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kettlequills · 3 years

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all that is and has been

"The past is the beginning of the beginning and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn." - H.G Wells. Every winter, Aranea comes down the mountain. Prompt: dawn, for TESFEST. On A03 here.

They get younger every year, Aranea thought, watching the guide from Windhelm picking his way with great concentration up the snowy slope to Azura’s shrine. At the foot of the stone steps, he pumped his arm wildly, and shouted something that was immediately snatched by the wind. Even from this distance, Aranea could picture perfectly the expression of consternation on his face, hidden mostly though it was in the hood of his thick fur parka.

Aranea exhaled a sigh and put some water on to boil. She dusted off and set out her spare stool for visitors. By the time he had puffed and struggled his way up the steps, the water was ready.

“Priestess!” he called, voice bright and eager with the strength of youth.

Wasted on the young, Aranea thought, sprinkling leaves into the cups. She eyed him critically. Pinched red cheeks on either side of a proud nose, eyes hidden smartly under Nordic snow-goggles to protect them from the snowfall. The boy was young, but not too young, she judged, and added a small dram of Cyrodilic brandy. The snow wasn’t too bad for this time of year, but it was the thick, fluffy flakes of endless autumn snow, and cursed cold.

Aranea greeted him, wincing a little at the creakiness of her voice. It had been a slow spring and summer. Only a few visitors, in all that stretch of time, and none the one Azura had told her to look for. She had not spoken for months.

“My name is Tinoryn,” he told her, a few sips into his tea. “I work for Ruvene, at Avalathil Tailoring.” He wiggled the hood of his parka. “I made this,” he added, proudly. “But I’m going to be a mage, anyway. Once I’ve saved up enough for the College.”

Ah, thought Aranea. This one would be pestering her to teach him magic all the way down the mountain. She would not deny him. Being able to afford the College’s fees was a distant dream, no matter if his sewing skills were clearly quite good. Fur was a Nord’s business, and there was not much of a market for traditional Dunmeri silkweaving in Skyrim. But he would serve his community well.

Perhaps Aranea would speak to Ambarys and Ruvene, if this aspiring mageling showed promise. It would not be the College, but Aranea had time enough for teaching, if he could be spared. It had been a while since one of their own had taken to the magic arts, and Aranea could not be there to offer Azura’s blessings and healings all year.

And the road grew ever more treacherous.

She pondered this as she worked, readying the shrine for her long absence. It would, after all, be a death-sentence to attempt to stay on the exposed mountain-top throughout one of Skyrim’s brutal winters. Instead, Aranea did as she had always done, and when the autumn snows began to crown Azura’s head thickly, she awaited a guide from Windhelm who would escort her to stay in the city during the cold months, in exchange for blessings and healings. Once, that route had included Winterhold, but Aranea had watched, brutal in her isolation, the vast majority of Azura’s faithful there along with the rest of the town crumble into the Sea of Ghosts during the Collapse. The outskirts of the town remained, and of the people Aranea had served, only those few that had listened to Aranea’s vision-driven warning and moved to Windhelm.

Tinoryn chattered happily without her input, telling her about the Windhelm’s Dunmer anything he thought relevant that she had missed during the spring and summer. Aranea was not surprised to learn of increasing attacks from the city’s Nord population, nor of the fires that had raged across the docks from mismanagement and unvented angers. It would be a lean winter. It was always a lean winter.

“Shall we go?” Aranea said, halfway into one of Tinoryn’s stories about one Henon Virith valiantly fighting off an improbable number of guards, evidently the troublemaker of the Grey Quarter and Tinoryn’s personal hero. To his credit, Tinoryn barely blinked before shouldering Aranea’s entire pack (she watched, bemused, and wondered what they were feeding tailors these days) over the shoulder that did not carry his own, and bounced off.

He started then on the story of the passage up, and Aranea allowed his voice to fall into a soothing murmur as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She had walked this path many times, but Skyrim was a country of bitter winds, rock and snow, and held little love for those who would stumble on her paths.

They took the carriage from Winterhold, bartering passage crammed in next to a friendly courier and a dour carriage driver, squeezing their legs over locked crates that Aranea suspected contained soulgems from the subtle hum she could feel, grinding its way through her teeth into her skull. Tinoryn distracted himself thoroughly with the courier, to Aranea’s relief; she had already spoken so much in the gaps Tinoryn left in conversation that her throat ached.

It was a weary, travelsore and head-pounding priestess of Azura that made her way, Tinoryn quieting in sight of the guards, over Windhelm’s ice-choked bridge. The city of stone was redolent and packed, but the guards held sharp new weapons, and wore armour so polished that they shone like gems in the snow. There were more horses in the stables, meaty, Rift-bred creatures, and Aranea spotted scaffolding supporting the construction of a new parapet with a flicker of unease. The people they passed were ragged as ever, but there was a strange, martial air flickering in Windhelm’s braziers, carried on lips down from the Palace of Kings.

Unbidden, Aranea thought of a troubling vision she had received, some years ago. A young Greybeard-come-soldier, sweating and afraid with his wrists bound in Altmeri-gold, a voice, syrup-soft, speaking of holy wars and dying traditions. It was not one she liked to think of. Skyrim did not need war, and the young jarl had never cared greatly for his elven population. The tightening of purse strings would choke the Grey Quarter first.

Sometimes, Aranea wondered why Azura sent her the visions of great and terrible things she could no more prevent than catch a single snowflake in a blizzard. She doubted it was intended to be a torment. The Twilight Lady’s mystery was wondrous, but at times, Aranea thought that the grief of mortals was as foreign to her as her thinking was to them.

Still, there was plenty enough grief in the present without needing to borrow trouble from tomorrow.

The streets that led down into the heart of the Grey Quarter were damp with melted snow. Barely had they taken a few steps when a little girl raced up to them, crying out Aranea’s title. Despite her long resolution to the service of Azura, Aranea felt a tug in her heart at the round red eyes that did not quite yet fit in the girl’s skull, long ears too heavy as of yet to lift all the way up, though the little girl was very clearly excited. Her ears were covered with little knitted caps laced to the one jammed firmly on her head, warding off the cold.

“Hi Priestess!” She beamed. “It’s Nepha! You were at my birthday last year! Twelfth of Sun’s Dusk! Will you come again this year?”

Bless the child for her prompting, for Aranea had not recognised her at all and certainly could not have named the date she was born. Though, if it was Sun’s Dusk, she had likely assisted in the delivery. Little Ulyn Andules’ babe, perhaps? She recalled vaguely Tinoryn mentioning he’d found a new wife to mother his little girl, of all the half-sparked reasons to remarry. But, by the Reclamations, Aranea remembered delivering him. Had it been so long?

I love them all, but the years do blur together.

“Azura’s Star, child, you have grown so tall! And I shall certainly hope I get your invitation.” Wincing at the ache in her knees, she bent to squeeze Nepha’s cheeks, making the little girl giggle and twist away.

“We should get you down to the cornerclub, Priestess,” Tinoryn said, looking up at the sky. Shadows were beginning to gather across the long wavering lines of orange and pinks washing the snowy rooftops. “And you, inside, Nepha!”

Nepha stuck her tongue out at Tinoryn. She proffered her arm to Aranea. “Let me help you go! The streets are really slippy here.”

Aranea weighed up the benefits of asserting her independence and ability to walk unaided over the benefit of encouraging the child in her attempt to offer sincere and honest help. Truly, Aranea thought, if she had not lived atop a mountain for the past few months, she might have found the slick streets hard enough to navigate to be grateful for the help. The gutters cut down the sides of the streets were overrunning.

Aranea took Nepha’s arm, and they set off again.

The temperature increased sharply the moment they left the Nord-dominated parts of the city, heading into the close, smoky corridors of the Quarter. Tinoryn relaxed, loosening his fur parka and beginning to smile in earnest now he was home. People hailed them as they passed, but thankfully between Nepha and Tinoryn Aranea did not have to speak at all, only smile at their eagerness to greet her.

Just as well, for the air was unexpectedly sticky and humid from the great braziers that lined every other step of the street, lit by the whispers of fire-magic every Dunmer carried within them and absolutely essential to surviving in a cold land like Skyrim. Aranea added a gift of fire-runes to those she passed, a curious Tinoryn watching, driving the heat from baking to sweltering. The heat was welcome after months at the cold shrine, but she could feel sweat beading at the nape of her neck under her robe.

“The greatest principle of destruction magic,” Aranea told him softly as she dipped her fingers into another clay brazier’s embers, “is that it is no more destructive than a hand. The limit is your will, and the scope of the energy you are willing to give to see that will done.”

She was pleased, though, to see the braziers well-tended even without her help. It was important for Dunmeri children to be raised around fire, important for them still as adults. A cold Dunmer was a dead one. Their ancestors walked their hands through ash to kiss their fingertips in flame. It was their birthright just as much as it was a need. In Morrowind, there had not been braziers of open flame waiting for curious hands to reach and play; there had been little need, the land was warm enough. But the Dunmer of Windhelm had had to grow resourceful, and reliant upon the fire they carried within themselves just as much as the heat of the sun and sear of coals.

Aranea’s pride for her people warmed her spirit just as much as trading the freezing wind of the exposed shrine to Azura for the tight, smelly Grey Quarter warmed her bones.

The New Gnisis Cornerclub was unchanged, and the gladdest sight of all. Aranea quickened her steps, eager to see her old friends again and take the weight off her aching feet. The door creaked as it always had, and the light from beyond that threw upon the gleaming stone was orange and tinted with laughter and clinking bottles.

Aranea sent Nepha off as they went in, cautioning her to go straight to her father. Tinoryn behind her, Aranea turned, and almost immediately walked directly into the arms of Ambarys Rendar. He had come out from round the bar and as he enfolded her into a hug, he called greetings to them both.

He was solid, and Aranea could smell the spicy alcoholic scent of his wares in his smock, the rasp of his stubble across her cheek. She met his eyes, and they crinkled as he smiled at her, deep and unreserved. And if the pleasure she felt bubbling from some secret place was all the sharper for the months since she had seen him last, that was no one’s business but her own.

“How was your journey?” he asked. “No trouble from those braggarts at the gates?”

“Ambarys,” Aranea chided softly, and he only smiled, but this time it did not quite reach his eyes.

“It was good, sera,” said Tinoryn obliviously, “We took a cart from Winterhold, the driver was nice enough to wait! The snow was bad though.”

“Not too bad,” Aranea contradicted. “Still, I’m glad to be in the warm and dry.” She let her eyes slide to the stairs, and Ambarys chuckled, poor humour forgotten.

“Come, let’s get you settled, priestess,” he said. “I’ll take that, boy, go along now and get yourself a drink from Malthyr.”

Tinoryn flustered a bit at this abrupt dismissal, but at Aranea’s nod he surrendered her pack to Ambarys and went.

“He’s a good boy,” Aranea told Ambarys as they went up the stairs, “wants to be a mage.”

Ambarys snorted, not unkindly. “A good heart, but better off keeping his eyes on the road.”

“I was thinking…” Aranea hesitated behind Ambarys as he searched his belt for the door keys.

Ambarys half-turned to look at her, surprised. “Come on, that boy up the mountain? He’d talk your ear off in a week and himself to death in two. Ruvene pays him half as much for keeping the customers busy while she mends as she does his sewing.”

He unlocked the door and gestured her in. Aranea kicked off her boots and went gratefully. The bed was simple and small, but it was a luxury after months of a bedroll on hard stone. She sunk into its embrace gratefully, groaning her relief. She flexed her sore feet and cast a half-hearted Restoration spell.

“Won’t it get busy?” Aranea asked. Audible through the floor was the creak of the door and the hum of voices as those who had spotted her outside filed into the cornerclub, flagging Malthys to bring them drinks and food while they waited.

“Malthys can handle it,” said Ambarys. “They’re just eager to hear you speak. I can send them away though, and leave you to rest …?”

Aranea smiled at him tiredly. “Sit. It’s nice to see you. And let them stay, I’ll go down in a moment.”

Ambarys settled her pack in the corner, then dragged a chair over. He rested his elbows on his knees and smiled down at her stretching over the bed. “And you, priestess.”

“It’s been a while,” Aranea said, mind returning to what they had been discussing. “But if you think Tinoryn’s not suitable…”

“It’s not that,” Ambarys dismissed the idea with a wave. He frowned at Aranea then. “Unless you’re thinking you need the company. I’d – we would love to have you for the rest of the year. You don’t need to live up there alone.”

“Ambarys,” Aranea interrupted him. “I must. I am a priestess of Azura, I must tend her shrine.”

“We could send people up, every month, week, even,” Ambarys argued, “You could just stay here. Just – think about it, is all I ask.” He raised his hands, seeing her exasperated look. “This room is yours for as long as you want it, whenever you want it, you know that.”

“I do.” Aranea could not resist a small smile. It was the same argument they had every year, and he’d yet to convince her. Ambarys deflated.

Closing her eyes, Aranea let the lull in conversation stretch into silence. The headache she had nursed during the carriage ride was increasing until it felt like daedra were knocking in her skull. Her skin was throbbing in complaint at the changing temperatures, and her stomach felt a little queasy from the altitude difference. They had not gone slowly down the mountain, and Aranea’s body, used to the icy, scouring winds and unyielding spine of stone, protested at the soft warmth of the wooden bed, the creaks and sighs of the breathing cornerclub.

Windhelm was a noisy city, even now, Aranea could hear yelling and clanging, even the rapid thumping of drums from somewhere and the stamp of feet, all almost drowned out by patrons shouting for Malthys’ attention and talking amongst themselves. Somewhere, a baby was crying. Smells roiled for her attention, the piss and ale scents worked into the woods, the unwashed bodies cramming into the bar below, the faint musty scent of the blankets.

