the boy is tired or sick from the pills or sad. The boy doesn't want to play games, here. They have said they won't hurt him but games don't always hurt the outside.

He gets the doorknob to turn after three tries, slips into the little storage room, and sees the perfect hiding spot.

There’s a huge wooden desk shoved up against one wall, stacked high with what looks like photo albums, folders stuffed until they’re bursting, loose stacks of paper, brochures and flyers, plus old books and all kinds of things.

On top of one stack of flyers, there an ancient stuffed puppydog, with floppy arms and legs and floppy ears and a strange bronze yellow no-color fur, threadbare in patches where someone loved it, once. The boy could almost see the way a child must have petted along the back, wearing it to nothing bit by bit, day by day.

Something about the sight of it makes the boy's throat want to tighten and close. He doesn't know what or why - he's never had a stuffed animal, all he remembers is the white walls and the cold and then the warmth of Sir burning him alive.

He takes a sudden breath, shivering as cold snaps through his body, his muscles contracting like aftershocks from training, chills that roll through him, bounce around inside his skin.

The desk is like Sir's and not like that at all. He doesn't want the desk - he wants the hollow spot in the center under it. It feels safe and familiar, sliding to his knees under a wooden desk, Position Two, effortless as breathing. Tip his head up, chin at rest on Sir's knee, waiting. Making his thoughts stutter-skip to a stop until all his mind is a vast and empty place he never looks too far into.

He is not empty, now.

The boy does not feel empty at all. Instead he feels too much. He feels the strangely rough carpet under his knees, hard floor through the soft fabric of the pants they gave him to wear. He thinks of the stuffed puppy alone in the room - is he lonely in here? nobody to rub his fur all to gone any longer-

"'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse." The voice in his mind is soothing and soft. It is a woman's voice but he doesn't know who it belongs to. He knows there was a book, can almost feel the texture of the cover, slippery-smooth, the shine as it caught the dim, yellowed light. He can feel the warmth of a soft arm around him, a hand ruffling into his hair as chubby fingers tap on his own legs, feet swinging off the side of a tiny toddler bed. "'It's a thing that happens to you.'"

His headache gets worse all at once, a thunderclap of pain, and the boy whimpers and pushes himself until his back is against the other side of the desk, curling knees to his chest with the blanket wrapped around himself.

The chills roll through, his fingers shaking too hard to do anything but hold onto himself and hope it will stop. Teeth chatter, clattering together like someone is playing dice inside his mouth, and his tongue feels like leaden weight in there, too large for the space.

Under the desk it is dark, no light in the room but a clouded sense of sunlight finding its way through off-white blinds, covered in dust, cutting stripes of yellow over the opposite wall.

The boy sees tiny dust particles in the air, floating. Dancing. His eyes follow them, and he almost smiles. Sir used to leave him alone for hours and hours locked in the room or the basement with nothing, but there was no such thing as nothing when your brain could follow specks of dust…

He feels no warmer, even as he sits under the blanket. The cold is too deep in him, settling into his bones alongside the pain, which has sharpened, gone from dull sawing to a sharpened blade. He whimpers, curling up even tighter.

Even now, he has hurt worse than this, and for worse reasons. He knows how to stay still, has learned to keep his palms pressed flat against his stomach to stop himself from tapping, to let the lead weights roll around inside his head to keep himself from hitting it on anything to calm down. Silence is better than screaming.

He learned his lesson. Sir may have given him up, but the boy has not forgotten.

Footsteps move in the hallway, and the boy does not look - does not try to peek out the door and see. Now that he has curled up so tightly, he's not sure he could uncurl. His legs feel locked tightly, every muscle tensed around his hurting bones.

Where is he? The woman's voice, the older one. The one he thought must be the owner of this household and all its pets. He's not in his room.

He is not in the bathroom, a male voice says, the slightest, barest hint of an accent to it.

I hope he didn't run away. A girl voice. The boy shivers.

He's not Kauri, a second girl voice says. He won't just run without saying anything. He's scared, he probably found a crawlspace or something.

A crawlspace, the first girl repeats, a little plaintively. She repeats things a lot, the boy has noticed.

We should keep looking. The man, the one he thinks must be the Sir. But he doesn't act like one.

The boy tucks himself back into the corner of the spot under the desk, closing his eyes as they just don't want to be open any longer.

He wants his Sir, suddenly, so badly it burns under all the chill, like holding a piece of ice to your skin so long that the cells forget they feel cold. Sir would hold him tightly, would wrap him up or give him lukewarm baths or just hold him, in his lap, whispering things into his ear. Reading aloud the news reports, the new poll numbers. Speaking with his friend Mr. Alexander who is like me, in a lot of ways that go beyond just our career aspirations, darlin'.

Sir would make him feel better, even if it felt awful all the same.

A different awful. He would trade that awful, now, if he could. At least Sir's did not live so far under his skin, was only in those first few layers he could scrub away if he stayed in the shower long enough. This kind wouldn’t come out, only burrowed deeper and deeper.

He falls asleep - or into something like sleep, anyway - there under the desk, like he has on many afternoons, lulled to boredom by long days where he isn’t allowed to move or feel or think. It’s not the same desk and there is no one to nudge him awake with a perfectly shining leather shoe.

The boy dreams uneasy dreams of vast bedrooms swathed in navy silk and uncertain worn-out fabric creatures with threadbare patches are peeking from behind the drapes, beckoning to him to come closer and hear what they have to say. Only he can’t move, because the sheets are wrapped too tightly around his wrists. They hold him to the bed or the wall, he can’t think of where he is, lying down and standing up all at once. He has to hear what they want to tell him.

He’s too far away, and they are whispering.

Real isn’t how you are made, said the Skin Horse. It’s a thing that happens to you.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up-

“Hey.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and the boy jerks awake with a gasp, flinching back so hard his head smacks back into the back of the desk. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, you were talking and I thought maybe you were already up. Hey, are you okay?”

The boy stares, wide-eyed, at the man he thinks is the Sir of this house. He’s younger, but the others except for the older woman all do what he asks them to do. He has blond hair and blue eyes and he’s so tall the boy has to crane and crane his head to look up at him sometimes. He swallows, as he shivers all over again. “My… bones… hurt.”

His voice is slow, evenly paced, a little hoarse. He sounds like he’s been screaming, but he hasn’t. When he swallows, his throat hurts, like swallowing glass. He winces and puts a had up to feel at the outside. His throat feels odd on either side, just under his jaw. Sort of lumpy.

“Your bones hurt? What the fuck-... hey, come out so I can see you a little better, okay? Come on, man.” The man grips onto his hands, and the man’s fingers are big and warm and the boy moves almost helplessly towards the solidity and warmth that those hands represent.

His mind is a woozy swirl of trains, careening back and forth, his eyes drifting over dancing bits of dust and the piles of papers everywhere and old broken computer chairs, that one’s padded, should have slept there, he hears a robin call outside and fights the urge to purse his lips and whistle back.

When he is out into the dim light in the room, the man’s eyes trail over his face. The boy feels the weight of the look, and thinks he might blush, but his face felt hot before, too, even though the rest of his body feels like it’s carved from blocks of very pretty ice.

He’s much nicer-looking than Sir is, the man. Younger, too, and something about him doesn’t seem uncomfortable and strange, but instead open and genuine. The boy can almost read him, and he never knew what Sir was thinking. But in the look on the man’s face, he thinks he can read a simple concern.

“You look like shit,” The man says - he said his name was Jake, right? - and reaches out to touch the boy’s face. “Oooh, you feel like shit, too. Clammy as hell.”

