#dj scratch & sniff

[bonefydskeleton]

Scratchen Schniff the Robotic DJ Dog!

I absolutely had to try my hand at designing a Digital Circus OC after watching the pilot. The animation is so gummy and stretchy and pays homage to some very classic toys. So I picked a few of my favorites from when I was a kid!

Iz, iDog, and those squishy balls you could bounce around and they would flash in fun patterns. Threw in some scratch n sniff stickers as decoration to give them a more “played with” feel. Not to mention it makes a great pun for a name that involves scratchin records to make funky beats and rhythms!

[tdinyomomma]

TDI X Reader- Phobia Factor (Chapter Seven)

If you haven’t read: six

After the Killer Bass’s elimination we decided to go to the campfire and join them. Well there’s more to it but whatever. “What do you guys want? Come by to rub it in?” Courtney questions us with her hands on her hips. “We got some extra dessert after our tuck-shop party, thought you might want some.” Trent speaks for us as Beth jiggles the green jello in her hands. 

“So, what? You’re just being nice?” Courtney rebuttals.

“Okay, Owen stank up our cabin and we need some time to air it out.” Gwen rolls her eyes and Owen farts. “Ew, dude.” Trent gives the big guy a look.

Beth then brings over the green jello to the Miss C.I.T. who ends up squealing, stepping back. “No!” She then collects herself. “I mean, no thanks. I’m good.” She politely declines the offer. 

“What? Are you on a diet or something?” Duncan quizzes her. 

“No, I just don’t like green jelly, okay?” She defends herself, Beth  then goes past her and over to DJ, he gasps. “Snake!” Flipping the tray over. Cody bends over, grabbing the worm. “Chill, dude, it’s just a gummy worm.” He shows it off to the poor guy. 

“Sorry for tripping. Snakes just freak me out.” He apologizes. “I feel you, chickens give me the creeps, dude.” Tyler comforts his teammate. 

“You’re afraid of chickens?” Gwen asks in disbelief, Duncan chuckles. “Wow, that’s-that’s really lame man.” 

“So suddenly, everyone’s having this big share fest by the fire. Like Beth went on and on about her mortal fear being covered by bugs. Harold’s afraid of Ninjas. Even Heather admitted she’s afraid of sumo wrestlers.” Gwen tells the camera, growing interested in each one she tells. 

“What’s my worst fear? I guess being buried alive.” Gwen answers. 

“Walking through a minefield… in heels.” Lindsay distresses.

“Flying man. That’s some crazy stuff.” Owen speaks up, shivering.

“I would never go up in a plane. Never.” Izzy holds her hands at her chest. 

“I’m scared of hail. It’s small but deadly, dude.” Geoff expresses. 

“Being left alone in the woods.” Bridgette says and Sadie sniffs, holding a wooden plank from the dock. “Bad haircuts.” Sadie cries out. “Oh, okay, I change mine. That’s so much scarier than a minefield.” Lindsay shutters at the thought. 

“Having to diffuse a time bomb under pressure.” Cody scratches his cheek, then we all turn to Courtney. 

“I’m not really afraid of anything.” She holds her knees to her chest. “Baloney.” Duncan coughs. “Oh, really? Well, what exactly is your phobia, Mr. Know-it-all?” She questions him, his face drops instantly and he glances around. 

“Uh, Ce-Celine Dion music store-standees.” He slumps, holding his face. “Exsqueeze me? I didn’t quite get that.” Cody snickers, cupping his hand to his ear, I agree, covering my mouth as I laugh. “Dude, did you say Celine Dion music store-standees?” Trent chimes in. “Ooh, I love Celine Dion!” Lindsay excitedly admits. 

“What’s a standee?” 

“You know, that cardboard cutout thing that stands in the music store?” Trent clarifies. “Don’t say it dude.” Duncan whines, pointing to the other guy speaking, but gets ignored. “Kind of like a life-size but flat Celine.” I sit up straighter, holding onto Cody’s knee to stop myself from laughing. 

“Shut up!” He covers his ears. “What about you guys?” He directs between Trent and I. 

“Okay, well, I hate mimes. Like a lot.” Trent says, “Similar to Trent, clowns.” I boredly tell them, Courtney rolls her eyes at us. “All right Courtney. You’re afraid of something. Spit it out.” Trent orders and I nod but she sits taller. “Nope, nothing.” 

“If that’s true you would’ve jumped during our first challenge. But you didn’t.” I then bend my arms, pretending to flap my wings.” “Shut up!” She shouts at me and I laugh.

Chris whistlers as we all give him our attention. I sit between Heather and Cody. “Campers, your next challenge is a little game I like to call. “Phobia Factor.” Prepare to face your worst fears.” He announces. 

“Worse than this?” Leshawna lifts her food in disgust. “We’re in trouble.” Gwen mutters. “Now for our first victims… Heather!” A card flies into his hand and he reads off of it. “Meet us all in the theater. It’s sumo time!” She spits out her drink in shock. “Gwen you, me, the beach. A few tons of sand.” Her eyes go wide. “Wait how did they know those were your worst fears?” Lindsay asks, Gwen slaps her own forehead. “Because we told them.”

“At the campfire last night.” Trent reminds her, Beth and the blonde look at each other. He then comforts Gwen, rubbing her back as her head lays down on the table. I stare at them without realizing, my mind going blank as I go off into space. 

Immediately getting out of it once Lindsay speaks again. “Wait, they were listening to us?” 

“It’s a reality show, Einstein. They’re always listening to us.” Gwen sarcastically says.

I know I don’t like Gwen how she likes me but still being avoided and her bringing in the comfort of Trent as if I did something wrong hurts. I truly thought we were close friends…

“That’s like eavesdropping!” Lindsay pouts.

“Chef Hatchet, didn’t you have a special order for Tyler here today?” The muscular cook smirks, showing Tyler a fried chicken, the teen picks it up, he stares at it for a moment. Then he bites off the head and then an actual live chicken head pops up and Tyler screams in fear.

We go to the first thing which is for Beth, it’s a blow up pool filled with bugs DJ vomits just by looking at it. I cross my arms glancing over to Cody who was a worryful expression. For it being Beth’s worst fear she jumps right in. Coming out with worms all over her. “And Beth sets the bar way up there!” We cheer for our girl; she has a big smile planted on her face.

Lindsay and Sadie get wigs on their heads. Owen and Izzy have to go on a roughed up looking plane. Leshawna runs, screaming away from Hatchet who’s in a spider costume. 

Next is Heather standing across from a sumo wrestler. “Heather, stepped up to the plate, scoring the Gophers their second point on the board.” 

The wrestler comes running and the girl crouches down, the wrestler trips, falling off the stage. 

Next was Gwen being buried alive, Trent comforts her, giving her a walkie so they could talk. I want to jump in and also comfort the girl but again… Not my place anymore I guess. She wants something I don’t.

As we’re moving onto the next thing, Trent runs past us. “Just talk to him bro and ask him to go away!” Chris yells after him. I tense up realizing I don’t know when a clown is going to come for me. I unconsciously grip onto Cody’s arm. 

“Okay, then, we have 2 minutes before Gwen’s done. Cody, you’re up.” His eyes go up to the host after looking down to see my hands wrapped around his arm. He then looks back up to my face. “You got this.” I give him a thumbs up after letting him go. 

We follow Chris to this trash bomb. I decided to stay with the boy, maybe helping him disconnect it. “All right, Cody This garbage bomb’s going off in exactly 10 minutes. Everything you need to know to defuse it is on these schematic blueprints.” Chris lifts up a blue paper he rolled out. 

“What? No way! I can’t do this!” He exclaims, holding his head, clearly stressed out. “Then I suggest you find a safe place to hide, bro.” The host then throws the paper and I catch it before it hits the ground. “Later, dudes! Also, [Name]! Be careful.” He winks, walking away and my body freezes. 

“Wait, you’re not gonna watch?” Cody questions. “No way, that’s a live bomb, dude!” He then runs away. 

He turns to the trash bomb sighing. “You don’t have to stay, you know?” He takes the paper from my hands and I shrug. “I know but I don’t mind helping.” I smile motioning for him to pull the paper out so we can both read it. 

As we’re reading the paper he speaks up. “What makes you so scared of-” I cover his mouth quickly. “Don’t even, it’s going to manifest it.” I whisper aggressively. “They could be a killer under that mask. Or- or, a kidnapper. And for some reason people just let them go to parties and carnivals.” I rant, not realizing one was right behind me. “[Name], you might want to start running then…” 

Then that stupid clown horn squeaks in my ear and I scream, running away from Cody and the trash bomb. The thing laughs at me and I cry out in fear. “Stay away!” I take off my shoe mid run and throw it back at the clown. It stays hot on my trail and I run past the dock where Trent was soaking wet and Chris was sitting down controlling a cloud of hail following Geoff. 

I notice Heather on the porch and wave more arms around. “Heather! Please!” I wail, going up the porch and throwing her in front of me, shielding myself from the clown that giggles, squeaking the horn again. “What- Let go-” 

It stands on the bottom of the stairs. “Heather, please! Please, don’t make me let go.” I plead with her and she looks back at me, noticing the tears in my eyes. She rolls her eyes and places her hands on her hips. “What do you even want me to do?” She questions and I squeeze my eyes shut, gently holding onto her arms. “Tell it to go away.” I mumble, she then walks down the steps, taking off her sandal. “All right, go away you stupid clown. Shoo! Get away!” She slaps it with her shoe repeatedly and it sadly puts its head down, walking away. 

“Yeah! Go away!” I cheer, and then run up to Heather after I know it’s gone, embracing her tightly. “Thank you! I owe you big time!” I grin, before running off, not letting her respond to me.

 

An explosion occurs and I gasp. “Shit, Cody!” I run to the area where the explosion happened and he’s sitting on the ground covered in trash. “[Name]? Is that you?” He groans, his arms out since he can’t see and even though I’m disgusted I help him up off the ground. 

“I’m so sorry, the clown was just following me and flight or fight, response you know? Heather luckily helped me but I’m still so sorry, I should’ve done something to help.” I ramble on and he tiredly laughs. “It’s okay, I really need a show though.” He sighs, taking the banana peel off his head. We make it through the forest and as we’re walking through he goes in front of me, still groaning from the pain of the explosion.

Bridgette then hits him, screaming before running off. He grunts, falling to the floor once again. “Oh my god, are you okay?” I ask him and he just lays there for a moment. “I’m fine, just- just give me a minute.” He gives up and I laugh.

After Cody takes a shower and I wash my hands we make our way to a pen where Chris and Tyler are standing. The Gophers all made it through their challenges. 

“All right gang, we’re ninth inning. Tyler, for your challenge you need to get in this pen for three minutes with these chickens.” Chris unboxes a momma chicken with two baby chickies. “You can do it Tyler!” Bridgette shouts. “Yeah, unless you’re chicken.” Duncan taunts. Tyler ends up sitting down, cradling himself back and forth. 

“I’m not sure we’re getting anywhere on this one.” Chris says boredly.

“Tyler, this is the last challenge. Quit being such a girl!” Courtney yells at the boy. “You have to do this or we’re going to lose!” Courtney rolls her eyes. 

“Actually if you do the math you can’t possibly win.” Cody calculates then shows the calculator. “The score’s 8-3.”

“Not necessarily. We’ve got one more challenge set up.” Chris says. 

“Who? It can’t be me. But I didn’t-” Courtney goes on confused. “You didn’t have to. We’re always watching you and your reactions.” Chris reminds her. 

“I knew it. Didn’t I tell you guys, they were eavesdropping?” Lindsay angrily asks. “Oh, who cares? It’s not going to make a difference.” Courtney frowns. 

“Let’s make this interesting then. I’ll give you triple points if you can complete it.” He tells her.

We now stand in front of a huge wooden pool of green jello. “You’re afraid of jelly?” Duncan laughs. “Shut up! Only the green kind. It’s like sugary, jiggly snot!” She cries out in disgust. 

“You can face your fear and dive straight into this pool of jelly or let your team lose yet another challenge!” Courtney slumps, making her way to the ladder. “This is insane! I could seriously die doing this.” She climbs up.

“Oh this is just cruel.” Gwen says, “It’s probably warm by now! Warm green jelly. Snotty, bouncy, ugh!” She stifles. 

“You’re not going to make me quit!” Courtney yells down. “That’s it, keep climbing!” Duncan smiles.

“She’s just trying to psych you out!” Bridgette chimes in. “Like you said, Courtney! It’s okay if you can’t do it!” Duncan shouts, I yell up a chicken clucking sound just like I did in our first challenge earning a scowl in response. Once she stands up on the board she thinks about it then covers her face. “I can’t do it! I’m coming down!” She yells, her team all lower their head in disappointment as the Gophers cheer once again. 

“And there you have it! The Gophers won invincibility this week… Again!”

After everything calms down we all chill in our cabin, mostly everyone was on the boys side except me, Gwen, Heather and Lindsay. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom.” Gwen huffs, standing up, stretching out her body. “Ooh! Me too, I’ll come with!” Lindsay grins, following after the goth girl. Gwen scoffs but opens the door for the blonde and they walk out. Heather then stands up and I raise a brow at her. “Dang you have to go too?’ 

“No, I wanted to talk to you about something.” She tells me and I put my book down, giving her my attention. “What’s up, Heather?” I smile softly. “You said you owe me earlier right?” She asks and I slowly nod. 

“Well, before that, I want to apologize for my actions with the whole diary thing. And then by owing me a favor I’d like you to pretend to be my friend for a little bit.” She crosses her arms and I’m taken aback for a moment. 

“Seriously?” I lean closer to her as if I didn’t hear her correctly the first time. “Yes, just don’t expect me to be all nice with Gwen.” She says and I glance around. “What’s the point of this?” 

“Just- please?” She huffs. 

“I-I guess? Just pretending to be friends?” I furrow my brows, her face turns a light shade of pink. “Nevermind-” 

“No, no, I’m down, we can be friends.” I wink, then go back to my book.

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[giacofmanytrades]

MR SLIME MAN MAN ME A SLIME

Do you like slime? Do you like men? Here’s a snippet of a book I’ve been off and on about for a few years. I call it Obnoxious, basic plot is a chemist has a freak soap accident in the 80s. Cue lots of him, his best friend, and a class of middle school science students dealing with the consequences.

Alan Mortimer’s fingers tremble on the steering wheel. The radio grates on his ears and nerves. He dials down the volume, fixes his stare on the horizon, and drives for town. Where in town is the biggest question. Where does he even take something like this?

“Aw, c’mon,” his passenger says. “Turn the tunes back up!”

“Now’s not the time.”

“Please, Mo?”

“Nick, stay back there!” Alan’s right hand leaves the wheel, batting the orange figure in the rearview mirror out of the van’s cab. “We can’t let anyone see you like this.”

“But it’s a good song,” Nick insists. He sways a little as he tries to stay standing, hands oozing slime on the frame of the door that separates cab and cargo. More of the translucent fluid that covers his body drips to the plastic floor. “And it’s my van.”

“It’s Holly Hemlock’s van.”

“She gave it to me!”

Queen swells from the speakers, louder than before now that Nick’s nudged past and turned the dial. He flops right down in the passenger’s seat. No seatbelt on, the fluid on his body soaking into the pleather seat cover, he does a little shimmy with the music.

Alan’s knuckles go white. His back hunches in until his shoulders brush his ears, his eyes set on the road straight ahead. Every new pair of headlights makes him flinch. “Nick,” he says.

Nick croons along with Freddie Mercury. It’s a bouncing melody about lazing on a sunday afternoon. Nick wiggles his shoulders in time with it, like he did on the drive over. All of him glows orange as a traffic sign, getting brighter as the guitar solo fades into the DJ’s upbeat transition to the next song.

It all began that afternoon.

Alan, better known as Mr. Mortimer in the halls of Barks Junior High, was just finishing his last period of the day. Seventh period is always a challenge, but on a Friday it got even harder to catch his students’ attention. Most of his kids were counting the minutes and tuning out his explanation of atomic structures. Today he’d had to send his biggest troublemaker, Jimmy Rodriguez, out into the hall.

Jimmy picked at the frayed cuffs of his denim jacket. The kid had come with a warning label from the teachers at Anais Elementary. He’s become known for tearing his sleeves and leaving threads all over the linoleum, throwing wads of paper at other students, gouging marks into tables, and coming up with creative new ways to disrupt lessons. He’d tested Alan’s patience today by trying to pull the fire alarm with only fifteen minutes of class to go.

Jimmy stared at his grubby sneakers instead of meeting Alan’s gaze.

Alan sighed. “Are we going to have to do this all year, Mr. Rodriguez?” he asked.

The boy scratched his face. Alan frowned. His usual tactics for snapping metaphorical fingers in front of his kids had failed with this one, along with several others in his class. Alan planned to double down if the attitude didn’t shape up.

But it was Friday. October, too. There was a whole year for improvement, and problem students like Jimmy could be solved by the end of it. “We’ll try again next Monday,” he said, and reached for the boy’s shoulder. Jimmy shrugged away with a sniff and marched for Principal Miranda’s office.