It was all so much.

And underneath it all, iron and fire, and the invisible threads of gathering zealotry.

“Aranea…” Ambarys’ raspy voice was soft. She heard cloth moving over skin as he shifted, the minute creak of the chair. She hummed in acknowledgement. “Are you… well?”

Sighing, Aranea opened her eyes. She was tired. So tired. Every year seemed to press heavier on her shoulders. Azura demanded much.

But it was a balm to see him there, the wrinkles of his laugh-lines, wearying now under the weight of hard living, his dark eyes, as tender when he looked upon her as they were sharp at any other sight.

“I am,” she said. “But I hear… the winds of war are coming, Ambarys. I fear for the people.”

Ambarys hesitated. Almost nervously, he asked, “Have you seen anything from the goddess?”

Aranea looked away. She had not the strength to confide in him the dark futures she had seen, of the Grey Quarter in flames, grey bodies warped among the red snow, winged, impossible shapes soaring through the sky. “It may happen.”

Ambarys’ face settled into a troubled cast too familiar for Aranea’s comfort. “I don’t know what we will do if Hoag’s boy goes to war again. The Reachfolk massacre was bad enough…”

“What we always do,” Aranea said, taking his hand comfortingly. It was soft and dry in hers. Ambarys looked at her, his grey-red eyes searching. “Survive.”

A slow smile lifted his lips, warm and true. “Until the next dawn, then the next?” he said, repeating their old words, words she had said to him many times over many worries.

“And the one after,” Aranea confirmed, and his smile deepened until her heart ached. “The Mother of the Rose will guide us, as she always has.”

“It is good to have you back, priestess,” Ambarys murmured, tightening his grip on her hand when Aranea made to move away. Aranea left it there in his grasp, and his thumb swiped gently over the back of her hand. Fiery chills raced up her nerves.

“I should go to them,” Aranea said, meaning the people gathered downstairs waiting but unable to look from Ambarys’ eyes. A moment passed when she almost thought that he would refuse to release her, didn’t know how to quantify the feeling that inspired, but then all at once he had let go and stood.

The chair scraping on the floor spelled the end of their reprieve. Still, Aranea smiled at him as she passed, half for his tired eyes, half for the thawing knowledge that she would have all winter to see them again.

A ragged cheer arose as Aranea descended the stairs, blinking in the light. She inhaled, more than a little taken-aback by the solid wall of bodies that greeted her, heaving in through the ajar doors. There were more there that she could see, crowding in the street, pulling the braziers round to stand in a circle of warmth. A hush ran through them as she raised her hand.

Ambarys appeared at her shoulder, a bottle in his hand, wry smile on his lips. He offered Aranea a thick woven cushion in the Hlaalu style, and Aranea sank down on it with relief, right there on the stairs, where all might see her easily. Her old bones thanked her.

She sniffed the bottle. Sujamma.

“Thank you,” she said, and Ambarys gave her a mock-bow.

The crowd gathered round, eager faces shining in the warmth of the fires. Some she recognised, who called for her by name, she greeted with smiles. Aranea was surprised, but pleased, to see a few non-Dunmer faces in the crowd. There were one or two quiet Nords sweating in the heat, a few cloaked Argonians who had smuggled themselves into the city and whose scales gleamed like rubies in the firelight, even an Altmer, stood at the very back but clear towering over the others. It was always good to see more drawn to Azura’s teachings, and Aranea knew that if they had been permitted to know of her arrival, then they were trusted by Ambarys. She made eye contact with one of the Argonians and smiled.

As if sensing her preparation, the crowd settled after a moment, looking at her expectantly. Aranea breathed in, slowly. Teaching was tiring, true, and she would have preferred to rest, but she could not deny those who had such a hunger for what she had to say.

She took a sip of sujamma to wet her throat, and began.

“Lady Azura is the patron of dusk and dawn…”

#tesfest21 #inkwrites #brief torture reference #fantastic racism #slice of life #canon typical behaviour #aranea ienith #ambarys rendar #ambarys/aranea #tinoryn othravel #nepha andules #azura #skyrim #my fic all that is and has been

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love-hatred-stuff · 3 years

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>>>part.2

Title: partners in crime } Jin-young [got7]

genre: mafia au [sexual tension]

warning: mentions of killing, weapons and drugs, a bit suggestive

word count: 1.3k

song recommendation: Me & U (wtchcrft remix) - Cassie (u will feel the vibe of the story better when u listen to it)

Third person's POV

You and Park Jin young were partners, partners in crime to be exact. Your relationship has never been fully platonic and never will be. You both knew that.

You two liked to break the rules and flirted when you were alone on a mission.

Right now Jinyoung and you were following a van full of illegal stuff that could you all get arrested for the rest of your life. The serving was worth millions, and even more looking to the future.

Once in a while you had to check the drug delivery, watching if everything went how you wanted it to.

You both had the same boss. You had the job because of your brother, who died a few years ago. You were hardened. Your brother didn't meant much to you, you basically saw him dying. For betraying you and your partner because of money, Jinyoung had shot him straight in his head.

It hurted you back then that someone that was used to be close to you, would have killed you for money.

So you didn't mind it when Jinyoung had murdered him, you gave him permission, while seeing your older sibling begging for forgiveness.

But business was too serious. It was your reason to live. Your boss had given you a chance to put your amazing abilities to use. You were a master in fighting and in handling weapons of all kind.

You were a killer if you needed to be.

With Jinyoung on your side you were unbeatable. Not once you missed a shot, lost a fight or didn't end a mission.

Basically you were always together. You slept in the same bed in different hotels when you had to go abroad. It was never boring with him. He was a rough and cold kind of guy but you knew him better, he had a soft side for you. He liked to joke around sometimes, wanting to see you smile from time to time, since you weren't an openly happy kind of woman.

He was not possessive, since you weren't his. He knew his place in your life so he had kept his hands to himself until now. Even if he wanted to be more to you, as long as you lived, it didn't matter to him how close your relationship was.

He would lie if he would say that he wasn't in love with the way you handled things so heedless but precise. It gave him chills when he looked into your eyes.

You were beautiful, that much he'd always known, but something about the look you gave him today's morning made him feel different in some kind of way.

You were sitting in the driver's seat. Giving him a small gaze every now and then you catched him staring.

"Is everything alright, Young?" You were concerned about his weird behavior.

"I'm just wondering how the deal will go. The gang that is buying the drugs is known for their violence. They have great snipers. What if they will shoot you?"

Your job was to communicate with the people you made deals with. So you were the only one that would exit the car.

You were known as the "girlfriend" of your boss, although you actually wasn't. But so you were second face of the gang.

But it didn't bother you much that you would be alone. You were able to defend yourself in every situation.

"Did I ever overlook a sniper just once? No, so keep your mouth shut and concentrate on the mission. We have a job to do, Young. If you believe something unplanned will happen then you shouldn't go with me." You made clear coldly.

Maybe you were also feeling something for him, but your job was more important to you.

You would protect him at all cost but you wouldn't involve your feelings in this.

It wasn't your thing in general; feelings. It never had been.

You were trained to feel nothing, or at least look like you don't.

"Fine. But I warned you, Lady." He called you and gave you a last look.

"Call me Lady one more time and this is your last mission with me." You threatened.

He held his hands up in innocence.

"Woah. Are we spirited today?" He laughed.

You face didn't show any amusement at all.

"Last time, Park. Shut the fuck up." You grip got stronger on the steering wheel, letting your white knuckles show.

He noticed how tensed you were. You weren't in a good mood today. Obviously.

So he took a mental note to watch his words more next time.

You sighed when he was silent finally.

•••

After about a hour later you arrived at the secret meeting place. Everything was going well until now.

The silence was broken by him first.

"Are you sure, you wanna risk this? I can go instead." He offered calmingly.

You gave him a emotionless glance.

"Don't treat me like you are the one that needs to protect me." Was everything you said before you left the car and walked up to two strangers.

You shortly discussed some things about your deal and some other asian men of them uploaded the drugs from the black van.

It went pretty fast and when the job was done you got back into your own car, where Jinyoung waited for you.

He had watched the men that had spoken to you intensely, he wanted them to behave well infront of you.

"Are you pleasured? I'm still alive." You asked and rolled your eyes before starting the engine and driving off into the city.

The van had separated from you and you were on the way to your booked hotel, since the mission wasn't completed done yet.

You were exited, you had the need to drink some Bourbon.

You weren't addicted or something but you enjoyed alcohol. It was fun to let yourself get lost in the numbing liquid.

As you arrived you didn't look after Jinyoung to follow you. He always did. It was part of his job.

"You want separated rooms? Taecyeon (your boss) said we can decide this time." You informed him on the way to the reception.

He shook his head. He enjoyed using your body as a heat source in the night.

You shrugged but were okay with it, since you were so used to each other.

You greeted the old Lady and got the key for you room.

When you opened the door, you got straight to the little bar of the room. Taking whatever you desired at the moment, filling it in a small glass, and letting it flow down your throat.

Jinyoung laughed out as he watched you. He loved how you were always up to drink, no matter what time of the day.

"I will take a shower. Wanna join?" He gave you a smirk.

You grinned back at him, with dark eyes. The first smile you had given him that day. His face lit up at your reaction.

"Sure, why not." You responded, taking off your leather jacket.

Maybe it's the dim lighting in this room that was clouding your better judgement, but you didn't care.

He was confused. You were serious.

If you had wanted him to focus you did it the wrong way, because fuck, he was so high strung right now that he thought he might come from you biting your lip and looking at him like your didn't just wanted to shower with him.

#jinyoung #kpop imagines #got7 #got7 imagines #mafia au

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seijch · 4 years

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➣ ushijima wakatoshi: a being capable of bringing entire armies to their knees, wielder of the severin cleaver, and the one whose appearance turns your world upside down.

ushijima wakatoshi + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

high fantasy au

1.2k

this fic is inspired by the video game xenoblade chronicles 2, but knowledge of that game is not needed to enjoy this fic :-)

You lived a simple life before Ushijima Wakatoshi.

It was a simple life, stitched together haphazardly with odd jobs and courier duty, but it was a simple life nonetheless. It's long days and hard work, sweat beading at your hairline; it's also all you know.

A trade ship has come to port, bringing with it goods and commodities the town can't supply on its own. The land was fertile, sure, but all your technology was imported from the faraway Mor Ardain. You were, as always, tasked with making sure everything got where it needed to go. This was easy. This was routine. You brace yourself (both mentally and physically) for the ache in your feet that's sure to come.

Thankfully, the day goes by rather quickly. You're on one of your last jobs, en route to the bakery, when you collide with a young man.

Your brain is on autopilot, steadying him while you set the crate of supplies on the ground, hoping this interaction won't throw off your momentum. "Oh," you say, on your knees to return the things that have spilled from his knapsack, "I'm sorry, let me help you-"

His warning comes a second too late: "Don't touch that!"

That: a glowing mauve gem you've just wrapped your hand around. It's a bit warm, if not heavier than it had looked.

The pleasant warmth turns into a surprising heat as the crystal lights up, so bright you shield your eyes with your free hand. When it subsides, there is a man standing before you.

Human men: comprised of flesh, bone, and certainly not rectangular gems set neatly into the junction between the base of their throat and their collarbone.

This is not a man, no matter how much he might resemble one. No, in front of you now is a blade, capable of bestowing upon their wielders — known as drivers — their power and (more importantly) their weapon. Any one of them could raise hell in the right hands, this much you know to be true. You've heard the legends of drivers felling the most fearsome of monsters. (You’d wanted to be a driver, once--but that was before reality had set in.)

"My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi." In his hands is a double-sided battleaxe so large it makes you look puny in comparison. "My power is yours." To demonstrate, he twirls the handle of the axe in one fluid motion before slamming a razor-sharp edge into the ground.

At the point of impact is what can only be called a miniature crater, displaced dirt flying everywhere.

A crowd has gathered; it's not very often a blade is awakened so publicly, let alone one so strong. And strong he is, he must be; his very aura tells you this blade, this...Ushijima, must be a cut (or two, maybe twenty) above the rest. By now, the routine you'd been so eager to follow has gone completely off the rails, a loose thread tugged on and undoing all the work you've done.

Ushijima, ignorant to your plight, offers the handle to you. His palms are face up as he does, open and ready. For a moment, there is silence in the bustling market. Everyone watches with bated breath for your next move.

The young man whose blade you'd just stolen decides to make it for you.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, pointing an accusatory finger at you. "You summoned a blade from my core crystal!" He tries to claim Ushijima for himself, wrapping both hands around the axe handle.

It doesn't work. He caves under its weight, knees hitting the ground almost instantly. Ushijima picks the axe up as though it were a toothpick. "You are not my driver." Coming from his mouth, it sounds irrefutable. You're sure the actual driver with actual experience would be a better fit for all this than you, but you keep your mouth shut.

He offers the weapon to you once more. "If you'll have me, I assure you that all who dare oppose us will be shown no mercy."

Drivers were powerful. They were also stupid. Who willingly throws themselves in the face of death in the hopes that they come out on top?

You lived a simple life before Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You'll live a simple life after him, too.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, picking the crate back up. "I don't think I'm what you're looking for."

And you walk away.

(You weren't cut out for a life on the road, of odd jobs more dangerous than the deliveries and repairs you were accustomed to. Your head was in the clouds when you thought you could make a living as a driver. As harsh as the ground beneath you might feel, coming down from those lofty dreams is a much better fate than being eaten by some hostile creature.)

