#except electronic guts are spilling out

[clownstowns]

why do people have modern au jinx just playing with metal and screwdrivers like get this girl an arduino NEOW

[hyperpsychomaniac]

Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 1

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

***

The landing gear snapped off on impact. The aeroplane skidded across the wet earth, its momentum fast eaten by the mud that sucked at its belly, and lurched to rest. Launchpad pushed himself upright in the cockpit, weight on one arm, the other clutched tightly across his chest. He got a leg over the cockpit, then tumbled out and over the crumpled wing and slammed into the mud.

“Gawd damn it!” Launchpad sucked in a breath as pain shot through his arm. He’d broken bones before. But he was soaked through and exhausted. He could not stop trembling in the cold.

His remaining energy was draining fast, but he forced himself to raise his head. In the house barely fifty feet away, a light flickered on. Its residents could not have missed the fated flight of the aeroplane right above their very heads, nor the subsequent crash. Launchpad could only hope they were the same as those in his world had been. That in this world, they were still here. That they would even care. He dragged himself upright, still cradling his arm, and stumbled towards the front porch.

The front door opened, and a broad-shouldered man stepped out into the night. He held a shot gun, but it swung lazily down by his side. “Hey, what’s going on! Are you alright out there?”

A smaller woman stepped out beside him. She squinted into the darkness, then gasped faintly. She squeezed her husband’s shoulder. “Rip…”

He left the gun right there on the porch and rushed over. His wife beat him there. She reached up and grasped Launchpad’s shoulders, looked into his eyes. “Sweetheart, what have you done to yourself?”

Launchpad saw the realisation dawn on her face even as he shook his head. “I’m not your son. But I know him. He’s a friend of mine, and… I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” His knees buckled. The man who was not his father lunged forward. Launchpad felt his arms around him, taking his weight, as he sunk to the ground and the world blackened.

***

“Launchpad!” Gosalyn’s voice carried into the kitchen. “Your Mom is on the phone!”

Launchpad dropped his spoon into his cereal with a splash, put his face into his hands, and groaned loudly.

Across the other side of the kitchen table, Drake scoffed. “Seriously, LP? This is getting ridiculous. Go and talk to your mother.”

“She called like last week!” Launchpad shot back, face still in his hands.

“Last week? More like three weeks ago.” Drake pointed out. “You know, I didn’t always get on with my parents either. But if I had the chance to talk to them again…”

“The whole DW thing doesn’t exactly make it easy.” He’d tried to explain it to Drake before.

“Launchpad!”

Looked like he wouldn’t get the chance to now either. Launchpad pushed his cereal away with a huff and headed out to the phone. It could be worse. It could be his father. Gosalyn eagerly held out the receiver. The second Launchpad took it she bolted for the kitchen. “Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetheart! I’m so glad I got you.”

Launchpad smiled faintly. Despite the frustration talking to his parents always seemed to cause him, it was good to hear her voice again. With any luck, he’d get this over with before Drake got apprehensive about whatever secrets he thought his sidekick was giving away. His mother could be awkward, and with DW trying to listen in half the time, however justifiable his reasons, it only made the whole thing worse.

“Gosalyn, no!” Drake’s voice came from the kitchen. “You are not eating chocolate for breakfast!”

“But it’s cereal. Why do we even have it if we can’t eat it for breakfast?”

“Launchpad bought it. Put it back!”

Well, at least Gosalyn was distracting him. He might get to have a private conversation for once.

On the other end of the line, his mother chuckled. “Is that your boyfriend and his daughter?”

Launchpad flushed. “Mom! I told you; he’s my housemate. I’m just helping him out with his kid, and…” Numerous other activities DW would literally kill him for if he told his family about. “Stuff.”

“Okay,” said his mother, though she sounded thoroughly unconvinced. “How’s your job flying going? Was it private or commercial again?” She was fishing. Because, obviously, he’d told her nothing about the Thunderquack.

“Private,” he said tersely.

Back when he’d been working for Mr McDee, even though they hadn’t spoken often on the phone, when his mother called, she would always ask him about the planes. Working for a billionaire? Not a problem. They didn’t give a damn who you told about their assets. There were always new planes, and Launchpad had been unable to stop himself spilling everything. How high they were rated to fly, how far, the engine, make and model… And then his mother could tell him, right off the bat, every detail of the history of that engine, not missing, of course, any women who’d been involved in its manufacture.

Not for the first time, all Launchpad wanted to do was scream into the phone: “Mom, I designed and built a plane. It’s called the Thunderquack. It’s got complex electronics and everything. And it didn’t even matter that half my teachers to told me I had to be smart to make something like that!

“Was there a reason you called?” Launchpad forced himself to say instead.

There was a pause. Launchpad felt the energy drain from the conversation like fuel from a punctured tank. “I wanted to talk to you about you coming to visit.”

Launchpad stiffened. “I told you and Dad, I’m pretty busy.”

“I know, Launchpad. And I didn’t intend to bug you again so soon.”

Launchpad sagged back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You’re not bugging me, Mom.”

“It’s just that circumstances have changed. A friend of yours came to visit. I think he might need your help. And, well, he’s a little rough around the edges. Your father and I would be far more comfortable if you were here as well.”

Launchpad frowned. “A friend? Who?”

His mother paused for a long moment. “Well, that’s one of the things that’s making us a little uncomfortable. He tried to explain it to us, but… Launchpad, it’s… Launchpad.”

***

“I told him to stay away from Saint Canard!” Launchpad pelted a jacket across the room to join the steadily building pile of clothes atop the duffle bag that lay open on his bed. “You don’t think he would’ve realised I meant other places with people I care about too?”

Drake stood in Launchpad’s doorway, out of the firing line of various items of clothing. “He is you, LP. He may have missed that nuance. How many scarves do you need anyway?”

Launchpad held off hurling what was either the fourth or fifth scarf across the room, and fixed Drake with a glare.

It didn’t deter Drake in the slightest. “You chose to let him go. Behind my back. You knew you had to take responsibility for that choice.”

“Why do you think I’m packing?” Launchpad yanked on his duffle bag until the pile of clothes jostled inside. He wrestled with the zip. “I know he’s not going to hurt them on purpose or anything. But, you’re right, he’s my responsibility. I should be dealing with him, not my parents. I’m not surprised he’s done something to make them uncomfortable.”

“He makes me uncomfortable. He set you entire hanger alight, LP. I get he has issues. But, yeah, a rough as guts clone of their son rocking up on their doorstep? Your poor parents.”

“Come on. I feel bad enough already.” The zip finally cooperated.

“So, I guess we’d better finish packing and get on the road before he causes your family any trouble.”

“We?”

Drake’s gaze lowered to Launchpad’s bedroom floor. “I didn’t have your back last time he was here. If you want back up, either facing your parents or your double, Gos and I are more than happy to tag along.”

Launchpad swallowed. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“How long will it take to drive to your parents?”

“Too long. I thought we could take the Thunderquack. It’d be quicker. And it might be a good idea to have it on hand.”

It wasn’t like Launchpad hadn’t seen it coming. Drake’s eyes widened, and his paranoia ratcheted up a couple notches. “No way, LP! How are you going to explain arriving at your folks’ place in the Thunderquack? Without giving away Darkwing’s secret identity.”

Launchpad rolled his eyes. “Look, if we have to arrive in the car, I’ve got an idea. Though I’m not sure your car insurance company would like it very much.”

***

Negaduck surveyed the dark streets of Saint Canard. He rubbed his hands together with glee. “Now what havoc can I cause in this peaceful city tonight? Burn down an orphanage? Nah. Oh, an old folks’ home? Hmm.” He sat on the edge of the building’s roof and pondered.

He was in no rush. Ever since Gosalyn had left home he’d had no reason to return at any given time. She had no idea how good she’d had it; how many exceptions he’d made for her. Why did he think he lumped all her punishments on Launchpad? She was his daughter after all. His. And she had no right to leave him. At least now he didn’t have to worry he’d return home to find she’d tried to make him something pretty. He didn’t know where she’d even picked up ideas like that. Now, he was unencumbered. His own man again. Free from his ungrateful daughter.

And that idiot Launchpad. Negaduck’s lip curled up in a sneer. He’d been useless at keeping his daughter in line in his absence, and useless at digging up her whereabouts when she’d run away. It hadn’t mattered how much ‘incentive’ Negaduck had given him. He’d failed to find her. And still come crawling back, half dead with exhaustion. At least he took Negaduck’s orders seriously, if too literally. ‘Don’t rest until you find her!’ had turned out hilariously. But after he’d failed, Negaduck should never have let him back in the house. In his daughter’s absence, the other man’s presence had been nothing but a nuisance. Taunting and overworking him hadn’t made it any more bearable. Oh yeah. It had been a stroke of genius getting rid of him in the barely functioning portal.

But what would occupy him tonight? The thought of tormenting his deceased minion had made him nostalgic. Negaduck needed to mess with somebody. And not just any random Saint Canardian.

A glint of light weaving among the buildings caught his eye. The Thunderquack. It headed out towards the bay, Duckberg, and then further inland. Swinging beneath its belly was a very strange cargo.

“Now where would that dingus do-gooder Darkwing Dark be carting an entire car?” Not some fancy over-the-top superhero gadget laden vehicle either, but a regular blue sedan.

Negaduck rubbed at his beak, and considered his own life in suburbia, back in the Negaverse. He would never drive something so lame, but Darkwing’s alter ego just might. He had never considered harassing Darkwing Duck in his normal life. More than often, it was Darkwing messing with him and spoiling his fun. Negaduck had no reason to seek him out more than necessary.

Negaduck chuckled. “This may be just what I need to get back on top of my game. Guess it’s time for a ROAD TRIP!” He threw his head back and cackled into the night air.

***

Chapter 2

[bluesfortheredj]

The Sweet Escape Chapter 4

Tues 20th June

You wake up with excitement already bubbling around in your stomach at the fact it was your birthday, and definitely not the fact that you were having lunch with Gwilym later on. It was like it was your own little secret that today was such a special day for you, and it made you giggle like a teenager as you slipped out of bed to see the first couple of messages from well wishers. You jump in the shower and wash your hair in record time, just before your mum rings to sing happy birthday down the phone with your dad.

“Thank you,” you laugh, “I can’t wait to get back and have my birthday all over again, except this time with presents and cards!”

“We look forward to having you back, dear,” your mum replies, “we’re missing you, but it sounds as if this break is doing you the world of good. There’s a happiness in your voice we haven’t heard for a while…”

“That’s because it’s my birthday!” you grin excitedly.

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else mum,” you say as you roll your eyes.

“Alright, well keep us updated on how you’re spending your birthday. Speak soon, love you.”

“Love you too.”

The time for breakfast soon comes around, and after putting on a nice floral midi dress for the special occasion, you make your way to the dining room where you find Gwilym sitting at your table with a balloon floating behind him which is the shape of a cake with the words ‘happy birthday!’ written across it. You begin to laugh as you sit down opposite him, shaking your head in embarrassment as others file in to the room and wish you well for your birthday. Gwilym stares at you with a broad smile across his face as your face flushes with heat, and when you finally meet his gaze he then hands you a card.

“Oh my… Oh god…” you say as you take it from him, “thank you… oh dear, this is embarrassing!”

“No it’s not,” he chuckles, “it’s the least you deserve. Everyone needs to know it’s your birthday.”

“How did you know?”

“I may have got some inside information off of Danielle, and I simply couldn’t have you sitting alone on your birthday, so you’re stuck with me this morning and this evening… and all day actually, being as we have lunch together too,” he beams.

“Wow, a whole day of you? What more could I wish for on my birthday, eh?” you wink.

“Not a lot, because I’m absolutely fantastic company and will be the highlight of your day!”

You laugh as you open up the card he’d given you, then thank him again once you’ve read it and placed it on the windowsill next to you. Danielle soon comes over with your breakfasts and you stand up for a cuddle and a kiss as she wishes you a happy birthday, and she scuttles off to get your present and card.

“Here you are darling, this is from all of us,” she smiles as she places a small bag on the table.

“You really didn’t have to,” you say as you open up the bag and take out a box which contains a silver necklace in the shape of the island, “oh my goodness this is beautiful! Thank you so much!”

“Let me,” Gwilym smiles as you lift the chain out of the box.

He gets up as Danielle gets back to serving the other guests, then carefully takes the necklace from your fingers before moving behind your chair and draping the thin silver chain around the front of your neck while you quickly move your hair out of the way for him to fasten the jewellery. He sits back down in front of you and you watch as his eyes travel from the necklace up to your eyes before his chest puffs out as he takes a deep breath in.

“Beautiful,” he exhales, “you look… it looks… stunning.”

And just like that, you found yourself completely and utterly involved with this man. It wasn’t a shock, you sort of knew it would be inevitable with how persistent he was with getting to know you, and now he’d done it, he’d successfully infiltrated your tight circle of trust.

“So where are we going?” you ask once you’re walking towards his car after breakfast.

“Oh no, I’m not telling. It’s your birthday, you need some surprises!” he says as he unlocks the car and you get into the passenger’s seat.

“What if I don’t like surprises?”

“Then this is your opportunity to get to like them,” he winks before starting the engine and reversing out of the space.

You both sit in a comfortable silence until his phone begins to ring and even though he has hands free in the car he cancels the call quickly, then takes the chance to switch off the bluetooth and put his phone on silent while you’re waiting at a railway crossing. It doesn’t take long for you to recognise where you’re going and you feel quite excited about the prospect being as it was the posh side of the island where large beach houses sat proudly with their all glass facades allowing you a peek into how the other half live with their private beach acting as their garden. Your face turns into one of pure disbelief when Gwilym turns towards the large electronic gates of one of them, clicks a small button up by his sun visor, then drives through when they open up.

“Umm… Are you going to explain this whole situation, or are you just going to leave me guessing that you’re secretly a millionaire?” you ask as he parks up and undoes his belt.

“Sorry, yes, not a millionaire unfortunately. This is my parent’s place. They had friends staying until yesterday, hence why I’m not staying here for the week, but I thought that maybe this would be an ideal setting for a 29th birthday. What do you think?”

You look up at the grand exterior that looked as if it was straight out of Grand Designs, then nod after being rendered completely speechless by the sight of it.

“Excellent!” Gwil grins, “let’s begin the celebrations then!”

He unlocks the door and pushes it open to allow you entry first, and as soon as you’re inside you gasp at how modern and clean everything was; the floor so incredibly polished that you were sure you were about to slip and fall any moment, the huge sliding glass doors that lead to the private beach so spotless you were worried about even breathing near them, and the kitchen that you’d never have the guts to make a cup of tea in for fear of spilling a drop of water or milk.

“Right,” you manage to squeak as you look out onto the decking at the back with actual beds just waiting to be reclined on.

“Do you like it? I wasn’t sure about where to take you, but we have the chef coming to make lunch with the freshest seafood you’ve ever had in your life.”

“The chef?”

“Too much?”

“Nope,” you croak as you shake your head from side to side in shock, “not too much. Just… Er… unexpected.”

“Well, how about we ease into today with some relaxation?” he suggests with a smile, unlocking and opening one of the huge sliding doors to the beach, “which bed would you like? Or can I tempt you into the cocoon?”

“What’s the cocoon?”

He takes your hand and leads you outside until you see another piece of extravagant outdoor furniture, this time much bigger.

“This is the cocoon,” he says as he gestures to it with his free hand, “it’s basically a jumped up double bed.”

That was putting it mildly; it was a huge bed with half of it covered by a curved hood that shielded whoever was inside it from the sun, and there was a netting that could be pulled down over the rest of the bed for those occasions where you wanted to sleep outside but not get bitten to death by bugs.

“I think I can be tempted by the cocoon,” you nod, thinking about how cosy it would be inside.

“I was hoping you’d say that… Right, well you get inside and I’ll get the drinks!”

You kick your shoes off and crawl inside, getting one of the plush pillows and placing it underneath your head with a content sigh as you sink into the soft surroundings, then Gwil appears at the opening with two flutes of what you assume is champagne, and probably the really expensive stuff too.

“You look like you’ve made yourself at home already,” he grins as he shuffles in carefully and passes you a glass, “cheers to you, happy birthday (Y/N).”

He presses a long, lingering kiss to the side of your mouth, so very close to your lips that you could almost taste him, and when he pulls back as little as possible your gaze immediately travels from his mouth to his eyes before he leans back in again. His phone begins to vibrate continuously before he reaches your lips and he sighs defeatedly as you quickly take a sip of drink and prop yourself up against the covered headboard so you can look out at the sea.

“Sorry about that,” he exhales as he sits up next to you after cancelling the call.

“Don’t be,” you shrug, “this is all incredible. Everything is perfect as it is.”

“So how come you’re over here on your own on your birthday?” he enquires as he settles in next to you.

“I won’t bore you with the details but I recently broke up with someone,” you say quickly, not wanting to go into the specifics of it today of all days, “we were together for four years and it didn’t end on good terms. Anyway, what’s your story then?”

“I just… Needed a break from life. There’s a lot going on and I had to get away for a while.”

“That’s fair, I guess I sort of used this to run away for a bit. Not that I’m saying you’ve run away… I, oh I don’t know. I hope everything is better for you when you get home anyway.”

“To be honest, I have. But I’m really glad I did.”

He turns to you quite purposefully and you tilt your head to the side to meet his gaze, then the inevitable happens and his lips connect with yours so very softly and timidly until you return the kiss, and there are so many feelings in this exchange that it almost scares you. This kiss is real, something you haven’t felt for a very long time, and the way his free hand tangles through your hair to deepen the kiss shows you passion like you’ve never felt before. When the kiss finally breaks for you both to take a deep breath, both of you are in a stunned silence at how the two of you felt during the embrace, and as Gwilym slides his hand away from you, he takes a moment to stroke your cheek with his thumb softly.

“I… I really…” he stumbles, but the sound of the chef arriving at the front door soon stops him from saying something he could regret.

He plants one more kiss upon your wanting lips before he shuffles out of the cocoon to answer the door, and you’re left to down the rest of your drink before practically collapsing against the headboard as your whole body turns to jelly. It almost makes you wish you’d given in to his advances earlier on, but maybe the timing was perfect as it was; it was certainly making your birthday one you’d never forget.

“Come and see the artist at work,” Gwil grins from the end of the sun bed with his arm already outstretched for you.

The rest of the day goes far too quickly in a blur of laughter, kisses, affectionate touches, and finally a walk along the empty private beach, your toes sinking into the wet sand as the tide laps slowly at your feet while you stroll leisurely. The conversation with Gwilym just seems to flow so easily, and as you get into the car after one of the best days of your life so far, you can’t help but feel a little sad at the week going by so quickly. Not a word is uttered as he drives you both back in time for dinner but on a few occasions he reaches out for your hand and lifts it to his lips so he can kiss the back of it.

“See you very soon,” he smiles as he stands over you when you get to your door.

“Very soon,” you grin before he leaves you with a longing kiss.

You almost fall through the door of your room when you unlock it, and as you land face down on the bed with a muffled giggle you realise that this is the first time this week that you’ve felt truly happy and as if the rest of the world had melted away.

Gwilym appears at your door a short while later to escort you to dinner and there you find another balloon as everyone in the dining room sings happy birthday to you in a very embarrassing moment that makes you blush profusely as you thank them all. Gwil takes your hand afterwards and gives it a comforting squeeze and the conversation between you both just keeps on flowing throughout dinner as you only take pauses to chew your food. A beautiful birthday cake consists of your dessert and you share it out among the rest of the diners around you who are all very thankful, then it’s back to just you and Gwilym as you both retreat to the annex together.

“Can I interest you in a coffee?” he asks as you get to his door.

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, “why not?”

You enter his room and he gestures for you to sit on the bed due to the single chair in the corner being overrun by clothes he can’t be bothered to hang up in the wardrobe, and he takes the kettle to fill up from the bathroom sink.

“So have you enjoyed your day?” he calls out.

“I have, thanks to you.”

“You deserve it. You deserve everything, you have this glow about you, even when you were guarding yourself I could tell that you were the kindest person at heart.”

“Thank you,” you mutter timidly, “I didn’t mean to be such a… bitch, really. It’s just with everything that’s happened recently, I thought that this was the last thing I needed. But I’ve realised it’s exactly what I needed.”

“Good, because you’re exactly what I need.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no appropriate words come to mind, and as the kettle boils Gwil quickly excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You sit there in mild shock until his phone that was thrown hastily onto the bed next to you begins to buzz with one message after another, and with a quick glance at the device you can’t help but notice the word ‘wedding’. Your eyes stay fixed to the screen until the next message comes through and when it does, you stand from the bed in horror with your hand clasped over your mouth.

-Do you want to get married or not?

Gwilym appears from the bathroom and you slowly take your hands away from your face as you point to his phone.

“You should really get in touch with your fiancée,” you say, your voice shaking a little as his face falls.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, no. Russell cheated on me, and I’m sure as hell not going to put any other woman through what I went through. How dare you,” you whisper as you leave, your head now more of a mess than it was when you arrived.

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @tenement-funstah @rogmeddows @drivenbybri @mazzellosjoe @muralskins

[luci-cunt]

👀👀 I am sending this again very specifically because I want to see Neil throw flowerpots at Andrew sorry not sorry

k;asd XDD <33

Ask and ye shall receive:

(btw in this au Neil and his mother were mechanics for the Moriyama’s who use robots that look like them called “Avatars” to cause mayhem in the “Wasteland” which is just the U.S post-nuclear destruction. The U.S keeps telling the public no one survived the fallout, except people in the middle of the U.S did and are now basically the NPC’s in Westworld. Rn Neil’s stuck in a tower in the Wastelands doing matinence for the Moriyama Avatars, except Riko’s the only one anymore. idk if that makes sense, if it doesn’t just enjoy pot throwing XD) Also I just dumped the whole segment in here, it’s like 1k so watch out XD.

_____

Two days after Riko’s visit Nathaniel was running on the treadmill when he heard voices. 

He ignored them at first, since curious scavengers and survivors weren’t uncommon. Usually they’d pick their way around the building until they realized there was no way to get in or spot the MORIYAMA PROPERTY sign. 

But then Nathaniel heard the electronic whine of a saw starting up, and he jumped off his treadmill, grabbing for a weapon–a heavy wrench–and carefully made his way towards the sound. 

It was coming from his kitchen, on the wall behind it, and while it was muffled Neil strained to listen to what they were saying. The saw cut off sharply, and then started again, before turning off, like whoever was using it didn’t know how to use a button. 

“…know how to use that?” one voice said, Neil thought he heard a scoff. 

“Of course I do, I’m not an idiot,” a second voice said. The first voice sounded feminine, while the second was male, and oddly familiar. “For the record–” the second voice said, starting the saw back up, “–I think this is a terrible idea.” 

And then Nathaniel heard the saw pierce through the metal of his walls. 

He froze, listening as the saw cut a hole in his prison. No one had ever broken in before, no one had the guts to. So whoever these people were, they were either stupid or powerful. Nathaniel wasn’t sure which he preferred. 

Suddenly there was a loud clatter and a curse, Nathaniel jumped at the noise.

“We’re breaking in through the fridge?” the first voice said incredulously, and Nathaniel blinked at his fridge door. 

“It used to be an exit, they just put a fridge in where the door was, so it’s the weakest point,” the second voice explained impatiently. 

Nathaniel heard the clattering of them removing all his food and shelves and dumping it next to the building so they could enter, and in a moment of panic he braced himself against the door to stop them.