Alan picked at his sweater vest, a striped pink number he’d selected from his eye-searing closet. Part of him cites this style choice as a way to keep students’ eyes on the garish colors. The part he rarely admits to just gets a warm fuzzy feeling from seeing them. His wife Mary-Anne claims not to know which reason is worse. Aside from these vests, he’s an otherwise well-kempt man of Indian descent. Tall, dark, and handsome even with his pocket protector, chalk-dusted piano fingers, and general air of teacherly campiness.

He walked back into his classroom to fading mutters. The next few minutes he spent watching the clock just as much as the kids. With the bell’s final toll, students milled out, ready to run home and enjoy their weekend.

Alan used the next hour to wrap up. He swept up the threads from Jimmy’s jean jacket, scraped the gum from under one of the tables, and finally sat to review the curriculum for next week. Once everything was in order, he locked up to go home.

He strutted the vacant halls of red lockers and beige floors, through doors overlooking an empty parking lot. The lines of parents waiting to collect their children were long gone. So were the buses usually stationed at the curb. Decorative gravel and ancient gumwads embedded the walls of Barks rising behind him, facing a courtyard where students sat and gossiped before the doors opened.

If this was Alan’s story alone, he’d walk a few blocks to his tidy house on Cleary Street and wait for his wife to come home from her clinic. Being married to the town’s primary care provider meant Alan had a lot of time to himself on weekdays. Most nights he hosted other teachers or fixtures in town, but he expected to fill tonight with grading, cleaning, and preparing dinner. He could already feel the future Sunday paper in his hands and taste coffee from a pun-emblazoned mug in his mouth.

Instead, a van waited at the curb.

The white utility van had Hemlock & Co. painted on one side, ringed in tiny white flowers. Alan could also see the van was parked backwards so the driver’s side door was facing him.

Alan squinted at the tinted window. He’d read about the old cookie factory being replaced by Hemlock’s in the paper. It was a nice addition to Perkins, he thought. While a lot of his students’ parents had already lined up jobs with the company, he didn’t expect to see its logo around so soon.

Then the window rolled down. The man behind the wheel was tanned as a surfer, with sandy curls and a chubby build that reminded Alan of a fluffy labrador rolling on the carpet. His arms were crossed over the door, a set of aviators on his nose.

The man nodded to reveal round-rimmed glasses underneath. “How’s it hangin’, Mo?” he drawled.

Alan’s face lit up. He hadn’t seen his best friend in almost five years. So the visit was unplanned and unexpected. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

Nick Cervos, over the top entrance complete, bounded from the van to hug Alan. He squeezed tight, lifting his friend off the ground. Alan had to tap his back for air.

“Sorry!” Nick cried, and set him down. Alan adjusted himself. Still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Nick mirrored the smile and looked Alan over. Nick had changed a lot. Over the years, he’d evolved from lettermen’s to leather jackets to lab coats. He wore one now, over a pair of beat up jeans and a bleach stained t-shirt. His shaggy mop was long and tied back in a ponytail, and he’d even shaved off the beard he used to have. Alan thought his face looked bare without it, but Nick never kept the same style long.

Alan himself hadn’t changed a bit. He’d traded the bellbottoms of yesteryear in for real slacks, sure, but he’d maintained his spick and span exterior. Nick chuckled. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?” Alan asked.

“You look good! Like you’re doing good,” Nick said. He hugged Alan again, gentler this time. Alan had enough warning to hug back.

Alan weighed his own response. Among the style changes, Alan could see Nick’s face had new lines, shadowed under the eyes. Nick caught him inspecting and straightened up.

All Alan could say was, “I didn’t know you were coming. I thought you were still in Seattle.”

Nick laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah. That’s the thing. I just got a job down here.”

Alan held his messenger bag close. “You’re kidding,” he said.

Nick gave a wave to the van’s logo. He did a little dance as Alan processed it all. “Just got this beaut yesterday! I’ll explain the whole thing on the way. Annie asked me if I could pick you up. That okay?”

Alan stiffened a bit, his grip tighter on his bag. His eyes traced the path out to Cleary Street, behind the van parked backwards on the curb.

Nick followed his eyes, head cocked. Alan blinked out of his haze. A change of routine wouldn’t kill him. “That’d be nice. You know where I live now?”

Nick made a vague motion with his hand. “Somewhere close, I was told? She only gave me the directions to get out here. But I have you with me now! Get in! I wanna know everything.”

Nick hopped back into the driver’s side. Already the van had Nick’s signature scribbled all over it. Sarapes covered the seats, stacks of several more and some scratchy wool blankets tossed in the cargo behind. Those were thrown haphazard over stacks of boxes with the Hemlock logo. Stuffed animals lined the dashboard, Muppets and Pooh Bears sticking out from the menagerie of crane machine prizes.

Nick booped a finger to a toy lion’s nose. Alan sat back in the passenger’s seat. “Here I thought you’d changed,” he teased.

It didn’t faze Nick. He pulled out of the lot. “C’mon, man,” he said. “What about you? What’ve you been up to?” They’d called each other so infrequently since Alan got married.

“You’re looking at it.” There was no disappointment in Alan’s voice, not really. He probably should’ve been a little bitter, but he held a lot of affection for Perkins, Oregon. Nestled in the eastern armpit of the state, it’s a cross between desert and forest. Winters are below freezing with heaps of snow that degrades into pebble-peppered sludge. Summers are balmy and swelter until residents are inside with fans bought from whatever corner store is closest.

In mid-October, it’s all crisp leaves and damp, squelchy grass where it’s not clay. It’s Alan’s favorite time of year. He can already see students of past, present, and future shopping for Halloween costumes or bundling up for the cold months to come.

“Whatcha teaching?”

“Sixth grade physical science,” Alan said. “This year, anyway.”

“That’s good! Really good. Glad you found your niche, Mo.”

“Sounds like you’ve found one, too,” Alan said, giving the boxes a wave.

Nick flushed. “I don’t know about all that,” he said. “More like I got a niche, for the next year or so. The company’s launching this new soap in ‘88, so I’m on the hook at least ‘til then. Friend in the community said Hemlock wanted top of the line for her quality assurance.” He kept his eyes on the road. There was a pause, something Alan wanted to reach across until he saw those lines on Nick’s face again.

Alan knew what community Nick meant, and could only infer what Nick had been studying in Seattle. They’d gone to college together with dreams of becoming a physics professor and an enzyme pathologist respectively. Alan had followed his then fiance north and taught middle school science, but Nick had followed through on his PhD. He thought Nick would have been doing alright since then. Now he’d gone from researching fatal diseases to soap, of all things?

He didn’t get the chance to ask before Nick thumped the steering wheel. “Ah, shit!” He craned his neck to check the stacks in the cargo. “I knew I left them on the counter. I can go back to the factory tomorrow.”

Nick’s hand was on his mouth, his brows down. Alan jumped on the subject. “The Hemlock factory?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I forgot those samples I was supposed to test at the lab. Base lab, not my little off-premises one. It’s just out-”

“Off Sundale, I know,” Alan said. “That place used to be called Flour Pour.”

“Wait, like flower power? Not floor poor?”

“Nope,” Alan said.

Nick laughed. “Damn. Place with a name that good never should have gone under.”

Alan chuckled. Nick echoed it. The sound hung in the van, clinging to the air between them like tar as they stared down the road. Gradually, twenty years or so of familiarity found purchase and settled.

Alan jostled Nick, who perked up. “I don’t mind going to get your samples,” Alan told him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. There’s been a lot of buzz about Hemlock’s.”

Nick hummed. He turned onto Sundale, a road that wound the edge of the desert. They passed an A&W and a gas station on the way, before the newly christened Hemlock factory loomed ahead. Behind the big warehouse stood a scraggly patch of forest, behind which was the residential part of town.

Nick parked his van in the corner of the gated off lot. He hopped out to open the door for Alan. “My good man,” he said, with a bow.

Alan rolled his eyes, smiling again. This would be fun, having Nick back in his life. Whatever funk Nick had been in before he arrived, it couldn’t linger long. Alan’s tamed since their wild college nights, or even their rowdy days as children in San Alphonsa, but excitement overshadowed any worry he had about Nick’s move.

Nick bit his lip. “Sorry, again,” he said.

“It’s fine, seriously,” Alan said. The factory had already been spruced up with a layer of yellow paint, Hemlock’s logo slapped on the doors they entered through. He’d heard rumors in the staff lounge that the founder was some New York lawyer elevating a housewife she’d befriended. This housewife, the eponymous Holly Hemlock herself, had ads on the radio in her trilling voice, all about making homes fresh and clean as a garden green. Alan had considered buying some of her soaps once they were available.

Nick led Alan through the office building, already done up with marketing material of a pale cartoon woman in a cocktail dress. Sprays of baby’s breath came from a bottle in her hand. Nick pointed to one. “She really does look just like this!”

“A cartoon?”

“Nah, but how cool would that be?” Alan gave him a look, but Nick shrugged at him. “I think there’s a movie like that. If getting hired means I get to be a toon, I’m all ears.” He mimed Mickey ears over his head and giggled.

Alan followed him through a set of double doors onto a long catwalk in the warehouse. The floor below contained half a dozen vats formerly used for mixing doughs and frostings. Now the Flour Pour’s old shortbread aroma had a hint of lemon drowning it out. It got stronger toward the middle of the catwalk, overlooking an open vat filled with a thick yellow brine.

“Get a load of that fake citrus,” Nick sighed, hand to his heart.

Alan indulged and breathed it in. The smell had been written into his memory with a warmth even real lemons couldn’t surpass, all from days of polishing furniture or dusting down his parents’ house as a kid. He liked the thought of the scent drifting down to Perkins proper once this place got really up and running.

Nick ducked into a door at the end of the catwalk. Sure enough, his box of samples was waiting in what used to be a test kitchen. He hefted it onto his hip and met his friend back in the middle. Alan stared into the vat below, then rose a brow at Nick’s box.

“That’s it?” he asked. It was just a box of dated bottles, the fluid inside almost clear unlike the yellow vat below.

“It’s just some samples to go over when I get home,” Nick said. “Holly gave me this grace period to set up and all, though.”

“You have a place down here already?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for coming with.”

“No problem.”

Nick brought the box under one arm. “You are not gonna believe my lab! I have, yanno, actually decent assets, plus I brought this great couch. Still needs cleaned up but I’ve got time for- ah, shit!”

Alan pivoted. Nick flailed. Something wet had burned a hole in his sock. He almost dropped the box bending down to tend to it. Alan took it from his hands.

“Did you spill something?” Alan asked.

None of the bottles were leaking, but Nick could have. He winced. Looked like a chemical burn, the chemical doing the burning unknown. They were over an open vat. Maybe a bubble popped up and splashed him? It just seemed too far down.

Nick braced on the railing. Taking even a small step on his foot had to hurt. He had to bite his lip to keep from swearing up and down about it.

Dimly Alan heard a creak beside him. A groan like an old door being forced open, metal protesting weight. Yellow dribbled at the base of the railing. Nick saw it before Alan did. “Mo.”

“What is this?” Alan said, careful not to touch it. “Detergent shouldn’t cause a burn like this.”

The metal creaked louder. Nick set down his burning foot and breathed through his teeth. He couldn’t stand without supporting himself on something. He waved for Alan to get back. “Mo, I think it’s gonna-”

It was all he could get out before the metal cracked apart with a violent jerk, like a huge hand yanking the bars from the catwalk. Nick’s full weight was on a railing that was no longer. He fell with it. Alan yelled for him and grabbed at his lab coat but too late.

***

Nick had a split second to twist and see the yellow reaching up to meet him. He landed with a smack, given just a blink to hold his breath before he got sucked inside.

It didn’t take him long to let it go. His mouth opened to scream from the acidic goo eating away at his skin. The fluid poured down his throat, suffocating him until he was so full of the stuff he could feel it eating away the inside like he’d huffed a lungful of termites. Stuck as a fly in jello, the skin dissolved in seconds as the rest of his tissue was devoured cell by cell. Muscle and bones and nerves broke into microscopic pieces until he found a blissful, empty numbness.

With the pain gone, he found he didn’t mind being stuck quite so much. Something around him seeped in, calming yet utterly ecstatic. He knew these feelings were coming from somewhere else, but he didn’t mind feeling them either. It was like a song, a chorus he couldn’t really figure out how he was hearing. The voice vibrated through the new frame forming around where he was.

He could see it now. Just this mass of material he could move when he thought about it, quick to take on the shape of the last thing it remembered. Another layer formed around it, separating him from the rest of the vat. This done, the goo around him glowed orange.

His own material mimicked the color and glowed, too. Happy, loving vibrations hummed through his whole body like a strummed guitar. He glowed brighter.

The goo sang at him. The same syllable, over and over. It was like drowning in this innocent sorta happy, like his relief to be alive reflected back at him and then some. He reached for where it came from.

It was interrupted by a voice. Alan’s voice, shouting. Nick. “Mo!”

The word echoed around Nick, bouncing through the goo and off the walls of the vat. He was Nick, and he was in a vat, and he’d just been drowned and dissolved. And his best friend was all alone.

Nick’s body reacted. He rose to the top until open air hit him.

It was a strain, pulling his gooey shape out limb by limb. Everything was weighted wrong, his new self held together with strands of thick, yellow goo until he had himself looking close to what he’d been just a moment ago.

He laughed. It was a waterlogged, gurgly laugh, but it was mostly his own, rippling out like a wave. He was not dead. Not dead was good.

“Nick?” Alan’s voice, in disbelief.

Nick squinted up. His eyes must have changed with the rest of him, yet somehow his view of Alan was still blurry without his glasses. No glasses, and no clothes either, but he didn’t seem to need them now. This fact should probably have bothered him more. At least he found the weight of his ponytail at his neck when he sat up.

Alan just stared down, horror and relief duking it out on his face.

“Mo!” Nick called. “I’m right here. This stuff is amazing!” His new sort-of flesh fascinated him as he looked it over now, glowing orange again with his glee like before. He rubbed his hands together. The outer layer of himself oozed transparent off his fingers, making webs when he spread them. Still couldn’t see anything far off so well, though. That would be a problem.

“I’m gonna need new glasses,” he mumbled.

As he moved to stand, he could feel the top of the goo peel from his backside. Sort of rough, like the humming vat didn’t want to let him go.

Then he just… hovered above it. Like a ghost. He laughed again. When he thought about it, he moved up higher.

“Wait,” he told Alan. “I think I got this!”

Nick willed himself higher and just found more laughter bubbling out of him. He was floating. Actually floating, at least ten feet above the vat and twice that off the ground. Good thing he didn’t mind heights! He did have to stick his hands out to stop his ascent, tumbling end over end until he was on his backside a few feet over Alan.

Alan was back up against the other railing. He had a sample bottle in hand and was searching Nick’s face for… Nick’s face. Nick needed a mirror. Did he look like himself. His voice definitely sounded like himself. “It’s me, Mo. Can’t believe I lost my glasses. I think I have a back up pair in the lab. I think.”

Trembling, Alan approached. Nick rubbed at his face with his hands. The outer layer still didn’t stick to itself, though a few strands of it came off when he pulled away. He flicked them off. “Man, Mo, you will not believe what just happened in there. I scared you good, didn’t I?”

“How are you alive?” Alan breathed. His fingers tangled around each other. His palm was a bright, scalded red. Couldn’t be the chemical burn Nick had gotten before he fell, but, dang, was he alright? Not that Alan seemed concerned with himself just now. “The heat by itself should’ve killed you.”

“Gee, good to see you, too.”

“Shocked you! Fine! I just mean-”

“I know what you mean, but I’m fine!” Nick spread his arms. A few drops of that outer ooze dripped to the vat below. Little drops of inner, opaque goo sank in and out of his body, but it didn’t feel painful or anything. Seemed like breathing or blood flow, something autonomic he didn’t have to control. Basically the same as circulating anything else in a body. “See! Still alive!”

The fear on Alan’s face made Nick’s body warm. He found himself a hot white color. Fight or flight, like the goo heating up to move quickly. He calmed and willed the goo back to a yellowish orange. He grinned. He was getting the hang of this quick! “C’mon, Mo, don’t get dark. I’m still me.”

“What’s going on up there?”

Their attention shifted to the steps approaching on the floor far below. Nick and Alan exchanged startled looks.

“What do we do?”

“Uh.” Nick’s first instinct was to dive down, back into the safety of the vat. He at least fumbled his hover lower, just over the goo so the vat’s walls concealed him from whoever was shouting at Alan.

Nick peered over the vat’s edge. The man was a security guard, in navy blue with a gut and a walkie talkie at his hip. “You alright up there, sir?” the guard called up to Alan.

Alan took a moment to reply. His voice cracked at first, but he calmed to his usual tone before the guard could register it. “The rail’s broken! I was just on my way to find someone.”

“I can see that! You okay?” the guard asked. Nick stayed hidden as Alan gathered the box of samples into his arms and tapped down the stairs to the factory floor.

They carried on in their conversation. Nick tuned out as something batted at his ankle. No burn this time, just the goo rising a tendril and clinging to him. It buzzed again. Sadness chorused into him with a new sound, a purring pbbt like the saddest raspberry Nick had ever heard. The humming little song continued until Nick was almost guilty to leave the goo.