Is he clammy? The boy hasn’t noticed. He feels too cold for sweat, everywhere but his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

The man’s fingers prod just under his jaw, and the boy winces and whimpers when he hits the swollen little circles that seem to have stuck up from his skin there.

“Yep. Your lymph nodes are all fucked up. One more thing, okay? Just here. Right here, and nowhere else.” The man slowly lays a cool hand to his forehead. The boy’s eyes flutter closed at the simple, comforting, soothing touch.

I could be good for him. The thought is brief, there and then gone, carried further down the track with other thoughts he tries not to linger on.

“Well, I have a diagnosis,” Jake says, sitting back on his heels. “You’re sick as fuck. Come on, we need to get you into an actual bed. And I need to tell Nat you didn’t wander off, she’s losing her shit downstairs about it. Were you scared?” His voice dips down into something soft. It’s a voice the boy wants to fall into. It’s kind of like the voice that belonged to the warm arm around him, in his dreams.

The boy shakes his head. You’re not supposed to admit you’re scared unless they want you to, and he doesn’t think this man wants him to.

He lets the man pull him to his feet. Jake notices the boy’s hands pressed still against his stomach and asks if he needs to throw up, but he shakes his head - he doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to get in trouble. When he can’t keep his hands still, he is punished.

“Then why were you in here?”

The boy doesn’t speak. He can feel his tongue in his mouth, every one of his teeth. He might speak too quickly, stumble over himself. Silence is better than stammering. He only shrugs, a movement of thin shoulders under the heavy, soft blanket he wears.

“Okay, fair enough. Come on, let’s get you laid down and get some Tylenol in you.”

He doesn’t remember what Tylenol is, and lets himself be led, shivering and chattering teeth, laid down in the little bed in the room where the other Box Boy sleeps. There is a framed drawing of a bird above the bed he sleeps in, and he looks up at it, feeling dazed by all the colors that want to bleed right out and down the wall and maybe he could get some color in his skin if he catches the paint…

The man is gone, for a few minutes. There are talking-sounds downstairs but the boy can’t understand them. Too muffled or too loud or too something. He gets lost in the bird.

“Here we go.” Jake reappears and gives him a cup of water as he pushes himself up to his elbow and he drinks it obediently, sipping. It’s cool and clean-tasting on his tongue. Then Jake holds out a little cup with a purple liquid in it and the boy stares down, then back up at him. “It’s… not Tylenol. Nat said her contact told her you were drugged, so I figured… maybe no pills?”

The boy shakes, all at once, a full-body shudder that wracks his tensed-up muscles and makes them burn around his bones. He bends himself nearly in half, shaking his head, again and again. “No… no pill, please,” He whispers, barely able to form the words. “Please, please, please-please no, no, no no no no-”

“It’s okay,” Jake says quickly. “No pill. So this is, um, this is like a liquid fever reducer. We keep it for the rescues who can’t… can’t swallow pills. Okay? Just drink it down and you’ll feel better, I promise.”

It could be just like the pills. The boy hesitates, looking up into the man’s eyes. Something in them seems like he can be trusted to tell the truth, and after a long hesitation, the boy takes the tiny plastic cup from his hands and drinks the sticky fake-grape taste down, wrinkling his nose. It clings to his teeth and his tongue, and he washes it away with more water from the glass.

“Perfect. I had to guess on dosage, but that should be okay… Will you stay in the room, if I go?” The question is there, underneath the words - the boy can read them just fine. Are you going to hide under the desk again?

“I don’t… want to… be alone.” He has to carefully space words. He has to be good, that way. He didn’t understand yet what everyone here wanted.

“Is that how you really feel, or what you’re saying because you think it’s what I want?” The man asks, his voice still soft, and gentle. “You won’t be in trouble no matter what you say.”

The boy doesn’t know how to answer this - no one ever asks him his wants. What he wants isn’t important, it’s not relevant. He grips the blanket in his fingers and twists the fabric, quilted and so soft it feels like it will float away from him. He stares down into his lap and says nothing, only shaking his head, not quite a yes and not quite a no.

“I’m… very cold,” He offers, finally, in a small voice, when the man doesn’t say anything right away. “And my… bones hurt.”

“Right, you said, your bones-... must be something to do with the fever, maybe? Something… look, lay down and I’ll get you all covered up, there are some more blankets in that storage room you were hiding in. I’m surprised you didn’t just make a nest.”

The boy hadn’t noticed the other blankets then. If he had… he might have. He lets himself be laid on his back, looking up, watching the dust spin and move and dance, as the man leaves the room once more. He hears footsteps in the hall, lighter ones, and looks to catch a glimpse of a swinging ponytail and a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. The girl doesn’t look at him. She goes into her own room and shuts the door.

Jake comes back with a heap of folded blankets. “You’ll shove these off once your fever breaks, but they might make you feel a little better while we wait. Oh, and I saw this in there!”

He holds up the stuffed puppy, with beady black eyes barely hanging on from old thread, the little bare patches on the rump part, where somebody petted off all its fur.

His throat closes again. He doesn’t know why looking at the dog makes him feel that way.

“Thank… you,” He says, and holds out his hands like a child, and the man drops the puppy into his arms. The boy makes a sound and rolls onto his side, letting the man cover him in blankets, tuck them in around him, with the puppy’s head tucked securely under his chin.

He feels… better.

“There you go,” Jake says, running a hand across his forehead, pushing some hair away from his eyes. “There you go. That’s better. I’ll leave you to get some sleep. Pretty sure you haven’t slept since you got here, huh? You should think about what name you want, while you sleep.”

“Sir chooses my, my, my name,” The boy says, already starting to drift, forgetting to space out his words, his thoughts. They start to run again on their natural tracks, splitting into a thousand different focuses at once. He thinks about the birds outside and the ones in his wall and the feel of the stuffed animal in his arms, surprisingly solid for its age, heavier than he thought it’d be. He thinks about his dream and how to keep waking up.

“Not here, he doesn’t,” The man says, voice firm, almost commanding. “Your name’s all you, man. Just tell us when you decide, okay?”

“Okay,” The boy whispers, and thinks about a warm arm around him, a woman’s low voice reading him a story with a deliberate, spaced-out rhythm.

In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon

Maybe they read him a story in training. He can’t remember. But he thinks he was too small for that. Someone else, maybe, once.

He winces as his head starts to ache and chases the thought away, sends it rolling down its track to where all the other thoughts stay that make him hurt.

“I’ll come back to check on you in a few. Just… stay in the bed and get some rest.”

“Okay,” he says again, and his eyes have gone too heavy to open, his grip iron-tight on the stuffed puppy in his arms. He’s too old for stuffed animals - I’m eighteen, all pets are of legal consenting age - but he feels good holding it, anyway.

“Once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.” Do you know what that means, T-

“Chris,” He says, without opening his eyes. He hears Jake stop in the doorway, turn to look at him. “I like Chris.”

“Chris it is, then,” Jake replies, sounding pleased. “That’s a good one. I’ll tell Nat. Get some sleep and feel better, Chris. That’s a solid name. I like that name on you.”

Chris waits until he hears the door close, and the sound of the man’s footsteps on the stairs, before he smiles.

I like that name on you.

He likes it, too.

Chris feels like a person. Chris feels real.

The boy falls asleep in the bed in a new place and with new people and for the first time since he got here, he falls asleep without feeling scared of what he’ll see behind his closed eyes. Baldur is scared, and the number boy was scared, but Chris, he decides, is going to live in a totally different way.

Chris is going to be real, and not be scared of anything.

Just as soon as he isn’t sick.