“After you sir,” the first voice said mockingly. “Oh, right, or after you, ass,” she added, sounding bitter. 

Three people? 

Nathaniel felt someone push on the door. 

“Come on Monster, open it up,” the woman said, and the ‘Monster’ pushed again, Neil pressed himself against the door harder. “Is it locked?” 

“It shouldn’t be,” the man said.

“Then why is it not opening?” a third voice said, this one closest to Nathaniel. 

“I don’t know! It should just open, it’s a fridge,” the man said, “Just–push harder, maybe there’s something in the way,” he added. 

“Or you could use that handy little saw we brought,” the Monster said dryly. Nathaniel’s heart started pounding. Fuck.

“Oh right, yeah, I’ll do that,” the man said, his voice coming closer as Nathaniel hear the saw start up. He bolted before it even touched the door though, and the fridge crashed open, spilling three people into his tower. They all cursed and one of them fumbled to turn off a saw, but Nathaniel barely looked at them, too busy bolting for the ladder to the second floor. He got about five steps before he heard someone on his tail, and he pressed himself to go faster, jumping for the ladder. Right as he started to climb through the hole someone grabbed Nathaniel’s ankle, yanking him back downstairs. His arms hit the second storey floor, knocking the breath out of him and he scrambled to hold on to something, kicking at whoever was holding him. 

His foot finally caught something, and the hand disappeared with a curse, Nathaniel clawed his way up and nearly collapsed as he put pressure on his ankle. He hissed, and quickly looked around for some kind of cover to block the open entrance. There was nothing besides plants though, and when Nathaniel looked back he saw a blond head poking its way up from the top of the ladder. On instinct he threw his wrench at the man, who barely managed to dodge it. Nathaniel scrambled up and dragged himself into the back of the room and grabbed a potted plant, when the man’s head popped up again he threw the plant and heard it crash to the floor. 

“Hey what’s–fuck!” the woman’s voice called, interrupted by Nathaniel throwing another pot down. The blond head appeared again, but this time when Nathaniel threw the pot a hand darted up, batting the plant aside so it smashed on the ground next to the opening. 

Panic filled Nathaniel’s body and he just grabbed a pot again to throw, but before he could the man was across the room, he snatched the pot away from Nathaniel and smashed it on the floor. 

“How about you stop that?” he said, voice dripping with barely contained anger. Nathaniel gulped, but managed a scowl. 

“Fuck you,” he hissed, punching the man’s chest. It wasn’t a very good punch, but it seemed to shock the man enough for Nathaniel to be able to bolt around him, all but diving for the door. He didn’t make it very far though, because the man just grabbed the back of Nathaniel’s shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Nathaniel wheezed, his vision swimming as his head bounced against the wall behind him. 

“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice sounding echoey.

“Concussed,” Nathaniel said, trying to blink away the silvery splotches dotting his view. The man was short, surprisingly short, leaving Nathaniel only a few inches taller. He had short hair and hazel eyes that burned where they were boring into Neil. He was wearing all black, with a pair of armbands around his forearms. 

“I said who smartass,” the man said, and suddenly Nathaniel felt a knife pressed to his throat, he almost laughed, but before he could answer the other two members of the mans group caught up to them and were standing behind the man. 

“Christ–Andrew who the hell is that?” the woman asked, she had dark skin and hair about as short as the man’s, but it was curlier. Her face was wrinkled in confusion and she was holding a massive looking machete. 

“Nathaniel?” Nathaniel’s head snapped over to where he suddenly spotted Kevin Day, standing behind the woman. His face looked pale, the 2 tattooed on his cheek stark against the white skin and green eyes wide in fear. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nathaniel snarled, he couldn’t help it. Bitterness filled him, clashing with the panic. 

“I–” Kevin started, but he was interrupted. 

“Kevin who is this?” the man holding Nathaniel asked, Nathaniel turned his scowl back on that man. 

“It’s–it’s–Nathaniel, he helped me–” Kevin paused, his eyes glazing slightly as he probably relived the memory, “He helped me escape, I thought you–” Kevin stammered, Nathaniel laughed. 

“What? Thought I escaped too? Died? What did you think Kevin?” he snapped, Kevin flinched at his words. 

“I’m sorry I–”

“Shut up,” Nathaniel and the man with the knife said at the same time. Then they glared at each other for it. The man pressed the knife harder to Nathaniel’s neck, and Nathaniel had to force himself not to gulp. 

“Tell me who you are, and what you’re doing with the Moriyama’s,” the man demanded, and Nathaniel smiled at him. 

“Why do you want to know? If you know this is Moriyama property then you’re all either idiots, or powerful enough to know what I do,” Nathaniel said, it made the man’s eyes narrow on him. Either these were a bunch of scavengers looking to cash in on what they probably thought was some kind of storehouse, or they were powerful enough to know about Avatars are and were looking to get their hands on the tech.

“Andrew you shouldn’t–” Kevin tried, but Andrew–apparently–didn’t listen to him.

“Here’s what I think, Nathaniel, I think you’re an Avatar mechanic for the Moriyamas, I also think you must be pretty important since they kept you around even though you helped out Kevin,” Andrew said. So then a bit of both. Neil glared at Kevin over his shoulder.

“You told them?” he hissed, Kevin flinched. 

There was only one law that was actually enforced for Avatars, and that was no Wastelanders could know about Avatars. Hence the fake blood in the skin and Nathaniel faking Riko’s wound. If Wastelanders figured out about the Avatars, it would ruin their simulation, and then the corporation who’d made them would get less money. So anyone who let the secret spill was immediately banned from using an Avatar. 

Kevin–while immune from being punished himself, since he wasn’t in an Avatar and didn’t want to use them–was Moriyama responsibility, so by him spilling the secret, it could get the Moriyama’s in hot water, which wouldn’t be good for anyone. 

“I had to, Riko was coming after them because of me, they needed to know.”

“Hey, we were talking,” Andrew said suddenly, reminding Nathaniel of the knife at his throat. 

“What do you want?” Nathaniel hissed, Andrew shrugged. 

“Usually? Nothing, now? To piss Riko off,” he said, Nathaniel’s stomach knotted itself as he started connecting the dots. 

“So go tell him his hair’s parted weird,” Nathaniel said, hoping Andrew wasn’t thinking the same thing he was. Though, from the cold smile spreading across his face, Nathaniel didn’t feel so lucky.

“Or, we could steal his favorite mechanic.”

Shit.

[wunderlass]

Living Dead Girl

For RIP Roswell Day Four (family).

As always, beta read by @maxortecho. Apparently this made her cry. These are the moment we live for as writers. Sorry not sorry.

“Does papi still sleep like the dead?” Rosa asks Liz as they wash the dishes in Max’s sink. “Pun absolutely intended.”

Liz takes a deep breath to steady herself at her sister’s casual use of the d word. The last few weeks have been a strange, surreal dream, living in a world with Rosa in it once more. A cipher of the past come back to life, gallows humor her newest form of armor.

“You know papi,” she replies when she’s found her voice. “Nothing can wake him except his own snoring.”

He’s slept through two break-ins at the Crashdown since Liz returned to Roswell, blissfully unaware of her confrontations with Isobel and Michael, then later Noah. There’s a phantom stitch in her side where Noah sliced her with the knife, the injury healed when she’d united with Max the next day. His handprint healed her even though they were using it for something else, but the vanished wound tugs at her, reminding her of what else she has lost.

Rosa is full of questions about life as it has gone on without her, and they have quickly turned to the man who raised her. She’s not allowed to see him, and she’s not merely following an edict Liz has set down when it comes to that: Rosa seems to understand the danger her renewed existence puts her in. She’s verbally acknowledged that she wants to make it to twenty—and beyond—this time around.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t yearn.

“You would think for all the trouble I caused, he’d have been more alert,” Rosa comments. “She always knew when I was trying to sneak out, but I didn’t even need to sneak around when it was just papi there.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Liz replies dryly. “I was the good girl.”

“Was,” Rosa says. “I know you’ve had Kyle in your bedroom since you got back to town.”

“What? How?”

“I teased him about you both being my siblings and he got all flustered. Like you are now.”

“Oh god.” Liz covers her face with her hands. She’s never felt bashful about sex, but somehow having Rosa back has made her regress into the little girl who once looked up to her big sister. Rosa always did know how to push her buttons.

“Chill. Your face!” Rosa laughs, and it’s a soothing balm to Liz’s soul. All those years without that sound, and she doesn’t know how she existed without it. Her anger had banished even its echo from her memory.

It feels greedy to ask for more, even as she pushes herself to find a solution to Max’s…problem. Liz is still adjusting to inhabiting this space, especially without Max himself being here. Sometimes it feels like she’s swapped one ghost for another. 

“I have to go to the lab tonight,” she reminds Rosa as she gives the glasses one final rinse. She only has access after hours, and needs to monitor her samples through the night. “Are you going to be okay on your own? I can ask Maria to come over and hang with you.”

“I’m fine, Liz. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m about ready for some time on my own.”

“If you’re sure—”

“I’m sure. And you get less twitchy about me smoking a bowl when you’re not around.”

“Rosa!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! No smoking in the Deputy’s house. Go save the world, Liz. Do me proud.”

~

Rosa meant it when she told Liz that she was ready for some time by herself. The only chance she’s had to process all that’s happened so far has been in the quiet of the night, when Liz lets her brain stop whirring at a million miles an hour and sleeps. Rosa doesn’t sleep, not nearly as long. Ten years sounds long enough to her, even if it felt like one night. One strange night that thrust her into a bewildering new world with the dawn.

She has no intention of staying in Max’s house. It’s peaceful, but Rosa has never been very good at sitting around and doing nothing. She can think while she walks. 

She’s not an idiot. She knows the dangers: retrieves Max’s pistol from his holster, and stashes it in her jacket pocket, safety on. A hood covers her hair, a loose scarf can be pulled up to cover her face. From a distance people will probably assume she’s Liz, but she takes no chances, hoping the pending sunset will shroud her enough when she reaches town.

And so she walks. It’s a risk. But risks can be mitigated.

There’s injustice fizzing in her veins, injustice she is impotent to do anything about. Liz can’t bear this anger with everything she has one her plate, and Guerin slinks away before Rosa can open that vein. And Isobel…Rosa can’t stop being afraid of her long enough to be angry.

When she isn’t simmering in her thwarted anger, she’s got a weird grief she can’t get a handle on. Valenti is dead, and Kyle knows what she is to him. Her family has grown and shrunk at once. Her mother is still absent, and Rosa wants the comfort of the only parent who was ever worth a damn, but she can’t see him without setting in motion something she’s not sure she can control. She’s homesick, living looking over the town she’s lived her entire life in and longed to leave, but now forbidden to enter.

She wants to express herself the only way she has ever known that matters. It’s why Liz has bought new canisters of paint and large canvases for Rosa to spill her guts onto, but Liz will admit she’s not an artist. She doesn’t understand that canvas is no good for Rosa. Her art belongs elsewhere.

The sun spills itself over the desert in fire and gold, sinking beyond the horizon to leave the soft cloak of night lying over them instead. She has a flashlight in her rucksack, but she’s reached the first patchy glow of streetlights and doesn’t need it to make her way through the streets. 

There are changes in town, mostly small, mostly decay in fast-forward, paint peeling from buildings freshly coated a few months ago as far as she’s concerned. Empty storefronts of businesses which thrived days earlier—the shuttered Blockbuster and the darkened one-hour photo place. The new neighborhood that’s mushroomed out of the desert to the south of the town is a surprise. She guesses the Bushes sold their ranch to a developer.

It’s like playing immersive spot the difference, an assault on her vision as every glance brings something new. Everything except the first glance of home.

It’s not exactly the same. Papi must have maintained it some or it would look like shit by now, but as she crosses the street, ducking between shadows, it feels like she hasn’t missed ten years in one delirious night’s sleep.

She goes round the back. The diner is closed but there’s still the occasional car drifting by. It’s no problem when the spare key is still set in the wall, hidden behind a broken brick. Some things never change.

She turns to fumble and let herself in, but a remnant of her own past confronts her on the wall beside the door.

We are all alone.

It’s faded, like so many things, washed away by time Rosa hasn’t lived. But papi has never painted over it.

A passing car prompts her inside, where it is still and dark. Sure enough, the only sound beneath the electronic hum of appliances is the louder hum of papi snoring upstairs, a chainsaw drone that feels like it should rattle the windows. No wonder she’s having trouble sleeping at Max’s house. It’s too quiet.

Past the stairs, through the kitchen, ignoring her own memorial, she slips into the diner itself.

She only worked a shift here last week. Wiped the tables down, swept the floor, collected the ketchup bottles together. Stormed out on Liz because the stupid car had been vandalized. She could put the uniform on and serve like nothing had changed. Instead, she is barred from her home, left to drift through it silently, like the ghost she has become.

She will not cry. 

If she cries, she will be tempted to run to her father, to the man who always patched up her skinned knees and made things better. If she cries, she may not be able to resist that temptation.

Instead she explores the space, running fingers over the table tops and backs of chairs like she feels every minute of the decade she’s lost. She passes by the jukebox, smiling at the way papi hasn’t updated it, only to lose the smile when she realizes why. Her footsteps falter as she realizes how long he has spent in this building alone, with nobody to tease him about his snoring, or nag him into painting over the terrible mural on the back wall. Liz has been a fleeting guest, almost as much a ghost as Rosa.

If she cannot come home, then she can leave a piece of her soul here to keep him company.

~

“You haven’t slept,” papi says as Liz yawns into her palm.

“I’ve slept,” she assures him, though she’s sure the concealer she’s liberally applied hasn’t actually covered up the dark circles she’s acquired from a long night in the lab.

“You haven’t slept enough.”

“I’m fine. I’m only helping during the breakfast rush, I’ll catch a nap after.”

“Liz, you know I like this boy, but not if he starts affecting your health.”

Liz suppresses the grimace that threatens to escape when her father mentions Max so casually. He thinks she’s spending all her time at Max’s house with Max. Everybody does, because they cannot know the truth. “I was writing a grant proposal,” she lies, and she should feel bad for it, but she doesn’t have the energy to spare.

She sees it when she takes out the trash. On her way inside she gives a yelp, one which brings papi running, but he only smiles when he sees what she’s looking at.

“You’ve seen our new friend,” papi says. He means the change to Rosa’s old stencil on the wall.

“Did you do this?” she asks, knowing the answer already. Papi is as artistic as she is. The wall’s been unchanged since Rosa first painted it in freshman year.

“No. He arrived overnight. I know you only believe in science, mija, but when I saw him this morning, I knew she’d found a way to let us know she’s okay. Look at him! He has to have been sent by Rosa.”

A new alien has taken residence. Characteristically red but with different words emblazoned over the old ones, and a chain of bright orange marigolds circling him like a halo.

“He does look like one of hers,” she agrees, though she knows the fresh paint was added by an earthly hand.

She’ll have to speak to Rosa about this. She’s been here, to the Crashdown, despite all the reasons she shouldn’t have come, and left her mark. Liz should be angry, but the way papi is this morning—smiling, whistling, happy in a way she hasn’t seen in years—anger is hard to come by. Liz already feels guilty enough for abandoning her father to take care of Rosa. If he doesn’t question this further, who is Liz to complain? The words are for his benefit, after all.

You are not alone.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Best. Date. Ever.

Summary: This wasn’t quite what you had in mind.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A smidgen of murder. A splash of fluff.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @abovethesmokestacks ‘s summer challenge, and I’m a slacker who’s a week late, so thank goodness Pia’s amazing! This story came about because I was seriously coveting these shoes and because Pia gave me a super cheeky dialogue prompt, which you’ll find bolded in the story. Enjoy!

A/N 2: Check out Best. Proposal. Ever. to read more of these two!

If you want on or off the tag list, send me an ask!

MASTERLIST 

Dress up, he ordered. Something fancy and sexy. I got a plan.

It sounded promising. A night at the ballet perhaps, or tickets to the opera. Dinner and dancing, maybe. Something classy. Something elegant.

After eyeing them in the window, you decide to buy that pair of outrageously expensive Jimmy Choo’s for the evening, anticipating something spectacular.

Well.

It was something alright.

*****

Black satin clutch tucked tight beneath your arm.

Quiet steps on the balls on your feet.

Gun drawn, cocked and aimed, you tiptoe down the dim hallway, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the puddles of yellow light spilling from vintage sconces lining the wall. 

The target looms ahead, a heavy black door at the end of the corridor and a steady stream of quiet curses slips from clenched teeth as you move, damning his dumb ass to hell and back. 

Eyeing the narrow beam of light lining the bottom of the door, you pause when muffled laughter slips beneath the crack. Momentarily confused, you wonder if you have the wrong room.

Nope.

“Answer the fucking question,” a frustrated voice suddenly shouts, followed by the dull thunk of metal slapping skin. Bucky’s responding groan is long and low, a guttural sound ripped from deep in his chest.

It sounds desperate.

It sounds wounded.

It sounds – excessively theatrical.

Of course.

Is it possible to roll your eyes so hard you see your brain? 

Leaning into the door, you press an ear to the thick ebony wood. There’s a hum of unintelligible muttering and then plain as day, you hear Bucky’s cheerful response.

“Yeah, no. Feels like you’re hard of hearing there, big boy. You wanna hand me that knife? Let me clean out your ears real nice and careful like? Or maybe you were that stupid kid sitting too close to the TV growing up, watching cartoons while your Mommy was running around banging the mailma – ow! Fucking ouch god dammit, what the hell’s the matter with you?! Who the hell stabs someone? That fucking hurt!”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. 

Here’s the thing.

Now and then, the avenging gets slow. It happens occasionally, not often, but enough for you to discover an interesting personality twist. When the avenging gets slow, Bucky Barnes gets bored. And a bored Bucky Barnes is – concerning. Full of pent up energy, leaking sarcasm and sass, he has a small tendency to find trouble.

It’s not trouble, it’s called saving the world, he always argues.

It’s not saving the world, it’s called gratuitous chaos, you always respond. 

The voice comes back, full of fury. Electricity pops and sizzles and suddenly Bucky swears at the top of his lungs.

“Wait, wait, wait, stop! Damn, fine, fine. You got me, just stop, please, I’ll talk, I’ll talk, let’s talk…about the fact that your mom was totally fucking the mailman, I mean come on – “

The sound of electricity buzzes louder and he howls in pain.

“Say it again,” you hear the voice snarl, followed by Bucky’s breathless reply.

“No joke man, you touch me with that thing again, I’ll shove it so far up your ass you’ll shit sparks for a week.”

In addition to the whole trouble thing? He’s also a massive drama queen.  

“This is bullshit, Bucky” you hiss at the door, glancing at the absurdly expensive heels and reaching to brush dust from the toe. “I’m so fucking pissed at you.”

Seriously. 

Clutching the gun tight, you carefully turn the knob and with a deep breath, hip check it open. And yep. The reveal is exactly what you could have anticipated, because you know Bucky Barnes way, way too well.

Dangling by his hands from a wide steel beam, his wrists encased in what appears to be a reinforced cuff, Bucky swings gently, the toes of his black boots barely brushing the ground. His faded grey t-shirt is slashed down one side, soaked through with thick splotches of blood and clinging to his body like a second skin. Twitching his head to shake away sweaty strands of dark hair, you see the impressive array of purple bruises painting his face, extending down his neck.

He looks terrible. Awful. A beaten man in terrible pain. 

Except – 

The anguished grimace fades when he sees you, morphing into a shit-eating grin. Wiggling his fingers in a mocking little hello, he gives you a wink.

What an ass.

Hearing the swinging door, the man in front of Bucky spins, raising a gun in one hand and a taser snapping lime green sparks in the other. Frustration is etched in every line of his face, which is, to be fair, a common expression for anyone talking to Bucky. 

“Drop the gun,” he bellows, shaky hands holding both weapons in front and sounding for all the world like a two-bit security cop in a low-budget heist film. 

Throwing him an impressively impatient scowl, you shake your head.

“Listen, I’ve had a long day and these heels are killing me and I just wanted to spend one night without worrying how I’m getting blood out of my clothes in the morning. So since that fantasy’s shot to shit, can you please just not?”

“Don’t try to distract me!” he yells in response. “Drop your gun or I’ll shoot you both!”

Looking past him, you meet Bucky’s wide-eyed, innocent blue eyes.

Innocent blue eyes. Seriously. What a crock.

“I’m fucking pissed at you,” you warn Bucky, pointing the gun down at your shoes. “These were expensive.”

He pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout and swings himself playfully in the restraints. “Don’t be mad honey baby, it’s all part of the plan.”

“Jesus. I shudder to think what else you have planned.”

The guy follows the exchange like a tennis match, head swiveling in confusion, until he focuses on you again and opens his mouth to shout another disappointingly dull threat, but you hold your hand up to silence him and he looks unbelievably put out by the gesture.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood, alright? I gave you a chance.”

Flicking your eyes to the bloody, sweaty man dangling behind him, you cross your arms and wait. 

Here it comes.

Vengeance fills his features, a blinding smile of murdery glee, and in the blink of an eye, Bucky curls his knees to his chest and hoists himself up with the metal arm. With a casual kick, he hooks his thighs around the man’s neck and squeezes tight.

Dropping both weapons, the man scrabbles at the dirty legs locked around his neck, panic flashing through his face.

“You sir,” Bucky states, as the man chokes, trying to wrench free, “are a real dick.”

With a graceful twist of his hips, he snaps the neck with a jarring crunch. The body collapses in a heap and Bucky glares contemptuously for a second and then proceeds to aim several childish kicks at the head, but his toes are just out of reach and he flails uselessly in the air.

He looks up in annoyance.

“Hi. Little fucking help here please?”

Stepping over the body, you rummage through the pile of electronic gadgets and random torture devices strewn across the table. Locating a small purple device attached to a SpongeBob keychain, you dangle it in front of him.

“Apology first.”

“No worries, I accept your apology,” Bucky says graciously. “Now get me down.”

“No asshole, I want an apology. You said dress up and now my Jimmy Choo’s have blood on them.”

“Okay fine, I’m sorry.” Skeptical of his quick submission, you punch the unlock button slowly and the cuff releases. Bucky drops to his feet, rubs the red chaffing around his wrist, and gives you a wide smile. “I’m sorry you’re a wet blanket who doesn’t appreciate fun, but anyway.” 

He anticipates the move and ducks when you snatch a knife from the table and fling it at him, letting it smack harmlessly against the concrete wall behind him.

“I swear to god, you’re lucky you’re hot Barnes. It sure as hell’s not your personality that keeps me around.”

“The hell do you mean? I’m charming as fuck,” he argues. Wetting his busted lips, he uses the collar of his shirt to wipe away the pool of blood caked in the corner of his mouth, while interested eyes trail down your outfit.

Strapless black silk dress falling to your knees. Diamonds dangling from your ears. Bright red lips. Black Jimmy Choo heels with a flirty little feather on the side. 

His smile turns a shade darker and ten shades filthier.

“You look smokin’ hot. Nice.”

“And it’s apparently a waste. When you said dress up, I sort of assumed we’d be doing an activity other than murder.” Tossing the keychain on the table, you come closer to scan his impressive mess of injuries. Probing the thick muscle below his ribcage, he sucks in a strangled breath as your fingers brush the source of blood still soaking his shirt.

“Buck – “ you start, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t baby me, I’m fine. Me and that bag of dicks just had a little disagreement over one of his brainless questions.”

“How did he go from asking questions to sticking a knife in your gut?” you ask, trying to tug up his shirt to confirm the damage.