But he had Alan to worry about. Nick floated over the wall of the vat, then drifted slow and wobbly to the factory floor. Now for the tough part. Alan had the guard’s full focus, telling the half truth that he’d been here with an employee friend. The guard just rambled about drifters and needing to up the safety measures on this hunk of junk. Famous last words for a guy who left the door propped open for Nick to slip through.

His float picked up speed once he got out of the factory. He wanted to go full Superman, up and away to test this new ability, but he spotted his van and darted for the driver’s side. If he could get in and drive him and Alan to his lab, maybe he’d be able to learn more about what this all was.

But his fingers slipped on the handle. He couldn’t get his thumb to put enough pressure on the button to even wedge it open, the ooze on his hands making it impossible to get a grip.

“Shit.” Anxiety washed over him, setting his body blazing white. He patted himself down. His wallet had been left in the glove compartment, and he had a spare set of keys from Holly, but his other effects had been dissolved with the rest of him. What’s the use of spare keys if he couldn’t hold them, anyways? Could he drive at all?

He got a pretty good look at himself in the side rear view. His face was definitely less defined, even if it was a pretty good approximation of the human Nick Cervos. He angled the mirror. Peered for the deep brown of his eyes, but these ones were white with an orange pupil. “Jesus,” he mumbled, and his mouth moved but he could feel the word vibrate from all over his body.

He was studying the inside of his new mouth- no individual teeth, but there were ridges to mimic them and a tongue, and it’s only hollow to the back of his throat- when he heard voices.

He ducked behind the back door, hovering so his feet couldn’t be seen underneath. Alan and the guard again, casual and cordial about whatever was being said.

“You take care, Mr. Mortimer!” the guard called.

“I will,” Alan said back. “Have a good night!” He sounded almost relieved, like nothing in particular had happened at all. Nick glowed a peachy orange, proud. Alan kept so calm under pressure.

Alan leaned against the passenger door. Sighed, hugging the box to his chest. “I thought I just saw the craziest thing happen, Nick. You should tell your boss her products might cause hallucinations.”

Nick laughed, but it was a false laugh. A laugh who didn’t know who it was kidding, it was so fake.

Alan froze in his slouch, eyes wide. “Nick. It didn’t actually happen.” Not a question, just a statement of what he hoped to be fact. Nick’s silence earned a more insistent, “Nick!”

“Surprise, Mo,” Nick said, floating into view. Arms spread and glowing with a forced pep, but getting more real by the second. There was so much he had to learn, and Alan had made it out okay so this was all going to be fine. “At least you’re not crazy, huh?”

Alan just stared. Clutched the box in his arms, eye twitching.

Nick waved his hands and flicked a little ooze on the van. “Surprise!”

[crocgirl420]

The chances of me Jonas brothers spiraling and spending the entire night watching the band in a bus diaries instead of doing my human rights reading are. Astronomical.

[blacksupremacy86]

All In The Family

Part 1 - 3

My best friend family is mega bucks wealthy rich since the day I have known him from like about two years.

I hear my buzzer go off letting him hit in and he hits the staircase, and greet him.

I am at the door walking out as he greets me with a smile, and we head down the stair case.

We enter his limo heading off for the hour long ride to his home, it’s definitely new rich.

I smirk handing over my cd I just made for him as he gives it to his driver and he plops it in.

“Jack please play the cd jeeves now.”

“Yes Master Jack”

“Lawrence what is this? It’s amazing “

“I love this…..it’s”

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“I know so much synchronicity dragging you in and falling in to a deep trance.”

He lost in a deep trance staring straight in to face me, and I lean in to his body.

I kiss him slowly forcing him to fall on to my lap, we make our intensely with love.

He can’t help himself kissing me more and more as he is falling for me.

The man I’ve carved for so long is all mine to control, I undo my pants for him.

He is inhales my scent as I force his nose on to my cock and he begins to sniff.

His mouth opens up my hand smashed my penis in to his mouth, and make him suck it.

Part 4 - 6

His chauffeur opens the door for us as the limo stops cold, I pull myself back in to mi pants.

He pouts in disappointment cleaning himself up, and he looks pretty dapper.

Inside of the house tuxedos, drunks, music and more flows all over me.

He introduces me to his older brother in a sly attempt, he kisses me to a shock crowd.

I want to fucking marry in to this family and take them for all they have.

I snap my fingers Jack takes me back to his room, as we make out.

“Hey, can we place the music back on?”

“Yes boi, go head let’s do it”

“I love you, Master Lawrence!”

“I love you too”

“Get the hell off of my brother”

“Yes Master”

“Colton, listen to my music let go”

“No! What the fuck?”

“Get off me bro”

“What are you doing to me?”

“Uuuggghhhh! Ssstttoooppp!”

“Fffeeelllsss sssooo ggggoooodddd”

Part 7 - 9

There father had died recently leaving all of his six children a piece of the empire he built from scratch.

I am receiving text from Colton, and Jack who are keeping the crowd busy as they set they scene.

Jack

Master I am looking for the dj, ok found him.

Colton

Jack set it up, I am getting the party going my king.

Jack

Come down stairs now Master.

Colton

They are trancing out.

“Excellent jobs boi!”

“Thank you sir”

“Yes sire”

“We belong to you “

“You are our lord and servant”

“Sir Yes Master Sir”

“Sir is this is our brother Oliver”

“Nice to meet you! This music is good”

“Did you make this?”

“Yes forget it and listen “

“Oh God! Feels good”

“Mmmmmmmmm yes! I obey “

The end

[cigardadmasterdj]

“Hey! Who let the fag in here? HA! Just kidding, dumbass. Hey! Who said you could sit down!”

I go from amicable to furious in about a second. You are dumbfounded, because you’re just a fag. That’s all you’ll ever be to me. You disgust me, you can tell.

“God, dumbass! Get on the floor so you’re looking up at me, for fuck’s sake! You aren’t fit to sit with me like a man!”

You get down on your knees.

“Now then. Let’s get reacquainted. I’ve been pleased with our interactions online. I think I’m ready to call you my property. But you’re going to have to work very hard. Now, my mansion requires a lot of upkeep, Stupid. Being my slave means you’re going to work like a Victorian bitch servant. That means getting up at the crack of dawn to make my breakfast from scratch, serving me breakfast in bed, making my bed when I’m done, and you’ll hold my clothes out for me like a Victorian valet. Every second of every day, you are going to please me and cater to my every whim. Now, I conduct business from my mansion because why wouldn’t I? It’s a fucking mansion. I’m rich. I can do whatever I want. I buy and sell people like you all the time, Faggot. Now come over here and kiss my feet, you stupid fuck.”

“Yes, Master,” you say weakly. And you’re kissing my feet. I smile and take a draw off my cigar.

“You’re so fucking weak!” I yell. “You’re such a piece of SHIT! Say you’re a piece of shit!”

“I’m a piece of shit, Master.” You respond well. I’m pleased.

“Now, I have a full weekly schedule for house maintenance that tells you when to do what. I have one other slave who helps run the premises and he will tell you all about your duties if you don’t understand anything. Let’s see, you’ll be mowing lawns, doing laundry, feeding the dogs. Oh and uh…if you displease me, you’ll sleep with the dogs on a fuckin’ blanket. You fucking mongrel bitch. Say you’re my dog.”

“I’m your dog, Master.” You say it gratefully. I’m pleased.

“You. Are. My. Dog. Now act like a dog. Sniff around the floor like the mutt you are, you simple fucking dog.”

You do so. You are acting like a puppy, whining and sniffing around.

“You will always eat on the floor like a dog. You will not eat with your hands, only your mouth. Am I clear, numnuts? I don’t want you thinkin’ you’re human anymore. You’re not on my level. You are a FILTHY MONGREL. You are SUB HUMAN. Do you understand, dumdum? You may speak, Fido.”

“Yes, Sir.” You nod. “Is…Fido my new name, Sir?”

“Your new name is Dumbshit Fag. Now. I have a humidor. I’m going to show you where that is. I want you to know because if I ever want a cigar, you are to fetch it for me. I’ll tell you which one I want and you will memorize the sequences and types of cigars I have.”

I lead you to my own personal humidor room. It’s large enough to be a cigar store. I entertain cigar parties as often as I can, with likeminded men such as myself.

I show you to the basement, where you and my other slave will sleep. On plain mats on the floor, with only a threadbare blanket. When winter comes, I’ll allow you a little more warmth but right now I want you butt naked around the house. I have you turn over your clothes. I introduce you to my first slave, who is slightly jealous that you’re here. I’ve given him permission to smack you if you do anything wrong, but if I feel he has misjudged the severity of the infraction, I will punish him. You see how that works? You’re both my fucking slaves. You are both my bitches forever.

“Now. You have some gardening to do. I’ll allow you gloves but not shoes. You are to walk around on the grounds in the nude. We’re fairly isolated and the property is large. Our nearest neighbors are in town, a posh little area that caters to the superrich. It’s one of those towns just tucked away for people that can afford a luxurious home in a tranquil, beautiful wilderness environment stocked with all the supplies and opportunities for outdoor fun you could imagine.

“Not that you’ll be having fun,” I tell you coldly. “But I will, dummy. I’ll have fun breaking you, hypnotizing you, brainwashing you for the next few weeks to be absolutely loyal to me, waterboarding you. Electroshock therapy to make it so that you’re terrified of displeasing me.

And there’s nowhere for you to go now. Nowhere. I chose you because you have nowhere else to go.

You’re mine. And I’ve chosen well. Welcome to the rest of your life, you stupid CUNT. Now uh…let’s get started. Wear this. Yeah, it’s a gag, so I don’t have to hear your screams.

Trying to run away? Fuck no, faggot!”

I slap you and punch you and gag you. I hold you down, and you’re such a fucking wimp that it ain’t that hard. I scream at you.

 MY NAME IS MASTER DJ. I AM A CASHMASTER, AND I HAVE ENSLAVED HUNDREDS OF MEN OVER THE YEARS. THEY ALL BOW TO ME. THEY WORSHIP ME. THEY CRAVE ME. THEY LOVE ME. I DESERVE IT ALL.

LIKE MY BLOG, STORIES AND CAPTIONS?

THANK ME VIA AN AMAZON GIFTCARD.

https://www.amazon.com/gift-cards/b?node=2238192011 

Send it to:

cigardadclassic@yahoo.com

I KNOW ALL. I SEE ALL. I SEE INSIDE YOUR FAGGOT SOUL.

https://www.amazon.com/gift-cards/b?node=2238192011

ALL FAGS LOVE ME. ALL FAGS WORSHIP ME. ALL FAGS CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF ME. YOU CRAVING SOME ORDERS, YOU LOWLY MAGGOT? HUH? COME MESSAGE ME ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO SERVE. MASTER DJ IS HERE, AND I’M BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY WAY.

[pollenat]

DAY6 and 5 ways to say I love you

JAE

The sound of rain behind an open window. He’s lying next to you, facing the ceiling. You’re too, but your face is slightly tipped to allow you a chance to watch him. Maybe it’s because of worry. Maybe because you feel so much from the sight, your head turns empty. When he sniffles, you turn towards him completely and embrace his chest.

A cake baked without a reason. You didn’t expect it, and he can see it clearly on your face. That only fuels his smile. Jae stands in his apron, proud, happy, wonderful. He almost drops the edible masterpiece when you kiss his cheek. “Not the cake! Anything, but the cake!”

Moments of sheer happiness when you forget everything wrong. You’re laughing like madmen, only fueling one another to continue when the other slows down. It’s a circle of painful jolts, until it’s too much, and you have to push him off the bed to calm down. “Ouch, I think I pulled an ab.”

His kisses tasting of sweet bubblegum. It’s so refreshing and joyful - it matches him perfectly. That’s exactly how you feel in his presence, always awaiting the unexpected, always happy to meet it halfway. Never disappointed.

Being mad when he takes your phone to change the playlist. As much as you adore him, you can’t just ignore the important rule - whoever drives the car, plays the music. DJ Jae doesn’t pay any attention to your complaints, and after what feels like forever, you relent. Only today, but you know there will be more instances like that.

SUNGJIN

Putting out your hand that’s for him to take. One of his eyebrows rises in  a questioning manner. A look around, a humored huff, and a soft smile later, he finally grabs your fingers that pull him to a standing position. “Are we going somewhere?” Do you need a reason to hold his hand?

A grill with your friends one cold evening. The wind is unpleasant, its waves reaching for every naked patch of skin available. You’re torn between the desire to escape, and the feeling of obligation to your friends. Then Sungjin calls for you, his arm outstretched for you. Without waiting, you run to sit by his side, face hiding in his neck, legs bending under his knees, hands finding his free one in the pocket of a sweatshirt.

Missing his face when you’re not on speaking terms. You’re watching the screen of your phone, waiting for a message in, or thinking about the one to send out. But as the minutes pass with four clouds left on unread, you fall only deeper into belief that it’s all for nothing. He won’t reply just because you ask him to.

Giving up the last piece of pizza with a small lie. Sungjin doesn’t want to relent, pushing it back in your direction. No matter how much you assure him of being full, he can’t just agree. Eventually, there’s only one way out for him to take - cutting the piece in half.

Your noses nudging one another in a quiet war of who’s more affectionate. Neither of you want to step back, and acknowledge the winner. But that’s alright. You could do it until the end of the world.

YOUNG K

His hands gripping the collar of the coat he put around your body. It’s cold outside, but Younghyun is close, sharing his personal warmth via your pressed chests. The distance is so small, he whispers, and you feel like there’s just the two of you, the surrounding crowd nonexistent.

Covering his face in kisses until he’s smiling again. It’s delicate at first, but he’s just holding it back. Five more, and he’s a goner, mouth widely open, eyes closed from the pressure of his cheeks. The world instantly turns a shade brighter. He wants to turn away from embarrassment. You don’t allow him. “I’m not finished!”

His habit to offer you every snack he has on him. Be it his last piece of mint gum, or a half-eaten chocolate bar, he’ll give it to you. Just because he wants to. “I offered, right? Don’t worry about me. I’d rather have you eating than myself.”

Evenings spent by a kitchen table, radio playing old hits while you take your time stuffing your mouths with takeaway. You’re either talking in small voices, singing along, or eating in silence, enjoying the normality of these moments. It’s your escape. Whenever a day becomes too much for you to handle, you await the evening’s ritual.

Lying in bed, making plans at 2 am, counting down places you want to visit, meals you want to taste, mountain tops you want o reach. You know they may never come true, but there’s something beautiful about sharing your hopes with someone you can trust. That night, when you eventually fall asleep, it’s while you’re thinking about how much the man in your embrace means to you.

WONPIL

The instant realization that something is wrong, when he doesn’t return the embrace. It’s rare for Wonpil to keep hands to himself. Worried, you slightly push him away, but only to have a look at his face. He doesn’t say anything, just allows you to fuss over him. When the time is right, he’ll tell you. For now, you just have to hold him tight.

A smile folding itself on your face when you notice him dressed in your big jumper. Wonpil loves taking your clothes, and you never tell him no, because how could you? Whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention, he sniffs the material, but you always catch the small noise he makes, and then look at him to see content written all over his face.

Pressing a moistened cotton ball down his cheeks. Your fingers then take another one to carefully dab his closed eyes, and relaxed eyebrows. The faux colors disappear to show his real self - small patches of discoloration, moles, scratches. All made for you to appreciate.

Getting ready to leave in the winter when his sweet voice calls for you. Wonpil’s eyes judge your assemble of clothing, and then he shakes his head disapprovingly. “You’ll get a cold! How could you forget your beanie?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, just puts the material on you. There’s no stopping at that, and when he’s done, you have trouble turning your body parts from the amount of layers. “Now you can go. Have a good day!”

The feeling of slim fingers playing with whatever they can find, be it your hair, birth marks, or ears. When he’s finished, he places a kiss in the same spot, as if he had to mark it as his.

DOWOON

Seeing him in bed, napping, when an impossible urge to be as close to him as possible overcomes you. Careful, you slip underneath his arm and a blanket, your head resting on his forearm. It’s uncomfortable, so you move it, eventually waking up the poor guy. Dowoon’s half-opened eyes gaze at you, and instantly close, his arms pulling you closer.

Crouching down when you’re the first to notice his unlaced shoes. He’s instantly alarmed by your movement, calling for you to stand up. His hand awkwardly pats your shoulder, because he knows you won’t listen to his pleas. When you’re done, you stand up quickly, and kiss his cheek. Dowoon’s ears remain red for an hour after.

The afternoons when you come over to watch him practicing. He’s so used to your presence, he doesn’t get embarrassed anymore. Instead you find him smirking whenever he catches you staring. His confidence attracts you only more.

Sharing your favorite songs on a long bus ride. A cacti-shaped divisor for your headphones sticks out from the pocket of his jacket. When you open the palm of your hand, he takes it without thinking. It’s warm, a stark contrast to the cold droplets of rain outside.