What you don't expect is for him to follow, to take the supplies in his hands in an act of service. "I'm afraid I don't understand. You are worthy. You would not have survived my awakening if you were not." That much is true; you've heard horror stories of weak bodies attempting to summon strong blades. It never ends well, often with month-long migraines or worse yet, bodies gone still and pulses long gone.

"Whatever crime-fighting, monster-killing life you expect from me isn't going to happen. I'm no driver. I have a hard enough time as it is." You take the crate back. "You can find someone else."

"...I can't.”

“Huh?”

“Blades cannot switch drivers, not without a crystal that very few have ever come across." He tries to reclaim the crate, but you swivel out of the way. (It ends up in his arms anyway. You don't know what to do, fingers twitching now that there's nothing to hold.)

"I will not push the issue further, but let me say this: there is potential in you to become strong, whether you realize it or not." He speaks with enough conviction to make your head spin. To him, this is fact. To you, this is a compliment beyond compare. "They call people like you diamonds in the rough. I will leave the choice of polishing it up to you."

You don't say anything, but you don't need to. Ushijima's words have wormed their way into your head, taken root in the recesses of your brain. You finish your deliveries. (News travels fast; everyone is well aware of who your newfound companion is.) The only thing left on your checklist is to figure out what to do with the blade that’s walked alongside you without complaint.

You lived a simple life before Ushijima Wakatoshi.

But when you take the axe in your hands under the light of the dying sun, it feels so right that you wonder if this serendipitous set of circumstances may have been preordained after all. You feel...worthy.

You lift it, bringing it down in a hefty swing. (It takes a bit of effort to avoid slicing your foot clean off.) You're not sure if it's just a trick of the light, but you swear you see the corners of his mouth quirk up when you do.

Your simple life was stitched together, fraying at the seams as you tried to make ends meet. Ushijima's arrival brings with it an entirely new fabric, a second chance to weave the tapestry of life into something worth living.

A question: when you return the axe to him, he lets it sit on his open palms, face up and open once again.

An answer: you wrap your fingers against the handle once more, meeting his gaze head-on.

Life was never meant to be simple, anyway.

87 notes · View notes

bxcketbarnes · 4 years

Text

The Set-Up

Pairing: Ashton Irwin/Britt

Words: 4300+

Author's Note: So, I was told to write this by @galcalirwin to expand on Britt and Ash's relationship and of course I had to. I'm a fluff master. I hope you guys like this!

You were standing in the corner of the raging party that Caroline brought you to, watching everyone dance with someone they either knew or just met. You fiddle with the plastic red cup in your hands before taking a quick drink when Ashton walks up to you.

"Hey, Britt, whatcha doin' in the corner?" He asks teasingly, a grin on his lips.

You blush and giggle nervously while glancing down at the ground. "I-I just… do-don't know anyone?" You mumble into a question, stumbling over almost every word and you silently curse yourself.

"You know me, Care, and Luke," he insists and you nod your head in agreement, clearing your throat. "You could've come over to us instead of standing all alone."

Your heart pounds against your chest as Ashton's hazel eyes stare down at you. "S-So, uhm, how d-do you know Care?" You stutter, deciding to try and make conversation with him as Ash smiles, glancing her way.

"The same as most people in this room, I suppose," he answers and takes a sip of whatever liquid is in his cup.

You nod your head and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I didn't re-realize that she dealt with the b-band's herself. Every time she makes a-a run with different bands, she's always dealing with the promo team," you explain, and Ashton chuckles and runs his hand through his curls.

"Well, love, we actually design a lot of our merch so I try to be involved as much as possible. Make sure everything is up to par, ya know," Ashton elaborates. "Care is probably the best of the best."

"Yeah, she's pretty great isn't she?" You ask and glance towards her as she dances with her boyfriend, Luke. You envied her a lot, wishing you had the confidence she had with men.

“Yeah, she’s cool. She always has a pretty friend to introduce me to," he says while looking directly at you. You blush, feeling your cheeks heat up as you take a big swig of your drink.

“Yeah, s-she has a lot of pretty friends," you play off, wondering if she's ever introduced any of our other friends to him.

Ashton takes his bottom lip between his teeth, looking around before bringing his attention back to you. "Maybe I can get her pretty friends number? So, I can get to know her better?" He low-key flirts, tilting his head a bit as your breath hitches in your throat.

"I-Mine?" You ask for clarification, swallowing thickly as Ashton giggles and nods his head. "O-Oh! Y-Yeah, yeah…" You look for a place to set your cup down and Ashton pulls out his phone, handing it to you.

You grab his phone and type in your contact information before handing it back to him. You smile at him shyly, grabbing your drink from the surface beside you, and take a couple of sips. Ashton holds up his phone and you blush, looking away from him. “Oh, come on. I need a picture for your contact,” he insists and you swallow thickly, feeling your skin heat up. “Please?”

A deep breath comes from your nose and you turn your head back towards him. “Okay,” you whisper and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You smile softly at him and Ashton grins while quickly taking your picture.

“Cute,” he confirms and turns the phone to show you. You hum, chewing on the rim of the plastic cup as you look at the photo he just took and you weren’t upset with it. You actually did look pretty cute.

“C-Can I get one of you? For when I have your number?” You ask nervously, looking up at the brunette as Ashton nods his head. He holds up a finger before going to get something as you set your cup back down to get your phone out of your little satchel. You tap your fingers against the case of your phone, the nerves flowing through your veins as you can’t believe this gorgeous ass man wants anything to do with you.

Ashton returns with a cowboy hat on his head and a laugh erupts from your throat. “How do I look?” He asks to try and make you less nervous than you are.

“Dorky,” you answer, pressing your lips together to suppress the laugh you’re holding in. “B-But cute.” You hold up your phone, focusing in on him and Ashton throws up a peace sign, his pink lips pursed a bit. You giggle softly and take his picture, inspecting it immediately after. Ashton walks closer to you, his body only a couple of inches away from yours and your breath hitches in your throat. You look up at him through your lashes and show him the picture. “Look good?”

“Yeah,” he whispers and his hazel eyes meet yours. You shudder a bit under his gaze and rub your arms, playing it off as if you’re just cold.

“I-I… I’ll be back,” you stutter, feeling the need to have some air. You walk away from him, glancing over your shoulder as you head towards the sliding door. You wipe your face with your hands, taking a big huff of breath as you make it outside and feel the cool air. “Holy fucking shit what just happened?”

“Are you excited to see Ash?” Care asks and you nod your head slowly, fiddling with your fingers as the two of you are currently in the Uber.

“Yeah, obviously,” you mumble and take a glance towards her. “It’d be nice to see him for a few days.”

“Yeah! I’m dying to see Luke,” she states and wiggles her eyebrows at you and you let out a groan.

“Oh my fucking god, Caroline! I didn’t need any indication that the two of you were going to fuck,” you laugh and shake your head. The Uber pulls up to the hotel the boys were staying at before the two of you clamber out of the vehicle.

Caroline chuckles and shrugs her shoulders while opening the trunk to grab your things. You pull your duffel bag out of the trunk, hiking it onto your shoulder. Your friend says thanks to the Uber driver before the two of us walk into the hotel lobby.

“When do you plan to tell Ashton that you like him?” Your best friend asks and you choke on your spit a bit, glancing towards her with wide eyes. You wait to give her your answer as she tells the receptionist that we’re meeting up with the boys. The man checks the list that the band’s manager gave them before giving both of you keys.

“I don’t have a crush on Ash,” you tell her when the two of you step into the elevator. Care scoffs while pressing floor 34’s button, turning her attention to you.

“Yeah, mhm, sure,” she mumbles.

You blink a few times before shaking your head, running your hand through your hair. “Just because I stutter and blush a lot around him doesn’t mean I have a crush on him. You know I get nervous around men, especially if that man is a fucking God.”

A laugh leaves her lips and you let out a sigh, turning your gaze to the silver elevator doors. “Alright fine. You don’t have a crush on him… yet,” Caroline shrugs as the door opens up. She walks out first as you stare at her back, letting out a huff of breath as you know this won’t be the last time you have this conversation.

Care knocks on the door Luke and Ashton are staying in and you could feel your stomach twist in knots. Whenever you want to see Ash you always become nervous and you wish you didn't. He was great. He's really sweet and funny. But, he's so fucking handsome.

Luke opens the door, his blue eyes widening at the sight of his girlfriend in front of him. "Holy shit, Care-" he cuts himself off and takes a step forward to wrap his arms around her waist, lifting the girl off the ground.

"Luke, who is it?" Ashton calls from inside the room as you smile at the couple's reunion. Luke's eyes meet yours and motions his head, allowing you into the hotel room.

Your fingers play with the hem of your shirt, walking past the tall blonde as you see Ashton sitting on the edge of his bed. "Hey, you," you say softly and Ashton snaps his head up at the sound of your voice.

He lets out a small gasp, tossing his phone to the side before walking towards you. "Hey, pretty girl," Ash mumbles and rests his hands on your shoulders. "I-What are you doing here?"

"Surprise?" You ask with a giggle, biting your lip afterward. A breathy laugh comes from his lips before wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his body.

"Aw, look at you two!" Caroline teases and the two of you pull away. You clear your throat and scratch the back of your neck as you can feel your cheeks heat up.

Ashton's cheeks also blush as Luke and Care give him a knowing look. The red-haired man rolls his eyes quickly to cover up his frustration before speaking up.

"So, what do we owe the pleasure of you two surprising us? Do the others know?" Ashton asks and you look to Care for her to explain.

"Well, we're obviously here for your birthdays, duh. And of course the others know," she laughs and shrugs her shoulders while wrapping her arm around Luke.

Luke glances down at his brunette girlfriend, his thumb rubbing along her hip. "And your work just let you fly across the world at the drop of the hat?" He asks and Care gives him a look before scoffing.

"You see, baby, I don't know if you know this… but I'm in charge of deliveries," she smirks and both Luke and Ashton furrow their eyebrows together.

"But we didn't order any merch," Ashton exclaims and Caroline chuckles and pulls out a fake purchase order.

"You didn't order two hot girls? Hm, must've been someone else. C'mon, Britt, I guess they don't want us here," she states and grabs a hold of your wrist. The two of you walk towards the door when Luke sprints forward.

"No, no, no," he stops us, grabbing a hold of his girl. "You're not going anywhere."

You walk out of the bathroom after putting your nightshirt on, noticing that Care's in Luke's bed. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes shifting from them to Ashton who's already tucked in.

"I…" you trail off and glance back towards your best friend. "I thought Care and I were sharing a bed?" You ask out loud as your face heats up in embarrassment.

Caroline winced and glances towards her boyfriend, mumbling incoherently. "Well, you see, I haven't seen Luke in a while so I thought…?" She shrugs and you bite the inside of your lip.

"Plus, I don't want to sleep with Ash. He's a bed hog," the blonde pipes up and Ashton's head snaps over to them.

"Says the bed hog," he mentions before meeting your gaze.

"Care? A word?" You ask and she sighs before climbing out of bed. You grab her wrist and lead her into the bathroom. "What the fuck?"

A knowing smirk covers her lips and you groan, running your fingers through your hair. "What?"

"All this planning you did and you didn't even think to get us a room? You made a fake order but couldn't get us a room?!" You exclaim, your eyes wide as you think about having to share the same bed with Ashton.

"Why get a selection room when they have a perfectly good one?" Care asks, pointing in the directions of their beds.

You look at her like she's gone mad, believing that she truly enjoys torturing you. "Seriously? You expect me to just sleep with Ash??!"

"I mean…" she trails off and wiggles her eyebrows.

"You're so lucky I love you," you grunt and walk past her. You take a deep breath while heading closer to Ash's bed, feeling his eyes on you.

You quietly climb into the bed, giving the red-haired man a small smile. "You okay?" He asks softly and you nod your head. Ashton squeezes your arm gently before returning his attention back to his phone.

Almost an hour goes by and you're still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. You can hear Ashton's deep breaths coming from his nose, indicating that he was asleep. You glance over at him in the dark, making out his features a little bit when a soft moan catches your attention.

"Fuck," Care whispers a little too loudly and you let out a gagging noise.

"Are you two serious?! Right now?!" You call out and sit up, looking towards the two silhouettes.

"Jesus Christ, Britt!" Care gasps and Luke turns on the lamp beside him. "Why are you awake?!"

You give her a look and motion towards Ashton who's slowly waking up. "Maybe because I'm sleeping in a bed with a man that I'm nervous around," you pause and cross your arms over your chest, "the real question is why the fuck do y'all need to have sex now?! And not when we're gone?"

She makes a noise and throws her hands up into the air. "Cause we've been busy all day, I dunno. Fuck, dude. We won't fuck here then," she states and reaches over to shut the lamp off before you could hear them shuffling around.

You let out a sigh, rubbing your hands on your face as Ashton turns the lamp on. You lay back on the pillow and turn your head towards him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," you whisper, and Ashton shrugs.

"It's alright," he chuckles, his voice a bit raspy as he lays on his arm. You shift your position and on your side, copying him. "So…"

"So?"

"You really came all this way with Care just so she didn't have to travel alone to see Luke?" He asks and you shake your head.

"You really think I'd miss the chance to see you on your birthday? Are you gonna stand there and say that you're not happy to see me?" You chuckle as you joke with him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It's Ashton's turn to shake his head and he shifts closer to you. You can feel your body become warm and your stomach churns as the nerves start to come back. "No, no, of course, I'm happy to see you," he whispers and his hazel eyes drop to your lips, "really happy."

You swallow the lump in his throat as Ashton starts to lean in slowly. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers gripping the pillow and you can feel his breath fan against your lips. Just before Ashton's lips meet yours, the bathroom door bursts open, Luke emerging in just a towel.