“No, I will not have sex with you!” he says loudly, pushing your hands away. “God woman, keep it in your pants.”

“I’ll punch you in the knife wound Bucky. I really will.”

Sighing loudly, he stops struggling and lets you pull apart the remaining shreds of his shirt. Examining the blood under his fingernails while you examine the slow leak of blood down his side, he shrugs nonchalantly.

“If you must know, he just got a bit pissy because apparently suck my dick wasn’t the correct response to that question.”

Life with Bucky Barnes is akin to chasing an aggressively accident-prone toddler, so you’re actually prepared for this situation. 

Opening the silver clasp on your clutch, you search for the extra-absorbent bandages you threw in earlier. Folding his hands obediently, Bucky rests them on top of his head and watches with a serene expression while you wipe away the blood from around the wound, before ripping open the bandage and applying it carefully to his skin. 

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you ask, paper held between your teeth, “to try being a little less mouthy?”

Straightening the remains of his bloody t-shirt and wiping your grubby hands on his jeans, you look up to find him grinning.

“It did occur to me. But where’s the fun in that?” He holds his hand out expectantly. “On to part two. Did you bring my gun?”

The worst. Honestly. Sometimes he’s the worst. 

“Yes, I brought your gun, you ungrateful douche.”

Lifting the edge of your skirt reveals the narrow straps of a black thigh holster, with Bucky’s favorite Glock strapped in place. He bites his lip and gives you that filthy smile again, crowding in close. 

“Ugh. Dammit that’s so hot. Here, let me help,” his fingers snag the silky fabric, trying to pull up your skirt. 

Slapping his hand and giving him a warning knee in the balls, he grunts and backs away with his wounded puppy face. Unclipping the gun, you flip it around and hand it over.

“Keep it in your pants Barnes, we don’t have time. The show’s about to start.”

Standing up straight, he salutes you with the barrel of the gun and cocks it dramatically.

“You’re the boss. Lead the way, you sexy little minx.”

*****

Navigating the labyrinth of halls, you find the back staircase leading up to a maze of crevices and hidey holes helpfully built into the rafters of the enormous ballroom. Finding a slot near the edge, you crawl into position, the smooth silk of your dress picking up the thick film of dust, making the slide easy.

God. Dammit. Bucky’s spending tomorrow morning getting this dress dry-cleaned and you better not hear a breath of argument from him.

“Seriously, I’m so fucking pissed at you,” you whisper, knowing full well his annoying super hearing will pick it up and sure enough, he rewards you with a stifled laugh.

The space is dark, muted light from the ballroom’s sparkling chandeliers allowing you to stay hidden from prying eyes down below. Bucky follows close behind, wiggling in next to you. Getting comfortable, he sighs happily and turns to you, gaze drifting from your face down your bare shoulders, over the swell of your ass, and that filthy smile appears again. Reaching down, he massages the back of your knee and runs his hand up your thigh, trying to pull your dress up again.

“Lemme see your panties.”

“For god’s sake, do not say panties, you weird fuck.”

“Fine. Lemme see your underpanties. Are they lace? Tell me they’re lace. You know how much I like lace.” His hand wanders further up to find your black lace covered bottom and he gives a whispered yes of delight. 

Ignoring the wandering hand squeezing handfuls of your ass, you open the black clutch again, extracting four paper-thin pieces of metal. Clicking them together reveals a lightweight air-rifle with a narrow scope affixed to the top.

Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Gimmie,” he says breathlessly, releasing his death-grip on your ass and reaching grabby hands toward the weapon.

Still ignoring him, you prop the rifle on the ledge in front of you and peer through the scope, searching for the reason you’re stuck in the dirty ceiling of this exquisite ballroom, instead of somewhere fashionable with people making jealous remarks about your amazing shoes.

Bucky nudges you.

“Gimmie,” he says again.

“No, Bucky.”

“Yes, Bucky,” he insists, now trying to tug it from your grip. “Did you forget I’m the best shot the US army ever had? I even have a certificate that says so. You can’t argue with my certificate, it’s not patriotic. Captain America’ll arrest you.”

Still searching through the crosshairs, you peel his sticky fingers from the barrel with one hand.

“You drawing a picture of a gun, writing ‘Bucky rules’ on it, and taping it to the refrigerator does not mean you have a certificate.”

He gives an indignant little squawk. “Uh, I didn’t tape it to the ‘fridge, I superglued it to the ‘fridge. That fucker’s never coming down.”

“Can you please shut up? I need to focus.”

“Come on honeycakes, let me have the rifle,” he whines softly, resuming the light strokes down your thigh.

“No. I know you. You’ll shoot the guy in the eye just to prove you can, he’ll realize something’s up, and it’ll blow our cover.”

“Why would I do that?” His voice oozes shocked sweetness.

“Because you’re a showoff,” you mutter.

“I’m not a show-off,” Bucky argues and somehow in the narrow space he manages to crawl on top of you, straddle your hips and start licking your neck. “Sometimes I’m just vindictive, I can’t help that. Now come on and give me the rifle, hmm? Please? I got stabbed earlier, you should let me have my way. If I have internal bleeding and I die later, you’ll feel really bad about not giving me this one little thing. Come on, hand it over.”

He sucks your earlobe and tugs with his teeth. 

Long ago, this strategy might have worked.

He is charming.

He excels at sweet talk.

He is murderously adorable.

The only thing working against him now – is that you know he’s completely full of shit.

“Get off me, you weigh a ton,” you respond instead, wiggling your shoulders to shrug him away.

“Did you just call me fat?” he whispers. He bites your ear harder.

“Maybe,” you shiver at the petulant huff warming your neck.

“I am offended.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not, but someone with less self-confidence might be and would you like that on your conscience?”

“I’ll manage.”

In that moment, the crosshairs find him, a tall man dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo, his blond hair slick and shining. Even though he’s dead set on being an annoying little shit, Bucky instantly recognizes your posture change and goes motionless above you. Taking a deep breath, focusing on the small mole on the back of the blond’s neck, you gently squeeze the trigger. With a twitch, the rifle silently expels the microscopic dart and you know it’s a direct hit when the man scratches absently at the patch of skin above his collar.

Bucky gives a hum of approval and plants a sloppy kiss on your neck. 

“Nailed it. High five,” he says and reaches between his legs to slap your ass. “But how come you’re always so mean to me? And why the hell does it turn me on so much?”

Breaking down the weapon, you pack it back in the purse and snap it shut.

“Because you’re a fucking masochist.”

“True. So – now what?”

“Now we wait.”

As the words leave your mouth, the chandeliers begin to dim, the hum of voices dropping as the crowd of people shuffle to their seats.

Folding your arms, you lay your head down to wait. Bucky finally stops fidgeting, settling on top of you, balancing his weight on his forearms and resting his chin on your shoulder. He smells like attic dust and irony blood, but his heavy presence is a warm and comfortable weight.

All fades to black. Absolute silence.

The single note trembles in the darkness, the vibrating twang of a cello. Low lights slowly illuminate the small platform at the front of the ballroom, revealing three musicians and the sudden haunting whine of a violin shatters the stillness.

The air overflows with music, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Bach, a symphony of classics bleeding together, never pausing. Bucky stays still above you, his only concession to movement when he occasionally presses his lips to the space behind your ear, breathing in the familiar lingering scent.

And sure, he drives you bonkers half the time and he may be utterly full of shit, but a simple fact remains.

Nothing in the world, beats the feel of his mouth on your skin.

Ninety minutes of magic fly by and applause fills the room as the lights come up for intermission, the audience leaping to their feet. No one notices the blond man seated halfway back, slumped in his seat, nor the shadowy figures of two people energetically arguing as they slip from a hidden exit in the back.

*****

From a distance, you spy the neon sign, the only beacon of colorful life along this desolate stretch of highway. Bucky perks up and bounces in his seat. 

“There it is! Pull over.”

“Bucky, no. I’m tired and you’re bleeding on my leather seats and I want to go home and shower.”

“But I’m hungry. I’m literally wasting away.”

“Figuratively. You are figuratively wasting away.”

“So, you agree then, I’m wasting away and we should stop.”

“Oh my god, fine.”

Swerving into the parking lot with a screech of tires, both of you clamber from the vehicle still debating his rampant disregard for basic language definitions and stomp into the brightly lit Taco Bell. At this lonely hour, it’s nearly empty, minus the energetic high school kid with headphones using his mop as an air guitar, the line cook playing Jenga with a towering stack of tomatoes, and the bored woman behind the counter, chomping her gum and watching your bickering approach with interest.

Glancing at Bucky, you flinch at the image. The harsh light throws his wounds into sharp relief, bruises already fading from dark purple to sickly greenish-yellow. The gray t-shirt is shredded and stiff with blood and sweat and what appear to be chocolate fingerprints, lifted from the half-melted M&Ms he found in your glove box. 

To be fair, you don’t look much better. The previously elegant heels dangle from loose fingers, speckled with blood and holding two wilted feathers. Covered head to toe in dust and cobwebs, your knees are scraped up and your polished toes curl bare against the floor.

What the hell possessed you to walk barefoot into a 24-hour Taco Bell you’ll never know, but alas. Here you are. 

Bucky saunters up to the register and slaps his grimy hands on the counter, giving the woman his most charming smile and what he believes to be a sexy wink. She simply raises an eyebrow and snaps her gum.

“Hello. I want the dollar menu,” Bucky says, squinting up at the sign.

“Which items?”

“All the items,” he replies promptly. “And a diet soda please, not a regular one. I’m cutting back on the calories, apparently I need to watch my weight. The lady here says I’ve been pudging out.”

Pinching the non-existent fat on his washboard of a stomach, he gives her a conspiratorial nod and points back to you.

“I most certainly did not say that,” you huff, glaring at him.

“Yes, you did, you called me fat earlier,” he reminds you. “Remember? When I was on top of you and tried to pull up your dress?”

The woman stares at him and blows a pink bubble. Her eyes slide to you and she gives you a slow nod, the kind that clearly says nice.

“No,” you say sternly, pointing a warning finger. “Christ no. Do not encourage him.”

Bucky laughs, the sound of his husky voice echoing through the restaurant and dammit, he looks like someone threw a brick at his face and used him to sharpen their knives, but he’s still the most attractive man you’ve ever met and how’s that for annoying? 

Fifteen minutes later, you’re back on the road, flying along as Bucky holds tight to his food and watches the highway intently, counting out road signs. Finally, he points to a small green number.

“This is it, last stop,” Bucky says, his voice brimming with excitement. “Slow down, the road’s there.”

Arguing is futile, so you follow his directions, turning off the highway and bumping down a narrow strip of unmarked road. The path winds further and further and you wonder at his end game, until the trees suddenly clear and you hit the brakes in surprise. 

The night sky extends in front of you, an infinite black road to the stars twinkling above the black ocean waves, a dazzling full moon low on the horizon. The secluded beach is empty, a quiet world existing for you and Bucky alone – and when you turn to him, you see him watching you with an adoring grin.

That damn smile. It gets you every time.

“I swear Barnes, you’re good. You’re really good,” you admit and Bucky tips his head back and starts to laugh.

Climbing from the car, you dig out a plaid blanket from your trunk, and with heels and soda in hand, the echo of crashing waves pulls you through the darkness. Finding a flat space, you fluff the blanket out and collapse, stretching out with a soft groan and closing your eyes.

Bucky drops his bag full of cheesy beef burritos and chicken quesadillas and caramel apple empanadas and kicks off his boots with a matching groan of pleasure. Falling to the blanket he rolls onto his stomach and tears into the food, making his way through each item in silence. Long minutes tick by as the damp breeze blows over your skin and you begin to doze.

“You know,” he finally says, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m calling it. Tonight? Best. Date. Ever. Gonna be hard to top this.”

Rolling to the side, you prop your chin in your hand. “Come again?”

“Yeah, I planned it perfectly! The whole night, it was all things you wanted to do.” He finishes chewing the last bite, tucks the wrappers into the bag and sits up on his knees, ticking off the evening’s events.

“So first, we did a fun couples activity.”

“Me saving you from an ass beating and you snapping a guy’s neck isn’t exactly a couple’s activity, but sure.”

“Second, I got us private box seats, so we could go to a – sold out I might add – classical music concert.”

“I mean, again with the murder and now a massive dry-cleaning bill, but okay.”

“And to cap off the perfect date, we’re having a romantic moonlit picnic on the beach.”

The sarcastic quip balances on the tip of your tongue and in all fairness, Bucky expects a sassy response. Sass is the bedrock of your relationship.

But the words don’t come.

Instead, you absorb the pure beauty of the glowing white sand and of Bucky’s handsome face, reflecting on everything about him that led you here tonight.

He’s incorrigible.

A pain in the ass. 

Ridiculous.

Passionate.

Hilarious.

Adorable. 

The love of your life.

Damn. You’re head over heels for this idiot.

Nodding slowly, your lips curve into the smile he loves so well, the one that melts his heart, the one he went to outrageous lengths to pull from you tonight.

“Yeah. You’re right Buck. You pretty much nailed it.”

Bucky grins at the compliment. He picks up your left hand, brushes specs of sand away, and places two kisses on your finger.

One above your wedding band, one below.

Contentment sings through his veins and he threads his fingers through yours.

“Happy anniversary honey.”

“Happy anniversary Bucky.”

“Do me a favor, yeah?” Bending closer, he rubs his mouth lightly against your forehead, your nose, your lips. He drinks up the word with a blissful sigh when he hears your reply.

“Anything.”

“Get those heels back on, I ain’t letting them go to waste.”

Laughing, you hand him the shoes and he pulls your legs apart and crawls between them, slipping the heels gently on your feet one at a time, leaving wet kisses on each ankle.

The filthy smile is back.

He tugs up your skirt.

And this time, you go with it.

*****

Strikethroughs mean tags won’t work

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[diredigression]

Introducing: Sole

Yep, my SoSu has a super creative name. Whatever. But here’s the start of her origin story. And it’s dark. Enjoy!

CW: some gore, minor character death

Terror.

The newscaster’s voice on the TV. Nate’s frantic commands. Shaun’s wails. Panicked cries of neighbors searching for loved ones. The mushroom cloud, as if plucked straight from a bad movie and pasted suddenly into the tranquil sky. The echoing boom like the vault door saying the end. Horror.

Cold. Stiff. Trapped. Strangers. Nate. Shaun. Boom (the end). Screams. Scar. Cold. Despair.

Cold, stiff, trapped. Ice on her fingers. Ice on her face. Then, free. Falling from confinement to the hard ground. How long? An instant, forever. No movement. Just death. The Ables, dead. The Whitfields, dead. Mr. Russell, dead.

Nate, dead.

Nate.

Shaun?

Skeletons. Skeletons everywhere. Everyone was dead.

Just me…it’s just me…I’m the sole survivor.

A skitter. Something was not dead. Something charging, biting, life amidst the silence.  Something–a dog-sized roach??? Bleeding, grab something, protection, a baton. Roach guts. More roaches. Swarming roaches. Guts on her baton, her boots, her suit.

A Pip-Boy on her wrist.

Sunlight, and wind, and blue sky, and death. Shock.

Five people in the ancient museum. Preston, Sturges, Marcy, Jun, Mama Murphy. Living people. People alive in this nuclear wasteland. Friends. Mama Murphy, the sweet grandmotherly woman who somehow knew about Shaun and held her as she cried. Marcy, grieving mother; Jun, grieving father. Preston, who asked her name–I’m…I’m the sole…

Then more people, a swarm, angry, screaming, shooting. Preston and the others, shooting. Something shoved into her hands–electronics on a board–a gun? They wanted her to shoot people? Sturges pushing her towards the stairs as the others shot, something about power armor and a minigun; obeying instinctively. Encased in metal, cold, stiff, trapped. Chasing the strangers out into the street. Boom. The strangers fled.

A nightmare made teeth and horns and laughably oversized claws, rank flesh in their midst, charging with unreal speed. Mama Murphy, the sweet grandmotherly woman who somehow knew about Shaun and held her as she cried, now broken on the ground and spilling more blood than her tiny body should hold. Marcy next, grieving mother, thrown and cracked open against a building. Then Jun, grieving father, now a widower, now charging the nightmare with an animalistic roar, now a spray of red. Then the nightmare looking into her eyes. The weight of the minigun trigger under a metal finger. The end. Nothing.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been awake. She assumed she must have slept, but she couldn’t summon the effort to care about when.

All she knew was that she had been working. Trying to make the place habitable, whatever that meant here. She and Codsworth cleaned the inside of what had once been a house, the neighbors’ house, people she probably had been friendly with before they were vaporized or had asphyxiated in that vault. She probably was supposed to care. But all she really cared about was how had they managed to let their house fall into such disarray? The missus must be so ashamed. The atrociously dirty floor, giant bug carcasses scattered throughout, door falling off the fridge. Not that the fridge worked anymore anyway. Codsworth tended to the maintenance of the doors and equipment, to the extent that they could be fixed, occasionally bringing furniture from neighboring houses, while she swept and scrubbed the floors and tables. 200 years abandoned or no, the state of the place was shameful. Preston had chosen the house for its convenient workshop. She had intended to insist on hosting them at her own home; she knew she had left it pristine. But she couldn’t actually make herself go to it. A wall had gone up in her mind around the idea, and something very quiet and deep had convinced her that trying to circumvent it wasn’t a good thing.

Not that she really believed it had been 200 years. That was silly. Cod’s real time clock hardware must’ve been damaged in the bombing. She hadn’t bothered asking her new companions either. She did believe that the bombs had fallen; she’d seen it, after all. At least, she could mostly convince herself of that. But 200 years? Incomprehensible.

The men worked outside. They patched the holes in the roof and the walls, trying to weatherproof the building. Well, Sturges did, anyway. She vaguely remembered Preston gathering them together in the Concord street, the three survivors, and shepherding them towards Sanctuary. Mama Murphy had wanted them there, after all. Had somehow known about her old home. Convenient, as she led them that way anyway. Where else felt safe? Upon arrival though, once bedrolls were laid out and he’d made sure everyone had eaten and had their injuries tended, once Sturges had repeatedly assured him that everyone was okay and there was nothing else he need do, that all the injuries would mend even though apparently they’d long since run out of stimpaks and she had none of her own–Preston had crashed hard. He’d spent the next…however long it had been…wrapped in his bedroll, empty eyes staring across the room, barely moving but to accept the food she diligently fed him.

Scrubbing floors, cooking, feeding recalcitrant eaters. Life was almost normal. Except she didn’t usually cook with bug and dog and these things Sturges called “tatos” that were definitely not actual tomatoes. But that was life in wartime, learning to cook with whatever you had available. She was no stranger to this. She made do. It wasn’t like she could taste the food, anyway, and the same probably applied to Preston. Sturges had offered to cook and to feed Preston multiple times, but he had apparently finally realized that she only met this with mortification rather than appreciation, and he had finally stopped. Damned if she wasn’t still capable of doing her job, and how dare he imply otherwise.

They fell into routine, and eventually she began tracking time again. Wake, prep breakfast for the men and then herself. Clean whatever was next on the list. Prep lunch. More cleaning. Prep dinner. Haul water to the bathtub, as the running water wasn’t working. Take a bath. It was bad enough that she only had her vault suit to wear, day after day. She couldn’t stand the shame of being filthy around company, no matter how much water she had to haul. Go to bed, her in one room and the men in another. Sturges had tried to convince her to sleep in the same room, something about keeping watch and staying safe. But what was going to hurt her in the house? And god forbid she sleep in the same room with strange men.

Day after day, the routine continued. The house became less dirty and better walled. Cook, clean, wash, sleep. Cook, clean, wash, sleep.

Then one day, Preston returned to life. It was dinnertime. She was trying to spoonfeed Preston a vegetable stew, the dinner she was most comfortable making lately. It was hard to make herself feed it to someone when she knew it wasn’t salted, because apparently salt was an impossible ingredient to find here in the nuclear apocalypse. But she couldn’t taste the lack of salt, so she made herself pretend it was fine. They had to eat something or starve, after all.

It had been a hard day. Sturges had cobbled together a water purifier, somehow managing to scavenge supplies from across the town. By the cursing she had heard, it hadn’t been a pleasant task. Preston was being harder to feed than usual, starting to actively fight her instead of placidly accepting whatever she made him do.

Then he started sobbing, words slipping out between great, horrifying wails. “I can’t even f…freaking…eat right.”

She looked up for Sturges, frantic. She was vaguely aware that this wasn’t his job, she was supposed to be good at this, but she couldn’t bring the ability to mind. But Sturges was right there, taking Preston from her, cradling him against his chest. “Hey, now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“I can’t move. I can’t help you rebuild. I can’t even eat right.”

“Come on, there’s nothing to apologize for. You worry about you, and everything will take care of itself.”

“I’ve failed everyone who ever relied on me. I led them to Concord. I got them killed. They’re dead because of me.”

“You’ve been through a rough time, man. The worst. But it’s not your fault. You got us out of Quincy, you got us out of Lexington. You–you saved my life, man. I wouldn’t be alive if not for you. And you tried your damndest to save their lives too. That’s all any of us can do.”

“They’re all dead…”

Preston’s sobbing turned into sniffles, and Sturges held him and whispered gently. She slipped out of the room. This was no longer her duty.

[tranquilhomescleanersllc]

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[pinkletterday]

A Stitch In Time Ch2

Pairing: Oliver Queen/ Barry Allen

Rating: Mature

Tags: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, so much angst, some bad jokes, Oliver Queen' trauma conga line, Oliver and Iris friendship, alt Arrow Season 3, untagged plot twist.

Summary:  Oliver hadn't expected his world to come crashing down when he had sent his boyfriend off to  see the Particle Accelerator launch. All he can do now is hold on to faith as Barry sleeps on - until he witnesses a miracle. He should have known that even miracles come at a price. 

Chapter 1

Bonus deleted scene 1

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Rage was still surging in Slade Wilson's blood as he broke into into STAR Labs. It was laughably easy to tear through the electrified barbed wire and steel doors. Just as their decoy had been insultingly transparent, as though he would believe Queen would trust a CCPD safehouse to protect his beloved.

The towering ediface was reduced to a darkened husk of its former glory, emptied of nearly all its personnel except for a handful of skeleton staff that had left for the night and the pair of scientists keeping vigil over Barry Allen.

His plan to kill Oliver's mother in front of him may have been thwarted (by what he still did not know) but he had promised him a slow, lingering death. As satisfying as it had been to watch Oliver struggle more with each day his lover remained comatose, Slade knew better than anyone how tenaciously the boy could cling to the slightest lifeline. It was time to sever it completely.

He went in alone. Schematics for the building indicated that the most secure part of the facility would be its sub-levels, which meant there would only be one point of entry - or exit, which could be turned to his advantage. He had hoped to coerce one of the scientists to gain him access once he was inside, particularly if Harrison Wells himself was working late, but every winding corridor and room he explored was dark and empty.

Ah well. He had more than one trick up his sleeve to smoke the rats out.

He had pried the service elevator doors open, and was in the process of considering how best to set the C4 charges within the yawning shaft when -

Something exploded into him, slamming him into the opposite wall with a force that would have broken every bone in an ordinary human's body. His vision swam, head ringing like a cow bell for an instant before another burst of red light sent him hurtling down the corridor.

Choking for breath through the burning of broken ribs, he realized the thing that had rescued the Queens in the clearing had returned. He ripped off his helmet, gasping for air and tried to belly-crawl away.