Giggling conspiratorially at a house party. Nobody knows what the two of you are about, but the subject is dropped after your stubborn lack of answers. Much later someone finally points out your mismatched socks - both of you with one piece from each pair. “Is it a cute couple thing?” “No, it was a social experiment.” “Okay?”

➛ pollenat’s list of reactions

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

[bbqwailmer]

Okay !! I couldn't wait long enough !! Here's my addition to Nowen Week 2020 Day 2: Cooking !!

The link to the ao3 is here but you can just scroll down to read it on tumblr.

~anyway~

Cookin' Up a Storm

Word count: 929

October 26th was a special date. It was the day that officially marked the beginning of Owen and Noah’s relationship. This was of course not to be confused with June 26th, which was the anniversary of their friendship. Every year, the two did something special to commemorate both days; in June they would do something as friends would, and in October they would do something more romantic. Owen and Noah had both taken the day off work; determined to celebrate their fourth year together. 

Noah woke up especially early that morning, the sunlight disgustingly bright and cheery. Noah didn’t wake up early or care for romantic things in life, but today was different. He woke up earlier than seven, a feat accomplished a maximum of twice a year. He was, by nature, a creature of laziness.

Quietly, Noah crept down to the kitchen, although he hadn’t needed to; Owen was a heavy sleeper. He planned to make his boyfriend breakfast in bed - afterall, Owen’s favourite thing (after Noah, of course) was food. He planned all week what he was going to make - eggs, pancakes, bacon, even hashbrowns - and it had to be perfect . He collected recipes and ideas from the internet, and asked a few of his friends to help him out (DJ mostly; at the young age of 19 the man had already become one of the best chefs Canada had ever seen). Noah was going to make the best damn breakfast Owen ever had.

Sneaking the ingredients into the house had been difficult; Owen could sniff out any food if he was hungry enough. The night before, Noah stuffed them into a bag and shoved them into the bottom of the fridge where Owen was too tall to see, and thankfully he’d managed to keep him out of the fridge overnight.

He started with the hashbrowns, putting oil in a pan to heat up. Sure, the hashbrowns might not be made from scratch, but he thought frying them with his love would suffice. He let them sizzle away as he set out the ingredients for pancakes, measuring out the correct amounts and checking up on the hashbrowns, humming a tune as he worked. Everything was going exactly to plan. The day would be perfect.

---

When Owen had gone to sleep the night before, Noah cuddled in his arms, he hadn’t expected what the next day would bring him. He was excited about his plans with his boyfriend, and expected Noah to pull off some sort of surprise, but had no idea the absolute chaos of the surprise that was to come.

When he woke up, he noticed Noah wasn’t in bed with him. Unusual, as Owen always woke up before Noah. The second thing he noticed was a distinct burning smell, coming from outside the bedroom door. Now, Owen could tell the differences in smells - he had a seasoned nose - and the burning smelled exactly like a burnt potato. His brain connected the dots - no Noah in bed plus burning smell?

Uh oh.

He leapt out of bed quickly, flinging the door open, the smoke alarm going off at the same time. He rushed downstairs to find Noah in the kitchen, frantically trying to put out the fire on the stove. 

“Noah! Stand back!” Without thinking, Owen flung the cupboard doors open and grabbed the container of salt, hurling the box at the fire with great force. To his relief, the fire sputtered out, leaving the smell of well-done potato and smoke. The fire alarms cut out.

Owen turned to Noah, making sure he was okay. Noah's safety was the only thing that mattered right then, although the burnt potato was a sad loss. 

“Noah? You okay?” He pulled Noah into a tight hug, picking him up off the ground, unwilling to let go, unwilling to let this cruel world harm his Noah. When he did release him from his plush, bear grip, he placed Noah on the island bench.

“Yeah.” Noah glared daggers at the spot where the fire had been. So, maybe it hadn't been as big as he'd thought. “It was supposed to be breakfast in bed,” he said bitterly.

Noah looked pissed, angry with the outcome of the day’s start, but having been with him for so long, Owen could tell he was upset with himself. Owen wouldn’t have that; he didn’t care if Noah messed up, he loved him to the moon and back, and would always support him however he could. They could clean up the kitchen and find something else to eat. 

“It’s okay, we’ll go out for breakfast. No use crying over spilled salt.” he giggled at his pun.

“But I messed it up. It was supposed to be special .” Noah looked at his hands, fiddling with his fingers. Owen took his hands in his, kissing each one. 

“I don’t care about the kitchen, or the food. You’re more important to me. I just want to spend time with you, whether it’s breakfast in bed or putting out a fire like a sexy fireman. I love you.”

Noah grinned, “Yeah, you were pretty hot, putting out that fire. My hero.”

“And does this sexy hero get a thank you gift? Maybe like… a kiss?” Owen grinned back.

“I guess I can do that.” Noah placed his hands on either side of Owen’s face, pressing his lips against Owen’s gently. “Thank you,” he whispered when he pulled away, keeping their faces close. Owen knew he meant it more for his encouraging words than his brave actions. “I love you too.”

[cinnaminsvga]

💋 | tlhc!yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ tlhc!yoongi ft. jungkook | 3.5K words → a/n: this was written after an anon sent me a REALLY angsty idea for tlhc and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since. also, this takes place after namjin’s wedding but before yoongi and y/n get together (in this drabble, they’re “dating” but i say that loosely because... well. they’re fucking yoongi and y/n so OFC they’re stupidly, emotionally constipated). anyway... here’s This!! rip!!

Yoongi knows he’s being childish when he leaves your shared apartment with a large pout on his face. He knows that if he just tried a little harder, he could’ve convinced you to let him stay at home instead of going to some godforsaken bachelor party. He hasn’t been to a party involving body shots and strippers since he graduated from university, and he isn’t exactly keen on returning to that particular scene either. He has always been a more wine and dine type of guy, and everyone is aware of this.

It’s a well-known fact amongst his circle of friends that Min Yoongi isn’t keen on attending most types of social gatherings. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, casual get-togethers… It didn’t matter what the occasion is because Yoongi is certainly going to hate every second of it. It didn’t even matter if the party was being hosted by a long-time friend; after all, sitting in a room filled with half-strangers and estranged friends isn’t exactly what Yoongi would consider a “fun time.”

It doesn’t stop people from inviting him out of courtesy, though.

Most of the time, Yoongi is able to grit through the pain of human interaction as long as you tagged along with him. You’re kind of like Yoongi’s walking meat shield when it comes to parties, though you aren’t exactly fond of his analogy when he had explained himself to you. Nevertheless, you always did understand him better than anyone else, always being his savior from awkward small talk by redirecting the conversation away from him. Or, you would quietly tug him outside to the backyard so that the two of you could pet the party owner’s dog or something.

Truly, what would he have done without you?

“I still don’t understand why you expect me to go to this party alone. You’re practically feeding me to the sharks,” Yoongi whines, not at all immaturely. He can hear your exasperated sigh through his phone speakers, though he imagines that you hadn’t been aiming to conceal your ire in the first place.

“Yoonie, it’s Jungkook’s bachelor party. You heard what that dweeb said: ‘No girls allowed’ or some shit. Like some sort of toddler. I’m surprised he even asked you to attend.”

“Are you implying that I should be barred entry because of my feminine hips?” Yoongi asks, hopeful. “Cause honestly, I was only kinda offended when Jungkook said I had twink-sized proportions, so I mean…”

You scoff, though Yoongi can imagine you shaking your head with tired fondness. AKA, your default mood towards him on most days. Yoongi doubts that fondness is going to help him convince you to let him get the fuck out of this party, though. “Save it. You’re going to that party or else.”

Yoongi sniffs, offended. “Honestly, you should be the one going instead of me. I’m not as close to that pussyboi as you are.”

“Hey, only I’m allowed to call him that,” you chide. “Besides, you already left the house. I don’t understand why you’re calling me in the first place. It’s almost 8PM and you should be at the restaurant by now.”

It’s true. Yoongi is literally already in front of the restaurant where they all agreed to meet before heading out to the “main event,” or whatever the hell that means. It could only end badly; after all, Park Jimin had been the one to organize this shitshow of a bachelor party. Things will not go in Yoongi’s favor tonight if Jimin can help it.

“I’m only here because you threatened to disfigure Kobe Bryant-sunbaenim! That bobblehead is limited edition!” Yoongi has the strongest urge to stomp his feet, though he restrains himself only so that the hostess by the entrance of the restaurant won’t call the manager on him (again.) He is nearing his 30’s for fuck’s sake! Then again, Seokjin is a year older than him and if Yoongi’s future is anything like his, he shudders to think what might become of him.

“Yoonie,” you say, voice steely and quiet. Uh oh. You’re getting genuinely angry by now, and Yoongi knows he’s pushing your buttons to their limits. However, he wouldn’t be doing it otherwise if he really didn’t want to go to this party. He hates disappointing you, but nothing on this planet could ever make him want to go through those mahogany doors and face that bucktoothed loser with stars in his googly eyes.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I know, I know. I’m being childish. It’s just a party and I should just endure it. Although, I’m not promising that I’ll even try to pretend that I’m enjoying it. That’s beyond my paygrade, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says, picking his hangnails as he gazes at the entrance of the restaurant. The hostess’ left eyebrow twitches slightly, a forced customer service smile on her lips. Yoongi feels a sudden sense of strong camaraderie with this stranger.

“I was just gonna say that if you really can’t stand the party, then I’m allowing you an out. If you can stay there for at least two hours, then you can leave once you’ve––“

You hardly get to finish your sentence when Yoongi cuts you off, a strangled sob of relief escaping his throat. “Oh, thank you, my goddess! You are truly the apple of my eye; I shalt never speak ill of you no longer! You are heaven incarnate, my fair and beautiful mistress, the sun who has chased away the darkness––“

“Shut the fuck up, court jester,” you say, endearment dripping like honey off of your words. But Yoongi is already smiling ear to ear, hopelessly warm for some reason. If Hoseok had been around, he would have gagged at the sight of the two of you.

We’re so whipped, Yoongi thinks idly to himself.

“Now go say hello to Jungkook for me, will you? And please, if either he or Jimin do anything stupid or illegal, try to hold them back a little, okay?”

“Nope, I don’t think so,” Yoongi says, before promptly hanging up. Before he pockets his phone, he texts a short “ily” just in case he actually might have pissed you off. Either way, that will be a problem for future Yoongi to figure out.

Just as he ended the calls, a muffled crash and what sounds like a hyena being forced down a trash compactor from inside the restaurant echoes ominously through the open streets. Yoongi and the hostess hardly flinch at the cacophany, both of them staring glassily at the smoggy South Korean sky with quiet acquiescence.

“Fuck me,” Yoongi says. “Fuck me, indeed.”

*.*.*.*.*

The party is as terrible as Yoongi had imagined. Scratch that––Yoongi doesn’t think his imagination is capable of conjuring such a nightmarish scene. He’s pretty sure at least 99% of the inhabitants of this strip club were doing something slightly to moderately illegal. Case in point:

“Jeon Jungkook, I don’t think you should be doing that,” Yoongi yells over the discordant noise that the DJ is trying to pass off as “music.” Jungkook pauses in his ministrations to turn to face Yoongi, which is a feat in itself, as it appears that Jungkook’s eyes were facing opposite directions. Yoongi chooses to maintain eye contact with his left one.

“Whaaa? Why not, coconut?” Jungkook giggles at his little rhyme at the end, but his laughter sounds garbled, probably hindered by the amount of saliva pooling inside his mouth.

Yoongi points at his hands. “Jungkook. I’m pretty sure that is not salt that you are pouring over your fries.”

It takes a few moments for Jungkook to register anything that Yoongi had said. In fact, Yoongi doesn’t think he registers them at all; Yoongi has to forcefully take away the soiled plate of “mystery powder fries” away from him before Jungkook even realizes anything is going on.

“Heeeey, getchur own food, boomer!” Jungkook whines, making grabby hands at the plate before flopping pathetically onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi, ever the gentleman, pushes the younger off until he tumbles off the side of the booth and into a mysterious puddle spilled by one of the scantily clad “mechanics.” Jungkook, to his credit, gets up back onto his seat with some semblance of grace (which is to say, he managed to get his ass onto the couch without any additional injury.)

“I can’t believe I’m literally at a glorified children’s party. And I thought babysitting Namjoon’s little demon was bad enough,” Yoongi groans, grimacing in disgust at the mystery liquid from the floor oozes gently down the side of Jungkook’s face. “Dude. Wipe your fucking face.”

Jungkook, known laundry-fanatic and clean freak extraordinaire, promptly takes off his pristine white shirt and uses it to dab his face away. After which, he throws it somewhere behind him, right into a circle of twinks who proceed to fight over who gets to keep it. “Better,” he mutters, same dopey smile on his face.

“Just 1 hour, 18 minutes and 34 seconds left, Yoongi… I can do this,” Yoongi says through clenched teeth. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, tries to remember what his therapist told him to do when he’s slowly losing his grip on reality. Then, Jungkook throws up all over his new leather shoes.

“Hyung,” Jungkook mutters sleepily, head lolling like he’s about to drop dead in a second. He grins dopily at Yoongi, a string of saliva dripping down the side of his cheek. “I think I’m sick.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” And so, like the kind person that he is, he drags Jungkook by the armpits, dodging sweaty strippers and drunken guests alike as he tows the younger to the nearby restroom. Yoongi contemplates bringing Jungkook to Jimin to take care of him instead, but that idea is completely dashed the moment he sees the latter drinking shots as if it were water. The risk of having two people vomit on his shoes in one night would have been extremely high, and Yoongi isn’t an idiot. So he takes the idiot draped across his back to the toilet himself.

The restroom is empty when they arrive. When Yoongi slams the door shut, it becomes shockingly quiet as the noise from outside gets dulled to a soft throb. Yoongi immediately dumps Jungkook against one of the chipped porcelain sinks, grimacing slightly when the younger causes the sink to groan precariously from his weight.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook warbles. The sweat on his brow has made his bangs stick to his forehead in strange patterns, and Yoongi imagines he could rearrange his hair to spell out “SHITHEAD” if he so desired.

“What.” Yoongi grabs a handful of paper towels and proceeds to try (and fail) to clean the carnage on his shoes. Meanwhile, Jungkook just stands there quietly, spit long since dried on his face, adding to the sheen already there. The quietness of the restroom is both jarring and awkward compared to the insanity just behind the door, and Yoongi finds himself preferring to look at his black-turned-brown shoes instead of the boy standing just to his right.

“I think I overdid it,” Jungkook admits after a while. Yoongi chances a glance upwards before looking back down at the floor, uncomfortable when he sees the surprisingly sober face of a man who had just finished drinking ten tequila shots. 

“You think?” Yoongi snorts, rolling his eyes. He inches forward towards the sink, gently nudging Jungkook out of the way to wash his hands. Jungkook has still yet made a move towards the faucet himself, but Yoongi isn’t about to offer to clean him up either. He’s already a Samaritan for bringing him to the restroom; he’s used up all his empathy points for today.

“Y/N and Tae always say that I have severely low impulse control.”

True to form, Yoongi’s traitorous ears perk up at the mention of your name, and he finally makes full eye contact with Jungkook through the mirror. “It took two people and ten tequila shots to figure it out? Geez. No wonder you almost didn’t graduate kindergarten.”

“Hey, I told you that in confidence,” Jungkook pouts.

“Not my problem,” Yoongi retorts, indifferent. Yoongi stares at him for a moment. “Jesus. You look like a fucking mess. You sure you’re getting married next week?”

“I’m pretty sure, unless Taehyung changes his mind,” Jungkook shrugs. Well, that was certainly not quite the answer Yoongi was expecting. Yoongi must not have been quick enough to hide his surprise because Jungkook laughs coldly, the sound mirthless and paper-thin––not at all like the ridiculously mirthful manchild he’s always known him to be.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?” Yoongi had meant to say it like a joke, but his harsh tone doesn’t escape his own ears. God, he wishes he was better at this, but sue him for lacking practice at consoling other human beings.

Luckily, Jungkook takes it in stride, shrugging his shoulders. “Not really. More like… I’m in disbelief? That he’d actually… after all this time…”

Yoongi doesn’t reply at first. For as long as Yoongi has known him, the elder has never quite connected with Jungkook, for whatever reason. Hearing him speak so candidly about his feelings like this is new territory for Yoongi, and it’s strangely making him nervous. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as he is faced with a side of Jungkook that Yoongi didn’t think he was capable of having. Sure, you’ve told him vaguely about the problems that Jungkook has asked advice about, but never has Yoongi ever thought that he’d be doing the same. The two of them just weren’t… like that.

“I’m sure Taehyung likes––no, loves you. A lot. Anyone with eyes can see that he absolutely adores you,” Yoongi says after a while, coughing awkwardly into his fist. God, he sucks at this. Where are you when he needs you? You always knew what to say in moments like this.

Jungkook laughs again, and it’s just as discordant as the first. He shakes his head, empty smile on his lips. “It’s not that. I don’t doubt him in the slightest. It’s more like… I’m doubting myself.”