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semperintrepida · 4 years ago

Text

The Sellout: chapter four

four: the first thaw

This was a mistake.

Kassandra only had time for that one, brief regret as she toppled backwards into the display case. A bang clapped through her skull and left her ears ringing, and a manic grin loomed before her as the world desaturated to grey, then black... and then her vision returned in a shock of light and color as crisp as sunshine on fresh snow. Then time slowed down, down, down and she stopped thinking and started moving: finding her feet, grabbing fistfuls of the man's coat, and launching herself forward. She pushed him along, gathering speed as she angled him towards the windows, and then she threw him into the wooden bar hard enough to send the stools on top of it flying.

He bounced off the edge of the bar and landed on the floor in a sprawl, and as she sank to her knees, she heard the slap of his shoes against wood, then the door opening and closing, and then silence.

Every straight line in the room curved in on itself, and she pressed her palm into the floor to keep from falling over. Her chest was a furnace, each hot breath harsh in her ears, and she knelt there, staring at a knot in the floorboards, fascinated by the way it punctured the woodgrain around it.

Footsteps approached her in a hurry, then a voice, thin and tight, said, "Are you— Hang on, okay?"

Kassandra studied the cracks radiating out from the center of the knot. A weakness in the grain. Stupid. She'd thrown herself in harm's way for a woman who hated her. Why? She didn't even know the woman's name. So stupid.

She heard metal jangling against metal at the door. Then the footsteps returned, and the woman knelt beside her, a phone in her hand, its screen bright enough to sear a halo into the edges of Kassandra's vision.

"I'm calling 911—"

Kassandra put her hand over the screen, and as their skin touched, the woman jerked her hand and the phone away as if scalded. Kassandra sighed. "Don't."

"Don't what? Call?"

"He's long gone. The cops'll never find him, and they'll bring you more trouble than it's worth." And more trouble than Kassandra wanted to deal with to keep her name out of the newspapers and off of Twitter.

"Fine. No cops. But you should still go to the ER."

Her head ached too much to shake it. "No. I hate hospitals."

"Everyone hates hospitals."

"No ambulance."

The woman exhaled, sharp and quick. "Then what do you want to do?"

"Call an Uber, and go home." Despite her aching head and stiff neck, the burn in her lungs was fading, and the lines of the floorboards, and chair legs, and table tops were straightening back to true.

"That's a terrible plan."

Kassandra shrugged, and then she started to climb to her feet. She got as far as raising herself on one knee before her body refused to move any further. She swayed precariously. The floor seemed a long way down, and she imagined how it was going to feel when she smacked face-first into it — but hands grabbed her by her shoulders and held her upright. So much strength in those hands, but not an ounce of warmth.

"Sit here and don't move," the woman said, guiding Kassandra down so she rested with her back against the window. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Desperation drove Kassandra to catch her by the arm. "Don't. Please," she said, and the light in the room chilled from warm yellow to cold fluorescence, and instead of coffee she smelled disinfectant. She shuddered with the memory of medication and pain and being trapped in beds in white rooms, and it set off a fresh round of ringing in her ears.

The woman stared at Kassandra's hand wrapped around her forearm. "Okay, fine," she said, and when Kassandra released her, she rocked back on her heels, putting space between them. "Have it your way."

Kassandra shivered again, her spine cold where it pressed against the glass window.

The woman frowned and leaned closer. Her irises were rimmed with red, and graphite smudged the skin below her eyes. She clearly hadn't been sleeping much.

Kassandra could guess the reason why. She looked down at her hands. Stupid, coming back here — she should have left things to her research and legal teams and stayed out of the way.

"How does your head feel?" the woman asked.

"I've got a headache."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"For a moment, if that."

"Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

Footsteps, then rustling, and a drawer opening and closing. More rustling. More footsteps. And then the woman was back and handing her a bag of ice wrapped in a clean bar towel.

Kassandra took the ice and pressed it against the back of her head. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. This wouldn't have happened if I'd locked the fucking door like I was supposed to."

"And you didn't because I was distracting you."

"You sure as hell did." The woman shook her head irritably. "Offering to buy me out. You don't even know what my books look like."

"I don't even know your name."

Her eyes widened a fraction. "Don't you have... people to figure stuff like that out for you?"

"Yes, but I was holding out hope you'd volunteer it."

She snorted. "Even after I told you to fuck off."

"I guess I'm just optimistic."

"No, you're just used to getting whatever you want."

It's called winning, Kassandra's brain offered unhelpfully, but she clamped her mouth shut around the words just in time.

They stared at each other in a silence that grew more and more awkward until the woman sighed and gave in. "My name's Kyra."

Kassandra extended her hand purely out of reflex. "Kassandra."

"I know," Kyra said dryly, and after the slightest of hesitations, she reached for Kassandra's hand and shook it.

A handshake was a message, and Kyra's said I don't suffer fools gladly. Her grip was firm but not crushing — though the muscles in her hands certainly held the strength to do so. Solid muscles, calloused skin. Powerlifter? No, too lean across her shoulders and thighs. Her mystery remained unsolved.

The ice was working its magic, tamping down the ache in Kassandra's skull. "I'll call that Uber now," she said.

"How did you get here?"

"Drove."

Kyra said nothing for several seconds, lost in thought. Then she gave a quick nod and said, "Look. I'll drive you home, or wherever. If you want. It's the least I can do after you..."

She didn't say ended up with a concussion on my behalf but she could have. Kassandra considered the offer. Passing out in her own car was more appealing than passing out in some random Uber, but there'd be a stranger at the wheel either way. She could see herself now: out cold in the front seat of her Audi, a flash of brake lights, the door opening, then Kyra dumping her into the nearest gutter...

Of course, if she was that worried about it, she could just call an ambulance.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay." Kyra sat back. "You all right with waiting a few minutes? I've got to close out the till."

"Sure."

Time passed in the form of sounds and silence, and then Kyra was crouching in front of her and asking, "Ready?" and when Kassandra nodded yes, Kyra offered a hand and helped haul her to her feet.

The room tilted out from under her, the floor bending like a rubber band.

A strong hand slid under her upper arm and steadied her. "You gonna make it?"

"I'm fine." She stared at the floor until its planks straightened again.

"Sure you are," Kyra said, but she didn't let go. She guided Kassandra around the stools that had fallen from the bar, and only released her when they stood before the door to the shop.

Kyra unlocked the door with a twist and jingle of metal keys, and then it swung open and Kassandra stepped into cool, night air. She waved Kyra's hands away and took a deep breath. The damp breeze sweeping in from the river was almost enough to cover the greasy carbon smell of exhaust. Around them, the sidewalks were already empty. No city packed up and went home as early as Portland did.

Her Audi sat by itself a few spaces up the way, lit by a streetlight. "I'm assuming that's yours," Kyra said, nodding in its direction, and she could have been pointing out a garbage truck for all the enthusiasm in her voice.

"Yeah." Kassandra walked gingerly to the car. The streetlight blazed down, bright as a spotlight. It made her eyeballs throb, and she squinted as she opened the passenger door and eased herself inside the car, grateful for the darkness of its interior.

It was disconcerting, sitting on this side of her own car, a mirror universe where everything was reversed and a stranger was sliding into the driver's seat. Kassandra leaned back so her head held the bag of ice in place — and then she pulled her seatbelt extra snug.

"It's like the cockpit of the space shuttle in here," Kyra said, as she ran her hands over the steering wheel and eyed the blank computer screen that took the place of a gauge cluster.

Kassandra grinned. "Push the big red button to start the launch sequence. Just don't... stomp on the gas."

