#like all those awkward and shitty interactions i had were short lived. if that jacket is gone im not getting it back and its like a double

[potpiehead]

so it's either crammed under one of the seats in my car, it fell out in the parking lot when I dropped them off (never getting it back lol) or one of them decided to take it home and pretend to not have it as a prank and tbh I would lose a lot of trust and respect for them because what the fuck

[alcego-writes]

Word Count: 2.4k

I got it into my head today to write a little story about a hero and a villain during a situation that’s TOTALLY not based around current events or anything, that’s ludicrous (and also totally what happened). Not much by way of plot. Just a hero and a villain coming to terms with life during a pandemic. You know. The usual.

Tag List: @maxgraybooks​ @ladywithalamp​ (I feel like a few others wanted to be tagged whenever I post writing, but I’ve misplaced my list and I cannot remember anyone else for the life of me. If that’s you and I’ve forgotten please let me know!)

          It was a warm day, humid and uncomfortable, and the hero of the town had nowhere to go. Couldn’t leave their home, on account of the plague that would kill them more surely than most of the people they protected. The irony of having steel bones and a shitty immune system.

          They sat behind a desk, a wide transparent computer sitting before them. There was only so much to do during this social distancing bullshit, only so much they were willing to process while under quarantine, so they did the one thing they knew how to do. “Show me a villain.”

          The screen came to life, and the AI chirped and began throwing images up on the screen. Little villains, like those buying thirty packages of soap and toilet paper; smaller villains, the ordinary man complying with corporate’s demand to keep the workforce operational; and the white-collar villains who had decided to hold the nation hostage to pursue their political goals.

          The hero scowled. If they had wanted this, they would have turned on the news.

          Still, it was something to watch. Something to think about as they wasted away in their fortress, their prison of fucking solitude, watching as the people they loved—the people they regularly put their life on the line for—struggled and wept and wished they did not have to live through such interesting times.

          They saw it all, in short clips from surveillance cameras, laptop cameras, phones; they saw it in fragments of emails, in public service announcements proclaiming nothing at all, in screenshots of hospital bills that charged too much for nothing at all. It was enough to dull their heart, to pain them in a way that they had not hurt in ages. They had put all of this behind them; they had grown used to the pain of the common man. Only there was one, small difference. A small change that mattered more than anything in the world: the hero could not help them. Could not leave a note firmly citing the law, let alone a note politely suggesting that to act with a little bit of common decency would be in their best interests. They were here, and they could do nothing.

          “Show me a villain who cares,” they said, staring blankly at the transparent screen.

           The AI hummed its acknowledgement, and images flashed across the screen, splattered against the walls in another strange display of holographic achievement.

           The hero blinked.

           Stared at the images of all one man.

           A man they knew well, for they knew his mask, his suit, the crook of his fingers. Half the time they weren’t sure if they wanted to break those stupidly broad hands or kiss them—mostly the choice was already made for them, by way of robbery or theft or any other number of crimes the man engaged in.

           But this?

           This was a crime, surely, the way the man slipped into a two-story house, made a beeline for the garage. It was a crime as he carted out boxes of Purell, of toilet paper, of fruit. It was theft, a crime just like any other—

           But there was a difference here. The hero couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite figure it out. Not until they tore their gaze from the screen and turned to the wall, to the grainy images of the man leaving boxes of food and toiletries on an old man’s porch, of the man placing a mask on a sick woman’s desk so she could care for her children without fear, of the man stopping to return a cat whose owner was too frightened to leave their house.

           They watched as the man, whose crimes had always been so nebulous and uncertain—even as he manufactured a laser under the pretense of taking over the world—they watched this man act with more care and grace than everyone who should have helped and chose not to.

           Like them.

           “That’s enough,” the hero said. “Thank you.”

           The AI chirped again, almost seeming concerned. It was odd, how attached they had gotten to the fascinating piece of machinery over the past few days. There were moments where they regretted living such an isolated life, out in the middle of nowhere, but it always worked out in their benefit. It was always worth it. They’d never had cause to regret it—until now, that was.

           Stalking out of the room, the hero tried not to feel guilt for being here and not there, tried to remind themself that they were of no use to anyone if they were sick—and they succeeded, in a way. They didn’t feel guilt, and they understood why they were here on a rational level. They just couldn’t shake the shame that came with this decision.

           They could leave, go out and do some good before the man—the villain, their rival—had cause to spread doubt about their abilities, about their devotion to doing good. The PR nightmare would be enough to undo them, to render all of their effort in gaining the public’s trust moot. They could do it. They could go out. They just might never come back, was all.

           The AI boomed.

           There was someone at their door.

           The hero froze, wide-eyed, wondering how anyone had found this place, and why they had decided to visit. None of their ideas were pleasant, and many were far worse than they were willing to deal with right then. A mob, maybe. Someone coming to demand their help. A crying mother demanding they do something for her ailing child.

           And what would they be able to say? What could they do? Nothing.

           Just as they did nothing then, frozen to the floor of their living room.

           The AI buzzed. It was a question, somehow, although there were no words.

           “Who is it?” the hero asked softly.

           An image flashed onto the wall before them. More holograms; the AI seemed to enjoy this new branch of technology. But what it was showing them had to be wrong, because there was no way the man, their rival, was waiting outside their door, hands shoved deep within his jacket pockets. He wore no mask, only a hoodie and jeans and leather gloves on his hands.

           “How long’s he been here?”

           Text flashed on the image: Just got here.

           “Okay,” the hero said. “Thank you. I’ll deal with him.”

           The AI chirped. The hero opened the door.

           The man stared at them, jaw slack, expression unguarded. They stared back, unaccustomed to seeing him so vulnerable, so easy. It had to be a trick, they knew that well enough, but they didn’t know how. The villain cleared his throat, shuffled his feet.

           “What do you want?” the hero asked, energy draining from their limbs faster with each second this interaction dragged on.

           The villain shrugged. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

           “Right,” they said. “Making sure the competition’s not up to something.”

           The villain scoffed. “If that makes you feel better.”

           Beat. Awkward silence. Then: “I saw what you did.”

           The villain stiffened, slouched as if that were enough to render his good deeds meaningless. “It’s nothing.”

           “It’s something,” the hero said. “It’s more than most people are doing.”

           And there—that flicker in his eyes. The hero knew that look, knew they had taken a wrong turn, stepped onto a trap. Inadvertently they had opened the door to this conversation, and they regretted it immediately.