Now that catches Yoongi’s attention. Self-doubt, loneliness, fear: if Yoongi had to be an expert on anything, it would be for those three. He… he gets it. “Jungkook, if this is about feeling like you don’t deserve him, then you’re dead wrong. You’re allowed to be loved, Jungkook. Believe me, I know more than anyone what denial feels like. The two of you aren’t going to crash and burn, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Jungkook smiles wryly at that. “Thanks. But it’s not… it’s not that.” Jungkook pauses, and it looks like the words get caught in his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it. Grimaces like he’s swallowed something bitter. He takes a deep breath, looking as uncomfortable as Yoongi feels. “Yoongi-hyung, I have a confession to make.”

Now Yoongi’s confused. “What?”

“I haven’t been… candid. With you. About…” Jungkook takes another shaky breath. “About me and Y/N.”

Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He feels the sweat start to form across his palms, and he clenches them into fists to stop them from shaking. He can almost sense the disaster before it even hits, feels the floor swimming underneath his feet, waiting to devour him whole.

“What?” Yoongi repeats.

“I’ve been thinking about it, recently. It’s been years since I last even remembered it, but then it started plaguing my dreams, and it’s… It’s ruining me. I need––I need to come clean or else I might die with regret,” Jungkook says. Yoongi still doesn’t understand what he means; Jungkook is just saying words without saying anything at all, and it’s making the wait even more terrible.

“Kook, just spit it out already.”

“Hyung, I beg of you. Please don’t think badly of me but…” Jungkook slumps to the floor just then, both the sink and his legs unable to keep him up any longer. Against his will, Yoongi tumbles with him, compelled to follow him down.

“What? What? What?”

“I kissed her,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low. Whispered like a secret. Because it is a secret, even though it isn’t any longer. Not when the words have crawled out his mouth and into Yoongi’s ears, making its way to his brain where it refuses to be understood, to be processed.

“What?” Yoongi can’t seem to remember how to breathe, much less how to speak. He can’t say anything else except, “What?”

“N-not recently. A long time ago,” Jungkook hurries, fear crossing his face when he realizes how he must have sounded. “I would never cheat on––Y/N would never cheat on you––“

His words do nothing to quell the thunderous beating in Yoongi’s chest. He can only stare as the younger jumbles over his words, fat tears starting to dribble out of his eyes like waterfalls. Why is he crying? This is so wrong.

“We––when you broke her heart, all those years ago. Before she ran away to Daegu––“

Yoongi remembers. Of course he does. He doesn’t think he can ever forget.

“––she was so so sad, and it fucking hurt. It hurt seeing her like that, you know? I… I hated you for it. So much, hyung,” Jungkook sobs, hiding behind his hands. He wipes at his face, smearing his sweat, tears, and vomit with shaky movements. “And then she kissed me but it was a mistake because she was heartbroken and she just wanted to feel––to feel something? I don’t know… And then I pushed her away––“

“You pushed her away?” Yoongi interrupts, uncharacteristically calm. He thinks like he should be screaming, maybe. Or feel jealous, even. But then again, this had happened years ago, when you and he hadn’t even been… anything, at the time. Hell, he has no right to be hurt by this. He shouldn’t even be allowed to resent Jungkook for it. Shouldn’t have to feel like he won’t be able to forgive Jungkook. So then why is he..?

Jungkook nods. “I-I did, but that’s not… the whole thing. For a while, I thought that maybe…” He curls into himself, bowing his head in shame. Yoongi doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what he was about to say.

“You used to love her, didn’t you?”  

Jungkook nods again, ashamed. Disgusted with himself. “Pathetic, right?” 

But the thing is, Yoongi already knew this. You’ve told him about Jungkook’s misplaced affections for you; it had happened during a stressful time for the both of you, and you had assured Jungkook that his feelings were just a figment of his imagination. You believed that Jungkook had just been lonely, desperate for someone to cling onto especially after all that drama between Taehyung and Hoseok at the time.

“She kept telling me that I wasn’t in love with her. And for a while, I believed her. But then, when she was about to leave for America, we… we kissed again. Just to… I wanted to make sure,” Jungkook slams his fist onto the dirty restroom floor, clawing at the tiles like an animal in pain. It’s getting harder for Yoongi to understand Jungkook through his sobs, but he is afraid of even moving lest Jungkook stops speaking. It’s like watching a car crash––no matter how much Yoongi is afraid, he can’t look away.

“When we kissed the second time... She laughed. I laughed. ‘No spark,’ was what she said. I agreed because I had no other choice but to,” Jungkook admits. He exhales like his chest has been ripped open, like he’s drowning. Yoongi feels the same way.

“It would be unfair if I said anything. To her, to you, to Taehyung… but most of all, to myself. Because it would never work. It’s not… I’m not...” Jungkook coughs, trailing off. He hacks his lungs out, forehead banging against his knees from the force. He heaves for air once, twice. Then, silence.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi whispers, momentarily stunned. When the younger doesn’t reply, he nudges his shoulder. No movement. Yoongi tilts his head upwards, only to find Jungkook’s eyelids already closed and breathing steadily through his nose. The bastard had finally passed out.

“Jesus,” Yoongi sighs, letting go of the younger and letting him crumple to the floor. Yoongi contemplates passing out as well. “Jesus,” Yoongi repeats.

He sits there in silence for a while, accompanied only by his thoughts and the muffled sounds of the party outside. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, only thinks to leave the restroom when a young couple (Jungkook’s college friends) burst in while making out, both incognizant of the odd pair slumped on the floor.

Yoongi leaves Jungkook there, but not before sending a short text to Jimin to go check on Jungkook, and sending another one to Taehyung for good measure. Yoongi rushes out of the club without looking back, feeling slightly more empty than he had before the night started.

You don’t comment when Yoongi comes back home earlier than expected. You don’t even scold him for breaking his side in the agreement. Wrapped up in blankets in front of the TV, you wordlessly open up your cocoon to let him slither in beside you, allowing him to wrap his cold feet against your legs. You don’t even complain when he falls asleep without another word, just gently caressing his hair as he descends into fitful dreams. He doesn’t bring up the party the next day, and neither do you.

The following week, the two of you attend Taehyung and Jungkook’s wedding.

[gianttankeh]

Dora Doll & Ali Robertson at ‘Midwinter Misery Minifest’, Henry’s Cellar Bar, Edinburgh: 18/1/19.

You can find out more about this Sonically Depicting cavalcade of weirdo sound here.

[escapingpost]

Five Things I Know About Cho Seungyoun

1.) Text messaging is an art form. An art form he knows nothing about.

You were at Seungyoun’s house, a place that you knew too well. You were sprawled on his living room’s couch and he was on the floor praying to his phone. You peeked at him once in awhile and you could have sworn you saw the five stages of grief in all those times you looked at him. You click your tongue at him.

“What? What is it? Is there something wrong?” Seungyoun looked at you with a matter-of-fact expression. He held his hand out as if he were asking for you to point out all his flaws.

Which was exactly what you were going to do.

“You need to stop sending her multiple text messages. You’re scaring the poor girl.” You put down the book in your hands.

“Oh? What does your young adult fiction book say about text messaging?” He rolls his eyes.

You scoff at him. Maybe he needed someone to tell him that being desperate was not a personality trait. “Seungyoun, she’s not interested.”

He takes a deep breath and holds his chest, “You know? Your words hurt.”

You throw him a peace sign, “Only true friends.”

An alert sound comes from his phone and the both of you exchange looks.

Seungyoun opens the text message.

You wait for his reaction which came as a shriek.

“She said sure!” He shines the phone’s screen in front of your face.

“I can’t see. Its too bright.” You swat his phone out of your face and you cross your arms.

Seungyoun recites the reply from his future date, “Sure, Seungyoun. I’ll let you know.”

You rub your temples. So much for future date. “Hey, lets go to that new jazz bar in Itaewon.”

“Can’t I need my schedule as open as possible. I don’t know when she’ll get back to me.” Seungyoun gets up from the floor and shoos your leg off his couch. He sits down on the couch and you place your legs on his lap.

“Never, Seungyoun. She’s never going to get back to you. I’m sorry.” You pat him on the head.

Seungyoun groans and drops his phone. He covers his eyes with his arm.

Seungyoun always replied back to text messages in less than a minute. He wore his heart on his sleeve and did not play any of the push and pull dating games. 

If you two weren’t best friends, he would’ve been a perfect partner. The last thing you wanted was someone complicated.

Seungyoun was as simple as pie.

“So, Itaewon?”

Seungyoun nodded, “Lets invite Hangyul too.”

2.) He only does soju. He had a strict no vodka/whiskey/rum/tequila policy “just because”

What was suppose to happen was an innocent outing to a bar in Itaewon.

What actually happened was Hangyul decided that jazz was not his thing and opted for clubbing instead. Of course, dumb and dumber stick together so you become the third member, the idiot who followed.

The three of you stuck together for a good ten minutes until the crowds finally separated you and Hangyul from Seungyoun.

Hangyul yells your name to counter the loud bass of the music. You move closer to Hangyul in an attempt to hear him.

“Do you want to get a drink?” Hangyul points to the bar where less people crowded.

You nod and Hangyul grabs your wrist with a smile, “Follow me.” he mouths.

Finally out of the sea of people dancing, Hangyul buys you a drink. He considered it as an apology for changing plans so last minute.

You look around for the “dumber” member.

Hangyul moves closer to your ear, “Seungyoun went to the DJ to request a song.

You give Hangyul a side glare. He wasn’t suppose to invade your mind like that.

Hangyul chuckles and he receives a drink from the barista. He offers it to you.

The thing with alcohol was you always drank it with Seungyoun ever since the two of you entered college. This was probably the second time you weren’t drinking with him.

But, you take the drink anyway because you already made the mistake of following the two of them into a club. You sniff the drink. ‘Yup, smells like strong alcohol.’ you think.

Hangyul easily finishes his drink and you tilt your head to the side letting out a defeated laugh.

He has a small proud smirk and gives you a head nod to signal you to drink.

You give it one more sniff before letting the acidic liquid hit your throat.

Hangyul nods his head in approval and lightly pats you on the head. You were sure it meant, ‘Good job, you're able to drink something else other than soju.’

You playfully smack his shoulder and begin to take another sip when a hand appears from the bottom of the cup to pull it away from you. You quickly look in the direction of the hand and see Seungyoun, “Hey!” You yell.

Seungyoun looks at Hangyul’s direction and snaps back to you. He downs the rest of the drink as your mouth gapes open in surprise.

“That was mine!” You yell over the music.

3.) As far as he’s concerned, sleep is optional.

Hangyul scratches his ear looking at the scene unfold in front of him.

Seungyoun, on the other hand, is between being present in the moment and “I don’t know who that is. I came with the handsome guy."

“I just don’t need to deal with children.” You leaned on the metal pole like it was the only thing keeping you standing. “But, why is my best friend a big child?” You look down at your fingers seemingly counting a math equation.

“Look, it was just one drink. Could’ve ended with one drink. You just had to take it away from her.” Hangyul sighs deeply.

Seungyoun had nothing to retort. Hangyul was one hundred percent right. Maybe if he did not take that first drink, she would not have to prove a point and have five more glasses of alcohol.

Both guys look back at you and click  their tongues in unison.

It took exactly two hours to drop you off back home. That was with Hangyul tagging along and helping. Seungyoun was your pack mule because he decided that carrying you was faster. Hangyul was the designated person to apologize for the ruckus you were creating.

You did not remember mostly everything the next day and you were more than glad to forget the night, for the most part.

However, you did remember something about Seungyoun only drinking soju because he was a child or something like that.

Also, you ended up back at Seungyoun’s small studio because you had to escape a murder that was about to take place. Who knew being dropped off by two healthy boys in their twenties, completely wasted, and at two in the morning was such a criminal offense?

“You, get out of here.” Seungyoun answered the door with disheveled hair and last night’s eyeliner that you had forced him to wear.

You scoff at his poor attempt at being serious and slip through the door frame.

Seungyoun closes the door behind him and blows his bangs out of his face, “Do you know how much trust I lost from your mother?”

You take a seat on his couch and shrug, “Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure your her favorite child out of the both of us.”

He says your full name in a low-tone, “This is serious!”

“Cho Seungyoun.” You copy his tone. “When are we going clubbing again?” You change your tone into a cheerful one. Too cheerful to be serious.

“I am so great to see you completely rested.” Seungyoun answers back with his own sarcasm and a lopsided smile.

It was then you realized Seungyoun’s eyes are slightly red on the rim. You look around his small studio and papers are scrapped all over the place, “Did you not sleep?” You get up to get a closer look and observe his face.

Seungyoun stares back at you and you hear his light breathing.

He slowly shakes his head side to side, “What am I going to do with you?”

4.) He does, in fact, need sleep.

Beep. Beep.

You peek from your phone, ‘Oh, its his phone.’ You look back at your phone, continuing what you were doing. To be honest, the silence was killing you. Yes, thee Cho Seungyoun was giving you the silent treatment. He had his headphones on, writing his "dumb” rap lyrics. Usually, he would have filled the room with beats that he was working on. Today, you were exiled from his music as punishment.

A few minutes later, you hear multiple text message beeps from his phone.

Annoyed, you avert your attention to him. “Can you silence your phone? I get it, you’re not talking to me, but someone else.” You snap at him.

Seungyoun looks at you and silences his phone, “There.”

You sit up on his couch, “What? What is it? Is there something wrong?”

Oh, how the tides have turned.

Seungyoun leisurely sits on his chair as his fingers tap on the arm rests. He has his chin up, looking down at you.

“010.″ He starts.

You squint at him as he starts to say random numbers, “What the hell, Seungyoun?”

“Hangyul’s phone number.” Seungyoun positions his hands so that all of his fingers aligned as if he was planning something.

You hold up your hand in confusion, “Okay, so?”

“You don’t want it?” His sentences are short and concise.

“Why would I want Hangyul’s” your words get quieter and taper off into silence.

“Well?” Seungyoun raises an eyebrow at you.

You think for awhile, “I don’t want his number through you.”

Seungyoun presses his lips in a thin line, “Interesting.”

“Tell him to come get my number himself.” you add.

Seungyoun’s mouth slowly opens in awe.

The tides change once more and everything was back to how it was suppose to be.

You let out a hearty laugh as Seungyoun grabs the nearest pillow to cover your face with.

Something about the heat in his small studio with no air conditioner had the two of you sleepy after a good few minutes of fighting (read: pillow fighting).

It was merely a cause of the heat.

Since there was only one pillow, you had no choice, but to fall asleep on his arm while he selfishly took the one pillow.

The two of you wake up at different times, but both of you continue to fall asleep even after that fact.

That damn weather.

5.) He has a problem.

There was definitely nothing more than friendship. Teasing each other, getting into petty fights, the childish banter, and all that happened every time you were with him. It definitely was not a feeling of love.

When Seungyoun hung out with his friends, it was the same question over and over again.

Are you guys dating yet?

The answer was the same every time. It became a default.

“Bull. Shit.”

Seungwoo reaches over to smack Dongpyo on the side of his head, “Watch your language.”

“But, hyung. They stick to each other like their life depends on it.” Dongpyo says as he massages the side of his head.

“That’s because, if they don’t, they might actually start missing each other. That would cancel all the denial they have.” Wooseok answers.

Dongpyo looks up trying his hardest to understand the situation.

Seungwoo lightly touchs Dongpyo’s hand, “Don’t try to understand it. None of us get it either.”

“Listen. I know for a fact that I can put all your suspicions to rest.” Seungyoun leans in.

“Oh yeah? Let me hear it. I’m ready for a good laugh.” Yohan scoffs.

Seungyoun ignores Yohan’s remark, “I gave her Hangyul’s number.” Seungyoun claps, “Boom.”

Seungwoo knits his eyebrows together and Dongpyo curses again, but he lets it go because it was actually called for.

“That’s not evidence. It’s just plain stupidity on your part.” Wooseok put his palms to his forehead.

Yohan looks at Seungyoun with pity in his eyes, “It wasn’t even funny.”

Seungyoun looks clearly offend at all of their remarks, “Damn it, guys.”

“I’m going to explain this to you slowly because you’re one of my precious juniors.” Seungwoo says softly.

Seungyoun has a sour look on his face, but continues to listen.

“You gave her Hangyul’s phone number so they could get to know each other, eventually date because, lets face it, Hangyul is a great guy.” He leaves out the part where Hangyul was not completely oblivious to his own emotions, unlike someone.

“And then, after they date, they’ll become official. Because Hangyul is the perfect package.” Wooseok makes sure to say his last sentence a little louder for the people in the back.

“Meaning you can see bye-bye to sleeping next to your “best friend” or getting into one of your fake fights because you guys have weird kinks like that.” Yohan continues.

“Hyung, I can take most of your bullcrap, but introducing her to Hangyul-hyung is really not it.” Dongpyo says.

Seungyoun looks around the table and slowly nods. Disappointed, he looks down at his lap.

The four boys exchange looks.

Yohan pats him on the back, “Its okay. Lets just see what happens.”

“I guess the only thing you can do is just do better than him.” Wooseok suggests. “I mean, you can sing, dance, and produce. You’re a great guy too, Seungyoun.”

Seungyoun looks up in realization.