But Kyra didn't leap at the chance to drive it like she'd stolen it. She took her time adjusting the mirrors and getting comfortable in her seat, and only then did she push the button to start the car, biting off a curse at the sudden roar of a hundred explosions a second being contained in the engine right behind her. Then she checked her blind spot and pulled onto Belmont as Kassandra worked the navigation system to make the route to her condo appear on the display.

Kyra's driving was competent and composed, and Kassandra began to relax despite the growing silence between them. They knew next to nothing about each other, and what they did know was something neither wanted to talk about.

The car turned as smoothly as a greased bearing onto the Burnside Bridge, the river an oily black ribbon below. At the far end of the bridge, the big "Portland Oregon" sign flashed its lightbulbs and neon, a vintage throwback that set the tone for the neighborhoods behind it.

Kyra changed lanes. "I'm surprised this thing doesn't drive itself."

"In a few more years I'm sure they'll come out with one that does, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" The passing streetlights lit her face in alternating stripes of light and shadow.

"I like driving. The sound, the feel of it."

"Driving one of these, sure. You're like a shark among the sardines."

"True." Kassandra couldn't imagine driving a beater Honda in rush hour traffic, and was glad she'd never had to experience that particular displeasure.

They glided downtown in a smooth bubble of movement, and whether that was from the car or from Kyra's driving, Kassandra couldn't say. Downtown, where food trucks clustered under high-rise office buildings and tent cities squatted within sight of every luxury hotel.

Burnside Street took them to 10th and the Pearl District — a neighborhood as clean, shiny, and multilayered as its namesake. Dig far enough and you'd hit the industrial sands it was built upon.

"Turn into that driveway on the left," Kassandra said as she fished her keycard out of her wallet. The gate lifted and let them inside, and she guided Kyra through the cramped nautilus of the carpark until they reached another gate. This one led to her private garage, isolated and secure.

The garage had three bays, but she hadn't bothered to ship any of her other cars here. Instead, she'd brought a pair of motorcycles: her favorite Triumph custom for the street and another bike for the dirt. The riding here was supposed to be some of the best in the world, but she'd rarely had any free time to find out.

Kyra eyed the bikes as she shut the engine off and opened her door.

"You ride?" Kassandra asked from the other side of the car.

"Nah," Kyra said. "I'd never have the time." A shame. She'd look good swinging her leg over that Triumph, wearing a black leather jacket to go with the red lumberjack flannel and jeans she was wearing now...

Her voice brought Kassandra back to reality. "You've got someone at home to watch you tonight, right?"

This is what Kassandra would come home to: high ceilings, tasteful furnishings, a spectacular view of the city — all of it very, very empty in its solitude. She'd have to admit it one way or another, but if she stayed silent she wouldn't have to hear herself say the words out loud.

Kyra looked at her. "You don't," she said quietly, and Kassandra couldn't tell if she was surprised by it or not. "I fucking knew I should have driven you to Legacy and bounced you onto the doorstep of the ER."

"I'm glad you didn't," Kassandra said. "And now that I'm here, you've done your good deed and you're free to go. I'll call an Uber for you, or a taxi. Whatever you want."

"Oh no, I'm not about to let you go on alone, just so you can die all by yourself."

"Wanting to watch is a bit bloodthirsty, don't you think?"

It was a good thing there was a car between them, because Kyra looked about ready to strangle her. "That's not what I meant."

Kassandra couldn't help herself, and she laughed even though it made her headache flare. "Well, come on, then. You can hate me up close all you want."

Up close is exactly what they got: in the stairwell, in the narrow hallway to the private elevator that serviced the upper floors of the tower, and in the elevator itself, where Kyra stood as far away from her as possible. Kassandra slapped her keycard against the reader. The numbers on the floor indicator ticked higher and higher, until they weren't numbers at all, just "PH".

The elevator released them into a small foyer.

"I don't hate you," Kyra said suddenly.

"Jesus doesn't like it when you lie," Kassandra said as she used her keycard to unlock her front door, and whatever Kyra's answer would have been was swept aside by their arrival.

The lighting and window systems woke up as Kassandra's smartphone connected to her home network. A soft glow from unobtrusive fixtures brightened the open interior of the space, while the windows shed their tint to put the city skyline on full display.

Kassandra crossed the room and sank onto the low-slung couch with a grateful sigh. She kicked off her shoes, then set the melted bag of ice down on the glass end table beside her.

Kyra was still lingering by the door, where the nearest wall displayed a triptych of poster-sized, black and white photographs. A lone dirtbike outracing a dust storm across the desert. A crumbling building made abstract in shadows and light. A landscape of the mountains encircling the bowl of Death Valley.

"Who took these?" Kyra's voice echoed from across the room.

"I did." Back when she had time to ride and travel. Now most of her shots were hurried sketches taken with her phone.

Kyra's circuit of the wall pulled her past the flatscreen TV, past Kassandra's bookshelves, until she stood in front of the windows. "It's so beautiful," she murmured as she gazed at the twinkling panorama of the city's east side.

Kassandra nearly got lost watching Kyra enjoy the view before she remembered her manners. "Can I offer you something to drink? Beer? Water?" She grinned. "Coffee?"

That made Kyra turn and approach the couch. "Is it from Starbucks? Then no, thank you." She picked up the soggy bag of ice on her way past, holding up a hand when Kassandra sat forward. "No, don't get up. I can find my way to your fridge," she said, glancing at the kitchen in full view before them. A trace of humor instead of irritation. Seemed this evening would bring Kassandra one surprise after another.

But no surprise would top the fact that there was someone else here with her. She'd never invited anyone — no friends, no lovers — to her home, or to any of her homes, really, and now some stranger was rooting around in her refrigerator and cupboards.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of Kyra making herself right at home: the fridge and cabinet doors opening and closing, a quiet "Ahh!" of surprise as Kyra found her coffee stash, and then the kettle being filled and a gas burner igniting.

Then there was a gentle swirl of air beside her: Kyra, perching on the armrest of the couch, offering her a fresh bag of ice and a bottle of water. "You should drink this," she said.

Kassandra raised the bottle in thanks and took a swig.

"You've got beans from Camber and Sweet Bloom. So you do know something about good coffee."

"Not as much as I should. But coffee's not really my gig," she said, well aware of how it sounded. "I know a lot more about buildings and the land they sit on." She'd cut real estate deals and maximized returns on investments for over a decade, always high enough up the chain where the numbers involved had at least seven digits, insulated from ever having to see that the mom-and-pop competition belonged to real people instead of numbers on a spreadsheet.

Kyra's jaw clenched around a response. "I hope you don't mind me dipping into your stash," she said instead, keeping up the détente between them. "I'm going to be up awhile."

"Have as much as you want."

The sound of the kettle whistling drew Kyra away, and when she returned a few minutes later, it was with a mug cradled in her hands. She sat at the edge of the armchair across from Kassandra and closed her eyes as she inhaled the steam. "I'd offer you a cup, but I'm not sure you should with..." She gestured vaguely towards her head.

"I'm fine with this," Kassandra said, tilting her water bottle. "Which one did you pick?"

"The Sweet Bloom." Kyra sipped from the mug, then shrugged. "Aspirational, I guess, given our circumstances. And this particular roast cuts a nice profile."

"How so?"

"Light, honeyed, lots of florals. And brewed right, the results are"—she sipped again and smiled—"amazing."

That smile was enough to fill Kassandra with the irrational urge to keep her talking. "Who's your roaster?"

"Heart, here in town."

"Ahh, I should have known." They had a coffee shop of their own just up the street. "Why them?"