           “Why aren’t you out there?” the villain asked.

           It was a reasonable question. They had no doubt that many people were asking it, wondering why they hadn’t swept into town and saved everyone from the virus. After all, they’d made a name for themself by swooping in to save the day; why stop now?

           So, the hero just shrugged, unwilling to offer an explanation to the villain who had—on more than one occasion—tried to kill them. It was important not to forget that, even if the attempts on their life had felt more and more half-hearted as the years went on, as they established a routine, a give and take to their balance of heroics and villainy.

           “Oh, come on,” the villain snapped. “Don’t give me that—you’ve always got something to say! This can’t possibly be the moment when you run out of words.”

           “I can’t be out there right now, okay?” the hero snapped. They hated the rasp to their voice, hated the way their throat burned. It was just a cold, really. They hadn’t been around anyone infected with the virus for long enough to have caught it. They told themself this every time they coughed, every time they doubted. There was a reason they did not go out to save the day.

           “Are you sick?” the villain asked, brow furrowing. “For how long?”

           He stepped inside, hand finding its way to their face. “You’re warm,” he murmured.

           “It just means I’m alive.”

           The villain fixed them with a look. “That’s not how that works at all.”

           “Fine, I’m sick. Does that make you happy?”

           “It certainly explains a few things.” The villain looked at them for a moment longer, then asked again, softly, “How long?”

           The hero glanced away. “A few days.”

           He nodded. “You’ve been gone ever since this thing started popping up, so it seems unlikely you’ve caught the virus. Any trips to the outside world I ought to know about?”

           “No,” the hero spluttered. “Because you don’t need to know anything about me.”

           “If it means making sure you’re not seriously ill and hiding away like an injured fucking cat, I sure do.”

           The hero blinked. “Why’d you say you were here again?”

           “Does it matter?” the villain snapped. “I’m here, you’re here, and the world’s not ending.”

           The hero shrugged. “Not yet, anyway. We normally find a way to make that almost happen…”

           The villain sighed. He looked as if he wanted to say something, share a secret, but he didn’t. Just rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the living room. It was sparsely decorated, with an armchair by the window and a small table that they ate at whenever they had to stay here. They usually didn’t; they were usually busy with bigger, more important things. That was why this room looked so artificial, so unlived in.

           The hero shuffled awkwardly, painfully aware of the situation and having exactly no idea of how to deal with it. The villain appeared to be in a similar state, except that he was making a beeline for their kitchen and oh, the hero didn’t want to see what villainy he could get up to in there.

           But there was no villainy. He just opened the fridge and stared at its contents (a mostly empty bottle of mustard, that godawful plastic yellow cheese, and a bag of bread that had been unceremoniously shoved inside) before turning to the hero.

           “You live like this?”

           The hero shrugged. “I’m not usually here.”

           “It wouldn’t kill you to get groceries every now and then.

           The hero couldn’t help it—they laughed.

           “What?” the villain asked. “How is that in any way funny?”

           “Nothing,” the hero said, still snickering. “Just an inside joke.”

           “Well it’s a shit joke if you’re the only one laughing.”

           “Look,” the hero grabbed the cheese and the bottle of mustard from the fridge, “let’s just say I got a rough go at the genetic lottery.”

           “It’s not like you’ve got a glass heart and paper skin,” the villain said, watching in awestruck horror as the hero squirted mustard on the cheese, wrapped it up, and proceeded to eat it.

           “Nah, I’m good on that front,” the hero said, mouth full. “It’s the other thing.”

           “What other thing? I’ve seen you get tossed ass over teakettle into a concrete wall and get up without a fuss, don’t tell me there’s something that can fuck you up that I haven’t found—because believe me, I’ve tried! You’re no Superman; so far as I can tell, you haven’t got a kryptonite.”

           “You just haven’t looked in the right places, then,” the hero said. “You’re plenty smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

           The villain stared at them. “You’re sick?” he guessed.

           The hero shrugged.

           Eyes narrowing, the villain stepped closer, until he was barely an arm’s length away. The hero couldn’t help but want to step back; there was a virus on the loose, and this was not conducive to proper hygiene. But the villain stood, and stared, and said, “You’re one of those folks with a crappy immune system.”

           “Ding ding ding,” the hero said. “And believe me, it pains me every day that I can’t be out there doing anything to help. It does. There’s so many things I want to do, so many people I want to help…” they trailed off, took another bite of their unconventional sandwich. “I just can’t.”

           “Sure,” the villain said. “Yeah. I get it.”

           He was the last person the hero had expected to ‘get it.’ They narrowed their eyes. “You never did say why you were here.”

           “Because I was worried about you,” the villain said, snatching the cheese sandwich from the hero’s hand and tossing it in the trash. “Which I clearly needed to be. Seriously, that’s the only stuff you keep in your fridge?”

           “It keeps well.”

           The villain gagged. “Sure, fine, whatever. It’s not my problem.” And then he sighed, and amended, “Except that it is, because you’re gonna die of malnutrition before the virus even gets a chance.”

           “I’m sorry, are you suggesting you’re going to get my groceries?”

           “I’m doing a lot more than suggesting it, you disgusting little cheese gremlin. Hold up shop; I’ll be back in an hour.”

           The hero watched as the villain stalked out of the house, hands once again finding their ways into his pocket. They watched, befuddled, before their mind caught up to them. “Just don’t steal it!”

           The last thing the hero saw before the villain closed the door was his right hand held up high in a crude, time-saving gesture. Shaking their head, the hero asked the AI to keep tabs on the villain, and to let them know if he got up to any… less than savory behavior.

           He didn’t, and the hero realized that they weren’t surprised to hear it. He might be a villain, sure, but he was a villain who cared.

           The hero might just have to re-evaluate their opinion of him, after all.

[bapyess1r]

I Like You A Lot

WARNINGS: cursing

Pairings: OC x OC, Sam Drake x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch , @courtenbae

Chapter 4

A week later...

Sunny’s POV

Things moved very quickly for the next week. Between Sam, Erik, and myself, we managed to pack up all my stuff and move into our new apartment. Most of the stuff in there was mine but over time, I knew Sam would go out and buy things of his own. We got two separate rooms, one on each end of the apartment with the communal space and kitchen in the middle. We weren’t a couple but we damn sure tended to act like one. And even though we were sleeping together, I completely understood that he didn’t want to be tied down. I did as well so it didn’t bother me. He almost always would end up sleeping in my room. We’d stay up late, studying Hoysala culture and end up falling asleep where we were. We worked tirelessly. Erik had to bring me food because I would forget to eat with my head buried in books and articles online. Sometimes Sam would forget to eat as well and I would end up sharing my food.