That was it.

“So if I want to keep our friendship, I need to get her away from any type of relationship with any guy.”

“Huh?” Dongpyo widens his eyes.

“Relationships will only end in heartbreak, so I just have to stop her from seeing anyone, ever.”

“No. No. No.” Seungwoo repeated multiple times.

His problem was Lee Hangyul.

+1.) He knows too much about you.

“Hey, can you help me with my zipper?”

But he was going to carry that to his grave.

Sequel

[zen3to5]

J/H 7-23: Take It or Leave It

I suspect some of you reading this rewrite are more interested in what happens in this episode than in the season finale. This was certainly the moment of the show I was most interested in changing, and spent the most time on, once I decided to go past Season 5. I hope you enjoy it.

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT   It’s a quiet night in the basement. HYDE sits in his chair, sunglasses off, head bowed in thought over the coffee table. He’s bent far enough over that SCHATZI, sitting on the table, can sniff at his hair. DONNA, sitting on the couch, and ERIC, enjoying a popsicle while standing behind the couch, watch Hyde with great amusement.   ERIC: So, Hyde – it’s Friday night. Weekend’s coming up. The end of another week. Almost the end of the month. The month Jackie said you had to decide whether to marry her or let her go take that TV job in Chicago.   HYDE: (looks up) What’s your point?   ERIC: Oh, no point – I just like throwing that in your face.   Donna chuckles, swats Eric on the arm.   DONNA: Hyde, don’t you think it’s a little cruel to make Jackie sweat it out all month? I mean, shouldn’t you just get it over with?   HYDE: Get what over with?   DONNA: Well, you’re gonna say “no” to marrying her, right? Unless...   She and Eric gasp together. Eric drops his now-empty popsicle stick, and Donna’s right hand goes over her mouth while her left hand grips Hyde’s arm.   DONNA (cont’d): Oh, my God, you’re thinking of saying “yes!”   ERIC: Oh, my God. You want to marry her.   DONNA: (mocking) You want to marry her because you love her.   ERIC: (doing Hyde, to Donna) “Jackie, you’re everything this poor little orphan boy ever needed.”   DONNA: (doing Jackie, to Eric) “Oh, my God, I really am!”   HYDE: Would you two shut up? I don’t know yet, okay? And, if I say “yes,” it isn’t because I love her. Love is a concept cooked up by Madison Avenue to sell to losers who’re too afraid to be alone.   ERIC: Uh, no, you’re thinking of kittens.   He exits up the stairs.   Hyde sighs, sets Schatzi down on the floor and starts fidgeting with his eyeball ring. Donna slides down the couch, closer to Hyde’s chair.   DONNA: You really don’t know what you’re gonna tell her, do you? What, you’re not sure if you want to wake up every morning to – (doing Jackie) “Steven, we need new patio furniture! Steven, I need $200! Steven, don’t forget the PTA meeting!”   She laughs; Hyde scowls.   DONNA (cont’d): (serious) Or are you not sure she should stay here?   HYDE: (sighs) Look, remember when Red got sick, and Forman had to stay home but you were still gonna go to college, and he didn’t ask you to stay? And then when you were gonna get married, and he didn’t show up? He didn’t not do those things because he didn’t want to be with you. He just didn’t want to see you give up on your dreams and ruin your life. He let you do that on your own.   DONNA: What do you mean? I didn’t ruin my life. Radio DJ was the kind of job I was gonna go to college for, and I got that job anyway, so I didn’t need to go. I mean, okay, I thought I would travel more – or at all. I thought I’d get to do more of the writing. Point Place doesn’t get the biggest acts anymore. My boss is a skeevy perv. And I only stayed for Eric, and now he's going away, so...   She frowns, looks off in thought. From the corner of her eye, she notices Hyde staring at her.   DONNA (cont’d): Hey, this isn’t about me! This is about you and your loud-mouthed girlfriend, and if you don’t give her an answer, she’s gonna flood every station in the area with non-stop ABBA requests until you do!   She sits back in a huff, arms crossed. Hyde sighs and bends down to scratch Schatzi’s ears.