You and Ashton jump apart as you clear your throat, looking away from the two of them. “What the fuck, Luke?” Ashton mumbles and rubs his hands along his jaw.

The blonde fumbles through Care’s luggage, pulling out a condom. “Forgot this,” he says before running back into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

You curse to yourself as you think about what just happened between you and Ash, your cheeks blushing slightly. “T-That was awkward,” you stutter and Ashton hums in agreement.

You're excited to see everyone after going to Paris for almost a month. Your job had asked you to supervise their France company and you had to take the offer. You braid your hair into pigtails, smoothing out the top of your head before gathering your things to leave.

Thoughts of Ashton bleed through your brain as you slip into the driver's seat, especially excited to see him. Ever since Care and Luke pronounced us godparents, the two of you have gotten a little closer than you were before. At least… you think you have.

Although he didn't talk to you at all while you were in Paris, and you tried constantly but you never got any answer. The nervousness begins to pool as you drive towards Caroline's, gripping the steering wheel so tight that your knuckles turn white.

Once you arrive at her and Luke's house you let out a deep breath. You turn off and get out of your vehicle, jogging up to their front door. You knock loud enough for them to hear, wondering if everyone was already here or not.

Your brunette best friend opens her front door, her baby bump on full display and she lets out a gasp. "Britt! Holy shit I've missed you!" She squeals and wraps her arms around you.

"I've missed you too, Care!" You giggle and hug her back, being careful of the baby between you.

She pulls away a few seconds afterward, grabbing your hand. "Come in, come in! Everyone's here," Caroline mentions and you curse yourself a bit, hating being the last person to arrive at places.

You smile at your friend as she drags you into the living room, hearing the commotion between your group of friends. What shocks you the most is that there's a girl here you've never seen before.

Your smile drops as you glance towards the person beside her, who also has their hand interlaced with hers. Ashton… Your stomach drops at the sight of them before looking towards Care. She gives you a sad look, nodding her head as if she knows what you meant.

"Britt…" Ashton trails off as his eyes rake over you. You blush a bit and give him a small wave, mumbling a hi to everyone.

You move to sit down beside Calum, looking back in Ashton’s direction to see his hazel eyes still on you. You bite the inside of your cheek and take your eyes off him, trying not to show the hurt you're feeling.

"This is Kaykay, Ashton's girlfriend," Michael introduces and you smile at her. She does the same, giving you a wave before the girl looks up at her black-haired lover.

You watch her squeeze his hand, having it rest in her lap and you can feel your throat closing up. "Excuse me," you mumble and push yourself off the couch, walking past everyone as you make a beeline to the bathroom.

Tears pool in your eyes by the time you reach the door and you let out a shaky breath. This can't be happening… Why is this happening? You think to yourself as you close the door behind you before leaning your back against it. I-I thought we were getting somewhere with our relationship? I don't get it…

"Britt?" Caroline's voice calls out as she knocks on the door.

You snap your head up, moving away from the door and wipe the tears as it opens. Care steps into the bathroom before shutting the door again, opening her arms wide after she turns back to face you. You thrust yourself into her embrace, holding your cries in as frustration washes over you.

"I-I don't understand," you trail off and pull away, sniffling softly, "when did he start seeing her? And why her? I-I-"

"Thought you two had a thing?" She finishes, cutting you off and you nod shortly. "It's all just bad timing. You two have been friends for two years and even though there was an attraction, in the beginning, it's definitely developed into something deeper. We can all see it."

You blush majorly at her words, not knowing it was so obvious. "I- For real?" You ask and Care giggles, nodding her head. "O-Oh…"

A knock on the door makes you jump and his voice makes you shiver slightly. "Britt? Everything okay?" Ashton asks and you press your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah…" you trail off and the bathroom door opens, the black-haired man standing in the doorway with a sad expression on his face.

Caroline glares at her friend, already knowing that she needs to give him a stern talking. You bump your arm with Care, giving her a look and she sighs before walking out of the room. Ashton shuts the door behind him and you watch him fiddle with his fingers.

You clear your throat and feel the tension in the air. "S-She's pretty," you stutter and Ashton scratches the back of his neck, nodding his head.

"When did you get back?" He whispers and you furrow your eyebrows a bit.

"Uhm, two days ago," you tell him and Ash nods, muttering the word good. "What happened between us?"

Ashton furrows his eyebrows in confusion as you look up at him. "What… what do you mean?" He asks and you scoff.

"I sent you so many texts while I was in Paris and you never answered me. Ignored me. I thought… I thought we were closer than that?" You question him.

The black-haired man shakes his head and rushes to get his phone out of his pocket. "I didn't receive anything after I told you that I loved you," he mutters and shows you the messages.

"... Loved?" You whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. "You don't love me anymore?"

Ashton lets out a breathy laugh, his free hand grabbing a hold of your arm and squeezes it gently. "Of course I still love you. I've loved you for two years, pretty girl," Ash confesses and you couldn't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest.

The black-haired man shakes his head and rushes to get his phone out of his pocket. "I didn't receive anything after I told you that I loved you," he mutters and shows you the messages.

He brings his hand to your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. You hesitantly reach out to him, your fingers grazing against the shirt he was wearing. “You think...maybe… you’d still want to go on that date?” You quietly ask and Ashton rests his forehead against yours.

“Absolutely I do,” he states and your eyes flutter shut. “Friday? Six-thirty?”

You nod your head and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. Ash wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly. “I missed you,” you mumble into his neck.

“I missed you too, so fucking much.”

Ashton watches you from across the room as you and Michael are gathering enough snacks for the six of you. Caroline walks up to the man and begins smacking his arm, snapping Ashton from his gaze.

"Ow, Care! What the fuck?!" He yells and flinches away from her.

"This is for making Britt cry last week!" She tells him and continues to smash him.

The black-haired man hisses and grabs a hold of her hand. "Okay, stop! I fixed it, didn't I? Like, we're together now!" He mentions and Caroline rips her hand from his grasp, letting out a huff.

"Doesn't mean you didn't bring an innocent woman into your mess, Ashton!" She scolds and Ashton looks at her with wide eyes before glancing towards his blonde friend.

"Don't look at me," Luke holds his hands up in surrender, "she's six months pregnant, dude."

Ash hesitantly looks back towards his good friend, preparing himself to get hit again. "Kaykay and I weren't that serious. We're fine. No hard feelings," he mutters and Care looks at him for a few seconds before slapping his arms again. "Stop hitting me!"

You and Michael make your way back into the living room, your eyebrows furrowing together at the sight of Ashton cowering away from your best friend. "What's going on here?" You ask, your eyes dancing between the two.

"Nothing! Just giving Ashton his scolding," Care smirks and you groan, shaking your head.

"Care! I told you everything was fine!" You tell her with a laugh, setting all the food onto the coffee table.

Caroline shrugs her shoulders and heads towards Luke, resting her head on his chest. Ashton blinks at her behavior, never understanding the mood swings she's been having. His hazel eyes move to you and his heart flutters at the sight of you.

He moves towards you, his hands reaching out to grab your waist. You giggle and place your hands on his shoulders. "Hi, baby," Ashton grins and slides his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"Hey, you," you smile and run your fingers through his hair.

"I love you," Ashton whispers, and your cheeks blush a bit, earning a giggle from the man. "C'mon, still?? I figure we got past the stage where you blush at everything I say."

You slap his chest and scoff playfully. "Shut up! You know I'm shy around attractive guys," you mumble and give him a pout.

Ashton aw's and runs his thumb along your bottom lip. "You think I'm attractive?" He asks, a smirk on his lips and you roll your eyes.

"Yes, I think you're attractive. Thought that ever since I met you," you tell him and wrap your arms around him again, locking your hands together.

"Well, I think you're really attractive too," he mumbles against your lips and you shudder at the feeling of your lips brushing. "So attractive that I really want to kiss you."

Caroline let out a loud groan and the two of you glance towards her, seeing her and everyone else looking at you. "Will you fucking kiss her already?!" She practically demands and you give her a look.

You glance back towards Ashton, ready to apologize when he lifts your chin with his index finger before pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter closed, moving your body closer to his. You kiss him back and his hands move to your hips.

"They're cute," Caroline whispers to Luke, resting her back against his chest. The blonde man hums in response, his hands resting on her baby bump.

"Yeah, they really are. You kinda set them up like he set us up," he mumbles back and presses a soft kiss to her cheek.

You and Ashton pull away, a smile on both of your lips. The black-haired man brings his hand to your face, stroking your cheek softly before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You wanna come over tonight?" He whispers so no one else hears and you chuckle softly before nodding your head.

"I'd love to."

Taglist: @galcalirwin @myloverboyash @sexgodashton @mysticalhood @h0tsos @thebookamongmen @philthepegacorn @frontmanash @gigglyirwin @itsasadfishworld @talkfastromance4 @everyscarisahealingplace @maluminspace @creator-appreciator @g-l-pierce @abb-lan-5sos @hemmingslftv

29 notes · View notes

roseoilmuse · 4 years

Text

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫

Summary: Ares Trevino finds out he’s going to be a father, and instead of being responsible, he decides to do everything in his power to forget his current reality, while also ruining his life in the process Characters: Ares Trevino, Aspen Spader, mentions of Eulalie LaVelle and Persephone Trevino, Joy Pepper) Setting: the Trevino mansion, Aspen Spader’s storage unit Word count: 1,583 Trigger warnings: mention of drug use (marijuana, cocaine, heroin), mention of selling of drug, mention of mental illness (bipolar, disassociation), mention of sexual activity

It is Saturday, June 27th.

An intimacy, attention starved Ares Trevino has just experienced his very first episode of disassociation. He has hardly even regained cognizance, a ringing starting to build in his ears, but he can faintly hear the cries of his girlfriend, followed by the soft coos of his sister. The fog of his mind was strong, but still his flight instincts told him that he had to leave. Now. As his astral body snapped back into the physical, he noticed a picture in his hand, but not just any picture, this was a sonogram. Scribbled on the back was Eulalie’s handwriting.

“I’m sorry”

The small pain of a headache had started, and reading the message only made the pain amplify. His flight sense was screaming, he needed to leave, so he did. His ear rang, louder than anything he’s ever heard before as he quickly grabbed his keys and wallet and bolted out the door. Still through the ringing he heard the faint cries, and soon heard angry footsteps. Persephone was pissed, he could feel her energy, which pushed him to practically gallop down the stairs. He didn’t say anything to anyone, just started booking it to his car, having a push to start so it was ready to go before he even stepped foot in. The only trace of Ares was the sonogram, with Eulalie’s handwriting, sitting on the floor of the sitting area of his room.

He drove aimlessly, his goal was to get as far from home as possible, as far from whatever reality his mind decided to separate itself from. The engine roared angrily as he bobbed and weaved in the afternoon traffic, cutting people off, and gunning the engine at yellow lights to barely make it. The ringing in his ears had subsided, but the slight numbness from the heavy episode of disassociation felt like weights. He was halfway through a joint and felt nothing. He remembered he had bought an eightball of coke and left it in his glove compartment, so he went for that, just spilling some onto the webbing on his left hand and snorted it. Nothing.

More.

Snort.

Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. He felt nothing, his whole face was numb and the drip was making it practically impossible for him to even take a full breath in. He needed something better.

“Maybe it’s cut?” He asks himself out loud, though he knew it was a lie, the guy he went through, Aspen Spader, hands down, has the best drugs money can buy, and that’s who he needed to see. Luckily he was always a phone call away.

Aspen knew what it meant to see the name Ares Trevino flash on his phone screen and In a matter of minutes, Aspen set up a rendezvous spot for them to meet. It was a storage unit, as per usual, that Aspen had set up for moving his bigger weight. Being that Ares was already a loyal customer, he trusted Ares enough to directly come to the source, to a certain extent. So there Ares finds himself pulling up to the outdoor unit, and Aspen motioning him to quickly come in. He’d been there once or twice, Ares knew, don’t touch anything unless asked to.

It seemed Aspen was just having a chill day, the plumes of marijuana and tobacco hung in the air. Aspen explained to Ares this was something he considered an after hours journey, but still he figured they could chill for a bit and get a little fucked up.

He watched anxiously as Aspen laid all the little pills, and powders, flower and oil, carefully setting them in parchment, or filling up various sized baggies, weighing them, and reweighing them whilst also passing Ares a joint, or a blunt, or whatever else they were getting into. Aspen could feel his anxiety. Ares could feel Aspen feel his own anxiety, and though, by choice, Aspen never delved too much into either of their personal lives, he almost felt like he should.

“You okay, dude?” Aspen raised a brow over to Ares, his tone wasn’t nearly as serious as the loaded question, even his expression was light, but Aspen knew he needed to get something off his chest.

“Huh?” Ares was still in a bit of a haze, and while the drug didn’t help, he knew it was more than just that, “oh yeah, just thinking, ya know.”

“Yeah, I can tell dude, you’re far up in your own head today,” Aspen ashed the joint, and placed it back in between his lips, “yah wanna talk about it or are you going to mope all night?”

Aspen’s words stung Ares a bit, only enough to respond sternly, “no, I just don’t even want to think, so unless you have something that will take away this shit then yeah, I actually may just mope.”

A pause, Aspen let out a chortle, handing Ares the joint, and looked as if he was weighing not only his drugs, but a suggestion. The blonde haired man visibly came to a conclusion, setting things down in front of him and moving to a rolling tool box. He dug around for a moment before pulling out a white baggy. The glint in his blue eyes made Ares feel almost hopeful for a solution. The bag soared through the air as it was tossed from one side to the other, Ares luckily catching it, knowing that whatever it was, it had to have a bigger value than most.