Today, after a much needed haircut, while Sam was out, Erik had come over to help me unpack our living room. He knocked on my door rhythmically and repeatedly until I literally put hands on the door. I swung it open and narrowed my eyes at his ridiculous expression. “You suck.”

“You love me.” He replied rather quickly, kissing my cheek as he brushed by me. I admired his look of the month. He had changed his hair once again. He’d gone from dark hair to this platinum blonde with micro bangs. He wore a pink hoodie with matching pink shorts and a nice pair of white FILAs. He was always changing his appearance every other month so I didn’t think much of it. He looked around the room and a wave of relaxation washed over his face. “Where’s Samuel? He’s not lurkin’ about today?” He asked with fake concern. I shook my head with a smile and scratched my head as I closed the door.

“He’s out renting a car… a vehicle. Probably a motorcycle. I’m not sure.” I shrugged, sitting on the floral couch. I really wasn’t sure what he’d come home with. But I specifically told him he needed a car. I was almost ninety nine percent positive he wouldn’t listen though. Erik sat on the couch next to me and laid his head on my shoulder.

“So what are we sorting out today?” He asked.

“I wanna get this living room done. I’m tired of having a colossal fuck of books all over my bedroom floor. I mean granted Sam and I have a convenient place to crash right away but-”

“He sleeps with you?” He asked. The look on his face was one I’d seen many times throughout the week. Hurt. I sighed. He was doing it again. Ever since he met Sam, he’s been acting as if a bully had taken his new toy. And I knew why. It was my own fault…

“Erik listen-” I began but he cut me off.

“You haven’t told him have you? About us, I mean.” He asked, his voice growing soft. His arched brows met in the middle as his gaze focused on me. I parted my lips to speak but I wasn’t sure what to say. Erik and I had been in a complicated friendship for many years. Sometimes when the moment took us, we’d fool around. And it was nice for a while. It worked for me because I didn’t want a relationship. However, when I got back from Libertalia, I slept with him again... and again… until I realized things just weren’t the same. He didn’t feel the same. It just wasn’t right. I didn’t know why until a certain Drake came back into my life. After that first morning, everything began to make sense. He wasn’t Sam. I was catching feelings for a man for the first time in a very long time.

“Why do I need to tell him? He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not together-” Which was true. We weren’t.

“You like him-” he mumbled, picking at his nails on his tattooed fingers.

“I— of course I like him, Erik! I’m not gonna room with someone I don’t like.”

“Uh huh. You know what I meant...” He mumbled.

“I don’t want a relationship. I’m fine with how things are.” It felt like a lie the moment those words left my mouth. It was a truth for me up until now. Suddenly, he crept up to me, his crooked nose brushing against mine as he looked into my eyes with his green ones.

“Then kiss me.” I sighed. I just couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel right to me anymore.

“Erik…. I can’t.”

“Uh huh….” He made a disappointed face and stood to leave but I called after him.

“Don’t do this. Don’t turn this into another Tony situation.” I tried to assure him. I dated a guy years ago and he turned out to be one of the worst people on the planet. Erik tried to tell me but I didn’t listen and ended up getting hurt.

“He’s a dickhead! And he will hurt you, Sunflower! Exactly like Tony!” He raises his voice a notch and I didn’t like that.

“He is nothin’ like Tony.” I snapped, staring at him. I suddenly got very protective of him. He looked at me incredulously.

“After all we’ve been through, honestly love, I can’t believe you still pick these guys no matter how many times I warn you about them.” He sighed, shaking his head. I opened my mouth to chew him out and defend my stance when a loud honk was heard from outside. Both of us brought our gaze to the window and there was a massive white truck in the parking lot, a red motorcycle strapped into the bed. Sitting in the front seat with a wide grin on his face was Sam. I shook my head and grinned, going to stick my head out the window.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could ya?!” I shouted to him.

“You said get a car!” He shouted over the engine. “I still wanted a bike! I’ll be up in a minute!” He said before pulling into a parking spot. I looked back at Erik with a smile but he stood firmly with his arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t happy with me. I took a deep breath and crossed my arms. I don’t know what result he was hoping to get by telling Sam we banged on the couch a week before he showed up.

“I’m sure it’s bound to come up in conversation. If it does- and he asks about it- I will answer him. Fair?” I asked. He narrowed his eyes and chewed on his lip. Honestly, it was the best I could do. He stared at me a while before sighing. He just nodded. I was relieved. “Yeah? Okay. Just please… try n’ get along with him. In the meantime?” He avoided my gaze and I stomped my foot when he didn’t answer me. “Erik!” I snapped.

“Okay! Jaysis….” He exclaimed. With that he lit himself a cigarette and so did I. I needed to calm down a little. I was feeling a whole lot of emotions at the moment. “I’ll start with the bookshelf?” He mumbled, smoke exiting his nostrils. I just nodded.

“Yes please. If you don’t mind.” I sighed.

Later, Sam had come home, entering the living room as he jingled a ring of keys at me and tossed them on the small dinner table by the window. “2010 white Chevrolet Silverado truck and a bitchin’ red 2016 Ducati Scrambler. And! I bought groceries. Also beer. Good beer. Not that hipster shit they’ve brainwashed you into drinkin’ here.” He said with a grin before kissing my forehead and sitting everything on the table. My stomach flipped at his touch. I wanted to kiss him back but with Erik in the room, things were awkward now. It was like walking on eggshells. I sighed as I turned on some music and began to put the groceries he brought away, starting with putting the beer in the crisper. I was going to need one sooner than I thought.

“Sounds like you had a pretty productive morning.” Erik grumbled, struggling to put the massive dark wood bookshelf together.

“You can say that.” He said, peeling his denim jacket from his body and draping it over the couch. He pushed up the sleeves of his wine colored Henley and adjusted his jeans before looking at me for a moment longer than normal. “You cut your hair. I like it.” He said with a warm smile. I grinned at the fact that he even noticed. “So what all are we doin’ today?” He asked, clapping his hands together.

“My goal is to build the shelf and fill it with books, set up the office corner, and the entertainment system needs to be built up again. Erik has the shelf, do you wanna build the system or set up the office?”

“I’ll build the system.” He said, reaching beneath the sink and pulling out a tool box. Erik looked over and huffed.