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - DAY   Breakfast with friends, invited or otherwise. FEZ and KELSO sit at the kitchen table, each with a plate of bacon, eggs, and sausages. Eric stands across from them, between the table and the stove. A sheet of paper is in his hand; his practice teaching notes. He pays them an occasional glance as he tries out a lecture on Fez and Kelso while they eat.   ERIC: “And so the baby, safely nestled in a tiny craft, is sent to safety, and is found by a loving couple who raise him as their own until, one day, when that baby is fully grown, he learns the truth about his identity – and his destiny. Now, you may be thinking, ‘that’s the story of Moses.’ But what if I told you that it’s also the story of... Superman.”   Kelso’s jaw drops and Fez’s eyes bulge.   KELSO: Whoa.   He stabs at some eggs with his fork and, without looking away from Eric, lifts them up to Fez’s mouth. Fez takes the bite and does the same thing with a sausage for Kelso.   KELSO (cont’d): (with mouth full) If church had talked more about Superman, I might’ve paid more attention when Moses was knocking down the walls of Bethlehem to save Noah from the Trojan horse.   ERIC: Pretty great, huh? And UW wants to expand the class’s appeal to ladies, so I’m working on a whole series of lectures about female empowerment in Wonder Woman.   FEZ: She can empower me right into the bedroom, if you know what I mean.   KELSO: You know what I always thought would be great? If you did it with Wonder Woman, but she kept her bracelets on the whole time. And then, if she brought the lasso of truth, she could get freaky with the lasso, and then... other stuff could happen.   Fez nods approvingly.   FEZ: Do you think the lasso would work on I Dream of Jeannie? Or would the genie magic grant her immunity?   KELSO: Did you just suggest a Wonder Woman and Jeannie three-way?   FEZ: Or Samantha from Bewitched.   KELSO: Or Wonder Woman, Jeannie, and Samantha from Bewitched!   He and Fez share excited gasps and dopey grins. Eric looks between them, eyebrows raised.   ERIC: Okay, guys – do me a favor and never visit me at UW when classes are in session.   RED and KITTY enter from the living room. Red gives Eric a contemptuous once-over.   RED: (to Eric) Well, well. If it isn’t the University of Wisconsin’s newest teacher. A lazy smart mouth who just wasted a year of his life sitting around in my basement, and who wasted most of the other seventeen years also sitting around in my basement.   ERIC: “Lazy?” I’ve spent all day, every day since I signed up for the pilot teaching program putting together lectures, reading lists, lesson plans – I even picked out Star Wars curtains for the classroom!   RED: Well, isn’t that great – you’ve finally come around to making some use of your time, and you spend it plotting out how you’re going to “teach” a lot of useless crap.   Kitty tuts, swats Red’s arm, and pushes past him to Eric.   KITTY: No, no. Honey, we are so proud of you for finding a way to pay for college and get started on your career. In Madison. The big city. Where there are concerts and restaurants and laundromats and you’ll never have a reason to come home to your mother. (sniffs) Who I guess will just stay here and die.   Lip quivering, she turns away and tends to a plate of bacon remaining on the stove.   RED: (to Eric) Teaching a pilot class that nobody can make any practical use of and making your mother cry. I guess that’s all in a day’s work for Professor Dumbass.   ERIC: Okay, you know what, Dad? I don’t have to take this anymore. Because I did exactly what you wanted me to do. You wanted me to pick a career – I picked one. You wanted me to go to college – I’m going. I even found a way to pay for it on my own. And you’ve just been a jerk about all of it. But I’m out of here at the end of the month, and until then, we’re done.   He gathers his notes and exits out the patio door.   Kitty crosses to Red, smacks him on the arm again.   RED: Ow! That one hurt!   KITTY: Serves you right. Eric’s right, Red. Would it kill you to show your son a little pride and support?   RED: For what? It’s not like he’s gonna be teaching anything useful.   KITTY: You think the only “useful” things are the things they taught you in the war! How many times since Korea have you had to fix a bayonet onto anything?   KELSO: (to Red) You know what? I bet the reason you’re being so mean to Eric is ‘cause you’re sad he’s gonna be gone, but you don’t wanna admit it.   FEZ: (to Red) Aww... someone is feeling the empty nest.   They both snicker.   RED: No, but I’m feeling like your asses are empty. And I’m about to fill them with my foot.   He gives the boys a cold stare. The grins fall from their faces. They jump to their feet and race out the patio door.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “I Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick.   INT. RADIO STATION - DAY   WFPP control room, early afternoon. “I Want You to Want Me” continues; it’s playing on-air. Donna sits at the control panel. JACKIE is with her, in a spare seat she has rolled back against the wall.   Donna turns off her mic, takes off her headphones, and turns to talk to Jackie.   DONNA:  I don’t know, Jackie. I mean, what if Hyde’s right? What if I’ve wasted a whole year of my life, just like Eric? And now he’s going to college and I’m gonna be stuck here in this dinky town, trying to get good music in between farm reports and ads for Benny’s Bodacious Bods Gym.   JACKIE:  Okay, Donna? No offense, but the only words of Steven’s I’m interested in right now are “yes, Jackie, I will marry you.” (sighs) God, why did I open up my heart to him?   DONNA: Yeah, I was a little surprised. I thought for sure you’d just try to manipulate him. I mean, the bitchy stuff is your bread and butter.   JACKIE: You know, I had fake pregnancy right up my sleeve, and I didn’t use it. Now I’m the vulnerable one, waiting for his answer.   DONNA: Well, Jackie, you did give him until the end of the month.   JACKIE: Which is almost here. Look, I thought, “if I really put myself out there, he’ll see how much I love him and say ‘yes’ right away.” And when he didn’t, I thought, “okay, well, maybe he’ll take a couple of hours or a couple of days and then say ‘yes.’” But now I think he’s only taking so long ‘cause he’s gonna say “no.”   She puts a hand to her face and turns away. Donna stands, crosses to her, and pats her back.   The control room door opens, and MAX enters with a stack of records. His long absence hasn’t changed his sense of style or scruffy facial hair. The girls don’t notice him at first, or he them; he crosses the room, sets the records down, and only on turning around does he see Donna and Jackie.   MAX: Donna?   Donna looks up, sees Max. She smiles and crosses to give him a hug.   DONNA: Max? Oh, my God! Where have you been? No one’s seen you since the Steve Miller Band concert.   MAX: Well, after I did the interview with Stevie, I bumped into someone from security. Knocked the drink tray he was carrying out of his hands. He said “wassa matter, you on dope?” And then one thing led to another, and... well, I��m back now. But I’m surprised you’re still here. Weren’t you and your boyfriend going to UW together?   DONNA: Oh, well... you know. Some things happened. (beat) Hey – how did you end up working at WFPP? I mean, was a small town radio station where you thought you’d end up?   MAX: Oh, no. No, I had my wild years, following the tour buses, traveling with talent I managed, living and covering the music scene from New York to L.A. Eventually, you get tired and want to settle down. And it’s a good thing we have going here.   DONNA: But you had your wild years first?   MAX: (nods) And that’s a good thing too.   He gives her a small smile, and Donna smiles back.   Their moment is interrupted by the arrival of the diminutive MR. RANDALL, as stodgy as ever. He knocks on the doorframe to claim attention.   MR. RANDALL: Max! What have I told you about leaving your music recommendations on my desk? You do it again and you’re out of here. For the last time, that Huey Lewis and the News group isn’t going anywhere!   He storms out.   MAX: (to Donna) Of course, not everything about this place is a good thing.   He grunts and exits.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – DAY   Later in the afternoon. Kitty sits at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of tea while she reads the newspaper.   Red enters from the basement, a box loaded with old toys, games, and posters in his arms. One G.I. JOE sticks out prominently from the load, as does a CANDYLAND BOX. He sets it down on the island, and the sound draws Kitty’s attention.   KITTY: (points at box) What have you got there?   RED: Nothing much. Just a few of Eric’s old things.   KITTY: (stands) Oh-ho! Seems like Michael was right after all. Seems like someone’s upset that his only son is leaving us in a few weeks and went looking for a few of this baby boy’s things to remember him by.   She chuckles, raps the table with her knuckles, and folds her arms, very smug.   RED: No, Kitty. I’m hauling some busted parts from the muffler shop to the dump later, and I figured I’d get rid of some of Eric’s old crap while I’m at it.   Kitty’s face drops like a rock.   KITTY: How can one man be so completely devoid of sensitivity?   RED: Easy. It was blown off by shrapnel on Okinawa.   Red picks the box back up and exits into the living room.   CUT TO:   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY   Overlapping with the end of the previous scene. The Vista Cruiser idles in the driveway. Eric and Hyde are seated in the patio chairs. Eric looks through the patio door into the kitchen, watching Red leave, while Hyde leans back and relentlessly taps his foot and fidgets with his eyeball ring.   ERIC: Man, can you believe Red’s being such a hard ass about this pilot teaching program?   Hyde gives Eric a look.   ERIC (cont’d): What?   HYDE: You’re gonna be teaching nerd books and Scooby-Doo to college kids and you’re surprised Red Forman’s making fun of you? Man, how is it that I’m the long-term guest in your house, and you’re the one who doesn’t get your dad? That’s like Han Solo knowing better than Luke Skywalker about Uncle Owen being a hard ass about the moisture farm.   Eric breaks into a dopey grin.   ERIC: Hey – did you just -   HYDE: Don’t get weird on me, Forman. I’ve gotta plan out my whole life before the end of the month and I’ve gone through my whole stash.   ERIC: Man, why is this such a big deal? I mean, Jackie’s basically letting you off the hook. It’s like the greatest going away gift ever – never having to see or hear Jackie Burkhart again.   HYDE: Oh yeah, it’s the perfect gift. It’s free, she didn’t have to wrap it, and it makes me wish I was dead. (sighs) Screw it. I’m not getting anywhere just sitting here. There’s only one place a man can turn before making a huge decision like this.   ERIC: Dive bar?   HYDE: Dive bar. You drive.   They stand, clap each other on the back, and head for the Vista Cruiser.   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   INT. DIVE BAR - EVENING   A dive so din, dark, and dank that even Bud Hyde wouldn’t tend that bar. A small, disreputable looking lot populate the place, which boasts a dart board, pool table, and a few short round tables, all occupied.   Eric and Hyde enter and immediately make for two open bar stools. Eric sits to Hyde’s left; a TRUCKER is already seated to his right. He doesn’t acknowledge the boys, and they don’t acknowledge him. Eric signals the BARTENDER for two beers.   ERIC: Man, Hyde, look at us. I’ve got my future in college to prepare for, you’ve gotta decide what to do about Jackie, and yet – here we are, about to get so drunk it’ll be a miracle if we can make it home with us and the Vista Cruiser all in one piece. (beat) I’m gonna miss this.   The bartender places two bottles of beer in front of the boys.   HYDE: (to Eric) You know, if anybody responsible we know was here, they’d tell me I’m not gonna find the answer to my problems with Jackie at the bottom of this beer. But you never know until you look.   ERIC: And, if it’s not in that one, it could always be in the next.   They pick up their bottles, clink them together, and take a big swill before slamming them back down on the counter. Slow push-in on Hyde’s bottle, and we begin:   MONTAGE. SET TO “YOU REALLY GOT ME” BY THE KINKS.   A) Hyde’s one bottle is now two. Slow pull out as Hyde, now tipsy, lifts up the second bottle, takes a swallow, and leans against a still-sober Eric.   HYDE: Okay – I made up my mind about Jackie. I’m gonna marry her! I’m gonna be Mrs. Jackie Hyde!   He takes another swig of beer and slams the bottle down. Push-in on the bottles, and cut to:   B) The two bottles are now four. Pull out as Hyde, now properly drunk, swings one of the bottles around as he spins his stool to face Eric.   HYDE (cont’d): How dare she give me an ultimatum! This is my life she’s messing with! She can go to Hell! I will see her in Hell!   He throws his head back, empties the beer bottle down his throat, and slams it back on the counter. Push-in on the bottles, and cut to:   C) The four are now seven. Pull out to find an off-balance Hyde and a now-drunk Eric with their arms around each others’ shoulders.   HYDE (cont’d): What the hell’s so great about Chicago anyway? And you’re getting out of here, Donna won’t stay here forever – what am I supposed to do? Spend the rest of my life in that basement, babysitting Tweedledee and Tweedletard? No way she’s leaving me alone with that!   He and Eric both swoop up their bottles, take a drink, and slam them down. Push-in on Hyde’s bottles, and cut to:   D) Seven is now ten. Pull out as Hyde pounds a fist down against the counter.   HYDE (cont’d): What the hell is she thinking, wanting to stay around here? This is her life she’s throwing away! (to Eric) Would you stick around here for a burnout living in your parents’ basement? No! No, you wouldn’t! No way I’m letting her do that!   He grabs a bottle, takes a swig, and finds it empty. He tosses the bottle over his shoulder and signals the bartender for one more. Push-in on the remaining bottles, and cut to:   E) Extreme close-up on Hyde’s loose, slack-jawed, spacey-eyed face. He’s well-loaded at this point.   HYDE (cont’d): You know what, Forman? I’m a little confused. But I do know that I love you, man. I really, really do.   He leans to his right, and we pan with him as he puts an arm around the trucker and kisses him on the cheek. The trucker shoots him an evil eye, and Hyde leans back slightly.   HYDE (cont’d): Hey, where’d Forman go?   Pan to the left as Eric, now well off-balance, leans in and taps Hyde on the shoulder.   ERIC: Still on your left, buddy.   Pan right as Hyde looks back to the trucker and offers a sheepish grin of apology. The trucker responds with a punch to the face. Hyde just manages to keep his balance long enough to throw himself back at the trucker and tackle him to the floor and out of frame.   Eric spins around for a better view of the fight. He’s slack-jawed and glassy-eyed himself, but still with it enough to pump a fist and cheer Hyde on.   ERIC (cont’d): Whoa, Hyde! You – you get ‘em, man! You got ‘em! You got ‘em! You... you really don’t got him. Wow. This is not good.   He looks all around the room; no one’s coming to help. Eric sighs and picks up his bottle.   ERIC (cont’d): Well, I had a future all planned out. There are worse ways to go.   He takes a swig, slams the bottle down, and leaps into the fray.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “You Really Got Me” continues.   INT. CONTROL ROOM – NIGHT   THE CIRCLE – or a half-circle, at least. Donna sits at the control panel, headphones on – she’s in Hot Donna mode. She sits to the left of the microphone, and Jackie, also with headphones, sits to the right. A diffuse cloud of smoke fills the control room. A stick of incense, propped in a bowl set under the mic, burns softly.   “You Really Got Me” wraps up. Donna flips on the microphone and leads in.   DONNA: This is WFPP, and you’re listening to Hot Donna. (plays bacon noise) That was “You Really Got Me” by the Kinks, requested by Jackie Burkhart.   Pan across the microphone stand to Jackie, who waves at the microphone as if it were a camera.   Pan to Donna.   DONNA (cont’d): Jackie, you’ve been here in the studio with us for about four hours now. You got anything you’d like to say to the listeners at home?   Pan to Jackie.   JACKIE: Yeah, there’s something I don’t get – why would Sally sell seashells by the seashore? That’s a terrible location for a seashell stand!   Pan to Donna.   DONNA: You know, you’re right. I mean, if she wanted to make money, she would sell seashells by the subway.   Pan to Jackie.   JACKIE: You know what she should sell by the seashore? Shoeshines. ‘Cause your sandals get so sandy.   Pan to Donna.   DONNA: Sandy sandals... we should start a girl band called Sandy Sandals. (into mic) That’s right, Point Place – you may have just heard the launch of Hot Donna and the Sandy Sandals.   She and Jackie both giggle. But it doesn’t last for Jackie; pan to her, we see her face fall as she blinks away the beginning of tears.   Pan to Donna.   DONNA (cont’d): Jackie, what’s wrong?   Pan to Jackie.   JACKIE: Well, sand reminds me of dirt, and dirt reminds me of Steven.   She puts a hand over her eyes. Donna’s hand reaches over to rub her back.   Pan to Donna.   DONNA: For those of you just joining us, Jackie has been requesting songs from the mix tape she made her boyfriend, Steven Hyde, who she’s waiting on a very important answer from. Hyde, if you’re listening, Jackie is down here at the station with me. So if you’re listening – get over here, give her an answer, and get her out of my studio.   Jackie’s hand reaches over to shove Donna, but Jackie’s laugh rings out. Donna smiles, laughs, and shoves back. They get into a playful tussle.   Cut wide – the Circle is broken. Mr. Randall and Max enter the recording room. Max looks bemused, Mr. Randall horrified.   MR. RANDALL: What the hell is going on here?   The girls break apart. Max sniffs the air, waves away some of the smoke around his face.   MAX: Donna, did you get into the stuff I hid in the Hendrix sleeve?   Mr. Randall turns on Max, aghast.   MAX (cont’d): I mean – what’s that smell?   Mr. Randall clearly doesn’t believe that, but he lets it go, turning on Donna instead.   MR. RANDALL: (points to Jackie) Donna, what is this little twerp doing in the recording room?   Jackie gasps, jumps to her feet.   JACKIE: “Little twerp?” Excuse me? I’m Jackie Burkhart! I’m on TV! That’s twice as good as radio – that’s just science!   MR. RANDALL: (to Donna) Get her out of here.   DONNA: No! Mr. Randall, Jackie’s my friend. She’s having a hard time right now, and we’re working through it together – live, on-air. It’s a new format for Hot Donna – lovers’ tolls and rock n’ roll.   Jackie nods. Max chuckles, but Mr. Randall is not amused.   MR. RANDALL: The only format gimmicks I want are the ones we can sell with billboards of blondes in halter tops. Now if you want a long-term career at my station, you’re gonna stick to the regular format. The princess of Munckinland can cry somewhere else.   Jackie takes a step back in shock. Max, behind Mr. Randall’s back, gives him a dirty look.   Donna looks from Mr. Randall to Jackie, to her microphone and all around the studio. She takes her headphones off, stands, and crosses to Mr. Randall.   DONNA: You know what, Mr. Randall? I don’t want a long-term job here. In fact, I don’t want any kind of job here anymore.   Mr. Randall frowns, tilts his head; he doesn’t understand. But Max gives Donna an approving nod, and so does Jackie.   Donna smiles at them both and races back to the microphone.   DONNA (cont’d): You hear that, listeners? This is Hot Donna’s last broadcast on WFPP, thanks to scum-sucking Mr. Randall, who you should feel free to protest. But you can still find me on the student radio at UW, where I’ll be attending this fall with my student teacher boyfriend. He’s pretty scrawny, so if you see any football players coming for him, help him get away.   Jackie races over to the microphone.   JACKIE: And make sure to tune in to next week’s Jackie on Point Place Public Access! It may be our final show – it all depends on the answer my boyfriend gives me! Ya hear that, Steven!   She and Donna grin. Donna puts an arm around Jackie’s shoulders.   DONNA: And if that boyfriend says “no,” then Hot Donna and the Sandy Sandals get a van and spend the summer touring America!   She flips on the next song – “Lovin’ Touchin’, Squeezin’” by Journey. Mr. Randall throws his hands up and exits, while Max nods approvingly again and crosses to join the girls as they sway to the music.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” continues.   INT. FORMAN GARAGE - NIGHT   The garage is in relatively tidy shape. Red’s Toyota rests comfortably in the center, and a large tarp is draped over an indistinguishable shape.   Red stands at his work station. His back obscures whatever he’s working on as Kitty enters with a jar of preserves and sees Red.   KITTY: What’ve you got there, Red? More of our only son’s favorite toys? What, the dump was too far, so you’re just gonna go at ‘em with a ball pin hammer?   Red gives a little jump; he didn’t hear Kitty come in. He turns to face her, still shielding his project.   RED: Um...   The garage door ratchets up, and Eric enters. His shirt is torn, his eye is black, and his hair is ruffled, but he’s never looked more alive. His parents have never looked more shocked at his appearance, either. Eric relishes in their reaction for a second, then points at Red.   ERIC: That’s right, Dad. It’s your son. “Professor Dumbass.” Guess what? I was at a bar. I was in a bar fight. And I WON a bar fight! Yeah, Eric Forman and Steven Hyde got in a bar fight, and I’m the one who saved his ass! With moves I learned from – guess where – Batman, Luke Skywalker, and Hong Kong Phooey!   He strikes a karate stance and does a few air chops.   Red and Kitty turn in toward each other to share a look. As Red turns, Eric gets a look at what’s on the workbench.   ERIC (cont’d): Dad, is that my old G.I. Joe?   Red tries to move back in front of the bench, but too late – Kitty pulls the box of Eric’s things from earlier into her arms and goes through it. Except for the Candyland box, everything’s still there.   KITTY: Red, these are Eric’s things you had earlier in the day. Are you keeping them with you in your workplace here?   Eric takes a step toward Red.   ERIC: Dad – you’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?   He and Kitty both smile at Red, who looks like a caged squirrel. He squirms as he looks back and forth, from his son to his wife, until he finally straightens up and clears his throat.   RED: Yeah, well... (to Eric) If you’re back home more than once a month, I’m throwing all this crap on the grill.   He turns back to his workbench.   ERIC: (softly) I’m gonna miss you too, Dad.   A slight relaxing of the shoulders lets Eric know Red heard him.   Kitty steps around Red toward Eric.   KITTY: Honey, did you say you saved Steven from a bar fight?   ERIC: Sure did, Mom.   KITTY: You? Saved Steven?   ERIC: Yeah. He’s in the Vista Cruiser, trying to put his shades back together.   KITTY: Are you sure? Maybe – maybe you drank so much, you – you got a little turned around.   ERIC: Okay, I’m feeling really good about myself, so I’m just gonna leave before anyone says any... not good things, and go find Donna. But first – I may have saved Hyde from the bar, but now I’ve gotta take him to face a fate worse than death – an ultimatum from Jackie.   A gasp from under the tarp startles everyone. Fez and Kelso stick their heads out from under it, with matching eager faces.   KELSO: You think she’ll kick him in the nads this time?   The Formans all glare down at them.   RED: What the hell are you two doing in my garage?   He rips the tarp away. The Candyland game is set up between Kelso and Fez, with small piles of M&Ms by both boys’ knees.   Kelso and Fez look down at the game. They look up at a fuming Red. They scramble to their feet and bolt from the garage. Fez turns around, slides back to the board, gathers up the candy, and flees again.   CUT TO:   INT. PINCIOTTI LIVING ROOM - NIGHT   The girls are home. They share the couch. Jackie, looking much less happy, is curled up on one end with a bowl of popcorn, while Donna sits at the other end. Some instrumental rock plays on the radio.   JACKIE: Oh, my God. He’s gonna say “no.” Steven is gonna say “no,” Donna. I know he’s gonna say “no.”   DONNA: Jackie, you gave Hyde ‘til the end of the month. He’s still got time, and I’m sure he’ll do the right thing. Marriage is just a big step, and you know Hyde always waits until the last minute to do unpleasant but necessary things.   Jackie tosses a handful of popcorn at Donna, who silently laughs and waves it away.   Eric enters, head held high.   ERIC: (to Donna) Hey there, toots.   Donna looks up, sees Eric. She smiles and crosses to him.   DONNA: Eric, I have great news! I quit my job!   ERIC: Wow! (beat) Why?   DONNA: I’m gonna go to UW with you. I’m enrolling in the journalism college and working at the student radio station. We can get an apartment, and we’ll finally be together.   ERIC: Donna, that’s so great.   He and Donna embrace and kiss. It’s only when they pull apart that Donna notices the state Eric’s in.   DONNA: Oh, my God. What happened to you?   ERIC: I won a bar fight.   DONNA: (beat) Okay, no, really.   ERIC: Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ll just go have sex with someone who’ll believe me.   He takes a mock step toward the hallway. Donna, grinning, pulls him back. They embrace and kiss again, but Eric pulls back.   ERIC (cont’d): One second.   He looks around Donna to Jackie.   ERIC (cont’d): Hey, Jackie? I got something for you.   He gestures to the doorway into the hall; no one is there. Eric steps into the hall, looks around, and then down at something to the left.   ERIC (cont’d): Oh, here it is.   He bends down and hauls something up. He drags it into the living room – “it” is Hyde, his shades crooked and his lip busted. Hyde finds his footing and shoves Eric away.   HYDE: All right, all right! You’ve done enough, Forman. And I could’ve handled that fight myself. I just needed that guy to be shorter. And drunker.   Jackie stands.   JACKIE: Steven?   Hyde looks up; he’s just noticed Jackie is there.   HYDE: Hey.   An uncomfortable silence settles into the room. Eric and Donna back up to the far wall as Jackie and Hyde meet in the center, a few feet apart. “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John comes on over the radio.   HYDE: (beat) So – month’s almost over.   JACKIE: Yes. (beat) Do you have something to say?   HYDE: Yeah. Do you have a place to live in Chicago yet?   A bolt of hurt crosses Jackie’s face. Her eyes turn glassy as she clutches at her chest. Eric shakes his head and Donna looks away.   JACKIE: (voice shaking) Yes.   HYDE: Good.   Jackie bows her head; she’s already started to cry.   HYDE (cont’d): Is it in Chicago, or out in the suburbs around Chicago? ‘Cause big cities are full of connections, but if we’re in the suburbs, that might be a problem. I don’t want to have to look too hard or drive too far.   Jackie, Eric, and Donna are all speechless. None of them knows exactly where Hyde’s going with this.   JACKIE: Steven, what are you saying?   HYDE: What, man? I’m saying – forget this ultimatum crap. You wanna go to Chicago? Let’s go to Chicago.   Eric and Donna’s jaws drop. Jackie’s does too. She wipes her eyes and reaches a hand out but stops short of touching Hyde.   JACKIE: Wait – Steven, are you saying you’d want to come with me? (he shrugs) But – but what about your job? Your future –   HYDE: Jackie, before the Formans took me in, the only “future” I saw was hopping between stints in prison and abusing squatter’s rights so I could say I wasn’t technically homeless. I never saw a future. I just took what came along. I still don’t have a plan for the future, except... except you. And, since you do see a future, and it’s in Chicago... I want to be with you.   He takes his shades off and tosses them on the couch. With a deep breath, he pulls his eyeball ring off his pinky and holds it out to Jackie, who gasps quietly and takes a step back.   HYDE (cont’d): I love you, Jackie. Marry me?   Jackie stares at the ring. Eric and Donna lean in, eager for more. Jackie looks up at Hyde’s face.   JACKIE: Your eye ring?   Her tone is hard to read. Hyde stirs.   HYDE: Look, I know it’s not a diamond or anything, but it’s the only ring I got, and –   Jackie throws her arms around Hyde’s neck and pulls him into a deep kiss. When it ends, they’re both out of breath.   HYDE (cont’d): (beat) So that’s a yes?   The tears are back in Jackie’s eyes, but they come with a smile, the brightest smile Jackie’s ever had.   JACKIE: Yes.   Hyde gives a relieved sigh; he’s smiling too. He slips his ring onto Jackie’s ring finger and takes her hand in his. A glassy look comes to his eyes – something not missed by a beaming Donna and Eric.   DONNA: (points at Hyde) Oh, my God. Tears. Tears of joy.   ERIC: (sniffs) She really is everything our little orphan boy needed.   Hyde and Jackie both give half-laughs, half-sobs.   HYDE & JACKIE: Get bent.   Even with that sentiment, Hyde opens his arms as Donna and Eric cross to hug him and Jackie in turn. They quietly slip out of the living room as Hyde and Jackie embrace again. Hyde wipes away Jackie’s tears and she plays with the ring. It’s too big for her finger; she doesn’t care. They kiss as the music swells beyond the radio to fill the scene.   ELTON JOHN (v.o.): Hold me closer, tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway Lay me down in sheets of linen You had a busy day today...   FADE TO BLACK   CREDITS   INT. FORMAN GARAGE - NIGHT   Fez and Kelso, back at their game. The lights are all out and the tarp is gone; they sit on the ground in the dark, playing by the light of a flashlight Kelso shines down on the board.   RED (v.o.): I’m coming into the garage.   The boys jump up. Kelso shuts off the light. The screen goes black. We hear frantic footsteps and a loud crash.   FEZ (v.o.): Ai!   END.

[feelitsandiego]

#skratchpoop #butt #sniff #breaks #portablist #turntablism #7inch #vinyl #records #dj #scratch #battle #wax #skipless #samples #phrases at #feelitrecords #sandiego #recordstore #vinyligclub (at FeeLit)

[lonelypond]

Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 12

Love Live/Love Live Sunshine, NozoEli, KanaMari, NicoMaki, YohaMaru, 2.6K, 12/?

Summary: PARTY

And We Dance

Time Stamp: In the future the liberals want, as Dia Kurosawa wings across the Pacific enroute to an angelic encounter

Riko hated the initial surge of jealousy she got every time she and Sarah were invited to stay at the Kurosawa Malibu estate. She and Sarah had chosen to make LA their base, while Ruby and Leah spent most months in Japan. And when Ruby and Leah were actually in LA, Sarah and RIko just temporarily moved into the Malibu mansion so the Kazuno sisters could spend as much time as possible together and the Ruby-Leah duo could record without too much discomfort to the reclusive Ruby. Ruby’s mothers had built a state of the art recording studio on the grounds soon after their marriage and kept it updated as their careers merged.

The house was huge and gorgeous and well lit and had so many cozy romantic nooks it was practically a honeymoon getaway, except for the occasional interruption by Leah, who was literally the grumpy little sister third wheel. And sometimes, while sitting on a couch that cost a year’s worth of hit song royalties, Riko would get a twinge of envy, glance at Sarah, see the same echoed in her eyes, and then they’d both laugh. One of the things they’d initially bonded over was how callow they’d both been as teenagers, how selfish. To catch a flare of that now, just made Riko grateful for what she’d built for herself, a loving relationship, a successful, award winning career, and a cozy condo that required very little upkeep.

Restless tonight, Riko was wandering, mint tea in hand, staring at the Pacific, fuzzy oversized robe wrapped around sister friendly pajamas.