Ares stared at it long and hard, feeling as if he stared any longer he might burn a hole straight through it. Cocaine? He thought to himself, pushing his shaggy dyed, black hair out of his face, I already did this today and it didn’t help. His disappointment was palpable, though he continued to stare because he wasn’t one to turn down free drugs.

“Heroin,” Aspen told him, crossing the room back to the table of various drugs, hardly making eye contact, acting far too cool for what he just tossed the younger boy.

“Heroin,” Ares echoed, holding it up to the light. He could tell them it wasn’t cocaine. It looked more powdery, even more… tempting.

“Only if you want to try it,” Aspen again spoke with such calm demeanor it was almost unsettling to Ares.

He questioned his next move hard, though in real time it was a matter of seconds. There were always cautionary tales about heroin, but then again there were cautionary tales about every single thing he ever ingested, ranging from marijuana to even sugary sodas. What harm could it really cause?

His curiosity got the best of him, and before he knew it Aspen was making two little lines for the both of them. It shocked him how little one was, while the other was bigger, it wasn’t even significant. Aspen snorted the bigger line up, and immediately his eyes glossed over, the blues turning practically fluorescent. They were beautiful, even Ares could admit that, to himself though, not out loud.This made his curiosity peak even more. So he leaned in, and sniffed the table.

There was an instant rush. All the hairs on his body stood at a point. The warmth, the relief, the absolute bliss…. No.

The 𝕖𝕦𝕡𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕒.

Ḩ̸̩̰͍͕̣͓͉̕E̷͖͈̋̉̐A̶͓̲̜̭̩͖̮͍̔͛̽͊͘V̴̙̻͕̠̲̹̦̠̜͖̅E̸̢̢̡͍͎̩̣̘̿̽̑̅̈̓̕N̵̛͚͋

It is Thursday, or Friday… Maybe Saturday?

He couldn’t remember, all he could process through the heroin haze was the heat. A July kind of hot… or maybe it was an August kind of hot. Whatever time of the year it was, his world was his own. Right now his main domicile was his expensive sports car. He was splayed out in the reclined drivers seat. The light beamed through the heavy smoke as he hotboxed his car, slowly smoking his joint. What little light came through kept his almost fully closed eyes from shutting. Ares had no idea where he was physically, but his body swam through the euphoria of his new true love.

White China heroin.

It is Tuesday, September 1st.

A girl by the name of Joy seems just as desperate for human affection as Ares is. He was thankful for that. She didn’t even seem to notice how strung out he was, driving to his house. Sneaking her in was no problem. Ares went in first, greeted his mother, grabbed a water-- two, he claimed to be thirsty. Oh he was.

Opened his window.

Crawled out.

And brought her inside. Even in the car when he picked her up, he wanted him. He never understood this. She was actually really nice, beautiful, and seemed nervous so what was Red Riding Hood doing shedding her robe for the Big Bad Wolf?

Shed she did, and Ares realized the heroin made him more carnal than ever. Joy was elated. And after September 1st,

The whole month of September he spent in bed with Joy, alternating smoking and snorting heroin. He smoked in his room all day, even the air purifier couldn’t clear the smell completely. He only left his room for Door Dash, or Uber Eats, or whatever food delivery system that made it so he could never leave. He laid in bed, with Joy, buying her whatever she wanted, and pretending to listen about her fucked up family and her fucked up life. He could have cared, but the heroin made him so detached from reality, there was no such thing as care.

Only 𝕖𝕦𝕡𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕒.

Only Joy.

Only heroin.

Only,

Ḩ̸̩̰͍͕̣͓͉̕E̷͖͈̋̉̐A̶͓̲̜̭̩͖̮͍̔͛̽͊͘V̴̙̻͕̠̲̹̦̠̜͖̅E̸̢̢̡͍͎̩̣̘̿̽̑̅̈̓̕N̵̛͚͋

#para: the chosen one #the chosen one

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mirror-juliet · 5 years

Text

Kagerou Dayz {Yeosang Angst}

*Song fic* Requested by me

Warnings: Blood Violence Slight mentions of gore Angst

This is a very heavy chapter filled with blood and violence. If you are sensitive to blood and death, please skip this chapter. I don't expect too many people to read this, i am very aware that i right in a morbid way. It doesn't bother me, however i know it bothers others. I've been sent to enough councilors to know. If you are still going to read after this warning i am not responsible for anything that this chapter causes (Mainly to the blood sensitive people) Be safe and have fun reading.

August 14th, 12:30 The sun bears down on the park where (Y/n) and Yeosang sit on the swings.

"It's such a nice day, i love summertime." Yeosang states, kicking lightly on the swings, propelling himself higher

The girl sighs, looking up to the sky in an emotion that resembles anger. "I don't" she says under her breath, though Yeosang catches it. "What?" He slows down, becoming more level with her.

"I just think that the summer gets too much credit." she busies herself by watching her hands pet the black cat sound asleep on her lap. "Spring time is much better in my opinion."

The black cat wakes up and hops off her lap. (Y/n) quickly gets up to chase it, Yeosang following suit, not wanting to give up her presence.

She runs across the street, her heels making a satisfying noise on the road. "(Y/N!) STOP!" The boy shouts as (Y/N) runs through the cross walk.

She stops in her tracks, hearing something rather close to her. (Y/N) stands frozen in her tracks as she watches a delivery truck run a red light right towards her.

The truck driver on his phone, hears a scream too late as he barrels his truck into the side of the girl; shoving her onto the harsh asphalt.

Panicking, The driver speeds off, splattering blood with his wheel. The friendship bracelet she wore now lay broken in a puddle of her own blood, the same blood that covers Yeosang; the result of him standing too close.

He stands frozen still, his hand still covering his agape mouth, slowly snapping back into reality as he rushes towards her. The boy cradles (Y/n) in his arms, trying his best to wake her.

Everything begins to overwhelm him, the noise that grows too loud, the scenery that is drenched in the color red. (Y/n's) shampoo being too much to handle as it invades his sinuses. The noise around him cuts out as he cry's against her.

"She did say the heat bothered her." Yeosang looks up to see a boy identical to him, clad in black; holding the broken bracelet in his hand. He smiles wickedly.

"I though the blood would cool her down a bit. How does she feel?" Yeosang panics as he feels her body grow cold in his arms, She's dying.

"You're lying." He pulls her closer to him, almost as if his warmth would rekindle (Y/n). "This isn't real. Stop it." Yeosang cries out.

"No, what you see is exactly what you have." The boy grins wider as he snaps reality back into motion. With the passing of a stranger, he's gone; leaving Yeosang to hear nothing but crickets. Yeosang becomes top heavy as the world seems to spin into darkness.

August 14th 12:** noon

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

Yeosang awakes from his sleep with a start, Turning his alarm off. In the quiet, the ticking clock of his dream keeps mocking his head. He takes a moment to catch his breath, recalling the events of his dream. Then it hits him, (Y/N) was hit.

His nimble fingers quickly unlocking his phone. He hits the dial button, praying harder as each ring sounds.

"Yeosang?" He nearly cries as he hears (Y/N's) soft voice on the other line. It was just a dream after all. The dream seemed so real, he has to choke back the tears falling down his cheeks.

"(Y/N) hey, d-do you want to do something today?" The boy mentally curses himself for stuttering. "Sure. Lets meet up at the park!" She hangs up, leaving Yeosang to look out the window, hoping he would find any excuse to meet up somewhere else. However, it was a very nice day out. The sun was shining, no clouds to be found in the sky. The only bad thing about today, were the crickets who were awfully loud.

*****

As Yeosang arrives at the park, he see's (Y/N) sitting on the same exact swing she was on in his dream. The same cat on her lap. The two of them sit and talk, (y/n) seeming to be in a better humor than in his dream, more like herself. Yeosang even pets the kitty in her lap, breaking the string of dread in his head with a lingering thought

"It's weird that you wanted to come to the park today." She cocks her head to the side, making his heart leap. "Why's that?"

"In my dream i had, we sat in the same spot we're in right now." As if on cue, the cat jumps out of her arms again. (Y/n) stands up to run after him, stopped by Yeosang's grip on her arm. He blushes hard, he hadn't realized he did that and now scrambling his head for an excuse

"I think we should head back to my house. My mom is going to be making lunch soon." Yeosang says, hand still grabbing her wrist. She looks back towards the cat, almost like she's trying to side between the two. After a moment, she looks back to Yeosang; a smile played on her face. "Alright lead the way." She intertwines their fingers, making it more comfortable for both.

Yeosang lead them out of the route that they would so often take, taking them through the center of the city where it was most busy. "Don't you think it's the perfect day for ice cream?" He plays off, thinking it's a good enough excuse to venture out of their way.

"Isn't there a convenient store near your house though?" The boy stiffens at her words.

"It's different when it's from an actual parlor though." Yeosang keeps walking at a fast pace, a habit he picked up due to anxiety. The black cat from earlier causes him to trip and tumble to the ground. The cat stares at him, making everything go silent. A woman screaming is what brings him out of his trance.

People along the street and sidewalk stop to stare and point up, construction poles swing from their harness as it nearly snaps from the chain. He see's (Y/N) underneath them, he hurries up and begins to run towards her; determined to pull her away from the scene.

The poles finally snap, Yeosang picks up his pace. Why wasn't (Y/N) moving? Didn't she notice the screaming of people. His fingers graze her arm as a man takes a hold of him and begins to run much faster than he had.

"Are you mental boy?!" The man screams at him, he can't understand why though. Why didn't he grab her too, they were next to her. A strangled scream leaves Yeosang as the poles crash to the ground, the sound resonates off of the tall buildings and back to his ears.

A pole is skewered right in the middle of her chest. She looks down in shock, slowly sliding down the pole. Blood stains the poles and the pavement. Yeosang beats his way out of the man's grip, He has to get to her, she's still breathing!

"(Y/n)!" He cries as he passes a familiar figure. Someone grabs his arm and pushes him to the ground. "what you see is exactly what you're going to get. You cant save her, just look at that sadistic smile. She doesn't want your help. Don't you wish this was all a dream Yeosang?" The black coated Yeosang walks away, once again disappearing behind someone.

His vision becomes blurred as his body becomes heavier on the ground. The black coated Yeosang was right, she was smiling as blood drips from her wound into a crimson puddle on the ground.

*****

August 14th 12:30 noon

"(Y/N)!" Yeosang screams as his body violently wakes up, covered in a thin layer of sweat. He quickly gets dressed as the time reds the same as the previous days, leaving the house in a hurry.

At the park (y/n) sits in the same swing, the only difference is that she looks at Yeosang worried as he runs to her. He grabs her by her arm. "Yeo-" "I can't explain right now, we just gotta go!" Yeosang says. He leads her to the city again, this time on the other side of the street. He see's the same truck speed by, holding onto her tighter.

People scream as pipes fall once again, this time trapping the cat under them. (Y/n) tries to go over to the pile, only to be stopped by Yeosang.

"He's fine! We gotta go!" The both of them continue to run through the crowd that begins to form, shoving and pushing against them. Yeosang keeps looking back to make sure (Y/n) is still there.

Anxiety begins to kick into overdrive, they need to get out of the crowd. He see's a staircase that leads to the train and begins to speed up to it. It'll get them away from people temporarily. There is no way he intends to get on the train though.

"Yeosang stop!" They've reached the top of the stairs, now formed into a bridge that overhangs the train. (Y/n) is out of breath, her dress not made for running. "Where are we going?" She breaths erratically, trying to catch it.

Yeosang stands still, only able to stare at her. He doesn't know, he only though to get you away from the past events locations. "We're going to Yunho's." He quickly thinks, it's built like a doomsday prepping house. It'll keep you safe.

"Why are we in a rush?" she leans against the railing.

"I promise i will explain when we get there, we just need to get there quickly. Come o-" There he is again, also leaning against the railing, right next to her.

"(Y/n) get off the railing." He grabs your arm right as the railing snaps, you fall, Yeosang being dragged by her weight. The black coated Yeosang grabs him and pulls him back, making him let go

(Y/n) lets out a scream as she falls down to the oncoming train, too fast to stop. She falls with a sickening crack onto the tracks. The train tries to slow down in vain. She lets out a scream that will haunt Yeosang till the day he dies. Only the impact hadn't killed her. The train keeps running over her as she screams in agony.

Yeosang stumbles backwards and covers his ears as he cries out. "God please just let her die!" his frame rocks back and forth, trying to drown out (Y/N's) screams.

"No, you don't get to cry. You don't get to look away!" The double Yeosang grabs him by the shirt collar, pulling him to the ledge and making him look down at her mangled corpse. "This is your fault! You did this to her! You just had to get away didn't you. DIDN'T YOU!" He begins to kick Yeosang hard on the ground, letting tears stream down his face.

"Why do you keep killing her?" Yeosang says in a small voice as he clutches his ribs on the ground. His question stops the double in his tracks.

"What did i tell you yesterday? You. cant. save. her. Do you think i try to kill her in the most gruesome way possible? No, i try to lead her to the route that will kill her the fastest so she wont suffer like she just did now!"

Yeosang sits up, blood trailing from his busted lip. "No, you don't give a damn. If you did, you would just let me save her."

A dark spark is lit in the double. "You really don't understand. I had to do this alone, for five years i tried to save her. Don't you think I've tried every damn way to stop her from dying in my arms."

Yeosang just stares in pain and confusion.

"Don't you get it. I AM YOU! JUST STOP IT! WE CAN'T SAVE HER!" The fake screams, his blood boiling.