A pair of boots appeared in his eye-line. They followed long grey leather-clad legs extending to a blurry yellow torso and Slade must have knocked his head too hard because the figure appeared to be vibrating.

Glowing red eyes in a yellow mask looked down at him. "It was a mistake to come here, Mr. Wilson," it growled. The voice was clearly modulated with an odd resonance.

"What are you?" Slade demanded hoarsely.

A gloved hand grasped him by the back of his neck, hauling him to his knees. The red eyes bored into his now-bloodied good one. "Something even you, with your primitive chemical enhancements, cannot conceive."

Slade smashed his fist into the thing's mid-section, but fell forward into empty air. A moment later he was slammed facedown from behind, feeling his nose crack on the floor.

"You think Barry Allen but a pawn in your game with Oliver Queen," said the creature, looming over him, "What you do not know, is that it is the Green Arrow who will be a mere footnote in the Flash's legacy."

Slade's hand closed around the knife holstered at his thigh. Whipping around with a snarl, he slashed at the thing's face - only to find it slicing through air once more. Letting the momentum to roll him to his feet, he sheathed his knife and drew his gun, closing his eye against the still-spinning room.

There was a subtle displacement of air, the smell of ozone. Slade fired blind, round after round, anticipating every possible trajectory - until omething jammed his gun. Only his superior reflexes stopped his finger on the trigger, narrowly avoiding it exploding in his hand. Static raised the hair on his body. Slade opened his eye, knowing what he'd find.

One yellow arm ceased blurring to reveal a handful of gleaming bullets.  "Missed," it hissed in amusement.

Slade blinked the blood from his eye and stared it down. "I didn't."

In a split second he drew his back-up and fired at the raised arm. The creature clutched it with a yell, the bullets spilling on the floor. He rammed a knee into its sternum and pistol-whipped it across the jaw.  It staggered back and he pressed his advantage, landing another glancing blow to the back of the head. He fired again as went reeling - but his quarry vanished in a streak of light, leaving only a red afterimage.

He didn't wait around to figure out where it had gone. Dropping the jammed gun, he raced back towards the service elevator, shooting the back-up behind him in a haphazard spray of bullets.

Half-blind and in the open, he had to level the playing field. He dove into dark room off the corridor. What little he could make out seemed a maze of work tables and machinery.

Lobbing a smoke grenade in the middle of the room, he unsheathed his sword and fell into a crouch behind a metal rack full of dismantled electronics.

Laughter echoed around the room. "Well done, Mr. Wilson!" Red Eyes sounded more hungrily excited than angry. "I should have known you would be a worthy adversary. I admit, I have been growing complacent."

Slade said nothing. The hiss of the smoke cannister and the voice resounding off the walls made it almost impossible to pinpoint the tell-tale whir of the creature's vibration.

"However - it is in your best interests to take your petty little squabble with Queen elsewhere," Red eyes continued "Kill him, torture him, I don't care."

There it was, a displacement of air like a mini-vaccuum, a flash of red. Slade flung the grenade in its path. The blast illuminated a figure reeling away. He crashed the rack down on the creature's head, a metal breaking apart in a shower of sparks, katana sweeping a diagonal arc - but it cleaved only air.

His back hit the wall in a bone-rattling crash. Through the starsburst of pain in his skull, he felt a vise grip around his wrist and intercepted the swing just before the blade was forced up to slit his own throat.

Red eyes gleamed gleefully over the sword, both their hands in a death grip around the hilt. "Oh you are good -"

It just evaded Slade's foot smashing into its groin.The momentary lapse let him grab his knife and slash upwards. The move would have bisected the thing from hip to shoulder, but it flashed back, missing only by a hair -

- and then his forearm was wrenched around the wrong way with a sickening crack. White hot pain erupted from his broken elbow, the knife slipping from his hand; but managed to keep his grip on the sword hilt. He jammed it backwards into the creature's gut - and missed again. A rain of lightning-fast blows made him crash to the floor.

Lava-red light seared through his eyelid. He slit his eye open to find himself caged in vortex of lightning, static crackling through him, the pressurized air pinning him into the ground.

Fury flared over the daze that threatened to drag him unconscious. No, he thought, rage burning brighter than his agony, I will not die without my vengeance.

Red Eyes blurred in place in the middle of the lightning storm, its yellow man-shaped outline clear. Slade scrabbled for his katana, fingers again finding the hilt. With a roar, he swung it upwards, battered torso screaming in protest.

Only to see the blade pass as though through a hologram.

The hell-fire engulfed him completely, blood, rage, pain and lightning all one and the same, and now the world was rushing through him, legs locked in place, breath stolen from his lungs.

And then it stopped.

He lay there, stunned, the aftershocks passing through his numb body. It took a moment to realize that the stars swimming across his vision were real. Somehow, the thing had dragged him all the way outside.

"Well, this has been fun," mocked Red Eyes, appearing above him. Slade lunged weakly for its leg and was rewarded with a lightning-fast kick to the head. "You really do not give up do you?" it laughed incredulously.

The creature kneeled down in front of him as he fought shock and nausea, unable to move. It grasped his chin, forcing his head around to face the devil eyes. Even through his own haze of pain, almost blinded with blood, Slade registered that Red Eyes's own breathing was labored, its arm held stiffly at its side.

"It appears that you do deserve your reputation, Mr. Wilson," it said. "And I appreciate the lesson to not underestimate you - or Mr. Queen."

His head was thrown hard back against the ground and a boot crunched down on his broken arm, making him jack-knife up in agony. "But Barry Allen is mine to destroy, and mine alone," he heard uncompehending, fighting not to vomit. "History is waiting to be re-made." The boot lifted and he flopped back, desperately gulping air.

And then he was flying once more, catapaulted high over the mangled gate. He crashed into his own truck like a broken doll, the metal crunching and glass shattering at the force of collision.

"Stay out of my way." The words echoed in Slade's ears before his world went dark.

...

Oliver woke up to the morning sun streaming golden through the open curtains of his room. It was no sluggish awakening. He all but leapt out of bed, almost vibrating with energy. For how could he waste a second asleep when Barry was going to wake up soon?

He hummed he made himself a proper breakfast of eggs and French toast and dressed in his sharpest business suit. His feet did not seem to touch the ground on the way to work, even stopping to buy a bouquet of flowers, beaming at passers-by. 

"Good morning, Oliver. Wow. You look...happy," Felicity boggled at him as he strode past her into his office. "Is everything all right?"

"Haha," he said sarcastically. "Yes, I am happy. You know why?" he dropped into his chair and spun it around, grinning sunnily at her, "Because Barry's gonna wake up!"

Felicity paused at the door, looking uncertain. "Oliver -""I'm not in denial, Felicity," he leaned back, running a hand over his beard to hide the smile he couldn't stop, "I just - have a good feeling."

"Oliver, the hospital called -," said Digg, appearing at the door.

"Aha!" he jumped to his feet, mouthing I told you at Felicity and grabbed the flowers. "Let's go Digg!"

He saw John and Felicity exchange a concerned look but ignored it, even when Digg kept sending him wary glances in the rearview mirror during the drive. How could Oliver possibly explain how he knew, though? He resigned himself to looking a little bit crazy, but it didn't matter. It wouldn't be long now. His hands were clammy in anticipation, and he brushed them along his trousers, heart beating wildly.

Digg attempted to hold him back when he got out of the car. "Oliver wait! There's something I have to tell you!" he called over the driver's seat, but Oliver had already swung the door shut and the cars behind them started leaning on their horns. He gave him a rueful salute and raced up to Barry's hospital room, expecting to see him sitting up, surrounded by - 

- a somber gathering clustered around the door. The blanket was drawn high over Barry's prone form, the Wests sitting on either side of him. Joe had his face buried in Barry's chest, shaking with sobs, holding Barry's hand. Tears were running down Iris's cheeks as she laid her hand on top of theirs

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of him, stricken. "I'm so sorry, Oliver," she sniffled. "We couldn't wait any longer." 

His stomach dropped. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, you knew we were pulling the plug today," said Iris sympathetically. "I'm sorry you missed saying goodbye."

"What? No!" he exclaimed, shoving his way through the crowd. "You don't understand! He's going to wake up!" He seized Barry by the shoulders, shaking him violently, "Barry! Wake up, Barr!" 

But his lover's head flopped lifeless, face waxen, his body cold to touch.

People pressed around him in a commotion, pulling his hands away, dragging him back. Iris buffered herself between him and her irate father, pushing him backwards. "Is this some kind of joke?" Joe West demanded. 

"No, no! You don't understand!," Oliver shouted futilely over Iris's head as he was shunted out of the room. She laid a calming hand on his arm and he grabbed her shoulders now, willing her to see sense. "Barry's going to wake up!"

"Why do you keep saying that?" cried Iris in frustration. "You've kept saying that all this time but never told us why! How do you know?" "I know because - Barry rescued us that night! He...he time-travelled, he could run faster than sound....," he trailed off in confusion. It all sounded so implausible. Iris's eyes gentled. "It was just a dream, Oliver," she said, taking his hands in hers. "You cant possibly think that was real. It was a dream you had, years ago." 

"...years?"

And suddenly he realized that Iris was, in fact, much older. Her face was still beautiful, but mature. A wedding band gleamed on her hand. Joe West's beard was entirely gray and even his own fingers were wrinkled with age -

"Mommy!" a little girl ran up and grabbed her hand. Iris tucked her into her side, ruffling her dark ringlets.

"We kept waiting because you seemed so sure," said Iris sadly. "But it's time to let go now. It was only a dream."

"No - no," he floundered, certainty ebbing away, "he rescued my mother! Ask Thea, ask my mother!"

"Mom's dead, Oliver." He whirled around to see Thea glaring accusingly at him. She was still young, wearing a black dress and pearls. "Mom's dead and you didn't even come to her funeral!"

Images and memories blurred into each other, a swirl of confusion in his head. The light had rescued them, hadnt it? But that was crazy. He remembered the sword flashing in Slade's hand, and he was almost, almost sure that it had impaled her right through the heart...why couldn't he remember? "No," he stammered. "Mom...Mom's mayor now -" Thea made a noise of disgust and shook her head. "God, look at you. Still delusional. Mom's dead and it was your fault! Go look outside if you dont believe me!"

She flung her hand out at the blinding silver sunshine beyond the large French windows. Oliver ran outside, down the cobbled steps of Queen Manor's garden path, out to where the headstones were. Mourners dressed in black scattered as he shouldered through them, trying to see -

MOIRA DREARDEN QUEEN, declared the tombstone. 

His legs gave way, the ground hitting him hard in the knees. His chest was caving in, driving the breath from his lungs - it couldnt be true, couldnt be true - Barry had been there, with his lightning and his words -

Isabel Rochev laughed down at him. "What? That you could save the city? That you could save yourself?" Her lip curled in a cruel smile. "I dont know what's more unbelievable - you being anything but a fuck up, or a man made of lightning."

Oliver grasped handfuls of grass and earth, the world spinning around him, trying to hold onto the memories...trying to remember what was real. But it was like holding sand in his hands under the tide. "No. No. Barry -,"

Died in the Accelerator explosion. Died today. Died years ago. Never met Oliver. 

Did Barry even exist? Did Oliver? Was the green hood and the mask and the arrowing people from the rooftops a dream too? 

"I'm the Arrow!" he insisted desperately. The mourners meandered around him, unhearing, as the skies greyed above them. "I survived Lian Yu! I came back to right my father's wrongs!" It all seemed so...improbable the more he said it out loud. Raindrops started falling rapidly. There was a storm coming.

"I'M THE MAN IN THE GREEN HOOD!" he screamed, as thunder split the air. "No, Oliver," said Tommy, looking down at him in pity. "You're dead." He looked up at the tombstone again. It read OLIVER JONAS QUEEN. ...

His eyes flew open. He froze, blood pounding in his ears. 

The cavernous ceiling of the foundry greeted him, shrouded in darkness save for the dim blue flourescence of the display case. There was no sound in the stillness save for his own heart beating a painful tattoo against his ribcage. 

The tangled reel of his dreams and memories took a minute to unwind. He was the Arrow. Barry was in a coma. He was going to wake up, because...he had visited from the future with lightning at his heels. 

Terror coiled in his chest. That was absurd. Please let it not be absurd. Was it a memory, or a memory of a dream? 

He shot upright as he realized who would know. Mom. Mom was alive. He had seen her just last night. 

He swung to his feet and grabbed his phone, the air rushing out of him in relief when his recent calls list showed "Mom". She picked up after only a couple of rings. "Oliver?," her voice was thick with sleep, tinged with trepidation and so, infinitely wonderful. "Has something happened?"

It was like hearing her voice in that fishing boat all over again, finally sailing away from the choppy grey North China sea towards home. He fought the urge to cry.

"Mom?"

"Oliver?" she sounded alert and afraid now. "Where are you? What's going on?"

"Mom." The knot in his throat choked his words. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened the night Slade kidnapped us."

There was a pause. "He was going to kill us. But lightning struck his sword and knocked him unconscious," she said, reciting well-learned lines. "When we came around, you had convinced one of Slade's men to drive us out of there, in exchange for a reward. You dropped us off at the precinct and went back with him to fulfill your end of the bargain." 

Oliver huffed a laugh through his tears. That was the least convincing Moira Queen sell ever. Lucky she had given such a stellar performance to the actual cops. "I mean the real truth, Mom."

"Oliver, it's four am," she said, exasperation mixed with worry. "what is this about?"

"I just need to hear it, Mom."

Moira sighed. "I thought he was going to kill me," her voice only trembled slightly, "but then, there was this incredible light - and it was like time slowed down but the world sped up. Something was holding me, light all around us - and then we were at the Glades precinct," she trailed off in a whisper. "But we were frantic because you werent with us. You turned up a little later, though it seemed like hours to us. And then you told us to never tell anyone what we really saw."

The relief escaped him in a long sigh, the fearful tenterhooks releasing him into exhaustion. "Yeah. Thanks, Mom. I just...needed to hear that," he said, wiping his eyes. 

"Okay," she said softly. There was a beat of silence. "Are you ever going to tell us what really happened?" The mask Barry made him was lying on the work table in front of him. He picked it up, moulding the polymer fabric over his fingers. "Maybe some day."

...

NEW TERROR ATTACK EVIDENCE UNVEILED by Vesper Fairchild New evidence has revealed that Alderman Sebastian Blood led a militia cult named The Church of Blood responsible for last week's terror attacks in Starling City. The mayor's office received a video confession two days before Bloo's body was recovered from the Orchid Bay, in which Blood claimed to be the cult's leader known as Brother Blood, in charge of recruiting, brainwashing and administering an experimental steriod serum to its members. He has further claimed to have been acting under the directive of Slade Wilson. Wilson was a benefactor to Moira Queen's mayorial campaign before he allegedly kidnapped her daughter and later the whole Queen family. According to Blood, Moira Queen's murder was to have left the way clear for Blood to take office. Ms. Isabel Rochev, former vice president of acquisitions at Stellmoor International and CEO of Queen Consolidated, is also accused of being a co-conspirator. She gained control of the company recently by outsing Oliver Queen in a hostile takeover, orchestrated in the wake of Thea Queen's kidnapping. All signs point to Blood, Wilson and Rochev to have been working in concert to carry out a mysterious vendetta against the Queen family. Blood appears to have had a change of heart when he discovered the extent of Wilson's planned devastation. The authorities have not yet been able to apprehend Wilson and Rochev, who are now considered fugitives from justice. The public is warned not to approach as they may be armed and dangerous.

MAYOR QUEEN COMMENDED FOR LEADERSHIP by Marcus To Missouri Governor Gillian Bueller has personally called to congratulate Mayor Moira Queen for her competence in managing the city during last week's crisis. Queen, who was sworn into office only twenty-four hours before the attacks commenced, took swift and decisive action in calling the National Guard and co-ordinating with the city's emergency services. "She was adamant that our men - nobody - try to engage these men head-on," said Patrick Finch, Chief of Police. "The reports coming in were crazy, of some kind of superhumans who couldn't be stopped by bullets and could kick through steel doors. A lot of us thought it was just panicked exaggeration but Mayor Queen took it very seriously. I'm very glad of it now although I disagreed with her then. In focusing our energies into evacuation rather than confrontation, we undoubtedly minimized a lot of casualties." Mayor Queen herself thanks the city's Chief of Police, as well as Fire Chief Kevin Donahue and District Attorney Kate Spencer for their trust and co-operation. She also commends Detective Quentin Lance of the SCPD for his brave and bold action in taking charge of the Glades precinct which took the brunt of the attacks. Lance was admitted to hospital with significant though non-critical injuries sustained while leading the surviving officers and civillians to safety. He is stated to now be in recovery. His daughter Laurel Lance, formerly of the CNRI, has been appointed Assistant District Attorney in recognition of her role in investigating and exposing Sebastian Blood. The appointment follows the dismissal in March of her own supervisor Adam Donner, for collaborating with a sting operation outside the auspices of the DA's office.  Speaking at the press conference at City Hall yesterday, Mayor Queen reiterated her faith in and commitment to Starling City. "My city and my children are now one and the same and I will stop at nothing to protect and nurture them. Starling City is strong and its children, my children, do not yield to cowards in masks. Time and again they underestimate the strength, the resilience and perserverance of our communities. We will celebrate its heroes that rose in our hour of need and bring justice to its victims. And we will always rebuild stronger than ever. " 

VIGILANTES INVOLVED IN TERRORIST TAKEDOWN by Nicola Scott The vigilantes known as Arrow and Black Canary are rumoured to have played a crucial role in the takedown of these alledged "super soldiers", now called Brother Blood soldiers. Starling residents claim to have seen a team of masked men and women with bows and arrows and a blond woman weilding a bo staff go head to head with a swarm of cult members at various points in the city. "I was on my way into Starling with a package from Central City for a friend of mine, when this guy comes out of nowhere and hit my car," says Scott Snyder, 23. "Next thing I know, my car was upside down on the side of the highway and I'm trapped in my seat. I just managed to crawl halfway out of the wreck when this huge guy in a ski mask comes in and yanks me out, nearly ripping my leg off. I thought - I knew I was gonna die, I was screaming, but then an arrow came out of nowhere and hit him in the neck. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, right onto my broken leg. I think I passed out, but I remember a guy in a green hood digging me out. The Arrow saved my life, man," he concludes emotionally.  Ray Palmer, 38, CEO of Palmer Technologies is also among the rescued. "My fiancé Anna and I only moved to Starling a few weeks ago. We were coming back from dinner downtown, walking to our car parked in Dixon Street, when these huge men - they just barrelled around the corner, knocking over cars like they were tin cans. People were screaming, running. We just froze. We didn't get out of the way fast enough. And then one of them grabbed Anna," Palmer still appears shaken. "I tried to fight him off but it was like hitting a wall. He was just about to snap Anna's neck when this blond woman in black leather came out of nowhere and smashed a pair of batons in his face. It was incredible," Palmer lights up in wonder. "She was like a whirlwind. Like something out of a comic book. She jammed huge tranq darts in them and they just dropped. She saved our lives. The Canary saved our lives."  Some emergency workers claim that the city police and mayor and DA's offices actively collaborated with the vigilantes to track down the perpetrators and administer a special tranquilizer that negated the effects of the steroids. The vigilantes have also subsequently been sighted assisting search and rescue parties for the past three days. Speculation that the Arrow may be involved in Wilson and Rochev's disappearance is running rampant through the city, even though The Arrow has made no confirmed killings since the earthquake disaster last May, instead apprehending his targets on behalf of the authorities. "While it's a positive sign that the vigilante seems to have de-escalated in violence, the fact remains that this is a clearly a troubled and volatile man," says Dr. Avery Presnall, criminal psychologist and SCPD liason. "His actions being helpful in some instances do not erase the fact that he promotes and inspires vigilantism. The system may not be perfect, but there are very good reasons why one person should not play judge, jury and executioner. Regardless of what Mr. Wilson has done, killing him would be a regression of what seems to be the Arrow's developing values."  Other Starling citizens disagree. "Those bastards killed my son," says Lucia Perez, 49. Her son Sam, 19, was a victim of the first wave of the attacks. The young man died defending his family when Brother Blood soldiers stormed their now-destroyed deli in Crescent Circle. "Them, Wilson and that demon Sebastian Blood. They tricked us, destroyed our livelihoods, our children - when does it end? Who gets justice for us, huh? For my boy? Anyone who says these people don't deserve death can't tell God from Satan. I hope the Arrow killed him," the distraught mother cries "I hope he made it painful."  While their methods and morality still remain controversial, most of the city's emergency workers and residents are only thankful for the vigilantes involvement, especially in the Glades.  "The cops can say whatever the hell they want about the Arrow," says a Glades resident who wished to remain nameless. "Truth is, he's been on our side from the beginning. Sure, we didn't like how trigger happy he was when he started out. Some of those perps were just kids who got mixed up in bad business. But then he been scaring them straight. He was here last year, digging people out of the Glades and he was here this time too, going right in the thick of it, tackling those monsters head-on. Him and the blond lady. The Canary's made it safe for women and working girls to walk the streets.They're heroes," she says firmly. "They're our heroes."

...

Something made Henry's eyes widen with disbelief when he saw Oliver waiting to see him. He had barely sat down when he grabbed the phone. "Is Barry?" "No, he's still the same," said Oliver apologetically. The older man looked visibly taken aback, slowly deflating. "...You're looking pretty upbeat," he said in a confusion tinged with suspicion. Oliver hadn't realized how much of the small, fierce flame of hope he kept secreted inside him was outwardly apparent. So much for a poker face. "Because he's going to wake up, Henry," He leaned forward, willing his own unfettered belief to reach the man through the thick, grimy glass. "Maybe not for a while, but he will." Henry searched his face curiously for a long moment. "Not that I'm not glad that neither of us are going to stop hoping. But you seem...quite certain." Oliver smiled. "I've learned to believe in miracles." ...

Bonus deleted scenes 2 and 3

Bonus deleted scene 4 and 5

[prettyboy-jimin]

Just This Once

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Jung Hoseok

Genre: Angst

Word count: 5k

Summary: Based on a prompt I found (Probably from otpprompts) that goes like:

“Just this once... please stay”

Note: Y’all I have never been so relaxed and please while writing and finishing a story. This was birthed from my good friend’s endless love for Sope, she wanted to hurt so I gave her a reason to (I’m sadistic like that) I’m actually really proud of this and I do hope you enjoy! Excuse any overlooked mistakes

Hoseok always had to remind himself that Yoongi wasn’t going to change for him, no matter how much he loved Yoongi. The elder was his own person, Hoseok understood that, but the dancer had left everything behind for the latter, defending him endlessly when it came to others’ criticisms about him and forcing himself to look at the positive traits that Yoongi had when Hoseok’s other friends would name his horrible attributes.

It had been years, a couple of months over three if Hoseok was counting… not that he was. The years didn’t mean much to Yoongi so why would they mean so much to Hoseok? It’s not like Hoseok cared as much as he let on every anniversary that passed, he wasn’t hurt when Yoongi didn’t put in as much effort as he did. He knew Yoongi loved him just as much as he did Yoongi, why else would he have stayed for so long… right?

Now, just like every other time Hoseok had planned to hang out with Yoongi, he had to wait for the older man. It was nearing 9PM when Hoseok looked at the clock. He could see the patrons of the restaurant he sat in for two hours waiting for Yoongi, eye him in his peripherals. He sighed, knowing he would have to face the humiliation sooner or later. Dejectedly and already planning his rant to Yoongi once he got back to their apartment, Hoseok raised his hand and weakly motioned for the waiter to come over.