“PIGLI!” Ruby’s squeal of distress sounded and the tiny, cute redhead fell off the couch. Riko rushed to her side, mug left in front of the fire.

“I’m so sorry, Ruby. Are you all right?” Riko knelt near Ruby, careful not to encroach too much but ready to help.

Ruby nodded, shivering, accepting Riko’s touch. Sometimes, Riko thought, she was more like a small animal than a person, especially when startled. So unlike her parents, it was kind of amazing that they were...Riko shook her head at that segue, staying focused on Ruby. Riko had never made an effort to meet Ruby’s super famous mothers, for fear the blushing at the memory of the doujins she’d worn out during her teenage years would never stop.

Ruby sighed. Riko wondered if she should get Leah as she helped Ruby back to the sofa.

“Ruby had a nightmare.” Ruby’s childish way of referring to herself had somehow become endearing. And the fans adored her for it.

“Yeah, me too.” Riko sighed and sat down, “The world ended in flames, what was yours?”

Ruby yelped again and hid behind a pillow while Riko swallowed a curse. Wry was not a mood for a 3 a.m. session comforting your boss.

“I’m sure angels will save us.” Riko smiled.

“Okay.” Ruby looked confused.

“Want to talk about it?”

Ruby shrugged, “My sis is flying tonight. Ruby's just worried.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Riko stared longingly at her mug, across the room, but she didn’t want to disturb Ruby again. “And it’ll be nice for you to see her, right?”

More nodding.

“Want some hot chocolate? I think I saw some in the kitchen earlier.”

“Momma always keeps a stash for Eli.”

Another casual reference to a celebrity. Eli Ayase, now ran her own internationally renowned Legends of Dance festival, after a late leap into fame. The amount of talent and star power Ruby had grown up with, it was no wonder she had ended up in the entertainment business. But her shyness had made it a huge surprise to her parents, who had disappeared into seaside Japan with their family when Ruby started having panic attacks on their tours at the age of 2. Because family mattered more than anything. Friends and family were always Ruby’s first concern and that fit perfectly with the close bond the Kazuno sisters shared. It created a nice bubble of cozy around Riko, who had spent her youth with only the piano and yuri manga for company. Collaborating so easily with her girlfriend and the cutest idol duo on the charts made up for a lot of struggles.

 BACK TO THE NOW

Yoshiko leaping, Yohane’s wings stretching upward, the shimmery, wavering layers of celestial spectrums opening above her, but weighting her, between her fingers, burning her hands, was the world, all of it, everyone, eyes and mouths open, billions of voices, every scream, Yohane looked down, she knew never to look down, but what surely be a mortal weakness tempted her and with horror, she saw the world slip out of her grasp, dropping, dropping to a dark dark doom.

Cold sweat, Yoshiko flew off her bed, literally, raised arm connecting with the ceiling before she came fully back to her senses. Alone, her bedroom, where was Hanamaru? Drifting back down, Yoshiko wrapped the blanket around her shivering shoulders, reading the note on Hanamaru’s pillow.

“Love,

Mari’s going to help You so I’m going along. I hope to be home before you have to read this. You really do look like an angel when you’re asleep.

‘Maru…”

Yoshiko closed her eyes. If she concentrated, maybe she could reach to her wife.

###

Pacing. Nico was going to be here soon, the ocean was in waves crashing mode, and through the open windows, Maki could see Mari and Kanan waltzing around the pool table. Waltzing? What the hell kind of thing was that to do? Especially to the playlist Maki had locked the sound system on. Did Nico dance? Who would lead? Is asking that question a reason you shouldn’t get to lead, Maki wondered. She threw out her arms, imagining Nico there, close to her, sliding in step, one, two, three...she’d taken dance lessons so long ago, just a couple for all the formal parties her parents had ‘encouraged’ her to attend. But she’d avoided the dance floor at all cost, unless her father insisted. Now that she was no longer a student, Maki’s family compromise was to attend the annual Nishikino Holiday Ball, but to limit her socializing to a favorite cousin and dragging Rin and Hanayo along. Hanayo loved celebrity spotting, but Rin was usually just as bored as Maki so they would throw things in the direction of any unattended punch bowls and dis the music choices. If Maki’s parents ever found out about that, they’d probably put her in charge of the playlist, but they seemed to be viewing the DJ business as a temporary vacation before med school.

Car lights. Maki felt a sudden fizz of excitement. Two sets? Was Nico being followed? Oh, maybe Nozomi drove her own car. That would make sense, everyone could leave at...Maki cast a frowning glance back at the house, surely Ohara and her cohort and maybe even the cop could be sent on their way, especially if she had Nico to back her up, surely Nico would back her up on that...but Nico had brought Eli along, did Nico actually want to party, or did she just not want to leave Eli alone. Was Eli going to...Maki started to jog toward the garage. Should she have removed breakables? Could she have just a minute to talk to Nico ALONE. Eli could break everything in the house if Maki could just manage that.

###

Yoshiko was in the air, again, blinking, and when gravity rediscovered her, she plunged, much like Dia, had, into water. But this was cold cold water, with the hard push of the tide trying to wash her away from the shore. The house Yohane had missed was lit at the top of a hill like a golden temple to sharp and terrible modern gods, all angles and glass. Yoshiko found her footing and pushed against the tide toward the shore, her eyes picking out a rock stairs leading to the temple where Hanamaru was a temporary goddess. Stomping did little to cut the shivers as Yoshiko climbed from the beach, fanning and flapping her wings while still out of sight of the house. Gnarled trees added an eerie air to the second part of the climb and Yoshiko felt a bounce in her step cut through the time lag nightmare sleepiness. Hanamaru was obviously being held in this dire fortress above against her will, by the very people who threatened their future, and Yohane, Yohane was going to sweep in and rescue the damsel...she would just have to remember not to tell Hanamaru she’d thought that, or Hanamaru would start to smoke at the nostrils a little and that might lead to property damage. Yoshiko, wings folded neatly into the ether just a step outside this world, continued the climb to her quest.

###

Maki managed to get out a “hi” when Nico stepped out of her car, but then there was Eli and Nozomi and…Maki couldn’t help but grimace.

Nico sighed and then winked, “Why don’t you point Eli and Nozomi in the direction of wherever the invasion is and then help Nico with this food.”

“You bought food?” Maki tried to lean into the car and sniff, but a window got in her way. Nico shook her head at Maki’s eagerness and reached for the door handle. Door handle, of course. Still stumbling, even standing still, Maki’s inner monologue grumbled. But Nico was here. And Maki didn’t have to go anywhere.

“How’s the party so far?” Nico put a stack of storage things in Maki’s hands.

Maki frowned, “They’re waltzing.”

“Waltzing?”

Maki leaned in the doorway, allowing Nico to pause and appreciate the view. Maki was wearing stylish yet slouchy olive sweats, a tight white t-shirt surprisingly lacking any graphics, and an olive Jeep cap pushed halfway back on her head with a rainbow dagger pin. “I locked Ohara out of the house sound system…” Maki chuckled, “and just put in a loop of John Cage pieces and they’re waltzing. Keeping a pretty steady beat too. If I weren’t so aggravated I’d be impressed.” Maki scratched her cheek, forcing her fingers to stay away from twirls of hair, “Do you waltz?”

Nico had started to bluff and bluster something about whoever John Cage was, but Maki’s question stopped her. “Waltz? Like La La Land?”

“Sure.” Maki blushed, looking away. ”I was thinking Cinderella.”

Nico was feeling more comfortable. “Waltzing is no problem for Nico. No problem at all. Nico is S U A V E and smooth on her feet. Impressing your average fairy godmother all the time.”

Maki glanced at her watch, “We could waltz to John Cage’s 4 33. I can hum it.”

Nico heard an edge of mischief in Maki’s voice and wondered exactly what the DJ was planning. But Nico was willing to go along. Leave the dishes on the hood of the car, arms open, step toward Maki, feel warmer when the redhead maneuvers herself so Nico’s hands hovered over her hips...Nico raised one hand and caught Maki’s, eyes widening at the burst of warmth as their palms brushed.

“Music, maestro.” Nico declared.

Nico found herself staring deeply into warmth, a lovely layered amethyst shades with an inviting openness and iridescence rarer than abalone. Movement brought Nico’s glance down as Maki pursed her lips and Nico remembered how close she’d gotten in the cabana. Nico could feel the gentle touch of Maki’s breath, but heard nothing and found herself stumbling as she tried to remember if a waltz was 1 2 3 or 1 2 3 4.

Nico stepped back, “It’s not fair to just hum the song to yourself.”

“I’m not.” Maki looked way too pleased.

Nico’s arms crossed, “You ask Nico to dance to a song and then don’t sing it…”

Maki’s eyebrows shot up and both hands went to her neck, ruffling through her hair. “It’s just...John Cage…” Maki closed her eyes and spoke rapidly, “it’s ambient sound, experiemental….you can use any instrument, you just don’t play it for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. It’s a brilliant alternate perspective on the meaning of performance. ”

“You don’t play. And that’s the song?” Nico spoke carefully. “It’s not a prank?”

Maki opened her eyes and nodded, refusing to look directly at Nico.

“What else did this genius write?” Nico was not thrilled.

“One of his pieces was whatever was playing on 12 radios. He thought listening was more important than creating.” Maki snorted, unable to keep the gleeful mischief from sparkling in her eyes. “They’re probably into Roaratoria by now. That’s an hour of Dublin street noise, with Cage reading some James Joyce lines.”

Nico blinked and a low chuckle started. “Ohara must really be aggravating you.”

“She is.”

Nico’s arm suddenly looped around Maki’s waist and the taller woman found herself grabbing Nico’s shoulders as she regained her balance. Nico took that opportunity to breathe into Maki’s ear, “Next time you want to waltz, Nico picks the music, okay.” And as soon as she felt Maki steady, Nico released her hold.

“Okay.” Maki managed not to sound as shaky as her breathing felt.

“Good.” Nico picked up the food, “Let’s join this party.”

###

Nozomi had always appreciated dance but she had rarely had the opportunity to appreciate it this closely. After walking into a truly bizarre audioscape, with a male voice chanting lines in the midst of seemingly random street noises, and seeing Kanan and Mari bowing themselves out of a dance while You lounged on a couch looking bored, Nozomi was ready for anything. And then something truly marvelous happened: Eli took the spotlight.

“Ah, Kanan, now you really have a partner.” Mari indicated Eli with a flourish.

Amused, Kanan shook her head at her wife, who clapped the heels of her hands emphatically, and then shrugged at Eli, “How’s your Irish reel?”

To answer, Eli stretched her right foot out and tapped it on the ground, stepped it behind her, stretched out her left leg and repeated the motion. The audio hit a noisy patch and Kanan was suddenly promonading toward Eli with a challenge. The blonde reached her hand up and caught Kanan’s, Eli twirling, and then both women were facing their audience, reel steps impossibly fast as the noises biggened, birds calling to each other as Kanan and Eli turned again, knees pumping, legs a controlled force that could possibly have splintered the floor but for a shared sense of gentle glory as the dancers approached each other again. You whistled. Nozomi felt a little weak in the knees, and sat on the nearest chair, and Mari, Mari flung out her hands, threw back her head, and marched right in, pulling Kanan into a deep kiss. Eli, with a slight grin, continued the dance as Maki and Nico walked through the door, carrying food.

“That’s not waltzing.” Nico grumped, “Maki said waltzing.”

“No, it’s an Irish reel.” Eli announced as she promenaded in Nico’s direction, her toes and knees intricate pistons making their own fluidity out of the jumble of a raucous Dublin street scape. Nico dropped the food on the table, and shadowed Eli’s movements, laughing, as she caught Eli’s delight.

Before Maki could decide if she was upset about Nico dancing away from her, thunder crashed through the room, the lights flickered bright, then died, and in the darkness, a deep voice boomed.

“Cower Before Yohane, miscreants.”

A mouth that sounded full of pastry replied, “Turn the lights back on, zura.”

[neonlichter]

Days Of Steam Episode 10 with Natural Language Processing (May 16, 2019)

Natural Language Processing (WSUM, Madison) delivers 2 hours of bangers and investigations into trance-space. "I viewed the mix as a 2 hour club set in isolation - starts slow, ends slow. I wanted to include a wide range of music the veers towards hedonistic while remaining fully functional and rhythmically interesting. It's a fine balance, in particular for the rave and trance tracks towards the end of the mix. I also made a point to include a number of Madison producers - it really feels like the scene is about to pop and I'm excited to see what happens with it. I throw a monthly party in Madison with some friends. The next on is May 18 with Harry Cross. I'll be opening up for Francis Inferno Orchestra on June 15 and Sandboards on July 7. More parties to come!"

Guest mix from Natural Language Processing Shiho Yabuki – Purple Sails – Hearts Of Space Yoshihiro Sawasaki – Magic Done – Sublime Records Wicker In The Wind – Vortex Incoming – Self-Released Artefakt – Hypnosis - Tikita Future Beat Alliance – Raining In My Head – Suicide Recordings DJ Umi – Unknown - Unknown DJ Central & Erika Casier – Drive (DJ Sports Club Mix) - Regelbau Golden Donna – Submerged – Self-Released Markus Sommer – Mars Exploration - Pager Benoit B – Vague à l’Âme – Wisdom Teeth DJ Umi – Unknown - Unknown Stefan Ringer – Wanna Be Bad – FWM Entertainment Sligo B – Plop – Wah Wah Wino AceMo – REM Dance – Vanity Press Obi – Midnight Hour (Funk Head Lost In Tijuana Mix) – Obstacle Records Beta Librae – Thirties – Allergy Season Trancemasters – Fumets – Echo Beach Sounds From The Ground – Triangle – Beyond Ilana Bryne – Dub Box Medicine – Naïve Direct – Let It Ride – R&S NLP – Baltimore Trance - Unreleased Vinyl Blair – Scratch N Sniff (The One Billion Dub Mix) – Hard Hands Unknown White Label Pete Lazonby – Sacred Cycles (Planet BEN Positive Elements Mix) – Northern Exposure DRS – 3rd Grade - Toolbox Desert Moods – Desert Moods (Desert Dub) – Stress Visnadi – Space Travel – UMM CK – Log Off – No Hands Sage Caswell – For Runner – Spring Theory

[southernvangard]

Episode 166 - Southern Vangard Radio

BANG! @southernvangard #radio Ep 166! Summer is full effect Vangardians, and Meeks and Doe seem to have a bit more pep in their step! We got that EXCLUSIVE ish this week folks as our interviewee for this week, Asun Eastwood, laced us with a never before heard joint off an upcoming project! As Asun would say - TOMA! You can check snippets of his interview at the end of the mix, the full interview drops on Thursday. Once again friends, it’s that #smithsonian #grade #twiceaweek // southernvangard.com // @southernvangard on #applepodcasts #stitcherradio #soundcloud #mixcloud // #hiphop #rap #undergroundhiphop #boombap #DJ #mix #interview #podcasts #ATL #WORLDWIDE #RIPCOMBATJACK

Recorded live June 4, 2018 @ Dirty Blanket Studios, Marietta, GA

southernvangard.com

@southernvangard on #applepodcasts #stitcherradio #soundcloud #mixcloud #youtube

twitter/IG: @jondoeatl @southernvangard @cappuccinomeeks

Talk Break Inst. Prod. By Chikaramanga

Talk Break Inst. - "Aftertaste" - Chikaramanga

"No Favors (Message To A Hater)" ** EXCLUSIVE ** - Asun Eastwood (prod. Onaje Jordan)

"Belizean Asshole" - Futurewave feat. Asun Eastwood

"Cousin Of Death" - Phyba X Asun Eastwood (prod. Giallo Point)

"Said and Done" - Icon Curties feat. Saipher Soze & Asun Eastwood

"Multiply" - Flashius Clayton feat. Asun Eastwood

Talk Break Inst. - "Funk Basics" - Chikaramanga

"9th vs. Thought" - Black Thought (prod. 9th Wonder)

"Force" - Klaus Layer feat. The Artifacts & Blu

"Men From Planet Rizq" - Eloh Kush X J. Rawls feat. 60 Second Assassin & Seshat Ali

"Blue Herb" - MIlano Constantine

"Rappers Delight Part. 1" - Mil Beats & Main Flow (cuts DJ Odilon)

Talk Break Inst. - "Get Funky" - Chikaramanga

"Long Way" - Benny The Butcha feat. El Camino

"Scratch & Sniff " - Eto (prod. Tricky Trippz)

"Evidence Joint" - WESTSIDE GUNN (prod. Evidence)

"Clean Shot" - Supreme Cerebral x Born Unique (prod. Pete Twist)

"Megatron" - Tha God Fahim X Jay Nice feat. Left Lane Didon (prod. J.O.D)

Talk Break Inst. - "Doronko Baby" Chikaramanga

Interview Snippets - Asun Eastwood

APPLE PODCASTS

https://itun.es/us/QyyX9.c

SOUNDCLOUD

https://soundcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-166-southern-vangard-radio/

MIXCLOUD

https://www.mixcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-166-southern-vangard-radio/

(Southern Vangard)