"They're local. And they haven't sold out to Wall Street like Stumptown did." She stood up, abruptly, and took her mug over to the windows, drinking from it as she watched the city lights. "Do you know why all the indie roasters started focusing on lighter roasts?"

"No."

"Because Starbucks went in hard on the dark roasts." Then she laughed, a brittle sound that bounced off the window glass. "I got into this business as a barista first, because I love how the best coffee tastes. I still do. I'll never serve anything less." She gazed pensively at the city, seconds stretching into minutes. Eventually, she turned to Kassandra. "How's your head?"

"Sore, but I'll live." She turned her neck experimentally. Still stiff. At least her head wasn't ringing anymore.

Kyra returned to the armchair and sat down. "Tired?" she asked.

"A little." More than a little. She'd been up since five and it had to be well past midnight by now.

"Sleeping would actually be good for you."

"Really? I thought it was the opposite," Kassandra said, remembering being poked and prodded on team flights and buses, kept from sleeping by assistant coaches after games where she'd cracked skulls with some opposing player. But that had been a long time ago.

Kyra flashed her a wicked grin. "That's why I'll be here to wake you up every couple of hours, to make sure you're just sleeping and not slipping into a coma."

Kassandra had been prepared for awkward silences, and perhaps some talking spiked with vicious, vicious words. But falling asleep while Kyra had free reign of her home... This was a terrible plan.

Kyra's grin grew wider. "Don't look so scared. My face is all over your security cameras and you know exactly where to find me." She made a show of studying her manicure. "Besides, murder's not really my style."

She had a point — and an actual sense of humor. Kassandra smiled. "I'm not so sure. You seem to know a suspicious amount about head injuries."

"I've seen enough of them to pick up a thing or two."

"I didn't know the coffee business was so dangerous."

"Not at the shop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Out on the rock, and in the climbing gym."

Rock climbing. How had Kassandra missed that connection? "Cliffhanger."

"My three loves put together."

Coffee, climbing, and books. "Tell me about them?" Kassandra winced at how inane the question sounded.

"I can definitely bore you to sleep if that's what you want."

"If I fall asleep, it won't be because I'm bored." And right on cue, she yawned.

"Well, this won't take long, then," Kyra said brightly. "So speaking of the folks at Heart — they called me up last week, all hot about this small, family farm they'd stumbled across the last time they were in Honduras..."

And Kyra talked, about heirloom coffee, and how roasters searched the world for the most interesting varieties, and Kassandra stretched out on the couch and listened, sometimes asking a question, but mostly resting in silence, mostly thinking about what it was like hearing another voice in a room that was usually so quiet and still.

And much later, she woke up to Kyra's hands gently tucking a blanket around her. "I'm awake," she murmured, wriggling in the blanket's soft cocoon.

"So you are," Kyra said wryly. She settled back into the armchair and picked up the book she'd set aside. "Go back to sleep."

"Not yet," Kassandra said, her voice thick and drowsy. The blanket was warm, like Kyra's hands had been. "I want to know what book... you're..." And then her brain tucked itself in and said good night.

Chapter four of The Sellout. Continued in chapter five...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #the most purely realistic fight scene i've ever written lol #i've decided that kass doesn't have superpowers in this au #but she has some advantages that most people don't #i'm loving the pov switches in this one #even if they're tricky to keep consistent #the sellout

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number-one-micoverse-fan · 5 years ago

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Matters of the Heart

Sickfic for @mushroomminded because I know what she likes.

*****************

“Dad? …Dad. Dad! DAD!”

Dom jolted in his seat, blinking rapidly to clear the film over his eyes and refocusing his attention on Cody. His son was leaning forward in his chair at the dining room table, brow furrowed in concern and not a little worry. Dominic forced his fuzzy mind to concentrate on the most important aspect of his life.

“Mm, yeah? Sorry, I—not awake yet. Coffee—need my coffee. What were you saying?” He murmured the words the words through a mouth that felt like it was made of wet and heavy clay.

Cody’s lips pressed into a thin line, bottom lip sucking in between his teeth as he looked his dad up and down, “I was…saying how Milo and I were planning on going to the Parker house again after school today. If that’s okay with you?”

There was a very slow moment wherein Dom struggled to put the pieces of Cody’s sentence together. But then he smiled warmly and nodded, “Sure, that shouldn’t be a…um. Should be fine. Take—just take your phones. Let, uh, let one of Milo’s dads know where you’ll be.”

Cody beamed, “We will! Thanks dad!”

Dom made a pleased noise of consent as Cody ducked his head to rapidly type something on his phone, no doubt letting his partner in crime know their plans were good to go. Dom breathed out a heavy and burden-laden breath, shoulders slumping as his eyelids slid closed once again.

It felt like only seconds later that Cody was waking him up with a quick hug and a shout goodbye as he ran out the door to school. Dom stared blankly at the empty chair his son had left behind, his mind tangling into a knot of stray and disconnected thoughts. He ran his fingertips distractedly over the polished woodgrain of the table, glazed eyes finding a middle distance in the pattern of the floor.

He didn’t realize he’d been dozing off again until his phone buzzed in his pocket with a reminder that he needed to get ready for work soon.

————

Dominic was reprimanded for dozing off at his desk three times.

Once, he fell asleep in the elevator.

His coworkers kept asking him if he felt all right, telling him maybe he should ask to go home. Dom kept waving them off with a thin and awkward smile and telling them he was fine, it was just a bit of stress, really, some coffee would wake him right up.

The drive home was stretched time from minutes into days, streetlights blurring into smears at the edges of his vision. Cars honked at him angrily when he drifted into their lane, the noise jolting him from his hazy stupor and snapping his focus back on the road.

The house was quiet and empty when he got back home, the lights off and the windows dark. Cody was undoubtedly still out and about with Milo. But that was all right, let the boy have his freedom. Dominic kicked his shoes off and shuffled into the sitting room, collapsing on the couch with a groan. He only intended to take a moment to breathe and unwind before he got up, changed, and started on dinner for Cody.

But the next thing he was aware of was being shaken awake by Cody and noticing how dark the room really was.

“Shoot, nh, s-sorry, Cody, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Dom heaved himself up, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and trying to shake the lagging dizziness from his mind, “I’ll get you something to eat in a minute, just let me—“

“Dad, you don’t have to, it’s okay, I ate at Milo’s,” Cody had his hand on Dom’s arm, fingers curled into the fabric of his father’s shirt sleeve, his face a mask of worry, “I came home and you were asleep on the couch and you were so tired this morning, I just thought I’d let you sleep. You needed it. Did you eat dinner, though? You probably should…”

Dom blinked at him, something twisting in his chest at the thought that Cody had to take care of him.

“I’m all right,” He said, a little hoarsely, swallowing a lump that was pressing hard against the inside of his throat, “Just, um, long day. I’ll get some dinner. Did you do your homework?”

————

Everything was starting to pile up.

Bills, work, obligations to Cody and the school, maintaining the house, the car, and social connections. With everything else he had to take care of, Dominic had started neglecting himself. But it wasn’t a big deal; a few nights missing sleep to do some work on the side, make some extra money, try and get some savings so he could do good by his son.

Shave a few hours off of sleep here.

Skip a few meals there.

It was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Of course he was dozing off every so often, he was working twice as hard as usual.

It wasn’t a big deal.

He’d get through this and on the other side would be a full night’s sleep and plenty of time with Cody.

————

Except he was halfway down the stairs one morning when his stomach lurched and his breath seized in his lungs. His fingers cramped, his arms curling in pain, a stabbing agony radiating from his chest.