“Bollocks. I wish I would’ve known there was a tool box— this would’ve been done quicker!” He said as he watched Sam sit the tools on the coffee table.

“What do you need? I’m sure there’s enough in here for both of us to use.” Sam said. I smiled to myself. He knew what Erik meant to me. He knew he was going to be a part of my life and even though he didn’t like him much, he tolerated him. And I could see he was trying.

“You got a screwdriver in there?” Erik asked.

“What kind? I got phillips head, slotted, torx, frearson—” Sam began listing several types and the look on Erik’s face was as if someone was speaking another language to him.

“Holy shit, man- what?! Is that even English, mate? What the hell- did you just make those up?” Erik exclaimed in confusion and Sam just burst into laughter. Erik was not a handyman by any means but holy shit it was funny to watch him try. I laughed at their interactions and stayed a moment to watch the two of them. It was nice. With that, I went to the room in the corner and began to unpack the office boxes.

We worked for hours, putting things away, hanging things on the wall, breaking down empty boxes. And when we finished it all up, Erik ordered a pizza and we all got very drunk. We sat around the dinner table, beer after beer, playing monopoly (and yes you guessed it, those two assholes played with actual money), and telling stories about our lives and our adventures. Erik wouldn’t stop telling these embarrassing stories of me in middle school and high school. I could tell Sam was enjoying every second of my pain. I cringed as he told him about how I played a dancing fork in the school play and how I had a crush on the spoon and I kept making shitty utensil jokes as pick up lines.

“Honestly, it was horrible! You should’ve been there!” Erik wheezed, sipping his beer.

“I’m sure it was something to behold…” Sam smirked, looking at me. I blushed a little, running my fingers through my hair. In the corner of my eye, I could see Erik’s expression change. He cleared his throat and then directed his attention to Sam.

“So Samuel,” He began. “All those countries you visited, I’m sure there had to be some lovely women around, eh?” I raised my eyebrow at him and he did the same, taking a long sip of his beer as he awaited an answer. Sam looked at me and then to the cigarette between his fingers.

“Yeah I suppose there were a few…” he said carefully. It hurt a little but again, we weren’t a couple and he had no obligations to me. Just like I didn’t with him…

“A man of your stature should catch ‘me easy no problem, right?” Erik seemed to keep his eyes fixed on me as he spoke. I flared my nostrils and practically felt my eyes darting all over his face.

“You overestimate me but I’m flattered.” Sam chuckled. “Most of them were either a ‘hell no’, ‘go to hell’, or thought maybe I was tryin’ to mug them.” I pouted, pushing some hair behind his large ears and giggled.

“Aww, poor baby doesn’t even realize his own size.” I smiled. He rolled his eyes, stifling a grin.

“I’m sure you could do a lot better. Like that one time in Scotland.” He smirked. I knew exactly what he was talking about and I laid my head in my arms with an embarrassed groan. Erik looked between the two of us, interested in what was being said.

“What time in Scotland?” He asked.

“Which person? The old man or the hot nurse?” I chuckled.

“Hot nurse?!” Erik exclaimed. “I need the story, love.” And with that Sam began to tell him about how I set him up and took his girl for the night. I received a high five and a slew of compliments.

The night dragged on and Sam was beginning to get a little handsy under the table. He ran his fingers up and down the inside of my thighs as Erik drunkenly babbled on about god knows what. I was too distracted to hear. His calloused fingertips slipped beneath my skirt and brushed along my clothes slit and I jumped a little. He smirked as Erik let out a long yawn. “You sound tired, bub.” I said to him and he stretched, nodding his head. His dark lashes fluttered on his high cheekbones as he leaned back in his seat. His eyes barely opened. Sam gripped my thigh tightly and I smacked his hand away, giving him a look that told him to behave. I stood up to go grab a pillow and a blanket for him and laid them out on the couch.

“You can crash here tonight. You’re too fucked to drive.” I said, lifting his arms and pulling off his pink hoodie, leaving him in a white tee shirt. “C’mon, drunky.” I told him, grabbing his tattooed hands as he turned in his seat. I pulled him up and led him to the couch where he crashed into it and didn’t even move from his spot. I chuckled, ruffling his hair and throwing the blanket over him. I put his cigarettes on the coffee table next to him. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night to smoke and then pass out again.

“Sunny, you’re a gorgeous gal.” He mumbled drunkenly.

“Thank you, Erik. Now go to sleep.” I said, kissing his forehead.

“You’re the bestest friend I’ve ever had! And I fookin’ love ya!” He called out as I turned to look at Sam. He stifled a laugh as he started throwing away the beer bottles we lined up on the counter.

“Love you, too, Erik. Go to sleep.”

“Okieee….” he mumbled before dozing off into a light snore. I shook my head as I put the pizza in the fridge. Sam leaned against the fridge as I closed the door and winked at me. I laughed.

“And what do you want?” I purred with a Cheshire smile.

“To sleep with you.” He answered, boldly. I smirked and crept up to him, tugging on the bottom of his shirt.

“You do remember that you have your own bed, right?” I asked teasingly. He narrowed his eyes and bent down to whisper in my ear.

“Yeah but... I have a feeling there won’t be much sleepin’ if I stay with you.” He told me, pressing a long warm kiss on my neck. A jolt of excitement ran through my body as his hands engulfed my hips and pulled me towards him. I giggled a little as his hands travelled down my backside. He patted my ass, prompting me to jump into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me into my room, showering me with kisses and kicked the door closed.

[monochromemedic]