“Sir?”

Hoseok sighed again, not having the strength to look at the patron as he asked him for the bill.

“On the house, don’t worry about it.” The waiter said before Hoseok met his eyes and had given the young dancer a sad smile. Hoseok returned it with a tight lipped version of his own, thankful for the kindness but unwelcoming towards the pity that he was given. Nonetheless, Hoseok accepted their compassion and managed to drag his feet out the double doors and make the walk back to their apartment where Yoongi was either watching television or passed out.

Hoseok was angry, sure, but he was also used to it. Although, that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t disappointed in Yoongi. They had been together for so long but Yoongi was still the same asshole he was when Hoseok met him. But that sort of changed when they got together, when their dynamics rerun its course. Yoongi was still outspoken, vocal of his snide remarks and opinions but that had toned down whenever Hoseok was in the room, Yoongi was loving and clingy and he loved to hold Hoseok as they slept but when the latter wasn’t present, Yoongi was himself; Unfortunately.

The young dancer had received and endless stream of questions about Yoongi, about himself, and more so their entire relationship. People questioned them and told Hoseok that they weren’t good for each other. Some believed that Hoseok was good for Yoongi, but not the other way around. Someone as cynical as the older man ‘didn’t deserve someone as contradicting’ as Hoseok, which of course Hoseok disagreed to. But over the past several months, he was actually trying to convince himself that Yoongi was a good person, something he never had to do until recently.

The cold air comforted Hoseok as he walked with his face gradually warming, tears threatening to spill over as he struggled to keep his breathing levelled.

No. He wasn’t going to let Yoongi make him feel this way. Not in public. Not in front of him. Not if Hoseok had anything to do about it.

He angrily swiped at his damp eyes with the sleeves of his jacket, huffing out a staggered breath as the taste of salt stained his tongue. Hoseok hated it when he cried, which only added fuel to the fire. He swore under his breath, quickening his steps as their apartment complex finally came in to view and the light from their window showed that Yoongi was home, the flickering and changing of colours proving that he was watching television.

Hoseok’s eyebrows scrunched together in anger as his tears re-emerged once more. He stomped up the steps, flinging the door open and made his way to the little elevator that would take him to their floor. The sound of the electronic bell seemed to rip Hoseok’s gaze away from the ground and to the red LED which showed that the elevator was now on the ground floor; it opened, thankfully empty. Hoseok made his way inside, the anger simmering to a low with the gentle hum of the elevator music. He sighed as he clicked his floor, tears threatening to come up again. Hoseok cursed himself for being weak, for crying. He hated crying. He knew this so why couldn’t he control his own body fluid?

First floor.

He was going to leave. Hoseok was going to leave Yoongi. It wouldn’t be the third time that Hoseok decided this; it wasn’t the first time Yoongi had stood Hoseok up in their entire three years together. In the past, Yoongi wouldn’t even bother holding Hoseok back, knowing that the younger only needed a night or two away from the latter before he would come back. He knew this because Hoseok always packed a bag only for the duration of his stay.

Second floor.

He was already making a mental list of what he would bring. Yoongi had never met Hoseok’s dance troupe, so that meant that Hoseok could stay at either of his hoobae’s places. Hoseok was filled with disappointment to realise that Yoongi had never even seen a single one of Hoseok’s dance performances, always giving excuses about having to be somewhere else, an essay to make, or a song to focus on and submit soon. Hoseok never thought that he minded, dance was his life, music was Yoongi’s. It just seemed as if the two were perfect for each other even though they contradicted each other at some points.

Third floor.

Hoseok wasn’t going to bother confronting Yoongi, mentally planned out rant now partially forgotten but not entirely since he might have to put in a few words if ever Yoongi does stop him. Key word being “if”. He was going to bring majority of his clothes, jeans, long-sleeves and underwear being some of the most important. September proved too cold this year, October creeping up as the time tinged the tree leaves a darker green, falling as bright orange. Hoseok would have to pack his running shoes more than anything too; it’s not like his street style matters right now. He thought of how the irony of its name applied to his situation. He needed running shoes, so he could run away from Yoongi. No that’s not it.

Fourth floor.

That’s not it at all.

Hoseok stepped out of the elevator, head held down, and his eyes wide and very confused as he stepped towards their apartment — no. Yoongi’s apartment. Hoseok had had enough now. He didn't want any more. He was so tired of being so in love with someone who returned his affections half-heartedly. It wasn’t fair, the more Hoseok thought about it, the more he realised it was never fair in the first place. His steps fell heavy and Hoseok could hear his weight shift with every single one he took closer towards the door. His chest constricted, as if his heart found its way right behind his sternum and was banging on it for freedom. Even though it hurt Hoseok’s heart to even think about this, he was doing what was best for him.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, his heart hammering now. Hoseok reached for his key in his back pocket and stuck it in, it felt like a stab in the chest, a knife twisting in his gut as he turned it in the lock. He could hear the television through the walls that separated his home for the past two years from the outside world. With fear flowing through his bloodstream, he took out his key and reburied it in the fabric he took it out of. His sweaty palm made the doorknob seem like it wouldn’t budge but Hoseok managed to turn it anyway.

Hoseok couldn’t see into the living room entirely, just a portion of the couch’s rear took up a frame of the little hallway while the kitchen counter stood parallel to it. He bent down and was just about to take off his shoes when he realised he wouldn’t be staying for long, and he shouldn’t be giving Yoongi ample time to convince him otherwise. Hoseok straightened himself, his steps still as heavy as before but a lot gentler than those in the hallway. He emerged into the living room to see Yoongi sprawled out on the couch, his head rested on his open palm with his elbow propped up on the cushion, watching reruns of some show Hoseok knew he was never interested in to begin with.

“Hey Yoongi” Hoseok greeted monotonously, his voice void of all emotion except sadness and palpable disappointment in the older man.

Hoseok didn’t even get a comprehensive response, just a grunt that reverberated from Yoongi’s throat as his eyes never left the TV. Hoseok scoffed, smiling humourlessly as he rolled his eyes and made his way towards their bedroom—Yoongi’s bedroom. Once there, he dug for his largest duffel bag at the back corner of the little four-walled closet and began to gather the things he deemed necessary for his departure.

He didn’t understand. Three years. Three years together and Yoongi still treated Hoseok like dirt; dirt that he would tolerate more than anyone else anyway. Hoseok wanted to see that as something good, he wanted to look at that and see how Yoongi cared for him more than the average friend; why else would Yoongi tell him he loved him? Why would Yoongi say he felt the same towards Hoseok? Why would they have wasted three years of their lives together if Yoongi never reciprocated what Hoseok felt for him…. right?

Hoseok was failing to see clearly, physically. He didn’t want to wipe the tears away because if he did, he would’ve wasted precious seconds of gold. Time was money, it was freedom, and it was something Hoseok couldn’t afford to lose any more. He shook his head to get the saltwater out of his eyes, staining his cheeks with them as he did so. His watch ticked away on his wrist, taunting him to move faster, insulting him for being too slow, for being weak because he wanted Yoongi to walk in and see him crying as he packed his bags. Hoseok didn’t know what he wanted anymore, but he knew that leaving Yoongi was something that he needed to do for both their sakes.

Shoving his clothes in by the pair, his sweatpants bundling up on themselves as he threw them in and forced them to fit, he would have to change his shoes instead of packing them. He vaguely realised that all of his things couldn’t fit in just one bag or two so he’d have to come back for the rest. Hoseok was about to curse himself for being irresponsible like this and inevitably forcing himself to see Yoongi again, but then he realised that there was a piece of metal identical to the one Yoongi had, sitting in his back pocket. Hoseok just needed to know when Yoongi would be out so he could get whatever was left of his stuff. He let out a breath as relief washed over him for a split second before he remembered what he was doing; he stopped the tears… he had to.

When the article of clothing he tried to keep shoving into the bag wouldn’t fit anymore, Hoseok cursed under his breath and reached for another pack. He shoved in everything else he needed that wouldn’t fit into the initial parcel and carried on trying to even his breathing out.

This was it. Hoseok wasn’t going to let anyone or anything stop him. His hyungs never liked Yoongi for Hoseok in the first place, even if they were all friends. They were just too different to work and it surprised his elders that they even lasted this long. Hoseok let out a humourless laugh, thinking bout all the times he held pride in his smile when they would tell him so. Then out of nowhere, he was done packing.

He stared at the two bags that carried everything he would need from then on; only containing clothes, necessities. No pictures, books, or memoirs of any sort could be found inside; he didn’t need those. Not anymore at least.

“What are you doing?”

Hoseok whipped his head around sharply, his eyes widened with fear and surprise to see Yoongi standing at the opening of the closet. “H-hyung”

“Hoseok-ah, what are you doing?” Hoseok could see Yoongi eyeing the bags he had just finished zipping up, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion and the desperation to understand. Yoongi didn’t get it, but then again, when did he ever?

“H-hyung, I” Hoseok couldn’t look at him, his eyes darting everywhere, anywhere but back to Yoongi. He was more affected by this than Hoseok expected him to be and Hoseok didn’t prepare himself for this. “H-hyung, I’m leaving”

“But” Yoongi didn’t understand “Why?”

Hoseok closed his eyes, remaining on his knees on the floor of the small compartment. For a split second he thought that Yoongi just might lock him in to keep him there. He scratched at the denim of his jeans, his throat turning scratchy and desiccate. What was he supposed to say? That he’d had enough? That Yoongi never loved him as much as Hoseok loved him? That this relationship wasn’t fair to begin with and the past three years of their lives together was a mistake? He should probably say all of those things, but Hoseok didn’t have it in him to do it.  His voice didn’t have the strength to be anywhere audible and Yoongi had to ask him to say it again.

“I said,” Hoseok whimpered, tears building in his eyes once again as he brought his gaze up to meet Yoongi’s “I can’t do this anymore, Yoongi.”

Yoongi didn’t understand, Hoseok knew that. For so long the younger man had taught himself to take Yoongi’s bad attitude and excuses as something valid, knowing that Yoongi favoured him more than other people, that Hoseok was something significantly important to Yoongi compared to other people. But Hoseok didn’t want to be slightly different from the others, he wanted Yoongi to loved him whole-heartedly the way Hoseok did him, but he never got that; and without expectation of ever having that, Hoseok didn’t bother to ask for it anymore.

“I’m so tired, Yoongi.” Hoseok was crying now, his voice wavering as he spoke and struggled to see through the water. “I’m so tired of you letting me down and constantly telling me you’ll make it up to me but you never do.” He took in a breath “I’m so tired of being stood up, of being left in the air without and explanation and most importantly? I am so tired of having to convince myself that you love me when you don’t.”

Hoseok was chasing air now, tears falling relentlessly on his face as he looked up to see Yoongi; emotionless. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt and grabbed his bags as he stood up, uttering an ‘I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later’ before he pushed past Yoongi and tried to get to the door. Hoseok had only set a foot out the doorframe of their bedroom when he felt a hand envelope tightly around his wrist. He stopped moving; his breathing slowed but remained as laboured as ever.

“Hoseok-ah”

No. He wasn’t going to let Yoongi play the pity card; Hoseok had had enough of understanding him. He was too tired. He had wasted so much time, so much of his life on someone who didn’t return his feelings just as strongly. No. Yoongi wasn’t going to win this one.

“Yoongi; please let me go.”

Hoseok thought that Yoongi actually considered it, maybe even almost did do as he asked when he felt Yoongi’s hold loosen slightly, but it only held on tighter as Yoongi said “No.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Yoongi.” Hoseok forced his voice to keep strong, he forced himself; if he wanted to leave this apartment in one piece then he had to have some will. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re staying, Hoseok-ah. This is your home.” Yoongi had stepped closer; Hoseok’s wrist now in between both of the latter’s hands.  He pressed his chest to Hoseok’s back and the younger swore his knees almost buckled beneath him. “When have I ever asked you for anything?”

That struck a nerve. How dare he?

“How dare you?” Hoseok turned, dropping his bags on the floor and ripping his wrist out of Yoongi’s hold. Yoongi had asked too much from Hoseok in the past three years without once giving anything back. Hoseok seldom asked for anything but whenever he did, it was always something that mattered immensely to the younger man. Yoongi was inconsiderate and selfish, Hoseok told him so.

“I’m sorry, that I’ve been an asshole but I—“

“You think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it, Yoongi? Three years of my life wasted on your bullshit?”

Yoongi was at a loss for words, he didn’t know what to say. Hoseok had never been this angry, so angry to the point that Yoongi couldn’t sweet talk him into calming down and this was an entirely new and foreign situation to him.

“Hoseok” Yoongi mumbled, his voice going soft “Baby—“

“No! Fuck you, Yoongi!” Hoseok shouted, taking a step back as he jabbed a finger at Yoongi’s chest to enunciate his point. “You don’t get to fucking ‘baby’ your way out of this! I’m so fucking done with you and I can’t take it anymore!”

Hoseok was shocked to see Yoongi tearing up. Yoongi never cried. Hoseok was always the one responsible for the waterworks in their relationship but finally getting to see Yoongi’s emotions show through was almost enough for Hoseok to give this another chance. Almost.

“I’m sorry, hyung.” He whimpered, voice shaking continuously as his tears kept falling. “I’ve had enough and I can’t take it anymore.”

Hoseok stared at Yoongi as the elder began to mirror his tear-stained face, he didn’t know what to say anymore. Was there anything else? Yoongi didn’t understand, and Hoseok had enough of it. It was time they went their separate ways and severed the relationship the way they should’ve done a long time ago.

Looking at Yoongi now, tears staining his cheeks as he asked Hoseok—told Hoseok to stay with him, the younger had to force himself to believe that what he was doing was the right thing.

He bent to pick up the bags he had dropped, not even halfway down before Yoongi kicked them a little out of his reach. Hoseok could hear him sniffle, he didn’t want to look up at him, he knew it would only hurt more and waste even more time. He bent further, trying to reach them once again but Yoongi kicked them as he did before, but stronger; sending them a ways away from Hoseok.

The younger heaved a sigh, his back ached from the suspension but his heart hurt more from the last three years and the events of the night.

“Baby, I’m sorry” Yoongi said, forcing himself to sound strong even though his voice wavered from his tears and he just wanted to break down in hopes Hoseok would see how genuine he was being. Hoseok stood straight, met by Yoongi’s face covered in fresh tears. “I’m sorry I’ve been so shit to you. I’m sorry that I’ve wasted three years of your life by not telling you I love you, but goddamnit Hoseok, I love you. So fucking much. But I am too fucked up in the head to be anything relatively good to you. I’m so sorry I’ve treated you to badly and I know I always ask things of you and never do anything for you but please… I know. God. I know you’ve wanted to leave so many times but please… please, please just this once… please stay.”

Yoongi was rambling, Hoseok realised midway. Blinking back the tears that were nuisance to him and his feelings but they made Hosoek all the more assure that Yoongi was being genuine and that at some point, he cared the way Hoseok always wanted him to.

But even with such a confession; Hoseok had decided to stay with Yoongi—for Yoongi, too many times in the past, this wasn’t enough to make him stay again.

New tears made themselves known, Hoseok cried with Yoongi as he had been doing the entire time the night dragged on. His chest constricted, his heart banging against the inside of his sternum once again as it screamed to be closer to the older man. So many things that Hoseok wants to do, with only one thing he should do.

But he figured one of the things he wanted would prove important enough.

He stepped towards Yoongi, the pale boy’s lip quivered as Hoseok cupped his face. He stared into Yoongi’s eyes, looking for any sort of indication that Yoongi was holding back, but all he found was remorse; a lot of it.

“I love you, Hoseok” Yoongi whispered, his hands rising to overlap the younger’s. The patterns of their breathing became identical, shallow and uneven. They struggled for oxygen on their own accords but not even that could stop Hoseok from leaning forward ever so slowly. Yoongi’s eyes closed; the small cries that came from him muted slightly but not entirely. As Hoseok pressed their lips together, the taste of salt and iron stained their tongues.

Their kiss was chaste, gentle but firm, an innocent press that told Yoongi everything Hoseok had told him before, but a desperate press that also told Hoseok everything Yoongi never said.

Yoongi’s arms wrapped around Hoseok’s waist, an attempt to keep Hoseok with him for longer, a last opportunity to hold Hoseok like this. Hoseok thought of deepening the kiss, savouring everything he could with Yoongi before he’d leave him, and everything they’ve shared behind.

But he didn’t.

He just kept Yoongi’s bottom lip between his own with enough pressure to tell Yoongi that Hoseok loved him. That Hoseok loved him so much and just enough to let Yoongi go.

He tried to pull back only to have Yoongi chase after his lips in blind desperation. Hoseok felt Yoongi trying to hold back his cries so he could kiss Hoseok properly, but the younger man still felt his whimpers voice through. Hoseok knew that Yoongi was trying to convince him to stay, make things work and sort everything out.

But Hoseok knew better.

They eventually had to separate for air, much to Yoongi’s heartbreak as Hoseok rested their foreheads together, breathing slowing down to a certain pace before Yoongi couldn’t stop himself from sniffling. Hoseok tried to smile through the pain of separating from Yoongi like this. Their relationship was all they had known for the past three years and finally giving up on it was tearing Hoseok apart from the inside out, seeing Yoongi like how he was right now; desperate and afraid, made Hoseok think that the older man was in just as much pain as he was… maybe more.

“Yoongi-ah” Hoseok whispered, his eyes still closed and his forehead still against Yoongi’s as the term of endearment rolled through his lips. The next few words proved a struggle to him as he tried to formulate the words. Straight to the point but gentle were what Hoseok was aiming for when he asked; “Why’d you stand me up tonight?”

Yoongi began to cry again, his face wobbled slightly in Hoseok’s warm hands as the younger tried to soothe him by rubbing his thumbs over Yoongi’s cheeks to wipe his tears away.

Hoseok was afraid of his answer, but regardless what it was, it wouldn’t change his decision of leaving.

Yoongi stuttered, clutching to Hoseok’s shirt tightly as if it could hold him together than he could do so himself. His tongue unable to form coherent words, twisted in on itself as Yoongi tried to speak.

“I— I” he clenched his eyes shut tighter, removing himself from Hoseok only to envelope the latter’s torso in his hold, nuzzling his tear-stained face into Hoseok’s neck but Hoseok was too emotional to care. “Hobi, p-please stay. I didn’t come because I had a s-song to finish, I wanted to I really did but it c-couldn’t wait and I was too p-proud to call you to c-cancel, I’m so s-sorry. Please s-stay.”

Hoseok wanted to be angry, just like he was when he walked here, just like he’d been trying not to be for so long but all he felt was disappointment; in Yoongi. He unravelled his arms from around Yoongi’s shoulders, the other’s hands still gripping at the fabric of Hoseok’s waist. He wiped away Yoongi’s tears, succeeded by his own.

He smiled, a tight stretch of muscle that Yoongi knew Hoseok forced for his sake as he reached for Yoongi’s hands and removed them, holding them gently in his own between them.

“Hyung,” Hoseok said, voice levelled out and his eyes red “Yoongi… I love you.” And I know I always will “but if we really are for each other, then we’ll find our way back to each other one day.” Yoongi wanted to protest, but Hoseok wasn’t finished. “When we’re better people”

Hoseok could see water brimming in Yoongi’s eyes again, before the elder could say anything; he had turned and grabbed his bags, stalking towards the front door and leaving Yoongi all alone.

Hoseok had barely gotten the door open when Yoongi ran after him, clutching him and forcing Hoseok’s back to Yoongi’s chest.

“Please” Yoongi whispered, “Just this once.”

Hoseok did his best to bite down the urge to submit, leave his bags there and hold Yoongi in the bed they’d shared every night for the past hundreds. He didn’t want to say anything more; he’d wasted enough breath and time already. So even though this was as painful as it was going to get, Hoseok shook Yoongi off him; struggling slightly when he tried to follow him out the door.

Hoseok bit his lip to keep his sobs in when he heard Yoongi crying for him. It took everything in Hoseok to keep walking, unsure that Yoongi wouldn’t run after him if he took the elevator; so he took the stairs to keep himself moving.

With one last glance over his shoulder, he saw Yoongi on his knees in silent tears, uttering Hoseok’s name meshed together with his please for the younger to stay and give him another chance. But Hoseok couldn’t afford another chance. Hoseok loved Yoongi endlessly, but just this once—he had to put himself first.

//

Yoongi knew he’d lost him; that he had fucked up for the last time and now Hoseok was done with it. Hoseok was done with him and Yoongi knew that he wasn’t going to come back.

He stayed on his knees, crying into himself as his hands pulled at the roots of his hair. He didn’t understand why he was like this, why he had been so irresponsible and emotionally detached for so long even with the one person in his entire world that made him feel otherwise.

Hoseok had given him everything he needed and more, giving so much yet asking for so little and Yoongi couldn’t even give him the slightest form of effort. Yoongi looked back on their years together, all the dance competitions that he’d missed, the birthdays he had taken for granted, and the dates he had stood Hoseok up; tonight included. Along with all of these, he thought of all the rap battles that Hoseok had supported him at, the finals weeks that Hoseok had taken care of Yoongi and never asked for anything back, the surprises that Hoseok had thrown and planned for Yoongi on various occasions and he felt a twist in his gut; similar to a twin-bladed knife being twisted from the inside of his stomach.

Yoongi was sick, he was disgusted with himself for how he treated Hoseok and tonight was the turning point he told himself he was going to change, but as he remained unmoving at the open doorway; it was crystal clear that Hoseok no longer had any chances to give him.

His head hurt, a pulse-like sensation bouncing off the insides of his skull had seemed to create some kind of high-pitched ringing in his ears. It had been too long since he had a panic attack, the pins and needles in his hands, face and ears all seemed too foreign that it terrified him. But if Yoongi wasn’t determined enough to keep Hoseok with him, he was determined to earn him back; starting with not letting his own demons be the reason why Hoseok would stay with him out of pity.

He rose from his position, his back arching slightly from his developed slouch, and tried to breathe properly. Inhaling through his nose, holding his breath for a short period of time and thereafter exhaling through his mouth as his shoulders relaxed and slumped with him; he stared at the portion of stairs that he could eye from down the hall, mere seconds ago Hoseok was there, minutes ago Hoseok was here, days ago Hoseok was with him, yet now, Hoseok was gone.

Yoongi could feel himself started to cry again, but he shook his head, making his headache worse as he forced himself to have some self-control. He groaned, rising off his knees and straightening himself before he shut the door and locked it, walking back inside to lie in a lonely bed; the one that he used to share.

[perkwunos]

I enter a cage of the liquid which spreads around me like the cauliflower grown in bombs upon the sun I can switch that, and I can move, but cores do not only they can burn inside a weight and then produce the leaf of lettuce sweat from Mars in its farming, stationary cartoons.

the logbook is one - continuity manifestion muscles nervousness avoidence the ellipses - aurochs - and thus the plucked lyre echoes out joints ghosts of star's traveling in moot my ancestral soul gives love to consumption; enwrapt the point that warps to joy because someone can enact a symbol that will awaken up and spill it out and now torn like seed the thing you wish to happen toilet bowl on pure neptune atmospheric conjoint twins breed self via obstacle, individuality via outer shell inside exposure - and letting go to horribly cover up the sun.

the finer points of abstract electrons returning gut onto subsiding hip with the glans oakwards essential which is the product inside another's effect - no change the dandelions match and can I deny the peaceful road? nor rain-clouds give the root and my rain jacket. I read what has not been written by someone else or a crab shrunk out between fine grains in asphalt roads - but I read out what is mine. the dandelion stone-like which is matched with a fine skirt laid down. softly unfocused the forest night commutes onto, and obliterates in fine points of spectrum, my sense, and now I join in kiss ...