"No." It boils higher. "I won't stop. I'll never stop trying to save her. If i have to do this for the rest of my life i will." Yeosang begins to feel the pain of his broken ribs.

"So that's how it's going to be. Fine, we'll continue this bloody cycle until we run out of clocks. And then more clocks will appear." He kicks Yeosang in the face, knocking him out

*******

Yeosang opens his eyes, this time he isn't in his room, he's in a long hallway, lined with clocks. "This is the hall of hell." The double begins to talk.

"Everyday that you don't save her, a clock is broken." He swipes a bloody hand on three of the clocks. "This is when your hell begins. At the end of this hallway is a new day. And for the record, i do hope you find a way to save her, though i'm doubtful." He vanishes, leaving Yeosang alone in the hallway.

How are there so many clocks? he thinks to himself. And how long is the hallway? He walks for what feels like forever, growing more and more tired. Eventually collapsing.

And so the cycle begins again, the same day, the same time. Every path they take to try and avoid a death, they pass every tragedy that happened the previous day. And they are met with a far worse death every time.

The black cat still kept following them, trying to lead her to a better death. And every time she was seconds away from death, the cat turned into the double.

3,650 days, 3,650 broken bloody clocks. Ten years total (y/n) kept dying in front of him, the double of Yeosang was terribly tired and mentally exhausted. How many times was he going to be forced to watch her die. How many more days until Yeosang realized how to break the cycle like the double had years ago. If only he was able to tell him, Yeosang would take over his place as the harbinger of death.

They were both in the hall of hell, eyes puffy with tears and anger. Who was doing this to them and what did they do to deserve this? "You have to do something different today. You have to change the cycle i don't care if you have to die yourself. Just break this heat haze." The double began to break down

"I wish i could tell you how to break it, I've tried. But i'm not allowed to, i am physically unable to. Whoever is doing this to us is controlling me somehow." He punches one of the few clocks they had left, walking towards the exit

"Lets just get this day over with."

The day went on just the same, only Yeosang was far too tired to hurry about his movements. Maybe the way to break the cycle was to play into the hands of the cat-double whatever he was. It would certainly be better than watching (Y/N) die slowly.

Over the ten years she had been dying, it had brought both of them to an understanding that they both cared for her. More than they did their own lives. They were never kind to each other, but after a while they stopped attacking each other.

They're trapped in cycles and the ending is never clear, a story that they are playing into. But a story is a story all the same. And today like any has an ending, so to say. Far away and out beyond that scorching summer day

Crashing in and hitting Yeosang instead of (y/n), he pushes her aside to nearly dodge a truck. The double and her stare in shock as his bracelet hits the ground and cracks. Blood dripping everywhere, (y/n) chokes on the smell of his hair. She breathes in a gulp of air and just cant take it.

(Y/n) falls down to her knees, a hand over her mouth. The double stares, unable to move. He never intended for Yeosang to kill himself. That wasn't how he was supposed to end the cycle.

Are these lies? Yeosang hasn't heard him say "What you see is exactly what you're gonna get." He smiles as he looks to his double, saying those words instead of him. Images flash through his head. making time stop it seems.

Him with a pole through his chest, (y/n) playing with the cat. Blood on a street corner as the double cries in fear. His vision comes back as he lays on the ground. This time, someone stands next to (y/n) who is on the ground, the double who is in tears. It is a girl who is identical to (Y/N), but the black dress is replaced with a white dress.

A grim look is plastered on her face as she lets her tears fall silently unlike the other two. Maybe the summer day has finally gone away, but that's all i'll say so, this is where it ends now.

****** August 14th 12:30 pm

Sitting alone, on a bed I wake up repeating just the same, tears running down my face. Muttering again, "Guess i failed again...." as I sit all alone with a white cat still cradled in my arms. "Lets get this over with." The white double says in a sing song voice, making me get up again.

Btw, this isn't the most morbid thing i've written. This is actually pretty vanilla compared to my personal works. I still thought i would put a warning up top cause i have no idea what will trigger someone and i just wanted everyone to be safe

#ateez #ateez atiny #ateez yeosang #yeosang #kang yeosang #ateez angst #writing #atiny writers

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seriesofnonsequiturs · 4 years

Link

“When Peggy Frank returned to her mail route following three months of medical leave, Los Angeles was in the middle of a scorching heat wave.

Frank would have found no respite in her mail truck. Most of the Postal Service fleet is roughly three decades old and not equipped with air conditioning. The only relief is a pair of open windows and a small fan attached to the dashboard.

Frank struggled to keep pace. About 2 p.m., she called her supervisor to say she was falling behind and might not finish on time ― standard practice for a letter carrier who’s lagging, since managers want to avoid running into overtime.

The post office dispatched another employee to meet Frank on her route and give her a hand.When her colleague reached her, Frank was unconscious in the driver’s seat. Paramedics recorded her death at 3:35 p.m.“

“Of at least four carriers whose deaths since 2012 involved heat, three had recently returned to work from a long absence. Occupational health experts say it’s critical that workers who have been off the job are eased back into their roles over the course of several days so that their bodies have time to readjust to high temperatures.“

“Photos an Arizona letter carrier took last year purportedly showed a steak in a plastic bag slowly cooking on a mail truck’s dash to 142 degrees ― what a chef might consider “medium” these days. Such anecdotes do not seem far-fetched to Barb Larson, who retired from the Postal Service in Colorado last April.

Larson chose to hang it up in the springtime to avoid one last summer, despite her area’s comparatively mild weather.

“I’ve put thermometers on the floorboards and it’s 135 degrees on the floor,” she said. “I can’t even imagine Phoenix or Florida or Texas.”

The Postal Service has been punting the procurement process for new delivery trucks while it’s strapped for cash. It has been racking up heavy losses for years, mostly due to a unique and onerous mandate from Congress that it pre-fund retiree health benefits years in advance ― a requirement no other agency is held to.“

#climate change #business #global warming #labor #united states postal service #postal service #usps

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adelheidvonschicksal · 5 years

Text

Delivery | Kaminari x F!Reader | Lemon

Request: Kaminari is the pizza boy, and you open the door.

NSFW, Light food play, Denki going to get fired lewl! As always, filter “notsfw” or “adelssmut” to block mature content.

When you swing open your front door, you nearly drop the handful of bills in your hand. In front of you was definitely the pizza boy given by the crimson red polo and black uniform pants said shirt was tucked into along with the box of pizza and cinnamon sticks you had ordered for dinner. The least you expected was a familiar boy, well, your boyfriend in fact, with slightly spiky blonde hair with a black highlight zipped across the bangs like a lightning bolt and his forcefully cheerful face that drops as soon as he sees you.

You try not to laugh. You really did and even place your hand over your mouth to cover the laugh trying to escape. It didn’t help when he finally tries to hide his embarrassment with a confident smile and a wink,

“What—stunned silent by a man in uniform?”

You bust, cackling madly as you clutch onto your stomach. “Denki, you look like a dork had sex with another dork and had you."

“It’s not funny, babe! I got chased by a dog twice this week, I’m the only one of two drivers and people blame me when they have to wait longer for their order, so I barely get any tips. I hate it! Did you know drivers had to supply their own gas?”

“I-I’m sorry, Denki. I didn’t mean anything by it,” you stammer, your laughter dying into a sympathetic grin. “It’s good that you have a job.”

His expression softens, the usual smile coming over to greet you as he motions to the boxes in his hands. “Let’s see your knight-in-shining-armor has brought milady her favorite pizza and cinnamon sticks. If it was my choice, I’d give it to you free, but boss man says you have to pay 19.70.”

You hold out a twenty, a weak smile gracing your face, and he pouts at you. “My parents only gave me enough to pay for the pizza.”

You chuckle at the deadpan face that reads, “you’re one of them." You hand him the money before grabbing the pizza. You glance over his defeated form and try to think of a way to cheer him up. Figuring out what to do, you kick the door wide open and prop your leg against the frame, inviting him to stare at the lovely curve of your thigh as your pajama bottoms ride up your leg. “I never said I wasn’t going to tip you though.”

His eyes widen and mouth gapes. “REALLY?” he blurts out, and your fit of giggles almost return as he swallows and repeats it with a deepened voice. “I mean…really? You won’t get in trouble?”

Sighing loudly, you tilt your head and exaggeratedly draw your hand over the front of your torso, slowly climbing over your stomach, between your breasts, then along the curve of your neck. “I’m all alone and could use some company, pizza boy.”

Then, Denki has to choose between the dilemma of reporting back to work or taking the chance to have some unscheduled fun; and like the responsible red-blooded man he was, he chooses fun. What could he say—he’s weak for you.

You walk inside together, and he slams the door close as you carelessly toss the pizza on top of the living room table. Kaminari grips his shirt, pulling it over his head and charming you with his hard-earned body before pushing it on top of you and dropping you both onto the couch. He captures your lips with lightning speed, harsh nips pulling at your supple flesh and reddening it with his bruising kiss. Your tongues meet, swimming around each other inside your mouth. He pulls away for air, and your shared saliva connects you until Kaminari has a chance to take your breath away once again.

He settles in between your legs, his hips rocking into yours with a needful grind. His member is already twitching to life, ready to bring you into an orgasm. His hands are softer though, massaging and stroking your fluffy tits. No bra under your night clothes meant that you could feel the trickles of his power conducting your skin, jumping with the light shocks that touch your sensitive flesh.

“You’re excited tonight,” you tease, rolling your hips up to meet him and reveling in the delicious groan that you rip from his throat.

“I’m stressed,” he replies, his eyes falling half-lidded and hazy with lust as the plushness of you pussy greets his hardened shaft. “I’ve been working all day; it’s such a pain,” he gripes and kisses the shell of your ear.

“You should just quit if you hate it, baby,” you advise, moaning as he carefully licks your ear and gently nibbles the lobe. He keeps his groin tight against yours, his grunts escalating with the hard jerks between your legs.

“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” he pants against your lips, passionately kissing you once again. “I…I was just going to stay because I wanted enough to buy you this necklace I saw.

You push him away, resting your hand on his chest as you gaze up into his eyes with a gentle expression. “Aw, really, you were going to get me something?”

“Yeah, of course! You’re my girl so I have to,” he says, and you smile wider as he lowly throws in, “Well…maybe I was going to stay longer for a new game station, too.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tilt your head and let out a short, light laugh. “Dummy.”

“Oh, you love it.”

Your shirt begins to lift as he peels off your clothes, stripping you down to your birthday suit. Kaminari lifts away, and you pout as he leaves you cool and nude until you see him reach in one of the pizza boxes and pull out the small plastic tub of icing from the box. The white confectionary is still warm enough to pour onto your skin, and it drips little by little between your breasts before trickling into a smooth line to coat your nipples before he pours out the rest down your stomach, letting the last drip out over the top of your thighs.

“You’re going to get me all sticky,” you complain jokingly, and he smirks, a quirked sexy crook to his lips that makes your body warm.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’m going to make sure to clean you up real good.”

He keeps good on that promise when his tongue drags over your nipple, and he sucks up the cooling sugar coating them. You gasp as his tongue swirls around the small bud. “You taste good,” he mumbles and sucks harder until your breast was pulling with the suction. Then, he releases with a pop and a satisfied grin at the amount of saliva that glosses and covers your taut nipple before moving to the other and slurping sweet sugar from your flesh until this one matched its twin.

Slick pink travels between your breasts and follows the trail to your stomach while leaving a shimmer of sticky clear residue where he cleaned your chest. His lips skim over your stomach, and he nips and teases your soft flesh. You begin to squirm.

“Denki, that tickles!”

He chuckles at your cute movements and giggles. “Mm, you’re so cute,” he teases, taking a long lick over your belly button, leaving the flat of his tongue white with icing before swallowing it down. Then, he suddenly runs a stripe along your pussy, making you whine.

“You taste sweeter than the icing,” he remarks, making your cover your embarrassed face as he circles his tongue around your clit. He slides his fingers inside you, shocks making you tremble and jolt as your eyes roll back with the pleasure of his lips suckling your most sensitive area and the light tingles inside of you making his touch that much more noticeable.

“Denki, oh, god,” you gasp and raise your hips, arching to his mouth, and he hums as he buries his face deeper against your dripping cunt. He kisses you everywhere, lips skimming your labia, your clit and then your seeping slit before his tongue disappears inside you and curves up to lap up your juices as they spill into his mouth. His hand grips your thighs, running up and down tenderly. His tongue pumps and circles inside of you, teasing your entrance. Heavier and heavier he pampers your pussy until you start to throb, and he moans with the light clenches of your body as your walls attempt to clamp around his tongue.

Suddenly, he pulls his head away and mounts you. The chance to protest dies on your lips as he sheathes his cock inside of you, and you come around him with the sudden stretch. He thrusts inside of you, grasping on to your hips to keep your trembling body straight as he pistons into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, moaning with the passionate rhythm that keeps restretching your needily spasming core.

He gasps your name and tries to hold back his pants as he takes in every line of your blissful face and open mouth along with the bouncing of your breasts under him. Your orgasm is slow to subside with his continued pumping stimulating you more and more and keeping you right there over the edge as your body spasms with the traces of electricity that always pour from him.

His cock throbs inside of you, quickly building up with the slick heat and squeezes you provide until finally he tips over the edge with you and pulls out of you with the smallest amounts of his come spilling inside of you while the rest squirts over your lower stomach.

Kaminari collapses on top of you, and you remain in a panting pile of sweaty tangled limbs and gently kissing lips. The moments after is pure bliss as you cuddle together, clothes forgotten on the floor. You only shift positions minutes later.

“Don’t move,” he pleads, trying to snuggle into your breasts.