Flashback pt 3

Through the booming music that was beginning to die down, the lights that were beginning to settle, and the loud whistles of a few people from the crowd, two men sat in silence at the back of the karaoke bar. Fallon was deep red in the face, hand brushing through his hair as he slouched  over on the table. Silas wasn’t much better. He wasn’t blushing or pale but he was staring off in the distance, arms crossed as he tried to process everything. In the silence of the karaoke bar as another person readied the stage and Dom walked off, back to his table to down a drink, the two men stared at their future friend. He was so different. The Dom they knew seemed restrained, work oriented, hell they never heard him sing before but here Dom was, looking like some heart throb decked out in revealing clothing and piercings. “Maybe we’re in a messed up timeline? Like we’ll leave and we’ll find out that this timeline is the one where there’s was a punk revolution or... uh aliens. And Dom’s just an alien in disguis-” Fallon trailed off as Silas stared at him causing him to cut himself off “Well can you blame me this is... weeiird.” “It is it’s just... no it is.” Silas muttered, rubbing his arm observing the table that Dom was now at. He was smiling, laughing even, as he talked to the other man at his table as they ordered another round of drinks. “He looks happy. I don’t think i’ve ever seen him smile like that.”  “Man don’t say that...that’s sad...” Fallon muttered under his breath before standing up and beginning to walk towards the table Dom was at, only getting a few steps before Silas stopped him. “What are you doing man?” “Im gonna go home man. I’m gonna grab that picture and disappear back to my own time, with the grumpy Dom I know, with my shitty bed, and shitty pop culture.” “And just... yoink it from them like a weirdo?” “...Yeah. I mean I’ll touch it and be magically transported back where everything is ok and swell and none of this matters so... I mean does it matter really?” Fallon chuckled, giving a light shrug of his shoulders “But what if it isn’t like that and because we interact with him it messes everything up. Like that thing the... the... uh... damn I can’t think of the term.” “Butterfly Effect? I’d rather deal with that then having to tip toe my way around him and end up fucking myself over and living in the past for the rest of my life Silas. Time Travel is fucky, maybe it’ll correct itself... I mean we gotta hope.” Fallon turned back around to stare at the table, giving a little sigh “I’ll play it like the movies ok? I’ll pretend i’m meeting him for the first time, and we’ll get to know him. We get close, we grab the picture, we zoop back to shitty 2020 ok?” Silas’ fingers tightened around Fallon’s jacket before he too got up, an obvious look of worry and fear visible on his face. “Ok...” The two approached Dom, who turned his head up at the approaching group, a questioning look on his face. “Can I help you?”  Fallon almost laughed, the sound of Dom’s voice, although a bit younger and less rough was still the same. Deep, and harsh to him. Just how he liked it. “Hey, I liked your song. It was... interesting. You got a nice voice.”  “Oh. Uh... thank you.”  “Yeah it’s real nice, I like the style too, real stick it to the man. I noticed you got a few piercings, and well, I was interested in a few myself. How much does it hurt?”  Silas stared in amazement at how smooth Fallon was being, and in just as in much shock at how Dom chuckled back, relaxing towards the strangers. At least one of them wouldn’t be a bumbling idiot... “Hurts like a bitch in the moment but, it’s nothing. Unless you’re talking about the tongue piercing?” Dom stuck out his tongue, the bobble of the piercing shimmering with spit in the dancing lights. “That one, that’s nasty haha. Mind if I sit down with my friend? I’m real interested in alternative stuff and you look like a man that would know a thing or two about having a good time with that sort of shit. Plus if I can convince Silas to get drunk enough, I might get him to get a nipple piercing and I need all the info I can to get him to not pussy out.” Fallon said, already talking a seat at the table. “Wa...wait what?” Silas interjected, suddenly aware of the conversation Dom looked away for a moment before giving a nod of approval for Silas to also take a seat, staring at the tow of them carefully. “Yeah, I think that’d be alright. You two seem...” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “Alright enough.” Dom’s friend looked weary though, and gave a look to Dom, to which he quickly gave a wave back, almost telling his friend to leave. Dom’s friend nodded and began to pack up, but not before handing the still fresh polaroid to Dom, which he looked at fondly before pocketing. “Sorry, my friend has to go to work in the morning. He just wanted to come and support me for singing on stage the first time. It’s not you guys I promise.” “First time on stage? Really? You could have fooled me, you acted like a real rockstar up there.” Fallon complimented, eyes focused intently on where the photo was. He thanked god for the sunglasses, or else a stranger glaring at a man’s pants would have been awkward. “Yeah I uh... I practice... um so about the piercing? I’m... Dom by the way.”  “Fallon, and this is my friend Silas.”  Dom looked over at Silas, eyeing him up and down slowly. Silas could feel a bead of sweat begin to form on his brow as he gave a nervous smile back. “Alright, so what do you want to know?” Fallon did most of the talking, making up bullshit about how for the longest time he was considering some sort of piercing but wasn’t exactly sure where, and how Silas was always a coward when it came this sort of shit, and how Fallon was desperately trying to trick him to get a piercing as a joke. Dom responded in a few short responses only starting to warm up as the conversation continued on.  Silas was at least glad that he didn’t seem completely changed, not a complete party animal. It probably helped loosen him up with how much everyone was drinking. At first Dom had just ordered another glass of coke and rum, but soon those glasses were piling up with the money Fallon was putting on the table. He knew what he was up too, and although Silas took a few glasses himself, he  had to stay at least a bit sober. And Dom was definitely not that.  His tongue rolled and hanged on letters for much to long, the way his eyes beginning to lull close as he laughed far too loud. Fallon was long gone too, laughing just as loud along side him, before hiccuping it and doing it all over again. “Uh... hey... Dom it’s getting late, don’t you think you should be getting home? You got a ride or something?” Silas asked, interrupting the giggle fest the two were having. “Ah... shit yeah, I don’t got a ride I just walk home. I don’t live that far from here.” Dom slurred, his tongue piercing clacking against his teeth. “You need some help getting home I mean... you are kinda sloshed.” “No, no it’s ok, it’s fine...” He groaned as he began to get up, stumbling to his feet and heading for the door. Dom waved the bartender a goodbye, but not before falling against the doorway. “Jesus Christ Dom, you aren’t walking home alone, you can barely stand up.”  Silas raced out of his seat, grabbing Dom’s shoulders and steadying the shorter man. “You’re gonna get hit by a car or something.” Silas didn’t have to look back to know that the clattering of chairs and stumbling footsteps was Fallon following behind him, almost running into his friend’s back. “Yeah you look like shit man... let’s get youuuu home haha.” “Well I mean... you guys were so nice I... I guess so. I guess it wouldn’t hurt!” Dom grinned wide and waltzed out to the sidewalk, Silas by his side steadying him. It only took a couple of blocks before they came across a rather shitty looking apartment complex. Dom seemed to B-line up the stairs to a certain door, almost like he had done it a million times before. “Welll this is home. You guys were... great I’m... you’re great.” “It was nothing. I mean you helped us alot, it’s only fair we got you home safe. I just hope we can get home.” Silas told him, eyes darting down to the ground in thought. Dom nodded, poking Silas in the chest as he closed his eyes, his face scrunching hard. “You get back safe ok? You get back... mm safe.” Silas would have felt touched by that sentiment if it wasn’t for the fact that immediantly after Dom passed out against him, causing him to desperately grab the falling body before he hit the ground. Luckily he did so, but not before Fallon gave a loud gasp of ‘Woahhhh’ in his drunken haze. “Oh my god we killed him! Oh fuck we killed past Dom, we fucked itt... awww....”  The dyed hair man sniffled, his face contorted in over-exaggerated sadness as he grabbed the keys that fell from Dom’s hands, starting to try the door as snot began to run down his face. “Gotta hide the body in the house... he died in the house, all drunk and sad.... put him in a bed aw fuck man...” “He’s not... he’s not dead you just kept handing him booze until he passed out! I’m surprised you’re still standing to be honest, let’s just get him inside and grab the picture and bail ok?”  “OH shit the picture, I forgot about that.” Fallon laughed, all signs of remorse fading from his face. When they opened the door they found that it was actually pretty clean for the state of the apartment overall. A few clothes on the ground here and there but otherwise everything was stacked neatly and cleanly, far from the look Dom was presenting to the world. Silas had to basically drag Dom to his bed room, tucking him into bed with a kind look of sadness,hand going to move a few strands of hair from his face. “Take it easy Dom, we’ll see you on the other side.” “OH god we’re dying now?” “No Fal, god... why the fuck did you drink so much?”  Silas began to dig in Dom’s pockets, pulling out the polaroid and staring at it with a small smile. “Fal?” Fallon moved beside Silas, reaching for the photo and grabbing it. “I wanna go home man, i’m done here...” With that another race of energy overcame the two. A flash of light, the feeling of weightlessness, and then they were back. Flat on the carpet of Dom’s room where they started. As soon as Silas regained feeling back in his body, he threw the picture back in the draw, resisting the urge to burn the thing that sent them back in time to make sure it never happened again. It took a second for Fallon to get back to his feet, still drunk from the drinking spree he had back in time. He grabbed at Silas, clawing at his shirt as he pulled himself upwards. “We did it! We’re home! I... I wanna sleep.” “Yeah I know-” “What are you two doing?” Both of them turned to face Dom, eyebrows furrowed together as he stepped into the room. His face was older, prominent bags under his eyes, his hair slicked back and the scar that was around his left eye still pink and puffy. “We did it... Oh you’re SOOOO old!” Fallon blabbered, racing over to Dom and hugging him close, rubbing his still snotty face against Dom’s well kept shirt. Dom gasped, pushing Fallon off of him and groaning in frustration. “Are you drunk? How the hell did you get drunk- you got... get out.” “Aw I loved getting yelled at!” Fallon chuckled, before stumbling out the room and onto Dom’s couch to lie down. Silas followed not far behind, but not before stopping by Dom as he passed. “I know it sounds weird but it’s nice to see you again. You have a nice voice.” Dom paused, opening his mouth to speak only to close it, his face turning red as he grabbed and played with the watch on his wrist, twisting and turning it as he thought back to his younger days.