I can comb the palace that contains the thing you touch and I can sing about the style of impressions your eyes, in their direction, in attempt to make a product, remain as still as if they were painted there, momentary -

though I cannot hold it in my sleep at night, still like warmth lead me to sense the heights of both garden waters - that of the ocean and that of the firmament.

one eyeball is so intense in cliff-hills of your milk a bond in a situation, not of my memories recombined but out of the diamond's inside first-person, second-person, nominative accusative

to distil the core ideas:

distinct analogies of the spaces that hide in between suction cups shining inside of globes.

creation in flames created inside of fire clothed to the distance of life with arrows I have to become the entrance that I designed my architectural prototype rests because of its oil inside of the governing principle from which, if the time is right, will erupt the sensual liberation circular, electronic,

death as virtual.

elevators for letters. singular. the hidden impress.

to feel, hearing, with pulsating blood it takes into its organs:

convert the old discourse; explain that one is captive to murder,

launched out from the burning source and irretrievable except in manufacturing skyscrapers too eager to lean upon involuntary sacrifice a blemish of matter dying in labor for the birth of something planned out by someone else and steel tucked into the emptiness of rain wet pulp

[ecotone99]

[HF] The Teacher

It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honor

of kings is to search out a matter.

Proverbs 25:2

Brandon Wells stepped out of the Ergosphere and had a look around. Before him stretched a fertile plane of cropland enclosed by craggy cliffs to the northwest. The cliffs continued to rise further to the west where a mountain with a squat, rocky summit stood fortress-like. The land beyond the plain was green, gentle, and sloping, punctuated by undulating hills and rocky bluffs. Turning around, Wells saw that the timeship had landed at the edge of a large and tranquil lake. Cupping his hands around his eyes to filter the bright, midday sun, he peered around the edges of the sea and estimated it to be at least ten miles wide.

Wells dropped his hands and sighed through compressed lips. He could have stood on the shore and assimilated all the geographical details within view, and he still would have been lost. Without the navigational computer, there was no way for him to know where he was on Earth or when he was in time. He looked over his shoulder at the Ergosphere. Smoke was wafting out of the hatch, along with the acrid smell of burning electronics. Wells shook his head, disappointed at his own carelessness. He had overtaxed the engines, overconfident in the durability of his vehicle and arrogantly proud of his ability to pilot it.

With nothing else to do but wait, Wells went back inside the Ergosphere, retrieved a coffee thermos, and sat on a large, flat rock by the shore. The situation was hardly dire, he knew. It was a mere delay, really. He had already activated the self-repair function. As soon as the fire suppression system cut off, the Ergosphere would begin fixing itself. The chrononaut would be on his way in less than an hour.

Feeling his mood lighten, Wells unscrewed the thermos and poured a cup of coffee. He was grateful that he had thought to bring his leather jacket with him. He had lost his shirt, literally, in Bosnia, and was clothed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Although the sun was warm and pleasant, the air was cool, and the wind coming off the lake made it even chillier.

Spring weather, Wells thought. Late March or early April, maybe?

It wasn’t until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps that he began to worry. Someone was using the land to farm, the crops were clear evidence of that, which meant he was close to human civilization. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might have attracted unwanted attention from the locals. Turning, he saw a man coming towards him, following a dirt path that led to the edge of the lake. Wells quickly dug into his pockets and found a pair of wireless earbuds. He put them in and then pulled his translator out of his back pocket, but his heart sank when he saw the aluminum case dented, its glass touchscreen shattered.

Dammit! Must’ve been a rougher landing than I thought.

Wells had brought the prototype with him as an afterthought, a backup just in case his Bosnian didn’t pass mustard. He hadn’t needed it in Sarajevo, but he needed it desperately then. Wells kept pressing the “on” button, hoping to see the screen flicker to life, but it remained a useless block.

“May I sit with you?”

Wells spun around, surprised at hearing English. Perhaps he was closer to home than he first thought?

Wells composed himself and nodded. “Of course.”

The man stepped around the rock and sat down, adjusting his wool cloak as he did so. He appeared to be in his early thirties and had handsome Mediterranean features: olive complexion, a long nose, dark eyes and hair, and a long face. Wells spent more time than was considered polite analyzing the man’s face. It looked troubled.

“Got a lot on your mind, friend?” asked Wells.

“That’s funny,” the stranger replied. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

Wells went silent. He did have a lot on his mind: Sarajevo, Ferdinand, the War, his failed experiment… “I’ve had a rough day,” he said.

“Would it help to talk about that which troubles you?” the stranger asked.

Wells kept quiet, unsure of whether unburdening himself to the stranger was a good idea.

“Perhaps I’m really the one in need of a sympathetic ear,” said the stranger.

“What troubles you?” Wells asked. If the stranger was determined to start a conversation, Wells intended to keep it strictly one-sided.

“Some men want to kill me,” the stranger said.

He said it with such nonchalance that Wells found himself parroting the man’s words, as if he had misheard. “Some men want to kill you? What for?”

“I spoke the truth,” the stranger said with a shrug. “They took offense. I must decide what to do, and soon.”

This guy doesn’t need a sympathetic ear, Wells thought. He needs a therapist, and maybe police protection.

“What are your options?” Wells asked.

“My father is very powerful,” the stranger said. “I could very easily call upon his army, and they would slay my enemies.”

“What’s the alternative?”

The stranger’s reply was curt. “I let them crucify me.”

“Fight or die,” said Wells. “Those are your only two options?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“If your father is as powerful as you say, why doesn’t he tell these guys to back off?” Wells asked.

The stranger stared out across the lake, and his face became as placid as the waters. “Above all things, my father respects the power of choice. He’s left the decision up to me.”

“Well, what do you think you’re going to do?”

“I don’t want to die,” the stranger replied, his lips curved upwards in a wry smile. “But I also don’t want to kill anyone. The truth is, I’m more afraid of abusing my father’s power than I am of dying.”

“That’s a problem,” Wells said.

“That is obvious.”

A contemplative silence descended as both Wells and the stranger looked out to sea. The chrononaut dumped his lukewarm coffee and refilled the thermos cup. He then reached inside his jacket and produced a Zero candy bar. Discarding the silver-gray wrapper, he broke the bar and offered half of it to the stranger.

“What is this?” the stranger inquired, taking the morsel between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s a delicacy from my country,” Wells said. “I promise, you’ll like it.”

Wells took a bite, watching expectantly as the stranger nibbled on the candy bar. Soon, his half of the sweet confection was gone. Wells offered the man some coffee to wash it down with. The caffeine and sugar seemed to have a positive effect on the stranger, and he smiled.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very excellent. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Wells replied, finishing off his half of the Zero bar. He sipped his coffee.

“I get the sense you come from far away, my friend,” the man said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your ship, for one thing,” he said. “It looks built for strange seas.”

Wells turned and gazed at the Ergosphere. “It certainly does, doesn’t it?”

The smoke was gone, and there was a rhythmic tapping coming from inside, a sound not unlike a cooling hotplate.

The self-repair mechanism hard at work, thought Wells.

“Now that I have told you something of my woes,” the stranger said, “tell me about yours.”

Wells took a slow, thoughtful sip of coffee and thought, Well, it’d be awfully damn rude to clam up after he spilled his guts. He handed his coffee to the stranger, who drank the liquid in gulps.

“I made a mistake,” Wells began. “A big mistake. I thought I was doing a good thing, but I ended up making a bad situation worse.”

“What is this terrible thing you did?” The stranger’s tone was consoling, like having a friend’s arm around his shoulder at a funeral.

“I saved a man’s life,” Wells said. “He was an important man, someone whose death would’ve caused a great war. Except it turns out war was inevitable, regardless of whether he lived or died.”

How could Wells hope to explain it? How could he put it into words? He had traveled back in time and prevented the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the spark that had ignited the First World War. Wells had set out to test whether changing history was possible, and he had done so, at the time believing his actions would have positive effects on the future to which he returned.

That had not been the case.

By saving the archduke, Wells had only delayed the outbreak of World War I by eight months and extended its termination by over a year. He had doubled the number of lives lost and shifted the fates of countless others. No one in the new continuity had ever heard of Ernest Hemingway but neither had they heard of Adolf Hitler or the Nazis. The Great Depression had come sooner and lasted longer. There was no Second World War, but there was also no atomic energy, no space race, and no such thing as an MRI machine. The best computers were the size of refrigerators. The average life expectancy of an American was fifty or sixty rather than seventy or eighty. Transistors were a relatively recent invention.

Wells had made a year-by-year inspection of the new continuity, which likely contributed to the Ergosphere’s eventual breakdown, and ultimately deemed his experiment a failure. Ignoring his better judgement, he had programmed an excessive time warp, one large enough to carry him to the end of the universe, past the big crunch and past the big bang—such was the nature of cyclical time—so that he would swing back around and arrive in his original continuity.

That last big jump had proven to be too much for the timeship, and the engines had stalled somewhere after the Iron Age, and momentum had carried him to the shore of some nameless inland sea.

“So I let him die the way he was supposed to,” Wells continued. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded distant, as if he were speaking from deep within a cave. “I let him die so that millions of people that didn’t die before would live.”

“It troubles you that an act of mercy made a massacre even worse,” the stranger said.

“Very much,” Wells admitted.

The stranger breathed a deep sigh and shook his head. “It’s an awful thing to have that kind of power,” he said. “Always having the temptation to use it, and always wondering when and how it should be used. Still, the power exists, and we have it.”

Perhaps if Wells had been less preoccupied, he would have noticed that his conversation with the stranger had taken an odd turn. He had said little, yet the stranger was inferring much, and his intelligence was uncanny, and up until a few moments earlier, Wells had begun to wonder if he wasn’t further away from home than he had assumed. All this was registered in some remote part of Brandon Wells’ brain but went unacknowledged by his conscious mind.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t use the power we have?” Wells asked.

“I’m saying neither of us can afford to be reckless because we are powerful,” the stranger replied.

“You must be a philosopher,” Wells said.

“I’m just a teacher,” he said. “Though some days I wish I could’ve stayed a carpenter. I think it would’ve been a simpler life.”

“Fewer people would be trying to kill you, I think,” Wells quipped.

The teacher smiled a crooked smile. “Probably.”

“You know,” Wells said, “I’ve been thinking…Socrates faced a dilemma similar to yours. He publically criticized his government, so the Athenians manufactured a bunch of charges against him, and after a show trial they forced him to choose between exile and death.”

“I can see where you’re going with this,” the teacher said, “and I won’t run.”

“You might live longer.”

“It would be a living death,” said the teacher. “I’m no coward.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to die,” Wells said. “And the world will be the poorer for it. There are too many fools on the loose.”

Musical laughter erupted from deep within the teacher’s breast. “Has it ever been otherwise?”

Wells wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t find enough good humor within himself to manage even a half-hearted chuckle.

“No, I must follow the path my father laid out for me, even if it leads to death,” the teacher said. “That just leaves you, my friend. What are you going to do?”

Wells cast a backwards glance at the Ergosphere. “Go home, I guess. Dismantle the ship.”

“That would be a waste,” said the teacher.

“What would you do?” Wells asked.

The teacher smiled as if he had anticipated his question and replied, “It’s the glory of God to hide a thing, but to seek out the hidden is the honor of kings.”

Wells nodded. “I think I understand.”

“I knew you would.” The teacher stood and stretched, working circulation back into his legs. “I must be going now,” he said. “My friends are waiting for me.” He embraced Wells and kissed his cheek. “Go safely, my friend. I’m glad to know that there is one less fool on the loose.”

The teacher turned and began walking back inland, following the same path he had used to reach the lake.

“Hey,” Wells said, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Look me up when you get home,” the teacher said, continuing along the path. “I’m not hard to find.”

What’s that supposed to mean? “But…can you at least tell me where I am?” Wells asked. “What’s the name of this place?”

The teacher turned and called out a single word, “Galilee,” and then continued along his path.

submitted by /u/SteampunkSherlock [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2DMNbDU

[bluesuitsformen254]

In the Face of Absurdity

In the Face of Absurdity

We should watch link news, for some time. Or on the other hand any news, communicate, posted, spilled or composed.

In the event that we do this amid a political season, we will hear or see what looks like emotional comic drama, or possibly grievous parody. Applicants of restricting gatherings toss perpetual assaults, battle staffs gush weird justifications, and SEO training course political columnists push unlimited inquiries at those looking for office.

In any case, genuine exchange and basic thoughts do develop. And keeping in mind that on the other hand engaging and discouraging, the political procedure, and the news that reports on the procedure, give defenses against persecution by the ground-breaking and shields for the flexibilities of our nation.

So in the ludicrousness of legislative issues lies the safeguard of our freedoms.

In any case, on the news, legislative issues does not present the best craziness.

Or maybe continue viewing. The genuinely heart-rendering will get through, the troubling reality of SEO Training genuine, pulverizing catastrophe. Surges annihilating homes, war obliterating countries, tropical storms wreaking demolition, quakes leveling entire towns, starvation clearing dry season attacked nations, infections spreading through networks, bombs pulverizing whole city regions, wrongdoing grasping urban communities. What's more, individuals. Individuals enduring and biting the dust, Senselessly, unendingly, honestly. Counting youngsters. Youngsters, who ought to be cheerful, however rather stricken, terrified, scarred, thin, pulled back, and biting the dust.

Obviously, it isn't in these tragedies that the craziness lies. No, these tear the heart and singe the sensibilities.

Be that as it may, continue viewing. News outlets must pay the bills. So business breaks come. With long groupings of promotions. Enhanced pooch nourishment, better Seo training certification cushions, predominant clothing cleanser, mystical facial crèmes, extravagance clothers, better pizzas.

The juxtaposition strikes the psyche, delineating in one moment a down and out kid alongside a bombarded out building edgy for sustenance and garments, at that point in the following moment a merry promotion on the best way to expel a nourishment recolor from one's garments. The obvious and unspeakable torment and injury of that down and out youngster renders inconsequential the worry of the wedding sherwani advertisement character over a stain on the back of their shirt sleeve.

Be that as it may, on the other hand not. Our economy, the economy over the world, now relies upon the buy of that clothing cleanser, or that puppy nourishment, or those facial crèmes, or several other comfort, excellence, mold and different items and administrations. Those buys drive occupations for laborers, and working individuals make livelihoods for the sustenance and sustaining of youngsters and families.

Here then lies the craziness we confront. The deplorability of war compared with the minutia of clothing cleanser compared with the underpinnings of our economy.

How would we react? How would we stay rational when we, or our neighbors, or our kindred natives bolster their families, or we bolster our own, by devoting many hours seven black men in suits days at an occupation say shading testing clothing cleanser? Or on the other hand doing center gatherings around cushion shape? Or on the other hand enhancing bundling machines for pooch nourishment? How, knowing thousands, even millions, endure and at the extraordinary kick the bucket amid those many long periods of starvation, malady, wrongdoing, war, strife, and catastrophic events?

All things considered, some unquestionably observe this silliness, and make the jump. They drop their lives and go to help. Possibly we as a whole should, yet on the other hand, the vast majority of us do not have the right stuff to specialist the wiped out or skill to educate the hungry on farming or the methods to manufacture the blue suits for men ignorant a school, and surely the experience to venture in and arrange a peace.

Also, we should tend to our own families.

So what do we do? We could disregard. No law, or contract, or guarantee compels us to watch over people expelled from us, incorporating and particularly those in different nations and of remote societies. We could think. As a rule, we didn't cause the torment and predicament of others, and we may even finish up those in require expedited it themselves. We could argue an absence of time or vitality, or of being overpowered by life's weights. Simply enduring our day by day endeavors saps us.

Somewhere down in our soul however, we sense the deficiency of these reactions. While a few of us really are troubled, a considerable lot of us appreciate a sensible business suits for men presence, possibly not happy, or constantly wonderful, but rather an existence with tolerable hardships and adequate necessities, with satisfactory even huge bliss and love.

So we, when all is stated, feel an obligation to those in profound need, to the seriously debilitated, the continually eager, the unendingly presented to war, the abruptly crushed by cataclysmic event.

What do we do? Would we be able to accomplish something important, even in our frantic present day lives? Would we be able to truly help?

Indeed, and regardless of whether we question our endeavors render much change, we should.

What at that point do we do?

To begin with, in the event that one has faith in an incomparable element, ask. This may appear to some odd as the principal activity recorded. In any case, yes many, including perhaps you, accept, and to the degree a God exists, to request that that God help others in require remains as respectful and honorable. Physical marvels appear to be uncommon in our circumstances, and we may judge a God won't specifically stop a war or end a storm. Be that as it may, we can trust a God will intercede with the individuals who are available to Him, to reinforce plus size leather jackets those person's dedication, vitality, intelligence and guts to help those in profound need.

What's more, give. In the event that we can not go to specifically help those in require, we positively can monetarily bolster those that can and do. Little gifts, huge gifts, consistent gifts, gifts of whatever sum we can bear, together empower both progressing and crisis help. Concerns can emerge with regards to the authenticity of some magnanimous gatherings, yet respectable associations distribute data about their sources and employments of assets.

At that point biker leather jackets take care of family. This may appear glaringly evident, yet every family, broadened or little, and anyway characterized, nurturing their own makes a gigantic web of help and thought. Guardians anchoring their youngsters' prosperity and improvement, kin contributing for each other in the midst of need, developed kids tending to their maturing guardians, the cycle of the family supports the quality of the whole network, country, and world.

Also, act in respectable character. We enter this world, particularly in America, favored. We enter a nation that offers flexibilities, a culture that permits assorted variety, and an economy that gives opportunity. Not flawlessly, or even acceptably in cases, with much change required, yet in any case superior to any country or time already. We didn't pay for these endowments; they touched base during childbirth. And keeping in mind that consistently we should work and drudge to utilize these advantages, and keep up and enhance them, we should regard the blessings that touched base at our introduction to the world. We do as such by acting in respectable character, by withstanding day by day insults, by spreading cool leather jackets graciousness and cheer, by loaning a speedy assistance. To act such may not straightforwardly help those amidst a common war, however respects that those and others confront more terrible tribulations that the greater part of us.

These means require exertion, and center, and vitality. They speak to a solid good reaction. We should hold onto them admirably well and as best we are slanted as our offer back to our kindred people and as our obligation to our locale, country and world.

Be that as it may, some may judge they should accomplish more.

Volunteer. We go through relatively countless hours with video excitement, in the case of gushing, or sitting in front of the TV, or with our electronic gadgets. The weight and free for all of present day life saps our vitality and drive, and our opportunity unwinding with the video, or amusement, or online networking, of our decision provides energize and redirection. Yet, at the edge, we could redirect time to volunteer.

Numerous do. The by principled bet everything, bridging the nation or all through the world to help the wiped out, the hungry, the war-torn, the fiasco stricken, poor people. I remain in esteem. They have an exceptional soul. In the event that we can not match such usefulness, we can volunteer genuinely. Mentor a young games group, serve on a school warning board, aid a congregation finance raiser, run a promise race, give out basic needs at a nearby sustenance bank. Of even sherwani work the telephones to anchor commitments of development materials for that gathering going abroad to assemble restorative structures.

Backer. Not stridently. Not nearsightedly. Be that as it may, with knowledge. On the off chance that a neighborhood secondary school needs refreshed lab hardware, surely advocate for that, and get others since numbers bring quality. Be that as it may, help work the arrangement. Subsidizing dependably makes an obstacle, and looking for rebates, or gives, or item tie-ins, may slip the required hardware into the financial plan.

Grasp conceivable many-sided quality. Does the expanding nearness of driver helped innovation in automobiles give a road to lessen alcoholic driving? Would social be able to media enable the network senior focus to keep better in contact with its clients? Promotion in this manner looks for to reveal issues and needs, as well as fathom, and as fundamental participate and improve.

We can not (promptly) end the preposterousness of news juxtapositions, of awful pictures of evacuees escaping war-crushed urban areas took after by hair-shading advertisements. Truly, news incorporates more genuine plugs, for heart meds, or legitimate review. Be that as it may, on the other hand, a tyke experiencing ailing health cares not of heart pharmaceuticals he or she may never achieve an age leather jackets to require, and a family got in an innate cleanse can not stop their risk with a claim.

What's more, finishing the preposterousness makes swells. Neighbors make their living working in stores that offer hair shading, and kindred residents work for the organizations creating the item.

So as we watch this ludicrousness, instead of stop our brain to overlook, or hurl our hangs in a vanity, we make objective strides. We supplicate, if that falls in our reality see. We give, we watch over our family, we grasp respectability. Also, on the off chance that we Men suit can, and we ought to look at profoundly what counteracts us, we would volunteer, and promoter.

To get included points of view this and other branches of knowledge, vi

[rollinbrigittenv8]

What’s Inside A Full-Time Traveler’s Suitcase

Wandering Earl

It turns out that a full-time traveler doesn’t really need much stuff.

One pair of ripped socks. Boxer shorts with a tear in the back (oh my, these are old). A yellow t-shirt with all kinds of Vietnamese soup stains on the front. Two small tin boxes I bought for no reason at an antique shop in India earlier this year. And a blue belt that I hadn’t seen in about 14 months.

That’s a quick glimpse of some of the stuff I just found when I gutted my suitcase this morning in preparation for this post.

In fact, I think it’s the first time I’ve taken absolutely everything out in about two years.

Did I say suitcase? Yes I did.

After spending my first 16 years or so as a full-time traveler using my trusty Kelty Redwing 44 liter backpack, I’ve now spent a good portion of the past 2 years traveling around with my Eagle Creek Load Warrior 42 liter rolling suitcase.

Have I gone mad? Perhaps.

All I know is that this little sturdy suitcase, which is indeed smaller than my Kelty backpack, helps me keep things more organized, it’s super easy to pull along wherever I go and it’s still compact enough to take as a carry-on. And as I get older, that all seems slightly more appealing than carrying my stuff on my back.

I still love my backpack but for the travel I do now, a 42-liter rolling suitcase suits my needs.

What I Pack as a Full-Time Traveler

After 18 years of travel, one might think that my possessions have gone through a series of transformations based on my travel style or needs. Well, apart from some more advanced technology that I carry today, things really aren’t too different now than from 1999 or 2003 and so on.

I’m not sure if I should be happy, embarrassed or sad about that.

Anyway, here is the complete list…

The Main Bag

3 pairs of shorts (one gray, one blue, one orange as I spend significant amounts of time in hot weather)

1 swimsuit (if there’s a beach nearby, I’m going…I actually had 2 swimsuits but some coconut oil leaked through my daypack last month and caused the red material of the bag to stain the swimsuit, so that one had to go)

2 pairs of jeans (1 blue, 1 black…I’ve tried wearing actual pants but always prefer my jeans in the end)

9 t-shirts (might sound like more than I need, but this full-time traveler spills a lot of soup on his t-shirts so I always need backups)

1 button down short sleeve shirt (I love this shirt but only really wear it when I need to look a tad more dressed up, which isn’t too often actually)

1 button down long sleeve shirt (I’ve been carrying this one around for the past 1.5 years and haven’t worn it once)

1 sweater (a recent purchase from when I was in Sweden last month and it was quite cold outside…haven’t used it since)

1 navy zipper hoodie (I wear this ALL the time…in fact, I probably should wash it soon)

Travel towel (I don’t know…about twice per year I find myself dripping with water and without a proper towel around…that’s when this thin travel towel comes to the rescue)

7 pairs of socks (you can’t wear flip-flops in European cities during the summer, you’ve got to put on some socks and shoes!)