His foot missed the step and he blacked out as the world pitched beneath him and the walls spun.

Dom hit the ground hard, driving what little breath he had from his lungs as he clutched at his shift front. He wasn’t even sure he’d stopped falling because the ceiling was still spinning around and around enough to make his mind feel as if it were in a blender, smearing along the sides of the inside of his skull.

Cody’s terrified face swam into view, shouting, his mouth moving, his words so muffled they were distant beats of sound from a faraway shore. Dominic tried to say something, tried to comfort his son, but his lungs weren’t working right and his chest ached with the pain of a blade slipped easily between his ribs. Exhaustion and adrenaline fear battled one another as he stared hopelessly up at Cody through watery eyes.

He blinked and Cody’s phone was in his hand.

Blink and there were more voices, thudding footsteps.

Blink and there were strangers over him, hands on him, pressing against his wrist, his neck.

Blink and he was off the floor, rattling on something, sweet oxygen pouring into his strangled lungs.

White lights and muffled beeps and voices and it sounded like someone was crying.

Dominic made a laborious effort to turn his head and managed to make out Cody, pressing against Dan Fuller’s side, shaking with tears.

God, no, please, no.

The last thing he’d wanted to do was make his son cry…

————

Dom rose into consciousness with a sluggish return to his senses. He first became aware of his body, laying down and feeling like one massive bruise, muscles sore and aching. Then a soft, rhythmic beeping, the shifting of another person, and his own, shallow breathing reached his ears. There was a soft light on his eyelids and he peeled them open, blinking the gummy blurs of sleep from his vision as he focused on the cream colored ceiling.

A second, more lucid assessment brought attention to the padded clamp over his finger (heart monitor?), the pinch in the back of his hand (intravenous line), and the thin rubber tubing around his face, tucked into his nose (oxygen). With a soft grunt, Dom tried to shift his weight and sit up, wincing at the tight feeling in his chest.

“Want me to call a nurse?”

Slower than he’d like, Dom turned his head and saw Jake Pierly slouched in a chair next to the hospital bed. He looked more drawn and tired than usual, the bags under his eyes deeper and darker. Milo was in a chair next to him, curled up in a position that looked a little uncomfortable, but sprawled in such a way that he had his head in Jake’s lap.

Dom automatically looked around for Cody. Jake noticed,

“Dan finally got Cody to get up and leave the room, get something to eat.” Jake said in a low voice so he didn’t wake the sleeping teenager. He was idly running his fingers through Milo’s hair, an almost absent motion, “He’d been in here all day, didn’t want to leave you alone. He was really worried.”

Licking his lips and throat clicking as he tried to work the dryness in his mouth away, Dom spoke in a cracked whisper, his voice hoarse as if he’d been screaming, “Wha’ happened…?”

Jake snorted softly, an ironic smile twisting one side of his mouth, “You had a heart attack, stupid. What did you think was going to happen after you’ve nearly been working yourself to death?” Dominic stared at him and Jake sighed, rolling his eyes, “Dom, even I know you can’t skip that much sleep without consequences. And I am the king of skipping sleep.” His expression softened, tired in the knowledge of things that were too heavy to put into words but too hard to carry alone,

“You know you could have asked for help, right? We’re right next door. If you ever need anything…I mean, Dan and I…” Pink dusted the tops of Jake’s ears and he shifted awkwardly, disturbing Milo who murmured in his sleep and clutched tighter at the hem of Jake’s shirt. Jake shushed him gently, brushing his Milo’s hair back from his freckled face,

“God, Dom, you’re practically a part of this family.”

Dom’s face felt hot and his eyes burned and he sniffed, turning his head away to look at the ceiling.

Part of the family.

He let out a breathy, unstable chuckle,

“Miranda’s gonna kill me…”

Jake laughed a little, “Yeah, she’s gonna kick your ass.”

“DAD!”

And then Cody was in his lap, face pressed into Dom’s collarbone, fingers digging into the papery hospital gown. Dom wrapped his arms around his son and held him tightly, ignoring the pressure in his chest and tugging of the IV line, ignoring Milo’s happy sounds and Dan’s relieved praise. Ignoring everything but the boy in his arms. He kept one arm around Cody’s back, put the other into his son’s hair, held him as close as he could and apologized in strangled whispers, promising to never do it again, promising he’d be better, grateful that he had who he did in his life.

Cody was his world, the real center of his universe. He’d done everything in his life for Cody.

And he’d be damned if he was going to let some stupid heart attack keep him away from the people he loved the most.

#i am not very confident about writing dominic but i do like how this turned out #dominic #fan fiction #angst #family

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tampabaywholesalecars · 2 years ago

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Welcome, Tampa Bay Wholesale Cars Inc. is proud to offer this stunning 2007 BMW M6 Coupe in Alpine White over Black Merino Leather interior for only $12990 !!! Not A Gimmick !! Not A Misprint !! This High-Performance version of the 6-Series runs and drives great !! Powered by BMW's 5.0-Liter V10 Engine, good for 500 Horsepower !! SMG III Automated Manual Transmission. Fully Loaded, like Ice cold Climate Control, Heads-Up Display , Heated Front seats, HID Headlights, Navigation System, Power Seats, Premium Logic7 Sound System,MP3, CD Player , All Original !! M-Wheels with Michelin Tires, Woodgrain Interior Trim, Satellite Radio, Front and Rear Parking Aid, Seat Memory, Tire Pressure Monitor, Illuminated "M" Door Sill Trim, Tilt / Telescopic M-Multi-Function Leather Wrapped Sport Steering Wheel, Power Locks, Alarm System, Xenon Lights, Carbon-Fibre Roof, and so much more........................Please note this Stunning BMW M6 was reacquired by BMW of North America, LLC back in 2009 !! So Title shows Manufacturer Buyback . We do have the Carfax !! Serviced at BMW regularly !! Do Not Miss This Deal !!! You are Welcome for a test drive at TBWC. We are located in Clearwater Florida. Please call first for availability and / or appointment. And with our no haggle pricing policy you can be sure you are getting the best deal possible on every car as they've already been discounted and below market value. Price is Firm !! This is a NO Haggle Price !! Dealers / Exporters / Public Welcome !! We Ship Worldwide !! Ask dealer for details. https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf0YmktO5-9/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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customautotrim11 · 2 years ago

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What is the Purpose of Wood Grain Vinyl Car Wrap?

A wood grain vinyl car wrap is a big sheet of pressure-sensitive vinyl film that is put on each panel of your vehicle to change the color and appearance. And the main purpose of a woodgrain car wrap is to give a vehicle a unique, customized, more natural, wood-like pattern, and rustic look. It can also protect from the elements and minor dings and scratches. In addition, it can help to reduce interior heat buildup and UV exposure. These wood grain wraps are both safe and beneficial to small and large organizations. It's a terrific approach to show our customers what our company has to offer in terms of products and services. Car vinyl wraps also help to maintain the vehicle's paint and keep it clean and in good shape. Carbon fiber wrap, wood grain vinyl wrap, matte, satin finish, and other colors and styles are available. Contact Custom Auto Trim immediately if you're confused about where to go for the right car vinyl wrap or woodgrain vinyl car wrap.