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

Child Of Mine part 1

Fandom: Queen/ Bohemian Rhapsody

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor X reader ( can be read as actual Roger Taylor)

TW: break-up??? language, my shitty writing of children interaction

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2140

Requests: OPEN

A/n: So, i’ve never written a roger taylor x reader  so excuse my shittty writing ( this is also UNEDITED becayuse it’s like 1:30 AM)

Roger sighed, bouncing his knee anxiously as he watched you talking to your mother. When you'd suggested that he meet your daughter Olivia, he was anxious but agreed. He loved the idea of helping taking care of a child, but he was terrified that your daughter would hate him. Or that the media would get involved and fuck it all up. You'd told Rog about your little girl about a month ago, which had raised a few questions that you happily answered. Explaining that you found out you were pregnant after breaking up with your ex was easier than you anticipated. Explaining that Olivia's biological father wanted nothing to do with her was a lot harder, however, as it brought a lot of negative emotions to Roger's heart, the dominating one being anger. Roger wanted to be there for you and for your kid, but he was so terrified that he'd mess up, especially considering that you were both still young.

His thoughts were cut short as you knocked on Roger's window, holding a little girl in your arm, signalling for him to get out the car. Your mother was watching from the door frame and he waved lightly before getting out. There was a bag on the floor, stickers with pink flowers decorating it. Then Roger fully took in your daughter's feature and couldn't help the grin that slid on his face. She had dark brown hair pulled into plaited pigtails, freckles decorated rosy cheeks and a button nose. There was a soft gap-toothed smile on her lips, causing her green eyes to crinkle. She was wearing a baby blue dress and a light pink jacket, adorning a blue ribbon around each pigtail and pink shoes.

"Liv, sweetie, this is Roger. Rog, this is my daughter Olivia." You smiled, carefully placing your daughter down on the pavement. Rog knelt down to her height and grinned.

"When your mommy said I was meeting her little girl, I didn't expect to be meeting a princess, and it is an honour to meet you Princess Olivia" Roger stated in a shocked tone and Olivia giggled quietly.

"Then that makes my mommy a queen!" She replied excitedly, smiling widely. You laughed quietly.

"No, sweetheart. That makes me the queen. Like the band that I'm in." He responded and you rolled your eyes with a grin, ready for your daughter to start squealing. Your mom had introduced Olivia to Queen when she was one and now, five years later, she was obsessed. That was the reason you didn't tell her that your boyfriend was in Queen, hoping she wouldn't notice. But Roger had different plans.

"You're in Queen?! Oh goodness, you're Roger Tyler!" She gawked, beginning to jump around and Rog laughed heartily.

"It's Taylor, my darling, but yes, I am," he answered, still chuckling lightly.

"Hun, maybe we should head home, it's past your bedtime and the drive from Nana's takes a while." You jumped in, knowing Olivia would happily stand there forever, gushing about Queen

"Okay mama, but can I talk to Rog on the way home?" She asked, shooting you those big green eyes. You sighed dramatically before scooping her up, causing her to scream in between giggles, those giggles quickly shifting to strong laughter as you began to tickle her. Roger suddenly pulled her from your arms, shifting so that his back was mostly to you, his face angled in your direction.

"How dare you kidnap a princess? Don't worry my lady, the queen has saved you from this evil being." Roger exclaimed and Olivia continued to giggle as she caught her breath. Rog smiled at her before opening the back door to your car and carefully putting her in the child seat.

"You can ask me all the questions you want if you promise you'll go to sleep when you get home," Roger stated and Olivia held her pinky out. He laughed slightly and linked his pinky with hers

"Promise." She replied and Rog nodded before backing up and closing her door. You'd already placed her bag in the back of the car and were waiting for him by the passenger side of your car.