8 underwear (yup, I do wear underwear and only one has a hole in it, I think)

1 pair of sandals (after spending many years only wearing Crocs Modi Flips or Hurley Phantom Free flip-flops, I recently purchased a pair of Sole sandals…oops, big mistake and when I get back to the US in a couple of weeks, I’ll be going back to one of my favorites)

1 pair of New Balance shoes (I’m a New Balance person – they’re comfortable, durable and they have an “N” for “nomad” on the side)

Sarong (the one thing I know I’ve carried with me from day 1 as a full-time traveler…it plays so many roles – sheet, beach blanket, bag, sweat rag, clothing, etc)

Amazon basics laundry bag (super sturdy, rolls up into nothing and well, pretty much does what you’d expect)

Shoe brush (with only 1 pair of shoes, they can get dirty, so from time to time I give them a scrub down…unfortunately, it doesn’t help remove the car oil stains that I somehow got on my shoes)

Bar of soap (some guesthouses/hotels/hostels/apartments don’t provide soap and I’ve realized this way too many times after getting under the water in the shower…so, I carry my own just in case)

Ohuhu toiletry bag (the best one I’ve found by far…fits everything, remains compact and is super easy to clean…why I need to carry around 3 things of deodorant is a different story)

Philips electric toothbrush (last year I made the switch to an electric toothbrush and naturally, it was a great decision… here’s a tip for travelers though…I went with Philips because it can be charged anywhere overseas…the ones from Braun require a voltage converter)

Contact lenses and contact lens solution (kind of a necessity)

Bag of money (not as exciting as that sounds…just a pile of currency from countries I think I might visit again soon…or just a pile of money that is getting dirtier and smellier as time goes on)

Small medicine pack (ibuprofen, Claritin, paracetamol…actually, I can’t find this thing right now so I might have lost it)

2 tiny tin boxes (no idea what I’m going to do with these things, probably just carry them around for a few years)

The Small Bag

In terms of a small bag, a couple of years ago I made the switch to a Timbuk2 messenger bag. For me, it’s more comfortable and holds everything I need in a more organized manner. And it’s red, which apparently nobody wants, because it was on sale for about 50% off the regular price.

Here’s what’s inside:

MacBook Pro laptop (can’t travel/work without it, and after 5 years, it’s still going strong)

Kindle (lately I haven’t been reading as much as I wish but do you have any book recommendations?)

Samsung Galaxy S7 (it’s my phone and my camera these days)

Credit card holders (I don’t use a wallet…I stuff money and the cards I need each day into my pocket…what I don’t need, I keep in these two things…no idea why I don’t use a different system…any good travel wallet recommendations?)

Pouch for SIM cards (when I saw this felt pouch in a tiny store in Karakol, Kyrgyzstan a few years ago, I thought to myself, “That would be a perfect SIM card holder”…well, not quite like that but I liked the pouch and that’s what it has become)

Symphonized NRG 3.0 earbuds (My Symphonized earbuds are one of my best ever gear purchases…for $25, the sound quality is simply awesome and as a bonus, I actually just used them last night as ear plugs due to the barking dogs and naying horses outside the window – don’t ask)

Business cards (Ah yes…I’ve been carrying around a couple of hundred business cards since 2012 and have probably handed out a grand total of 9)

ButterFox electronic gear case (it all fits inside – chargers, wireless mouse, small HDMI cable, plug adapters, laptop screen cleaner and these colorful little rubber twisty tie things that I thought would be useful but which I’ve never used)

And finally, I also carry around…

Passport (completely worn out, partly torn and with three extra sets of pages inside, two of which are sewn in and one which is taped in…talk about suspicious)

Yellow Fever certificate (only needed to use this once but good to have)

Sunglasses (for the first 35 years of my life, I never wore sunglasses but the last 5 years, I’ve worn them almost every day)

Pen (high-quality little pen I bought at a random pen shop in Singapore about 4 years ago)

USB stick (no idea what’s on this thing)

That’s everything!

Total weight:

Suitcase – 11 kg / 24 lbs Daypack – 5 kg / 13 lbs

And while all of the above might sound like a significant amount of stuff, here’s what it all looks like when nicely packed up:

Final Notes on Packing Carry on or checked luggage?

My current setup, whether with the backpack or suitcase, can always be taken as a carry-on. I usually take it as a carry-on if I am flying direct. If I have a layover somewhere, I check my backpack or suitcase simply because I don’t like to lug it around the airport. But I’ve never had any issues with size or weight when taking it as a carry-on, including on many budget airlines in Europe, Asia and Africa.

The good and the bad of packing light

Pros: My life fits into one small bag. It’s pretty simple, everything I need as a full-time traveler is right there and I can pack up and go in minutes if I’m being chased by local authorities …um, or I just suddenly decide to head to a new destination. There is also a sense of freedom involved with having such few possessions and having that ability to move around the globe so easily without having to think of what to do with excess stuff.

Cons: On the other hand, sometimes I wouldn’t mind some extra stuff. Another shirt or another pair of shoes, for example. I don’t need them but when you’re on the road for this long, some added variety wouldn’t hurt. Also, whenever I see something that I’d like to purchase, something that would look great in my home, I have to remind myself that I’m a full-time traveler that lives out of my suitcase and that there is no room in there for cool Moroccan lamps or a hand-woven Pakistani carpet.

Packing cubes

A friend and I have been going back and forth recently about the benefits of packing cubes. He sees a ton of benefits. I see zero benefits. I know they’re a popular thing but when a bag is all packed up with packing cubes, to me it just looks like my suitcase when it is all packed up, except that there are these cubes that now need to be opened in order for me to reach my stuff. Why have that extra step?

Is the above really all I own?

Pretty much, yes. I do have one box in a closet at my mom’s place that is filled with some extra clothes and a few gifts I’ve purchased for myself while traveling but I haven’t looked at it in a long time. It’s probably full of bugs. Apart from that, all of my possessions are literally in my suitcase and messenger bag.

So, the question is, could you live out of a suitcase? How do you pack, or think you’d pack, for your travels?

[samanthasroberts]

Genius Gifts For Dads Who Say They Don’t Want Anything

On Valentines Day, you can always buy your partner chocolate. For Mothers Day, a spa gift certificate is asafe bet. But gifts for dads?The standard go-to Fathers Day gift is a tie, and its pretty lame. Then again, dads usually make gift giving even more challenging by insisting they want nothing this year. So, what can you do for the dad who doesnt want anything?

Thankfully, there are lots ofgenius products any dadwould lovethatgo way beyond Number 1 Dad mugs and novelty T-shirts. You can actually find Fathers Day presents that seem to do the impossible be something your dad would actually use.

Whether your dad is into unique grilling tools or having a robot clean his floors, get him something he actually wants so that when he opens up the Worlds Best Farter (I mean father) T-shirt you mistakenly thought would be funny, youre not the only one laughing. Better yet, you wont ever have to relive the day when you called his bluff and actually got him nothing. (Ive done that, and the look of disappointment is gut-wrenching.)

This year, really do Fathers Day right and get your dad one of these genius gifts he didnt even know he needed.

1. A Bottle Top That Gives YouInstantly Cold Beer

Amazon

Corkcicle Chillsner Beer Chiller, $20 (2 Pack), Amazon

For Fathers Day, give him the beautiful gift of an ice-cold beer. I dont mean pick up a six-pack and put a bow on it, but get your dad these instant beer coolers. Keepthe Corkcicles in the freezer, and when a warm beer emergency strikes, just pop the Corkcicle into the bottle, and boom, instantly chilled brew. Its perfect for barbecues, parties, or anytime your dad forgot to put his beer in the fridge.

2. An Expandable Stand For His Electronics

Amazon

PopSockets: Expanding Stand and Grip for Smartphones and Tablets, $10, Amazon

Your dad might not be aware of the glory of watching Netflix on his phone or tablet, but with this stand, hell be converted. The stand can also be usedas a grip for easier texting and calling. Italso folds completely flat, so you can keep it on your phone and still fit yourcell in your pocket.

Plus, its way easier to hold onto your phone with this grip, so therell be way fewer instances of dropping the phone and cracking the screen. (And if youre asking if you should buy a second for yourself, the answer is.)

3. A New Card Game For The Political And Hilarious Dad

Amazon

Trumped Up Cards: A Multi-Player Card Game for Adults, $25, Amazon

If your dad loves Cards Against Humanity and also hates Donald Trump, this game will be perfect.

One Amazon user wrote: This board game prompted the first time Trump and fun appeared in a same sentence of mine. Playing it on a number of occasions, with different crowds, each time it delivered laughs, catharsis, and knowledge I grew up in New York and I didnt know Trump did all of those things, said one of our guests. Besides holding up as an enjoyably competitive board game (players take turns being all-powerful CEO), is full of fascinating, funny, and yes, sometimes frightening facts about the 45th president.

4. An External Battery So HisCell Stays Charged

Amazon

EC Technology Power Bank External Battery, $33, Amazon

No matter how technologically savvy your dad might be, hell sometimes get caught with a dead cell battery. This high-capacity external batteryfeatures three USB outlets to charge your electronics quickly. If thats not enough, it also features a strong LED flashlight, so if hes ever caught in a blackout, this battery will make him the most popular person in the room.

5. A Travel Mug Thats Insanely Popular

Amazon

Contigo Autoseal West Loop Travel Mug, $17, Amazon

OK, a coffee mug doesnt sound like a genius gift, but this is a pretty exceptional mug. This lid seals super tight, so youll never have a leak or spill. Plus,vacuum insulationkeeps drinks hot for seven hours (perfect for when he inevitably forgets he poured himself a cup.)

On Amazon, this mug hasalmost 14,000 reviews, and one user wrote: This is the best coffee mug I have ever owned. bottom line: lives up to its promise. I actually forgot this mug in my office before a meeting and when I came back for it six hours later the coffee was still STEAMING.

6. Claws. Yep,.

Amazon

Grillaholics Meat Claws (Set of 2), $13, Amazon

If your dad loves to grill, hell love it even more when he can tear it apart with these meat claws. You can use these to lift hot meal off the grill, shred it, or just pretend to be a grilling beast. The clawsare BPA-free, so you dont have to worry about melting or any kind of plastic contamination. Since theyre dishwasher safe, clean up is easy and wearing claws while you cook just makes everything more fun.

7. A Backpack Suitable For A Grown-Ass Man

Amazon

Mancro Business Laptop Backpack, $29, Amazon

The days of briefcases are over and your dad needs something thats comfortable and professional looking to carry his laptop. Thats where this backpack comes in. It can hold any laptop under 17 inches and has 15 pockets to keep all his things separate and organized. Fully waterproof, he can carry his laptop in the rain without worry. Plus, the bag is extra futuristic with its external USB port to keep his electronic charged.

8. A Travel Coffee Press

Amazon

Espro Coffee Travel Press, $32, Amazon

If your dad doesnt have a lot of time in the morning but needs his coffee, this travel press will make his day. Just throw in grounds and some boiling water and the travel press brews the coffee on the go. It has a double micro-filter so he wont end up drinking bits of grounds and the double-walled stainless steel cup keeps the coffee warm all day.

Plus, its BPA, BPS, and phthalate-free, so you dont have to worry about a side of chemicals with your morning brew.

9. A Book For The Scientific Dad With A Silly Side

Amazon

What If: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions, $14, Amazon

If your dad loves to drill you with crazy hypothetical questions, he will love this book.Finally, we all get to know the answer to the question, How fast can you hit a speed bump while driving and live? The book is full of very serious, scientifically accurate answer to insanely crazy questions.

Based on the questions from fans of the webcomic Randall Munroe compiled the most fascinating questions and gave incredibly thorough answers.

9. A Handheld Console For His Favorite RetroCartridges

Amazon

Retro-Bit RDP Portable Handheld Console, $90, Amazon

Whether your dad used to love his Gameboy or always resented Santa for never getting him one, give dad a taste of childhood with this handheld retro gaming console. This console plays almost any old cartridge (Nintendo, Super Nintendo, and Genesis) and the player is light enough to take anywhere. You get about eight hours of playtime per charge, so itll get your dad (and lets be honest, )through any future road trips or train commutes.

10. A Super Strong Bottle Opener You Can Stick On Your Fridge

Amazon

SUCK UK Bottle Opener Fridge Magnet, $13, Amazon

Bottle openers have a magical way of disappearing every time you need one. Dont let your dad fish around the kitchen drawers for an hour, get him this bottle opener magnet. Stick in your fridge and youre done. The super strong magnet will stay put and youll never lose your opener again.

The magnet is non-scratch, so it wont mess up the high-tech fridge your dad spent a fortune on, and can easily take it on and of if you ever need the bottle opener elsewhere. Plus, its made of stainless steel, so itll hold up to years of steady bottle opening.

11. A TabletMount That Brings The Internet To Your Kitchen

Amazon

CTA Digital 2-in-1 Kitchen Mount Stand, $29, Amazon

Its surprising how often you need to use your tablet in the kitchen, but dont want to lay it on the counter to get immediately covered in hot spaghetti sauce. This kitchen stand solves the problem.It can hold any size tablet or even a Nintendo Switch, just in case your dad has a game going that he really cant put down. You can attach it to a wall or cabinet, or remove the mount completely and use it as a table stand.

With easy release buttons, you can get your tablet in and out of the stand quickly as dadlooks over recipes or gives Facebook a quick check to do some light spying on his kids.

12. A High-Tech TurntableFor Your Dads Record Collection

Amazon

Jensen 3 Speed Stereo Turntable, $51, Amazon

If your dads record collection is gathering dust, get him this new turntable. The turntable features three speeds and speakers, so you have everything you need to play all your vinyl plus, it comes with an input jack, so you can hook up a smartphone or MP3 player to its speaker.

But the best part is that this turntable comes with a USB port and audio software so you can transfer your records to MP3s. This gift is the best of old and new school and will suit all of your dads musical needs for years to come.

13. A Project That Turns Any Room Into A Home Theater

Amazon

DBPOWER 1500 Lumens LCD Mini Projector, $110, Amazon

For a movie-loving dad, this mini-projector will make his day. Its a compact size but 50 percentbrighter than a standard LED projector and only a portion of the price. You can connect your phone, tablet, computer, USB drive, or HD setup boxand see it projected on a screen or blank wall. Forget about a 75-inch TV, this can give you up to a 176-inch projection.

If your dad plays the Super Bowl this year at that size, hell be the most popular guy in the neighborhood. (And youll have more screen space to freak out over Beyonc.)

14. A Massager To Instantly Soothe HisAching Muscles

Amazon

1byone Shiatsu Deep-Kneading Massager, $47, Amazon

Dad might be a little shy about asking for a massage or a gift certificate to a spa, but hell definitely appreciate this deep-kneading massager. Use it at home, in the car, or at the office to reduce shoulder tension, neck aches, or back pain. The rotating nodes imitate a professional shiatsu massage, so those troublesome shoulder knots will be gone in no time.

Plus, it heats up for even better relaxation. The only downside of this gift is that you and everyone else in your family will immediately want one after they see how amazing it is.

15. A Family Board Game Your Dad Will Actually Love

Amazon

The Game of Things Board Game, $23, Amazon

The Game of Thingsis a great board game thats easy to play and helps you get to know all the players better. Everyone playing gets a topic on a card, each player writes down an answer, and you have to guess who said what. This isnt about trivia or getting an answer right, but trying to come up with a fun answer and seeing how well you know the players at hand.

The game is more innocent than Cards Against Humanity since you get topicslike Things you would do with a million dollars or Things you shouldnt do in an elevator. So, you can play it with the whole family without hearing anything too embarrassing, but its also really fun and you might find out how hilarious your dad really is.

16. The Acupressure Mat That Brings Immediate Relaxation

Amazon

ProSource Acupressure Mat and Pillow Set, $20, Amazon

Dads often like to pretend that theyre so strong that nothing gets to them. But everybody gets stressed sometimes, and dads are no different. This acupressure mat and pillow set is designed to trigger pressure points to relax the muscles and relieve tension and stress. The product claims that laying on the mat for 10minutes a day can help release endorphins that block pain and youll feel shoulder, back, and neck issues slowly melt away. Plus, the pressure points increase blood flow so muscles repair faster and you feel a little more energized.

17. A Tie Rack For All Your Previous Fathers Day Gifts

Amazon

Primode Motorized Tie Rack with LED Lights, $33, Amazon

Your dad needs something to contain the multitude of ties from previous Fathers Days. This motorized tie rack holds up to 72 ties and eight belts. It rotates with ease at the touch of a button, so your dad can look through his prodigious collection to pick out only the best tie for his day. To make it even cooler, the rack had LED lights, so he wont have to worry about selecting a tie from the back of a dark closet.

Yes, tie racks are lame Fathers Day gifts, but light-up, electric tie racks? Awesome.

18. Collar Stays That Keeps Your Dad Looking Classy

Amazon

CLEVERFIT the Adjustable Collar Stay, $30, Amazon

If your dads a man who rocks a suit and tie, keep him looking clean and classy with these collar stays. Though collar stays soundpretty old-timey and you probably dont know WTF they do, they actually make a huge difference. These stays are designed to fit all collared shirts with eight adjustable positions. In just a couple seconds, your dad can pop these on and never have to worry about having a floppy or sloppy collar ever again.

19. The All-In-One Face Wash

Amazon

Rugged and DapperDaily Power Scrub All-in-One Facial Cleanser for Men, $25, Amazon

A good face wash isnt just for women. Most dads might not be up for adopting a thorough skin regime, but they can definitely use this all-in-one cleanser. This does everything its a face wash, toner, and exfoliating scrub all in one bottle. It has natural ingredients like aloe vera, vitamin C, willow bark, and burdock root to cleanse and tone the skin.

No matter your dads skin type, this face wash works and works well.

20. A Beer Dispenser That Gives You Draft Quality Brews At Home

Amazon

Fizzics Waytap Beer Dispenser, $130, Amazon

If your dad is a true beer lover, hell be overjoyed with this beer dispenser. It was featured on, and it turns any old can or bottle of beer into a draft-quality brew. You can use any style of beer from stouts to IPAs and there no gas or chemicals used in the product. Just pop in four AA batteries and your canned beer is transformed into a full flavored draft.

Since its light, portable, and doesnt use any wires or tubes, your dad can take it to any backyardparties, tailgating events, or camping trip.

21. An Alarm Clock With A Million Uses

Amazon

Hale Dreamer Alarm Clock Speaker Dock, $20, Amazon

If your dads not a fan of getting up in the morning (guess we know where you get it from!), this alarm clock will make his life a lot easier. Its easy to set, and you can completely customize the sound, volume, and frequency of your morning alarm. Plus, it works as a smartphone dock and speaker, so you can play music at night or in the morning without leaving your bed. (And if it just so happens to find its way to your room instead of your parents, we wont tell.)

Dont worry that a phone call will come in a ruin your sleep, this alarm uses Smart Silence which automatically blocks all but emergency calls. Plus, you can use it as a white noise machine to help you drift off.

22. A Shampoo With A Morning Caffeine Boost

Amazon

ManCave Caffeine Shampoo, $12, Amazon

This caffeine shampoo isntmade to give dad extra energy in his morning shower, but to help withhair growth. The shampoo contains Vitamin E and shea butter to moisturize the scalp and hair, while the caffeine stimulates the roots of the hair to encourage growth.

If your dad isnt into fancy bath products, hell still love this. You use it every day, just like a normal shampoo, and there are no added scents, just natural cleaning power.

23. A Fascinating Book For The Adventurous Dad

Amazon

Atlas Obscura: An Explorers Guide to the Worlds Hidden Wonders, $21, Amazon

is an amazing website with tons of interestingfacts about bizarre places and stories from around the world. Thankfully, the site put their very best stories into thisbook. If your dad loves travel, adventure, or even weird history, hell absolutely love this book.

24. A Backup Cell Battery With A Delightful Design

Amazon

Lankoo Power BankUSB Charger, $18, Amazon

First of all, how many backup batteries come in fake sardine cans? Just this one. Inside the cool 3-D printedcase is a powerful USB charger that works with almost any smartphone or tablet.You get about two iPhone charges out of this battery, so you dont have to worry about constantly plugging it into a charger.

A backup battery is something everyone needs but most people forget to buy, so this is a great go-to for difficult-to-please dads.

25. A Cast Iron Pan For Perfect Pizza

Amazon

Lodge Seasoned Cast Iron Pizza Pan, $41, Amazon

If your dad loves making pizza as much as he doeseating it, this cast iron pan will make a perfect gift. Cast iron is the best material forheating evenly and staying hot, which makes it a great choice when making pizza. The reason cast iron pans arent used more often is that they can be a pain to season, which is the process used to prepare the cast iron for cooking.

But this pan is pre-seasoned and ready to pop in the oven. Cast iron is incredibly sturdy and never bends out of shape or loses even-heating capacity, so itll last a lifetime. Plus, if you get this for your dad, you can guilt him into making you pizza every time you come home. A win-win if Ive ever seen one.

26. A Pen That Does Everything

Amazon

EdgeWorks Screwdriver Multitool, $11, Amazon

Your dad will feel like James Bond will this badass multitool. It looks like a simple pen, but it also works as a tablet stylus, ruler for metric and imperial measurement, a bubble level, and comes with a Phillipsand flathead screwdriver.

Since its bright yellow, theres no chance your dad will lose it (but hey, you never know) and hell probably want to show it off any time theres a screwdriver or bubble level emergency.

27. A Shaving Kit With VintageCharm

Amazon

Gentleman Jon Complete Wet Shave Kit, $55, Amazon

If your dad is more of a Ron Swanson type, hell appreciate this old-school shaving kit. This kit is made with all super high-quality, long-lasting material and gives your dad the experience of a class wet shave. You get an impeccable safety razor, badger hair brush, alum block, stainless steel shave bowl, shave soap, and five extra blades.

If, like me, youre about to google alum block, let me save you so time: its a stone that helps stop bleeding from small cuts and also works to fight razor burn. This stuff is all top of the line and super classy.

28. A Kit For Customizable Hot Sauce

Amazon

DIY Gift Kits Hot Sauce Kits, $40, Amazon

If your dad is hooked on hot sauce, give him the chance to make his own with this kit.You have everything you need to make up to seven bottles of custom hot sauce. With bags of spices, peppers, glass bottles, labels, and easy-to-read recipe cards, your dad will be making sauce like a pro in no time. It even includes a pack of the super hot Ghost Pepper, so your dad can finally get the spicy mix of his dreams.

29. A Super Slim Wallet With A Minimalist Look

Amazon

SimpacX Genuine Leather Slim Wallet, $20, Amazon

Is your dad hanging onto a George Constanza-style wallet? Get him this slim billfold to help keep him organized. Made of real leather, this wallet features a minimalist design. You can hold up to 10cards plus cash and the wallet still lays flat and slim. Plus, its equipped with RFID technology to protect your valuable information. Sleek, simple, this wallet is a definite dad pleaser.

30. A Gaming Console Thatll Take Your Dad Back To Childhood

Amazon

Pac-Man Connect and Play 12 Classic Games, $15, Amazon

No matter how advanced video games get, theres something about the classics that are just delightful. If your dads into video games, hell seriously love this throwback collection of games. First of all, the whole thing is shaped like Pac-Man, so its already awesome. Then, you just plug it into your TV and play Pac-Man or 10other games like Galaga, Dig Dug, New Rally X, or the extreme Super Pac-Man.