Stealthily, you reach over to the pizza on your table, stretching out your arm from under him, and he groans and pouts at you. “Really?”

“What? I’m hungry.”

Kaminari smiles as you shove a slice of pizza in your mouth. “Hey, babe. If you’re hungry, I got something else you can eat.”

#denki kaminari x reader #kaminari x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #Notsfw #Adelssmut

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pugsfueloil · 3 years

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Home Heating Oil FAQs: Ask the Expert

Whether you’re new to keeping your house warm with home heating oil, or you’ve been doing it for years, you have questions. With more than 50 years in the business of heating oil delivery, we have most of the answers. Today, we’re looking at some of the most common questions we get, and we offer straight answers.

What Is DULSD Heating Oil?

DULSD stands for dyed Ultra Low-Sulphur Diesel. This means the heating oil has less than 15 ppm sulphur content, resulting in a cleaner burn, and fewer emissions from your furnace or boiler. It also means the oil smell is nearly gone, and your heating equipment operates more efficiently.

Why Is My Home Heating Oil Red?

Heating oil is diesel fuel. Federal regulations require it to be died red so that it is clear that it is not legal to use in a diesel vehicle. This is mainly for tax reasons, as on-road diesel is taxed differently.

How Do I Know How Big My Oil Tank Is?

Most home heating oil tanks are 275-gallon tanks. They measure 27″ wide, 44″ high and 60″ long.

How Do I Know How Much Oil Is Left in My Tank?

Home heating oil tanks have a fuel gauge on top of the tank that will tell you if the tank is 3/4th full, ½ full, or ¼ full. With a typical 275-gallon tank, 3/4th full is about 204 gallons, while ½ full is about 136 gallons, and 1/4th full is 68 gallons.

When Should I Order More Home Heating Oil?

It’s recommended that you never let your tank get below 1/8th full during the heating season. This is because sludge can build up in the bottom of the tank, and you want to avoid that sludge getting into your heating system. To avoid this scenario, we recommend ordering when your tank is ¼ full.

Why Is There a Whistling Sound When My Tank Is Being Filled?

Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. When heating oil is pumped into your tank, the oil displaces air and sends it out your vent alarm, making a whistling sound that the delivery driver can hear. When the whistling stops, the tank is almost full.

Why Are Home Heating Oil Prices So High?

It’s part of supply and demand. Typically, prices go up during the winter, and fall in the summer. For the winter of 2021-22, prices are also affected by pent-up demand.

RELATED READING

Home Heating Oil Prices on the Rise

How to Save Money on Heating Costs

If My Heat Goes Out or I Notice a Problem with My Tank, Can You Fix It?

Yes. In addition to home heating oil delivery, we offer a full range of HVAC services , including furnace repair, boiler repair, and maintenance plans.

Do You Offer Automatic Delivery?

No. We offer on-demand delivery only. We have found that automatic delivery can still result in customers running out of home heating oil if there is a drastic drop in temperatures, or if the occupants in a home change – for instance you might keep the home warmer with a new baby or elderly person visiting and forget to tell the heating oil company.

Order Home Heating Oil Today

Call us at 410-477-3345 or fill out the contact form to order home heating oil delivery, or to get more information. Not sure how much heating oil you need? Use the handy calculator to get an estimate. (Can you put the Calculator from the Home page on this blog page?)

We offer competitive heating oil dundalk md prices, and convenient delivery to Baltimore County and Harford County and surrounding areas. Including Anne Arundel County and Howard County.

#heating oil dundalk #heating oil dundalk md #AC Repair Dundalk MD

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melodeemarsh · 5 years

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aaaaaaand she’s finally lost it.

i. am. ready. to. go. outside.

whooooooooooooooo.

3 days til my REBIRTH INTO THE WORLD.

Li Zi Qi just put out new videos on blue-dyed calico ❤

youtube

If you don’t know who she is yet, please watch all her videos!!! They are straight out of a fairytale and at the same time just such a wonderful, slow, beautiful understanding of life. She makes almost everything from scratch—salted duck eggs, lipstick from roses, silk dresses, wool cloaks.

Her channel is honestly what I aspire towards. I want to make videos and blogs that slow down, offer a space to breathe, create wonder and beauty.

Life moves on and it never falls into a complete standstill. The world is having a meltdown right now, but here, Li Zi Qi is quietly making blue-dye calico clothes.

The media tends to intensify the anxiety and fear, and it always urgent and demands attention. So it feels as if everything and everyone is in a sort of a mental frenzy, a sort of panic. But that isn’t true. In some places, life is going on at a slow, sweet, unhurried pace. In fact, perhaps, people who are under lock-down or quarantine or stay-at-home notices are living a slower, sweeter life, too.

I hope so.

I’m sure there are many also struggling with living at home, and trying to homeschool the kids. And people who cannot afford to stay at home and must go out for work, risking their health.

Of course, we all risk our health every day. More people die from car crashes than airplane crashes—and now both are cut at a drastic rate, so perhaps we are also saving people from vehicle crash deaths. Just like how pollution has decreased because of the lockdown in China, which has also saved lives (more lives than from the disease) from pollution long term.

But yet again, it is the people who cannot afford it who are hit the hardest. Malaysia shut its borders a few days ago, and many Malaysians cross over to Singapore to work every day. So a lot of them crossed over with sparse belongings and nowhere to sleep for the next two weeks (could be shorter or longer, but as of now, two weeks). I’m just glad to see how the community here is mobilising. The Jurong East sports hall was opened up for stranded workers to stay. Druggists and Mikkellar Bar are pulling together a donation drive of essentials to ensure they have all the necessities they need.

On the other end of things, Jimmy Fallon now has an At Home edition of his show and I love it—and I never even watched a single full episode of his stuff before. He features a guest and a different charity every episode. So far, he has featured feedingamerica.org, savethechildren.org/savewithstories, which are pulling together resources to support the kids in the States who rely on school for food. Then, there is a donation drive for artists and performers who are affected.

youtube

There is a keen balance of hope and sober reality that needs to be held in these times. We cannot underplay the suffering that people are going through—mentally, physically, emotionally, financially, socially—and yet we cannot be solemn and despairing. Try and understand and see clearly what the situation is, but yet hold on ruthlessly to hope and to humour, to joy and laughter and bright days.

Keep loving and living. Look out for one another, see how we can help our friends and neighbours. This lady posted a wonderful post about supporting the more vulnerable small businesses/gig workers who are directly impacted by the situation right now. Taken directly from her post:

Profiles of those who are also getting hit terribly:

– Those who work in SMEs facing the trickle down effect (those who earn under 100m or employ <200 workers but contribute to 48% of SG’s GDP, employ 65% of SG’s workforce and constitute 99% of all SG’s enterprises.)

– Those who freelance and do gigs (freelance creatives, musicians, actors, food delivery, etc)

– Those whose work depends on having medium to large sized groups of people show up (events managers and organisers, conference organisers and support, trainers, teachers, F&B, film crews, small renovation/contractor firms, party planners, arts-based companies etc)

– Those who run events that are too easily and unfortunately deemed “non-essential” (social enterprise CSR events, creative work like theatre, film music, celebrations etc)

– Those who work in hospitality, F&B, tourism, aviation, trade

There are some ways you can help:

1. Ask them how their work has been hit by the Covid crisis. If they’re doing badly, ask them if you can financially support them somehow. Find ways to commission work from them or ask around on their behalf. Pay them fairly and generously for their work. Bonus: You never know if the thing you’re commissioning from them can also be the financial and psychological invitation they need to explore a pivot in their business.

2. If you’re one of the luckier ones who are actually not worried now and are sniffing for cheap, plummeting stocks to invest in so you can get even richer, consider investing in people around you who exhibit great potential. I’m not talking about pity investments. I mean thoughtful intentional investments that support Singapore’s economic and societal well-being. Consider using some of your significant loose change to be a mini venture capitalist or mini impact investor.

3. Tip the gig economy people you come across – like your food delivery person, your taxi driver, your part-time waiters and food servers. Be more generous than normal. Tipping has never been our culture but the option has been built into the apps’ system if we choose to use it. There are many around us who are forced to choose between taking medical rest and keeping up their hourly paid work. Tip them so they know if they are sick especially with flu like symptoms, they have some kind of financial relief and psychological permission from someone to stay home and rest.

4. If you bought tickets to a local theatre performance/concert/workshop that got cancelled, if it is possible for you and you have more than enough, don’t harass them for refunds especially if you know they are a smaller player without deep pockets.

5. If you are a big corporate/govt agency that has to cancel your events and workshops (especially those CSR events run by smaller social enterprises), pay them something – anything. In exceptional times, explore how to make an exception to the usual contractual rules. Write in a new goodwill clause if you want. Pay them a goodwill amount – your generosity could mean some employees get paid. This is especially for social enterprises which hire the elderly or people with special needs. If possible don’t cancel but postpone the event and still pay upfront as a gesture of solidarity.

6. If your friends are running F&Bs, go dine-in (at an appropriate distance). Or order takeaway/catering from them.

7. If you run some kind of community group or religious group especially, find a way to gently and kindly ask if there is anyone going through hard times in their business who needs some help. You’ll be surprised how many real needs are there in front of you even amongst those who look comfortably middle class. People may stay quiet and stoic because the global situation seems so dire out there and they feel their own hyper-local needs seem smaller in comparison.

❤

On a more light hearted note… Someone made lo-fi beats with PM Lee speaking in the background…

youtube

this has become a very, very long post.

I would like to end with a quote from Avery’s own quarantine diaries (she is on day 6) because I think she puts what I am trying to say in this blogpost perfectly:

“Finally, I came across a really beautiful metaphor in Jeremiah 17 today. It’s worth typing out here.

Thus says the LORD:

“Cursed is the one who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the LORD.

He is like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see any good come.

He shall dwell in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land.

Blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD.

He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream,

and does not fear when the heat comes, for its leaves remain green,

and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit…

Oh LORD, [you are] the fountain of living water.” – Jeremiah 17:5-8, 13

I love the imagery of a tree planted by water that never fears in drought or heat. I’m doing all right for now, but for many people, right now is a time of personal and financial drought. And yet God says our leaves can remain green. We will still bear fruit. Because the very source of our life is God, the fountain of living water. Last year I began to learn about joy in all circumstances, joy despite drought. I know I’ll keep learning more.”

Joy in all circumstances. Peace beyond understanding. Love beyond all reason.

That is where I turn to, in times of trouble.

There is a part of me that feels a little nervous or fearful, writing and speaking about my faith, but I truly believe that Jesus died for me and saved me, and that God’s love sustains me, and that God turns all evil into good.

Truly.

Keep on burning bright, you little light.

Melody

the quarantine diary – day 12 aaaaaaand she's finally lost it. i. am. ready. to. go. outside. whooooooooooooooo. 3 days til my REBIRTH INTO THE WORLD.

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gessvhowarth · 7 years

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Meet The People Who Live On An Island In London