"I didn't know you were so good with kids Rog." You smiled lovingly, taking his hand in yours.

"I didn't either. She's adorable." Roger replied, genuinely shocked that the encounter wasn't a shit show.

" Oh, I know. But she's also a pain sometimes." You laughed and Roger beamed before kissing your cheek.

"C'mon, let's get going." He returned before getting in the car. You followed and got into the driver's side, waving to your mom before pulling away. Olivia's questions were insistent for more than half of the hour and a half drive, but Roger was more than happy to answer until she eventually fell asleep. Roger was soon to pursue afterwards, his face pressed against the window. When you arrived at your home, Roger jolted awake and rushed out the car, quickly opening your daughter's car door and gently pulling her out. He held her against his chest and walked to your front door, patiently waiting for you to unlock the door. You pulled Olivia's bag out of the car and locked it before jogging to the door and unlocking it, holding the door open for your boyfriend and daughter. Roger tiptoed through the house, up the stairs and to your daughter's room and carefully took her shoes off before delicately placing her in her bed, tugging the blankets over her body. You watched from the doorway, grinning softly at Roger's gentle nature. Roger turned around and smiled sheepishly and you shook your head playfully before dragging him to the living room. He sat down and yanked you into his lap.

"You're so good with her." You mumbled, meddling with his hair.

"She's such a nice kid. I love her." He confessed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"You're just saying that because she stroked your ego with all the band questions." You teased and he let out a hushed laugh. After a moment, you fell into a comfortable silence, your head rested in Roger's neck.

"Maybe I should go. It's late and taxis will stop running after a while." Roger said quietly and you looked up at him.

"You could stay. I think Olivia would love it and I know I'd be happy." You suggested, yawning silently.

"I don't know.. I don't want to cause trouble." He answered.

"Since when do you not want to cause trouble?" You teased and he giggled.

"Fine. Let's go to bed." He stated before pulling you up into his arms and began heading for your bedroom.

It'd been two years. Two amazing years in which Roger moved in and basically became your daughter's dad. He was there for her every second and they were so believably close. And after two years, Roger decided it was a good idea for Olivia to meet his fellow bandmates. Olivia had been begging you two for the last two and a half years non-stop and you honestly couldn't wait for the consistent question to stop. Roger knew that the boys would be confused, given that he hadn't told them about his new daughter but he hoped it would go well.

Roger had a hand on Olivia's shoulder and an arm around your waist as he directed his family through to the back of the diner where his three friends sat, all their backs to you, leaving the rest of the booth for you three.

"Hey, guys." You called when you reached the table, adjusting the skirt of your dress.

"(Y/N), my darling! It's so good to see you, it's been far too long, my dear." Freddie instantly responded, standing up and pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Hey (Y/N), how are you doing?" Brian asked kindly.

"I'm good, and you?" You answered. Olivia was shifting beside you and when you glanced at her, her eyes were wide and there was a grin on her face.

"Oh, I'm not too bad, thank you." Brian smiled and John's voice raised in volume from his previously quiet conversation with Roger.

"And who might this be?" His voice was sweet as he addressed your daughter.

"I-I'm Olivia," Olivia muttered shyly, hiding behind Roger's legs. Freddie crouched down and lifted his sunglasses, a smile on his lips.

"Hello, my dear, My name's Freddie." He introduced, his voice kind but shock laced it and Roger took your hand, a  little too quick to be subtle, a nervous trait of his.

"I- I know. I really like your band." She gushed quietly, her cheeks burning.

"Is that so? Well, lovely, why don't you meet the other Queen's of the band?" He suggested, gently taking Olivia's hand and slowly leading her to Brian and John.

"Hi Olivia, I'm Brian," Brian said, a little awkward as he shifted in his chair. " I must say, I love your dress." He added, clearly trying his best.

"Thank you. I like your hair." Olivia replied and the group laughed.

"I'm John. How old are you, hun?" John asked softly, beaming at your girl.

"I'm eight. Roger gave me this for my birthday!" she answered, proudly showing off her necklace with a musical note entwined with an O linked to the chain.

"Oh really?" Freddie asked, looking up at Roger with a raised eyebrow.

"Ha. Maybe we should order food. C'mon Olivia, let's sit down." Roger stated, gently pushing Olivia towards the booth.

As soon as the food was ordered, the table fell into conversation, and Olivia blended in nicely, asking the boys quite a few questions, much to their surprise. However, you got caught in deep conversation with Freddie and failed to notice your daughter's prolonged silence.

"Roger," Olivia whispered into Rogers' ear.

"What is it, hun?" Roger whispered back.

" I need to go to the bathroom, but I don't know where to go." She replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Want me to get your mom?" He enquired and Olivia nodded. Roger took this as his note to nudge your arm.

"What's wrong Rog?" You asked, turning to face him and Freddie turned into a conversation with Brian and John.

"Liv needs the bathroom, wants you to take her." He answered and you nodded before standing up and placing your hand on Liv's shoulder.

"C'mon dolly." You said with a smile and she got up and followed you to the bathroom. Rogers' eyes followed you, making sure you went the right way.

"So, Roger Taylor has a daughter," Freddie stated, a teasing grin on his face, causing Roger to turn his head back to his bandmates.

"What about it?" Roger asked, worried the boys were about to start mocking him.

"You said you hated children," John said, a smirk on his lips.

"So did you before you had a kid." Roger shot back.

"You've been hiding a kid for eight years, Roger? Why?" Brian interrupted.

"She's not mine, biologically. Olivia is (Y/N)'s girl. Biologically, Olivia is has a piece of shit father who wanted nothing to do with her." Roger explained, feeling his blood boil at the thought of anyone not wanting his girl in their life.

"But clearly you think of her as yours?" Freddie asked, and Roger paused. He'd never thought about how he felt about Olivia before. The terms " my girl" and "my Olivia" seemed implanted into his brain, he didn't even remember a time when he didn't call Olivia a name that implied she wasn't his.

"Yes. She means the world to me. I'd die for her." Roger confessed, glancing down, slightly embarrassed that this soppy shit was falling from his mouth to his friends.

"Well, I'm glad you've finally found your grounding, darling. (Y/N) is one hell of a girl and Olivia is the sweetest child I've met in a long time." Freddie replied and Roger's head shot up. Freddie would normally tease him for saying something like that. Roger couldn't help the smile that took over his lips. All of a sudden, you and Olivia popped back into view before you both slid back into the booth, either side of Roger.