The controller also opens up to store its A/V wires, so itll stay clean and neat on dads gaming shelf.

31. A Book Light He Can Use Anywhere

Amazon

LuminoLite Rechargeable LED Book Light, $15, Amazon

If your dad cant put a book down at bedtime,get him this book lightand save your mom from another sleepless night. The four LED lights are incredibly strong for their size and the lamp can clip anywhere. Dont worry about finding weird little batteries, this light is fully USB rechargeable. Plus, its super light, so dad can take it on trips and keep up his midnight reading wherever he goes.

32. A Foldable Exercise Bike That Dad Can Take Anywhere

Amazon

Stamina InStride Folding Cycle, $25, Amazon

Its tough to stay active when you work at a desk, so if your dad is looking to add a little exercise to his work day, get him this foldable bike. This cycle fits under the desk and folds away for easy carrying or storage. Whether you want a light ride or some heavy tension, the bike offers different resistance levels.

With its sturdy rubber base, your dad wont have to worry about the cycle slipping around as hes riding. Plus, theres an electric monitor so dad can accurately brag about his long work time workouts.

33. A Magnetic Wristband For Dads Workshop

Amazon

Mag-Band Magnetic Wristband, $10, Amazon

If I bought my dad a bracelet, he wouldnt be thrilled. But, if I bought him a magnetic wristband that makes working with tools even easier, hed be cool with it. This wristband features powerful magnets that can hold screws, nails, nut, bolts, basically all the small things that typically fall on the floor when your dads trying to work. Now, he can keep all the bits at hand and not have to worry about searching the floor for the one tiny washer he desperately needs.

34. A Portable Green So Dad Can Putt Anywhere

Amazon

Putt-A-Bout Grassroots Putting Green, $33, Amazon

This isnt a scientific fact, but from my experience, pretty much every dad loves golf. My dad always hated the sport growing up, but now he picks vacation spots based on who has the best course. So, give your dad a chance to practice more often with this portable putting green.

With three practice cups and built in sand traps to keep your putts from going all over the place, your dad will get a chance to seriously up his skills. Plus, its made from lightweight foam, so its easy to carry and only takes seconds to install.

35. A Robot To Clean YourFloors

Amazon

ILIFE V3s Robotic Vacuum Cleaner with Smart Auto Cleaning, $159, Amazon

Ive never met a dad wholoves cleaning the floors, butIve met a lot of dads who love robots. Finally, its all come together with this robot vacuum cleaner. It vacuums, sweeps, dry mops, and removes pet hair all while youre sitting on the couch. When the battery runs out, the robot automatically goes back to its charging station and uses smart sensors so it doesnt fall down the stairs or bump into everything.

Best of all, your dad will feel like hes living in the future with this robot helper automatically cleaning his floors.

Elite Daily may receive a portion of sales from products purchased from this article, which was created independently from Elite Dailys editorial and sales departments.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/07/genius-gifts-for-dads-who-say-they-dont-want-anything/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/07/07/genius-gifts-for-dads-who-say-they-dont-want-anything/

[jimdsmith34]

Genius Gifts For Dads Who Say They Don’t Want Anything

On Valentines Day, you can always buy your partner chocolate. For Mothers Day, a spa gift certificate is asafe bet. But gifts for dads?The standard go-to Fathers Day gift is a tie, and its pretty lame. Then again, dads usually make gift giving even more challenging by insisting they want nothing this year. So, what can you do for the dad who doesnt want anything?

Thankfully, there are lots ofgenius products any dadwould lovethatgo way beyond Number 1 Dad mugs and novelty T-shirts. You can actually find Fathers Day presents that seem to do the impossible be something your dad would actually use.

Whether your dad is into unique grilling tools or having a robot clean his floors, get him something he actually wants so that when he opens up the Worlds Best Farter (I mean father) T-shirt you mistakenly thought would be funny, youre not the only one laughing. Better yet, you wont ever have to relive the day when you called his bluff and actually got him nothing. (Ive done that, and the look of disappointment is gut-wrenching.)

This year, really do Fathers Day right and get your dad one of these genius gifts he didnt even know he needed.

1. A Bottle Top That Gives YouInstantly Cold Beer

Amazon

Corkcicle Chillsner Beer Chiller, $20 (2 Pack), Amazon

For Fathers Day, give him the beautiful gift of an ice-cold beer. I dont mean pick up a six-pack and put a bow on it, but get your dad these instant beer coolers. Keepthe Corkcicles in the freezer, and when a warm beer emergency strikes, just pop the Corkcicle into the bottle, and boom, instantly chilled brew. Its perfect for barbecues, parties, or anytime your dad forgot to put his beer in the fridge.

2. An Expandable Stand For His Electronics

Amazon

PopSockets: Expanding Stand and Grip for Smartphones and Tablets, $10, Amazon

Your dad might not be aware of the glory of watching Netflix on his phone or tablet, but with this stand, hell be converted. The stand can also be usedas a grip for easier texting and calling. Italso folds completely flat, so you can keep it on your phone and still fit yourcell in your pocket.

Plus, its way easier to hold onto your phone with this grip, so therell be way fewer instances of dropping the phone and cracking the screen. (And if youre asking if you should buy a second for yourself, the answer is.)

3. A New Card Game For The Political And Hilarious Dad

Amazon

Trumped Up Cards: A Multi-Player Card Game for Adults, $25, Amazon

If your dad loves Cards Against Humanity and also hates Donald Trump, this game will be perfect.

One Amazon user wrote: This board game prompted the first time Trump and fun appeared in a same sentence of mine. Playing it on a number of occasions, with different crowds, each time it delivered laughs, catharsis, and knowledge I grew up in New York and I didnt know Trump did all of those things, said one of our guests. Besides holding up as an enjoyably competitive board game (players take turns being all-powerful CEO), is full of fascinating, funny, and yes, sometimes frightening facts about the 45th president.

4. An External Battery So HisCell Stays Charged

Amazon

EC Technology Power Bank External Battery, $33, Amazon

No matter how technologically savvy your dad might be, hell sometimes get caught with a dead cell battery. This high-capacity external batteryfeatures three USB outlets to charge your electronics quickly. If thats not enough, it also features a strong LED flashlight, so if hes ever caught in a blackout, this battery will make him the most popular person in the room.

5. A Travel Mug Thats Insanely Popular

Amazon

Contigo Autoseal West Loop Travel Mug, $17, Amazon

OK, a coffee mug doesnt sound like a genius gift, but this is a pretty exceptional mug. This lid seals super tight, so youll never have a leak or spill. Plus,vacuum insulationkeeps drinks hot for seven hours (perfect for when he inevitably forgets he poured himself a cup.)

On Amazon, this mug hasalmost 14,000 reviews, and one user wrote: This is the best coffee mug I have ever owned. bottom line: lives up to its promise. I actually forgot this mug in my office before a meeting and when I came back for it six hours later the coffee was still STEAMING.

6. Claws. Yep,.

Amazon

Grillaholics Meat Claws (Set of 2), $13, Amazon

If your dad loves to grill, hell love it even more when he can tear it apart with these meat claws. You can use these to lift hot meal off the grill, shred it, or just pretend to be a grilling beast. The clawsare BPA-free, so you dont have to worry about melting or any kind of plastic contamination. Since theyre dishwasher safe, clean up is easy and wearing claws while you cook just makes everything more fun.

7. A Backpack Suitable For A Grown-Ass Man

Amazon

Mancro Business Laptop Backpack, $29, Amazon

The days of briefcases are over and your dad needs something thats comfortable and professional looking to carry his laptop. Thats where this backpack comes in. It can hold any laptop under 17 inches and has 15 pockets to keep all his things separate and organized. Fully waterproof, he can carry his laptop in the rain without worry. Plus, the bag is extra futuristic with its external USB port to keep his electronic charged.

8. A Travel Coffee Press

Amazon

Espro Coffee Travel Press, $32, Amazon

If your dad doesnt have a lot of time in the morning but needs his coffee, this travel press will make his day. Just throw in grounds and some boiling water and the travel press brews the coffee on the go. It has a double micro-filter so he wont end up drinking bits of grounds and the double-walled stainless steel cup keeps the coffee warm all day.

Plus, its BPA, BPS, and phthalate-free, so you dont have to worry about a side of chemicals with your morning brew.

9. A Book For The Scientific Dad With A Silly Side

Amazon

What If: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions, $14, Amazon

If your dad loves to drill you with crazy hypothetical questions, he will love this book.Finally, we all get to know the answer to the question, How fast can you hit a speed bump while driving and live? The book is full of very serious, scientifically accurate answer to insanely crazy questions.

Based on the questions from fans of the webcomic Randall Munroe compiled the most fascinating questions and gave incredibly thorough answers.

9. A Handheld Console For His Favorite RetroCartridges

Amazon

Retro-Bit RDP Portable Handheld Console, $90, Amazon

Whether your dad used to love his Gameboy or always resented Santa for never getting him one, give dad a taste of childhood with this handheld retro gaming console. This console plays almost any old cartridge (Nintendo, Super Nintendo, and Genesis) and the player is light enough to take anywhere. You get about eight hours of playtime per charge, so itll get your dad (and lets be honest, )through any future road trips or train commutes.

10. A Super Strong Bottle Opener You Can Stick On Your Fridge

Amazon

SUCK UK Bottle Opener Fridge Magnet, $13, Amazon

Bottle openers have a magical way of disappearing every time you need one. Dont let your dad fish around the kitchen drawers for an hour, get him this bottle opener magnet. Stick in your fridge and youre done. The super strong magnet will stay put and youll never lose your opener again.

The magnet is non-scratch, so it wont mess up the high-tech fridge your dad spent a fortune on, and can easily take it on and of if you ever need the bottle opener elsewhere. Plus, its made of stainless steel, so itll hold up to years of steady bottle opening.

11. A TabletMount That Brings The Internet To Your Kitchen

Amazon

CTA Digital 2-in-1 Kitchen Mount Stand, $29, Amazon

Its surprising how often you need to use your tablet in the kitchen, but dont want to lay it on the counter to get immediately covered in hot spaghetti sauce. This kitchen stand solves the problem.It can hold any size tablet or even a Nintendo Switch, just in case your dad has a game going that he really cant put down. You can attach it to a wall or cabinet, or remove the mount completely and use it as a table stand.

With easy release buttons, you can get your tablet in and out of the stand quickly as dadlooks over recipes or gives Facebook a quick check to do some light spying on his kids.

12. A High-Tech TurntableFor Your Dads Record Collection

Amazon

Jensen 3 Speed Stereo Turntable, $51, Amazon

If your dads record collection is gathering dust, get him this new turntable. The turntable features three speeds and speakers, so you have everything you need to play all your vinyl plus, it comes with an input jack, so you can hook up a smartphone or MP3 player to its speaker.

But the best part is that this turntable comes with a USB port and audio software so you can transfer your records to MP3s. This gift is the best of old and new school and will suit all of your dads musical needs for years to come.

13. A Project That Turns Any Room Into A Home Theater

Amazon

DBPOWER 1500 Lumens LCD Mini Projector, $110, Amazon

For a movie-loving dad, this mini-projector will make his day. Its a compact size but 50 percentbrighter than a standard LED projector and only a portion of the price. You can connect your phone, tablet, computer, USB drive, or HD setup boxand see it projected on a screen or blank wall. Forget about a 75-inch TV, this can give you up to a 176-inch projection.

If your dad plays the Super Bowl this year at that size, hell be the most popular guy in the neighborhood. (And youll have more screen space to freak out over Beyonc.)

14. A Massager To Instantly Soothe HisAching Muscles

Amazon

1byone Shiatsu Deep-Kneading Massager, $47, Amazon

Dad might be a little shy about asking for a massage or a gift certificate to a spa, but hell definitely appreciate this deep-kneading massager. Use it at home, in the car, or at the office to reduce shoulder tension, neck aches, or back pain. The rotating nodes imitate a professional shiatsu massage, so those troublesome shoulder knots will be gone in no time.

Plus, it heats up for even better relaxation. The only downside of this gift is that you and everyone else in your family will immediately want one after they see how amazing it is.

15. A Family Board Game Your Dad Will Actually Love

Amazon

The Game of Things Board Game, $23, Amazon

The Game of Thingsis a great board game thats easy to play and helps you get to know all the players better. Everyone playing gets a topic on a card, each player writes down an answer, and you have to guess who said what. This isnt about trivia or getting an answer right, but trying to come up with a fun answer and seeing how well you know the players at hand.

The game is more innocent than Cards Against Humanity since you get topicslike Things you would do with a million dollars or Things you shouldnt do in an elevator. So, you can play it with the whole family without hearing anything too embarrassing, but its also really fun and you might find out how hilarious your dad really is.

16. The Acupressure Mat That Brings Immediate Relaxation

Amazon

ProSource Acupressure Mat and Pillow Set, $20, Amazon

Dads often like to pretend that theyre so strong that nothing gets to them. But everybody gets stressed sometimes, and dads are no different. This acupressure mat and pillow set is designed to trigger pressure points to relax the muscles and relieve tension and stress. The product claims that laying on the mat for 10minutes a day can help release endorphins that block pain and youll feel shoulder, back, and neck issues slowly melt away. Plus, the pressure points increase blood flow so muscles repair faster and you feel a little more energized.

17. A Tie Rack For All Your Previous Fathers Day Gifts

Amazon

Primode Motorized Tie Rack with LED Lights, $33, Amazon

Your dad needs something to contain the multitude of ties from previous Fathers Days. This motorized tie rack holds up to 72 ties and eight belts. It rotates with ease at the touch of a button, so your dad can look through his prodigious collection to pick out only the best tie for his day. To make it even cooler, the rack had LED lights, so he wont have to worry about selecting a tie from the back of a dark closet.

Yes, tie racks are lame Fathers Day gifts, but light-up, electric tie racks? Awesome.

18. Collar Stays That Keeps Your Dad Looking Classy

Amazon

CLEVERFIT the Adjustable Collar Stay, $30, Amazon

If your dads a man who rocks a suit and tie, keep him looking clean and classy with these collar stays. Though collar stays soundpretty old-timey and you probably dont know WTF they do, they actually make a huge difference. These stays are designed to fit all collared shirts with eight adjustable positions. In just a couple seconds, your dad can pop these on and never have to worry about having a floppy or sloppy collar ever again.

19. The All-In-One Face Wash

Amazon

Rugged and DapperDaily Power Scrub All-in-One Facial Cleanser for Men, $25, Amazon

A good face wash isnt just for women. Most dads might not be up for adopting a thorough skin regime, but they can definitely use this all-in-one cleanser. This does everything its a face wash, toner, and exfoliating scrub all in one bottle. It has natural ingredients like aloe vera, vitamin C, willow bark, and burdock root to cleanse and tone the skin.

No matter your dads skin type, this face wash works and works well.

20. A Beer Dispenser That Gives You Draft Quality Brews At Home

Amazon

Fizzics Waytap Beer Dispenser, $130, Amazon

If your dad is a true beer lover, hell be overjoyed with this beer dispenser. It was featured on, and it turns any old can or bottle of beer into a draft-quality brew. You can use any style of beer from stouts to IPAs and there no gas or chemicals used in the product. Just pop in four AA batteries and your canned beer is transformed into a full flavored draft.

Since its light, portable, and doesnt use any wires or tubes, your dad can take it to any backyardparties, tailgating events, or camping trip.

21. An Alarm Clock With A Million Uses

Amazon

Hale Dreamer Alarm Clock Speaker Dock, $20, Amazon

If your dads not a fan of getting up in the morning (guess we know where you get it from!), this alarm clock will make his life a lot easier. Its easy to set, and you can completely customize the sound, volume, and frequency of your morning alarm. Plus, it works as a smartphone dock and speaker, so you can play music at night or in the morning without leaving your bed. (And if it just so happens to find its way to your room instead of your parents, we wont tell.)

Dont worry that a phone call will come in a ruin your sleep, this alarm uses Smart Silence which automatically blocks all but emergency calls. Plus, you can use it as a white noise machine to help you drift off.

22. A Shampoo With A Morning Caffeine Boost

Amazon

ManCave Caffeine Shampoo, $12, Amazon

This caffeine shampoo isntmade to give dad extra energy in his morning shower, but to help withhair growth. The shampoo contains Vitamin E and shea butter to moisturize the scalp and hair, while the caffeine stimulates the roots of the hair to encourage growth.

If your dad isnt into fancy bath products, hell still love this. You use it every day, just like a normal shampoo, and there are no added scents, just natural cleaning power.

23. A Fascinating Book For The Adventurous Dad

Amazon

Atlas Obscura: An Explorers Guide to the Worlds Hidden Wonders, $21, Amazon

is an amazing website with tons of interestingfacts about bizarre places and stories from around the world. Thankfully, the site put their very best stories into thisbook. If your dad loves travel, adventure, or even weird history, hell absolutely love this book.

24. A Backup Cell Battery With A Delightful Design

Amazon

Lankoo Power BankUSB Charger, $18, Amazon

First of all, how many backup batteries come in fake sardine cans? Just this one. Inside the cool 3-D printedcase is a powerful USB charger that works with almost any smartphone or tablet.You get about two iPhone charges out of this battery, so you dont have to worry about constantly plugging it into a charger.

A backup battery is something everyone needs but most people forget to buy, so this is a great go-to for difficult-to-please dads.

25. A Cast Iron Pan For Perfect Pizza

Amazon

Lodge Seasoned Cast Iron Pizza Pan, $41, Amazon

If your dad loves making pizza as much as he doeseating it, this cast iron pan will make a perfect gift. Cast iron is the best material forheating evenly and staying hot, which makes it a great choice when making pizza. The reason cast iron pans arent used more often is that they can be a pain to season, which is the process used to prepare the cast iron for cooking.

But this pan is pre-seasoned and ready to pop in the oven. Cast iron is incredibly sturdy and never bends out of shape or loses even-heating capacity, so itll last a lifetime. Plus, if you get this for your dad, you can guilt him into making you pizza every time you come home. A win-win if Ive ever seen one.

26. A Pen That Does Everything

Amazon

EdgeWorks Screwdriver Multitool, $11, Amazon

Your dad will feel like James Bond will this badass multitool. It looks like a simple pen, but it also works as a tablet stylus, ruler for metric and imperial measurement, a bubble level, and comes with a Phillipsand flathead screwdriver.

Since its bright yellow, theres no chance your dad will lose it (but hey, you never know) and hell probably want to show it off any time theres a screwdriver or bubble level emergency.

27. A Shaving Kit With VintageCharm

Amazon

Gentleman Jon Complete Wet Shave Kit, $55, Amazon

If your dad is more of a Ron Swanson type, hell appreciate this old-school shaving kit. This kit is made with all super high-quality, long-lasting material and gives your dad the experience of a class wet shave. You get an impeccable safety razor, badger hair brush, alum block, stainless steel shave bowl, shave soap, and five extra blades.

If, like me, youre about to google alum block, let me save you so time: its a stone that helps stop bleeding from small cuts and also works to fight razor burn. This stuff is all top of the line and super classy.

28. A Kit For Customizable Hot Sauce

Amazon

DIY Gift Kits Hot Sauce Kits, $40, Amazon

If your dad is hooked on hot sauce, give him the chance to make his own with this kit.You have everything you need to make up to seven bottles of custom hot sauce. With bags of spices, peppers, glass bottles, labels, and easy-to-read recipe cards, your dad will be making sauce like a pro in no time. It even includes a pack of the super hot Ghost Pepper, so your dad can finally get the spicy mix of his dreams.

29. A Super Slim Wallet With A Minimalist Look

Amazon

SimpacX Genuine Leather Slim Wallet, $20, Amazon

Is your dad hanging onto a George Constanza-style wallet? Get him this slim billfold to help keep him organized. Made of real leather, this wallet features a minimalist design. You can hold up to 10cards plus cash and the wallet still lays flat and slim. Plus, its equipped with RFID technology to protect your valuable information. Sleek, simple, this wallet is a definite dad pleaser.

30. A Gaming Console Thatll Take Your Dad Back To Childhood

Amazon

Pac-Man Connect and Play 12 Classic Games, $15, Amazon

No matter how advanced video games get, theres something about the classics that are just delightful. If your dads into video games, hell seriously love this throwback collection of games. First of all, the whole thing is shaped like Pac-Man, so its already awesome. Then, you just plug it into your TV and play Pac-Man or 10other games like Galaga, Dig Dug, New Rally X, or the extreme Super Pac-Man.

The controller also opens up to store its A/V wires, so itll stay clean and neat on dads gaming shelf.

31. A Book Light He Can Use Anywhere

Amazon

LuminoLite Rechargeable LED Book Light, $15, Amazon

If your dad cant put a book down at bedtime,get him this book lightand save your mom from another sleepless night. The four LED lights are incredibly strong for their size and the lamp can clip anywhere. Dont worry about finding weird little batteries, this light is fully USB rechargeable. Plus, its super light, so dad can take it on trips and keep up his midnight reading wherever he goes.

32. A Foldable Exercise Bike That Dad Can Take Anywhere

Amazon

Stamina InStride Folding Cycle, $25, Amazon

Its tough to stay active when you work at a desk, so if your dad is looking to add a little exercise to his work day, get him this foldable bike. This cycle fits under the desk and folds away for easy carrying or storage. Whether you want a light ride or some heavy tension, the bike offers different resistance levels.

With its sturdy rubber base, your dad wont have to worry about the cycle slipping around as hes riding. Plus, theres an electric monitor so dad can accurately brag about his long work time workouts.

33. A Magnetic Wristband For Dads Workshop

Amazon

Mag-Band Magnetic Wristband, $10, Amazon

If I bought my dad a bracelet, he wouldnt be thrilled. But, if I bought him a magnetic wristband that makes working with tools even easier, hed be cool with it. This wristband features powerful magnets that can hold screws, nails, nut, bolts, basically all the small things that typically fall on the floor when your dads trying to work. Now, he can keep all the bits at hand and not have to worry about searching the floor for the one tiny washer he desperately needs.

34. A Portable Green So Dad Can Putt Anywhere

Amazon

Putt-A-Bout Grassroots Putting Green, $33, Amazon

This isnt a scientific fact, but from my experience, pretty much every dad loves golf. My dad always hated the sport growing up, but now he picks vacation spots based on who has the best course. So, give your dad a chance to practice more often with this portable putting green.

With three practice cups and built in sand traps to keep your putts from going all over the place, your dad will get a chance to seriously up his skills. Plus, its made from lightweight foam, so its easy to carry and only takes seconds to install.

35. A Robot To Clean YourFloors

Amazon

ILIFE V3s Robotic Vacuum Cleaner with Smart Auto Cleaning, $159, Amazon

Ive never met a dad wholoves cleaning the floors, butIve met a lot of dads who love robots. Finally, its all come together with this robot vacuum cleaner. It vacuums, sweeps, dry mops, and removes pet hair all while youre sitting on the couch. When the battery runs out, the robot automatically goes back to its charging station and uses smart sensors so it doesnt fall down the stairs or bump into everything.

Best of all, your dad will feel like hes living in the future with this robot helper automatically cleaning his floors.

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source http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/07/genius-gifts-for-dads-who-say-they-dont-want-anything/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/07/genius-gifts-for-dads-who-say-they-dont.html