"Anything to do with motorcycles I'll deal with it." - Les Kibble. Plenty of Twickenham locals don't even know Swan Island exists. 60 years back, Les Kibble regularly passed it as a boy. He only found out about it when his company LJ Motorcycles moved here in 2006. "The modern bike rider is a commuter," he tells us, sipping his cup of coffee, "they don't know what they've got. They get on the bike, hit the button and drive. To be fair it's a lot cheaper going into London on a scooter than it is any other way." He motions to an orange bike: "I can get that on the road for £1,800 a year. You could throw it away at the end of the year and still have paid less than an annual rail ticket." Les's chatty demeanour is typical of the island folk here. His is one of a dozen or so businesses inhabiting a jumble of sheds and warehouses, peppered with nautical gimcrack — a ship's wheel here, an empty barrel of Pusser's naval rum there. That's only half the story; 40 families live on the houseboats, yachts, barges and floating homes skirting Swan Island. (Until 2016, someone was living on a Dunkirk small ship. It sadly sunk.) Together they form a half solid, half bobbing village in the Thames. On a drizzly Thursday in January, woodsmoke curls from stovepipes. A saw buzzes away in the Newmans boatyard, and there's the faint aroma of crab — not our imagination, it's coming from Seafood & Eat It. They receive fresh fish from Cornwall daily, box it up and drive it out to Waitroses and fishmongers across London. "It is fantastic working here, a really, really good atmosphere," says delivery driver Laurence Weaver. Island life must be in the company's blood; before they came to Swan Island, they were stationed just upstream at Platt's Eyot. "There are some very interesting characters," says Laurence Weaver, delivery driver. "It's a real community spirit with all the boat people living here, some very interesting characters." On our wander around the island, we also meet cabinet maker David Elias (currently crafting a boardroom table from stainless steel and black walnut), and Affinity Crew, who deal in logistics for major London events. They've just set up the NBA at The O2. Others onsite include a guy who specialises in jazz and blues vinyl reissues, and a Japanese shoji screen maker. Add to that those who call Swan Island home, and you have a singular London community. So where did it all spring up from? Fiona Gunnion's dad, Francis Newman, is the answer. Fiona chats to us in her office overlooking the floating village — a replica diving helmet that once belonged to her father peering over her shoulder. "He was actually a master cooper," she says, "he built barrels in Wandsworth. And forgive the pun, but the bottom fell out." "I don't think you have to love boats to live on a boat. But you have to love the water." - Fiona Gunnion, whose company owns the island. Looking to use his skills in a different area, Francis got involved with boats, setting up a shipyard just off the island. "He started off small. Everyone laughed because he called it 'Newman Shipyards' and people said 'but you've only got one yard!'" Someone had a good night. Francis had the last laugh, leaping at an opportunity to buy the entire island. The shipyard expanded onto it and, from the 1980s, people were invited to live here. Francis's family has been renting out the moorings since (the islanders only have good things to say about their landlady Fiona). You might think renting a boat would be thriftier than renting a flat. In practise, it's only those who own their boats who make any real saving. Fiona herself lives on terra firma in Kew. "I don't think you have to love boats to live on a boat. But you have to love the water," she says. "Wooden boats are dying down and people who have got them haven't really got the money to spend." -Michael Horwood. The boatyard remains the heart of the island. Michael Horwood has worked here for 34 years, doing boat repairs and maintenance. That's on anything from 25-foot day boats to 40-50 foot houseboats. The big pleasure boats you see in central London sail up here for a spruce up. The Thames's two fire boats — which slurp up the river water before spewing it out again — are serviced here, too. One of them is on the slip today. But this isn't exactly an industry that's thriving. "Wooden boats are dying down and people who have got them haven't really got the money to spend, because it's not a cheap exercise," says Michael. Other boatyards haven't weathered the storm. Tough Brothers Boatyard in Twickenham once built hulking great ships. It was also where, in May 1940, 100 little ships set off for Dunkirk. It's now apartments. A happier story can be found on neighbouring Eel Pie Island, where the boatyard's still going great guns. Though Michael isn't an actual islander, his colleague Joe (not around today) has lived here for over 50 years. What is it that makes people want to live in foundation-less houses — and in such Stygian weather too? As we edge down onto the pontoons that form narrow, unsteady streets between boats, we run into Adam Brown. "I moved from Dorset and I didn't want to live in a house," he tells us, "Everybody helps each other out, keeps an eye on each other's boats." He proudly shows us his own vessel, which dates back to 1913, and was used to shuttle about top naval brass in its day. Pontoons create small, unsteady streets. Artist Tristram Ellam-Bell comes out to see what's going on, as we clank about on a particularly wobbly strip of pontoon outside his boat. He moved aboard the Charlotte Sara from a Twickenham housing estate, and much prefers island life. We ask him about the name of his boat. "That was with her when I bought her," he says, "To change names it's very bad karma. You have to do it on a full moon at the beginning of the month and you have to circle her three times saying the new name." He invites us aboard, showing us the stove that heats his living quarters. At this time of year, wood and coal can run up a bill of up to £60 a week. That's just one of the downsides. "Obviously you can't have a flushing toilet in the river," says Tristram, "so you have to have a potty, so every week I have to do what I call 'the nasty', where I empty it out.'" Trinkets on top of Tristram's boat. The proximity of the vessels is something we've clocked too: "You're very close to your neighbours, so it's important to have good relations, says Tristram, "Even still, as soon as you go on that pontoon, it bangs around. "It's a question of live and let live. If you got pissed off about every single noise you'd go crazy." Not so much trouble in paradise, as niggles. As the skies brood greyer, drizzle fattens into rain and the weather forecast threatens snow. Swan Island seems to float further away from the mainland, and reality. Such is the beauty of London; sometimes it couldn't feel further detached from itself. "You get a view off the river and it's quiet, off the beaten track. And not many people know about Swan Island. Everyone keeps driving past." - David Simpson, Affinity Crew. The entrance leading onto the island. "In the summer, you couldn't want any more. it's fantastic. This is one of the best moorings on the river." - Adam Brown, who's lived on a boat here since 2007. Coal is an expensive but necessary commodity. The boatyard. A small house by the slip. "It's really different to a normal industrial site. The river people are a bit quirky. I've had workshops on industrial sites before and here there is a genuine community." - Cabinet maker David Elias. One of the purpose-built floating houses. It was empty.

http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/londonist/sBMe/~3/JJzHdPldkFk/the-west-london-island-with-40-inhabitants

#London #Secret #BOATYARD #EYOT #SWAN ISLAND #houseboats #Strawberry Hill #boats #Twickenham

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silviajburke · 7 years

Text

The Next Massive Wave of Unemployment

This post The Next Massive Wave of Unemployment appeared first on Daily Reckoning.

“There’s no question that self-driving cars are coming,” Business Insider declares. “The real debate at this point is who will get there first.”

We understand up to 19 companies are competing to field self-driving cars by 2021 — less than four years from now.

We’d trust a driverless car about as much as we’d trust Mr. Madoff with our money.

But its drummers insist the computerized driver will vastly outperform the human pilot.

The silicon captain will go the speed limit… stop at stop signs… and yield to pedestrians.

It won’t be plowing into your bumper because it’s texting its boyfriend or necking its girlfriend.

We’ve been assured its blood alcohol content will never exceed the legal limit.

The consulting firm McKinsey & Co. estimates the computerized driver could actually reduce U.S. road accidents by 90%.

Just so.

And we can file a tort or two of our own against the human automobile operator.

But what about the human automobile operator who makes his living at the wheel?

If the age of the driverless car is upon us, what becomes of the taxi hack, the truck operator, the bus driver, the delivery man?

The Los Angeles Times tells us some 5 million people nationwide are employed in these positions.

Economist Joseph Schumpeter (1883–1950) popularized the term “creative destruction” in 1942.

And for Schumpeter, capitalism was the “perennial gale” of creative destruction.

Capitalism blows away the old and inefficient with the new and improved.

Today’s commoner lives better than yesteryear’s king because of capitalism’s perennial gale.

Economist Richard Rahn of the Cato Institute, a Washington think tank:

The average low-income American, who makes $25,000 per year, lives in a home that has air conditioning, a color TV and a dishwasher, owns an automobile and eats more calories than he should from an immense variety of food…

Louis XIV lived in constant fear of dying from smallpox and many other diseases that are now cured quickly by antibiotics. His palace at Versailles had 700 rooms but no bathrooms (hence he rarely bathed), and no central heating or air conditioning.

Here is progress itself. And all because the creative gales of capitalism flattened everything in sight.

The obvious benefits of capitalism are why most focus on the “creative” part of the equation.

But what about the equally critical “destruction” side of the formula?

Capitalism thumbs its nose at tradition… uproots communities… sends the human being careening around hairpin turns of social and technological change for which he may be unprepared.

Within a generation, the centuries-old farming community succumbs to the assembly line and the punch clock.

A generation later the factory itself goes dark as the gales of creative destruction blow the jobs clear to China… where the labor is cheap.

Americans must constantly uproot themselves to follow the jobs, which tears the social fabric.

Advancing technology makes today’s job obsolete tomorrow.

And not everyone can take up new lines of employment.

Many are simply left behind, broken… and never catch up.

The river of progress carries forward of course, as it must.

We’re for it heart and soul too. Onward, we say. The world will be a better place overall.

But let us acknowledge that the advancing river of progress sometimes takes the human note with it.

Some estimate robots will replace half of all jobs in 20 years…

Not just driving or blue-collar manufacturing and construction jobs. But white-collar jobs in law, finance, medicine, accounting, etc.

But that’s just the start.

What happens if robots grow smart enough one day to do it all?

Will humans find new sources of labor as they always have before?

A robot arm that can rivet a car door is one thing.

But a genius robot that can do anything you can do — only better — is quite another.

Not even the oldest profession is safe from the coming robot revolution apparently, and therein lies a tale in itself.

We jump ahead of ourselves, admittedly. But is the world ready for such a future?

Maybe it is… and maybe it isn’t.

But let us not forget that change and progress aren’t always the same…

Regards,

Brian Maher Managing editor, The Daily Reckoning

The post The Next Massive Wave of Unemployment appeared first on Daily Reckoning.

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trendingnewsb · 7 years

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How We Tried To Deliver 12 Tons Of Food To Siberias Arctic North

A year on from the scariest assignment of my life I still have nightmares about ice shattering under truck wheels.

For ten days and nights, I rode with Ruslan and his young helper as they rumbled along the Indigirka River to deliver 12 tons of food to the town of Belaya Gora in Siberia’s Arctic north.

This is Ruslan

And this is (the ass of) his truck

For ten days and nights I rode with Ruslan and his young helper as they rumbled along this river to deliver 12 tons of food to the town of Belaya Gora in Siberia’s Arctic north

Half the journey from Yakutsk, the region’s big city, to Belaya Gora is along the Kolyma Highway, built by Stalin’s gulag slaves. The second half is along the frozen Indigirka River

Things started out fine. With solid (if slightly slippery) earth beneath our wheels as we rolled through the mountains of the Kolyma highway

With three of us in the cab the nights were cramped and sweaty. Siberians love heating the way Emiratis love AC (too much is never enough)

Meals were cooked on a little gas stove inside the cab

The landscape had none of the bleakness you expect of Siberia: Clean white hills rippling away in all directions. We made good progress in the clear weather

Until this. Ruslan’s friend Andrei, who’d been sitting in the cab of our truck just a few minutes before this, had sped off, taken a corner too tight and flipped

His van was totaled and Ruslan offered him a lift up to Belaya Gora.

Crazy Andrei with his semi-automatic shotgun at a truck stop. His hand banged up from the crash

I asked him what he’d thought when he’d been flying through the air upside down: Said he thought: “f**k, why didn’t I put on my seatbelt?”

In a cab designed for two people, we were now four. Trying to get to sleep in here was a miserable game of human tetris. This is the scene after the first night with four in the cab

Then, at the halfway point we rolled onto the ice and things got heavy

We were sailing along in hazy light, then Ruslan suddenly crunched down through the gears and stopped short of this truck-shaped hole in the ice

He said “that’s fresh”, then punched the truck into reverse and we hunted out another route upriver.

The spring melt was well underway

I don’t know what happened to whoever had gone through that hole, but local guide Bolot Bochkarev told me around 5 people die each winter in the region after breaking through the ice.

Through the ice you could see the current moving beneath

With time on my hands as we prowled along the river I started thinking what it might be like to be under there, fighting against the current to get back to the hole you’d just crashed through.

Ruslan showing a picture of a friend’s truck on a previous run

He told me “If you go through nose first, you’re screwed.” I promised myself if the truck went down on my side I was gonna jump. Underwater in a crowded cab it would be near impossible to get out from under three struggling men.

We hugged the riverbank where we could, but had to traverse the river at some points. This was the last crossing we made before things went wrong for us

When the ice started shattering under the wheels on my side. I pushed open the door, jumped out, and, as the truck toppled above me, scrabbled across the ice to get clear

Somehow, the truck caught and held there, and they managed to back out, ready to try again

I flat-out refused to get back inside the cab while they crossed. I ended up (as embarrassing as this is to admit) clinging like a limpet to one of the spare tyres on the back.

And then it got worse. In the darkness we kept pushing on and on, crossing and re-crossing the river, with everyone yelling directions at each other

When we finally stopped, Andrei tried to cheer my up by showing me a video of two gay guys being caught in the act, then beaten up. I so desperately didn’t want to be there, and we weren’t even halfway along the ice road. I sat awake with dread in my heart as the others slept wedged into various shapes next to me.

And then, this. At 3 in the morning, while the others slept next to me, the horizon started twinkling green. It was the first time I’d ever seen the aurora borealis

It’s a little hard to write this with clarity but at the that moment I felt like somehow, everything would be ok

It wasn’t that I thought I would be safe (I still felt there was a real chance of dying on the road ahead) but that *whatever happened* everything would be ok… This is better told over a late-night beer, but it was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a religious experience.

Then the next day dawned bright and clear, and the road was rock solid

At the end of that day, we visited the tiny church at Zashiversk

I’m not saying I went all Christian or anything, but I stayed after the others had left, basking in the peace inside that little space.

As we neared Belaya Gora the whole crew were in good spirits – humming along on under the empty Siberian sky

Finally, after five straight days without a shower or a change of clothes, we arrive at Belaya Gora, where Ruslan has a small apartment

He came out of this bath announcing he felt like “A newborn baby”.

Groceries were delivered to Belaya Gora, then the guys carried on further up the river

I stayed behind b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ so I could photograph life in the town.

This little lass (possibly) got her groceries from the fresh batch of deliveries from Ruslan

Cute, but as hours turned to days without any sign of Ruslan, my mind turned to the rapidly melting ice road we still had to return to Yakutsk on.

Ruslan’s apartment block on yet another night with no sign of him. (Cellphones have no coverage outside the towns in this region)

Finally, after I’d started to get worried for the guys, Ruslan showed up and we were on the road again

Ruslan leaving an offering to the Shaman spirits at before we hit the dangerous parts of the river

Ruslan greeting other truckers on the road. It was bliss being just the two of us

At one point he was playing me his fav. hip hop songs and I was doing my best to translate. But, as always on this ice road, soon someone needed help and Ruslan took on another driver whose truck had broken down.

Towing another truck we were occasionally slithering on the ice

And the road was melting away fast. (This was the view from the roof of our truck as we let another past)

Again Ruslan wanted to push through the night. I bailed – pulling on my coat and standing on the back of the second truck, ready to jump out if we went through the ice

We were literally feeling our way through the dark. The other trucker used a pole to test the strength of the ice and waded through the surface sludge before waving Ruslan forward

Drinking water came straight from the river

Crunching through, getting ever closer to the safety of solid ground

Safety being a relative thing on the Kolyma highway…

The truck on left had plunged of the cliff right next to where pic #4 of this gallery was taken, killing its driver on impact.

But, on March 8, 2016, the terror of the ice road was behind us and we were rolling on solid ground

The sun came up, the music was cranked loud and I was on my way home. But Ruslan wasn’t quite done for the season. He was going to spend a couple of days in Yakutsk, then charge back up to Belaya Gora, where he would spend the summer. He asked if I wanted to join but I had to bow out. I was happy to be back on solid ground again. All photos copyright: Amos Chapple/RFE/RL