#wood grain vinyl wrap #woodgrain car wrap #Custom Auto Trim #Car Vinyl Wrap

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kustomkolorz-blog · 5 years ago

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Decided to black out the newly installed radio trim with avery matte black to disguise the hideous woodgrain it came with.. Call ☎️ D.M 📲 or EMAIL 💻 To discuss our automotive restyling services offered below.. ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️ • Color Change Vinyl & Spraywraps •Decals and Stripes • Chrome Deletes • Wheel Wraps •O.E.M color match wraps • Window Tint •Exterior & Interior Lighting • Hydrophobic Windshield Coating •Ceramic Coating For Wraps • Custom Paint • Spray in Bedliner • Bolt on truck Accessories Come see why so many from the Houston and surrounding areas choose us from their custom car or truck needs. est. 2015 #kustom_kolorz #thewraproom #eatsleepinstall #androidradio #12.1 #avery #thatsawrap #restyle (at Kustom Kolorz) https://www.instagram.com/p/B_VgVyWHzX6/?igshid=oi51efyl9ohw

#kustom_kolorz #thewraproom #eatsleepinstall #androidradio #12 #avery #thatsawrap #restyle

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next2newauto · 5 years ago

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2009 BMW 3 Series 328i xDrive, call for price

New Arrival!

Call for Price Mileage: 0 Color: SILVER This 2009 BMW 328I with X drive has been the bench mark for the entry-level luxury car market for decades. It offers a magnificent blend of restrained luxury, top-notch build quality, just-right size, ample feature content and a ride/handling balance that other manufacturers have been unsuccessfully trying to copy for ages. This one comes equipped with fog lights, rear defrost, sunroof, wheels-alloy, center console, front bucket seats, rear bench seat, am/fm stereo, CD player, air conditioning, cruise control, intermittent wipers, leather seats, leather wrapped steering wheel, power driver seat, power locks, power mirrors, power passenger seat, power windows, remote keyless entry, tilt steering wheel, heated seats, roof airbags, trip computer, airbag-driver, airbag-passenger, 4 wheel disc brakes, side airbags, vehicle anti-theft, tachometer, trip odometer, tinted glass, 12V power outlet, automatic on floor, floormats, steering wheel audio controls, vanity mirrors, woodgrain trim, AWD, and power steering. Stop in today to drive your next new car and to speak to one of our sales professionals!! We have extended service contracts and financing available. from Next2New Automotive Sales Inventory http://next2newauto.com/inventory/details/used/BMW/3-Series/2009/Sioux-Falls/South-Dakota/4851305/13307R via http://next2newauto.com/

#Next2New Automotive Sales Inventory

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ao3feed-snape · 7 years ago

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Be My Scales

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2EH16JU

by Emariia

Petunia opened the door on November first to find the milk and a silver-haired baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. She shut the door. Petunia stared wide-eyed at the woodgrain of the door and tried to quiet her mind. Her sister had told her that she was not even on the list of people Harry was to be sent to in the will, so why was there a baby on her doorstep?

Petunia checked over the letter that had been tucked in with the child carefully, making sure that no one could trace it back to her. Once she was satisfied, she tucked the letter back inside the clothes and rapped sharply on the door. Petunia fled to the car and sped away. She watched in the rearview mirror as the door opened and the child was picked up from the orphanage steps and breathed a sigh of relief.

Her darlings would not be exposed to that world if she could help it. It turns you ugly. She prayed for the babe she had left on the doorstep, but she did not regret her actions. Some might even say she would make a good Gryffindor at that moment.

(To be clear I have already decided the ship but haven't tagged it yet for spoiler reasons.)

Words: 1505, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Be My Scales, My Heart, My Protector.

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Relationships: Mrs. Wilson/Mrs. Elizabeth, OC/OC, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Additional Tags: Warlocks, The difference between witchcraft and wizardry, Overpowered Harry Potter, of course, Griphook - Freeform, Helpful Goblins, To An Extent, Bad Dumbles, Bad Dumbledore, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, can you guess who, I havent tagged that yet b ecause it's not posted yet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, To Be Continued, Orphanage, Harry in an orphanage, With a mother figure, TWO mothers even, rise my flaming lesbian witches

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2EH16JU

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Severus Snape #Snape #Professor Snape #SS

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componentplanet · 5 years ago

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2020 Chrysler Pacifica Review: Swallow Your Pride – This Beats an SUV

For most Americans, a minivan is the best people-hauler for the demographic called parents-with-kids-and-all-their-crap. And the 2020 Chrysler Pacifica minivan serves the demographic better than virtually every other sports utility vehicle or minivan. You can have a Pacifica sort-of-inexpensive or trimmed in leather, with or without hiding stowable second-and-third-row seats, or as a plug-in hybrid, all with third-row seats usable by adults. Come 2021, you’ll again be able to get the Pacifica with all-wheel-drive.

The Pacifica handles relatively well. The plug-in hybrid goes 32 miles on battery power and has a battery-plus-engine cruising range of 520 miles. It is roomier and lighter than a full-size SUV. On the downside, some useful driver assists are optional on the Pacifica. Pacifica’s reliability from recent years past is not on par with competing minivans, especially from Toyota and Kia.

The Pacifica is one of the few three-row vehicles comfortable in all three rows.

On the Road with Pacifica

I drove an upscale Pacifica Hybrid with a full suite of driver assists, the latest UConnect 4 infotainment system, and black leather seats with contrasting stitching. It feels roomier than a full-size SUV because it’s roughly the size of the full-size Dodge Durango SUV, 203.8 inches versus the Durango’s 201.2. With a shorter nose and without the sloping rear of some SUVs, plus a couple more inches of width than Durango, there’s a lot more room in the Pacifica for people and cargo inside.

Handling is pretty good for something that weighs a handful of pounds shy of 5,000. It gets to 60 mph in about 7.5 seconds via a 3.6-liter V6 Atkinson cycle gas engine (higher efficiency, lower peak power) and an electric motor that net 260 hp, all driving the front wheels. Once in a while during testing, the nine-speed automatic was slow to shift or thunked into the next gear. The shifter is a rotary knob on the dashboard. Most reviewers hate shifter knobs (or buttons). I say: They leave more room for cupholders and phones on the dash or console. Nobody manually shifts a minivan. This knob would work better if it was coated in grippy rubber.

The infotainment system and navigation, called UConnect and now up to version 4, continues to be one of the easier packages to comprehend. The display is 8 inches diagonal, which is good, but a 10-inch display would be nicer (likely on 2021 models).

2020 Chrysler Pacifica.

The Pacifica excels three ways:

Around town, driving is almost zero-cost because the 16-kWh battery tucked under the floor lets you cover 32 miles of commuting to work, car-pooling, and handling daily driving tasks. It will recharge overnight on 120-volt power, or in about two hours at 240 volts. Many owners won’t burn any gasoline most days of the week, although maybe you might, because there’s no button to force the Pacifica to run electric-only before going to the combustion engine. So Chrysler uses an algorithm to decide when to use what. In a week of driving, I averaged 29 mpg, close to Chrysler’s 30 mpg EPA overall rating, which is quite good for a 2.5-ton vehicle.

Second, on longer weekend or vacation trips, you get up to 520 miles of driving. You only have to fill up once a day. Yes, the kids have to go pee more often than that, but the interstate service area choreography of one parent taking the kids to the bathroom while the other heads for the fueling islands, then meeting up while the refueler parent dashes back to the restrooms, seems to save very little time.

For weekday carpooling tasks and weekend family trips, you can fit up to seven people; the middle row is always two buckets, not a bench. And everybody, in every seating position, is plenty comfortable, especially in the hybrid. The under-floor battery means there’s no space for the stowable (Stow ‘N Go) seats that fold into the floor, but those stowable seats are thinner and less comfortable. The comfier PHEV’s seats are heavy to take out, though.

The Pacifica has upscale finishes on most trim lines. The UConnect 4 center stack display is 8.4 inches.

Lots of Trim Lines

Shopping for a Chrysler Pacifica starts with “Where do I start?” There are eight Pacifica gas-engine versions, five of them called Pacifica Touring (gut none called Pacifica Car Pooling); plus six Pacifica Hybrid versions; plus more two gas-engine entry model Pacificas, only they’re called Chrysler Voyagers (explanation below). As for the hybrid models, there are three Touring models (Touring, Touring, 35th Anniversary Touring L) and three Limited models (Limited, Limited 35th Anniversary, Limited Red S). The hybrid 35th Anniversary (of the first Chrysler Corp. minivans) and S models are upholstery, badging, and paint variants. If this sounds confusing, it is, and there’s not much on the Chrysler Pacifica website that helps you see what features are on what trim lines.

The least costly hybrid, the Touring, is $41,490 including $1,495 freight. That is $6,250 more than the gas-engine Touring, but you are eligible for a $7,500 tax credit, so really it costs less. The Touring gets you power-sliding doors, heated mirrors, keyless entry/ignition, a power-adjustable driver’s seat, three-zone climate control, the 8.4-inch touchscreen, Bluetooth, Apple CarPlay, Android Auto, and USB jacks. Driver assists are blind-spot warning/rear-cross-traffic-alert (same system) and rear parking sonar. No forward-facing driver assists.

The Touring L, $45,780 including freight, may be the sweet spot: It adds leather upholstery, heated front seats, and a power liftgate. But it, too, lacks a full range of driver assists.

The Limited, $47,340, is where you can add a fuller array of driver assists. It has nicer leather, vented front seats, navigation, UConnect Theater (rear entertainment), and 20-speaker audio. For $995 you can add the Advanced Safety Tec Group: stop-and-go adaptive cruise control, advanced forward collision warning, advanced lane departure warning, parallel/perpendicular parking assist, front sonar (rear is standard) with auto-stop, and surround cameras. You can also add a $1,895 panoramic sunroof.

The top-line Hybrid Limited Red S fully optioned runs $52,000, before tax credit.

Be still my heart: the 1984 Dodge Caravan, enabler of the soccer mom demographic. It’s also 28 inches shorter than today’s Pacifica.

The Shrinking Minivan Market

Minivans as we know them date to the 1984 Dodge Caravan and Plymouth Voyager, boxy vehicles, some with woodgrain wrap on the sides. They helped keep Chrysler Corp. alive. (The vehicles, not necessarily the woodgrain.) Sales of minivans, all brands, peaked in 2000 with 1.4 million sold, 8 percent of the year’s 17 million sales. Most had three rows of seats, and even the third row was reasonably comfortable at a time when there were far fewer SUVs. And they drove like cars at a time when SUVs didn’t.

Minivans were popular with college-educated boomer parents in the suburbs who drove their children to sports practices a lot, had similar-to-each-other buying patterns, got involved in the PTA, and tended to vote. Demographers called them soccer moms or soccer parents, which annoyed the heck out of them, more because soccer mom was too easily understood as well as misunderstood. In retaliation – “how dare these people reduce me to two words” – they switched to SUVs that were bigger, top-heavier, tipsier (until electronic stability control came along), cost you 3-5 mpg in fuel economy, and lacked room for teens in row three. Nothing like seeing six kids in shorts and cleats disembark from a GMC Yukon Denali, not a Pacifica, to prove you’re not a soccer dad or mom.

Fast forward to 2019, and sales of the five minivan models (plus leftover Chrysler Town & Countrys) amounted to just over 400,000, or 2 percent of the (again) 17 million sales of light vehicles. The best-seller Dodge Grand Caravan gets the majority of sales in fleet markets, making the Honda Odyssey and Pacifica the top two sellers to individuals.

Minivan Model 2019 Sales 2018 Sales Change Dodge Grand Caravan 122,648 151,927 -19% Honda Odyssey 99,113 106,327 -7% Chrysler Pacifica 97,705 118,322 -17% Toyota Sienna 73,585 87,671 -16% Kia Sedona 15,931 17,928 -11% Chrysler Town & Country 5 6 -17% Totals 408,987 482,181 -15%

Between 2000 and today, more than a dozen minivan brands departed the market: Buick Terraza, Chevrolet Uplander, Chevrolet Venture, Chrysler Voyager, Ford Freestar, Ford Windstar Cargo, Mazda MPV, Mercury Monterey, Nissan Quest, Oldsmobile Silhouette, Pontiac Montana, Saturn Relay, and Volkswagen Routan. The one significant entrant is the Kia Sedona in the 2015 model year.

In 2020, the aging Dodge Grand Caravan goes away this spring, to be replaced by the Chrysler Voyager, effectively an entry-level Pacifica. That will likely be the rental-fleet minivan. Insiders say the two-name strategy helps the residual value of the Pacifica. Any time more than half the sales for a model go into fleets, it depresses resale prices.

The 2020 Pacifica measures 203.8 inches long, 79.6 inches wide, and 69.9 inches high. This allows for superb cargo space: 32.3 cubic feet with all seats used, and 140.5 cubic feet with the middle and rear seats down.

Should You Buy?

If you do a lot of urban driving, you’ll likely love how much of it can be on electricity, where the cost of electricity (low) is equivalent in cost to the Pacifica getting 82 mpg on gasoline. It is roomy on legroom as well as side to side shoulder room, so you really can get three across in back.

The Pacifica scores well on IIHS safety tests: good overall on crashworthiness, and a Top Safety Pick. However, it’s light on standard driver safety assists: Blind spot warning is standard, plus government-required features such as a rear camera. If you want a fuller range of assists that help especially on long highway trips, you’ll really want one of the Limited trims and the features of the Advanced Safety Tec package.

Only when you reach the Limited are significant additional driver assists offered in an options package.

Against the competition, the same money, roughly, will get you the sensational Kia Telluride or Hyundai Palisade three-row SUVs with less space and a premium-car fit and finish. Against other SUVs, the Honda Odyssey is well-thought-out and so is the Toyota Sienna, which is the only minivan to offer all-wheel-drive. The Kia Sedona, less flashy, has rock-solid build quality and reliability on its side. Consumer Reports rates recent Sedonas at 3, 4 or 5 of 5, while the Pacifica is rated at 1 or 2 out of 5.

The Chrysler Pacifica has been out since the 2017 model year. It gets a significant refresh for the 2021 model year with all-wheel-drive offered on the gas-engine Pacifica only (Chrysler last had an AWD minivan in 2004). Chrysler could have redirected the PHEV’s electric power to the rear wheels for all-wheel-drive (as Toyota has done to create AWD on a front-drive car), but chose not to. There’s a new, version 5, of UConnect Drive by Android software. And there’ll be an additional trim line at the top end, called Pinnacle. To keep up with the competition, the 2021 Pacifica will make standard forward-collision warning, automatic emergency braking with pedestrian detection, and lane departure warning/lane-keeping assistance.

Now read:

2018 Honda Odyssey First Drive Review: Tech Makes It the Ultimate People Hauler

2020 Kia Telluride Review: The New Benchmark for Midsize SUVs

At Last: Driver-Assist Terms Will Be Common Across All Cars

from ExtremeTechExtremeTech https://www.extremetech.com/extreme/307788-2020-chrysler-pacifica-review-swallow-your-pride-this-beats-an-suv from Blogger http://componentplanet.blogspot.com/2020/03/2020-chrysler-pacifica-review-swallow.html

#2020 Chrysler Pacifica Review: Swallow Your Pride – This Beats an SUV

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