"So Olivia, what's your favourite thing in the band?" Freddie asked.

"I like your singing Freddie but I think the actual music behind you is amazing too," Olivia answered confidently, the shy girl from earlier dissipating.

"And what's your favourite instrument?" John questioned, taking interest in her opinion.

"It's got to be the piano." Freddie butted in

"No, it's definitely the guitar." Brian retorted.

"I love the drums! Dad plays them the best too!" Olivia said happily. Yours and Rogers eyes widened. She'd never called Roger that before. Roger nearly started crying there and then. Olivia looked up at Roger, beaming brightly. Roger pulled her into a tight hug.

"That's my girl." He murmured into her shoulder.

It was perfect.

But nothing could stay perfect forever

Tags: @yourealegendfred @overcastskeleton7

[dyaz-stories]

Ok so I have one for you! But I am stuck between, “Is that my shirt?” , “I really really like you” and “l want to marry you” Please send help! Lol 😂 InuKag obvi!! ❤️❤️

Oh my God I’m sorry this took so long? I don’t know I just haven’t been good at… writing… recently ;-; Thank you for sending this in and I hope you’ll enjoy! You get two for one ;)

College AU with some Mirsan on the side eheh.

Word count: 2,431

“I’msosorry, Miroku, this won’t happen again I promise…”

Kagome’sbest friend gave her his usual disarming smile, the one that made theladies swoon, and raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Noworries, Kags, you know I never mind having you here. Get in theshower, I’ll go grab you something to wear.”

Kagomenodded thankfully and took off her jacket, shivering. She mumbled anapology for the trail of water that she was leaving behind her, butMiroku didn’t exactly pay attention to it. Getting undressedquickly in his bathroom, she stepped in the shower and gratefullyopened the hot water, which flowed on her cold skin, finally fillingher with the warmth she had been craving for the past half hour.

Itwas a stupid mistake, really — she had forgotten her keys and herroommate wasn’t in town for the week-end, so she’d figured thatMiroku was the best choice, and she had walked to his place, in thecold, pouring rain. Once heat came back to her body, though, shealmost immediately found herself filled with doubts.

Noneof them had anything to do with Miroku. She had known him for…forever it seemed, and they always managed to have fun when they weretogether, as long as they weren’t talking conquests, because Kagomedidn’t always appreciate Miroku’s attitude towards women.

No,it had to with… Erm… Miroku’s roommate.

Inuyasha.

Himand Kagome had met quite a few times before. The first one had been… Ithad been bad.He had barely talked to her, just staring at her with a scowl, andhad walked away the second he’d had the chance. Miroku had laterlet her know that she looked alotlike his recent ex, who was his high-school sweetheart — things hadended poorly apparently.

Kagomewas willing to agree that it sucked, but shehadn’t done anything to him and just because he had the loveliestpuppy ears she had ever seen didn’t mean she was going to standbeing put in such a situation.

Sincethen, her relation with Inuyasha had been… weird. He had actuallybeen a lot more decent the second time they’d met, but then it washerturn to be annoyed at him. At least though, they had talkd this time.Mostly yelled, perhaps, but that was a conversation. Somewhat.

Ifit had only been that, though, Kagome wouldn’t have cared too muchabout being here. She was more than capable of ignoring assholes,thank you very much.

Theproblem with Inuyasha was precisely that he wasn’t an asshole.

Well,he wasn’t justan asshole anyway.

She’dran into him while she was with another close friend of hers,Jinenji, one of the kindest persons she knew. She didn’t know whohad been the most surprised to find out they were both friends withhim. She’d found out afterwards that Inuyasha had protected Jinenjifrom humans bullies at some point. This was the first time she lookedat him differently.

Afterthat, she’d started… noticing him a lot more. Noticing his goldeneyes, his long eyelashes, the way he put his long, silver-hair in amessy pony-tail most of the time and how it revealed his muscularshoulders and…

Andthey still fought a lot, actually, but things weren’t quite thesame.

Kagomewasn’t stupid, she knew what the whole thing was.

Thatwas exactly what made it terrifying.

Witha sigh, she walked out of the shower, slipping inside the clothesMiroku had prepared for her. She was grateful he’d preferred hisown clothes over those of the girls who often spent the night here,leaving them behind.

“Hey,”she called out as she walked into the living-room, “I waswondering… whatareyou doing?”

“Hm?Oh, I’m going out,” Miroku answered, putting on his coat. “Ihave a date tonight.”

“Butyou can’t…”

“Don’tworry, I’ll make sure we go to her place,” he said with a wink.

“Miroku—”

“Havefun Kags!”

Thedoor slammed behind him. She ran in the corridor, and discovered witha hiss that, despite his cool attitude, Miroku had chosen not tolinger around her, knowing fullwellthat she wouldn’t be happy, and was already running down thestairs.

Sheconsidered leaving, as she really, really did not want to be aroundInuyasha, but the simple thought of going back out in the rain madeher shake her head, and with a defeated sigh, she went back into theapartment.

Atthe bottom of the stairs, Miroku let out a relieved sigh and got hisphone out.

‘Itworked.’

Then,an evil laugh escaped his lips. The ‘get ‘em together’ plan was going just fine.

Inuyashaeffortlessly climbed the stairs up to the apartment he shared withMiroku. His friend had warned him that he would be out by the time hearrived, and he couldn’t say he’d mind having some time alone.The week had been pretty fucking shitty — and it had nothing to dowith the fact that he was disappointed he hadn’t run into Kagomesince last Friday, nothing at all.

Heunlocked the door and stepped in, dropping his bag near the door. Hisear flicked when he heard footsteps in the apartment and he tensed,immediately getting ready to attack.

That’swhen Kagome entered his vision-field, looking all hesitant, swayingfrom one feet to another.

Hisbrain stopped working.

“Kag—What— Isthat my shirt?”

Hesaw her eyes widen as she looked down at the oversized, rather simpleblack shirt, and he noticed her frowning. He felt as though an icyhand had squeezed his heart. Was she mad…?

“Mirokugave it to me,” she said. “If you mind I can just go borrow oneof his, I—”

“No,it’s okay,” he replied, practically growling just at the thoughtof her in someone else’s clothes.

Miroku.That bastard. Wasn’t hethe one who had walked to him enthusiastically after one of hisdemonic studies class just one fucking week ago to tell him all abouthow dog-demons were so focused on scent that they felt territorialwhen it came to it? There was no way this was a coincidence. He wasgoing to murderhim.

Thatbeing said, he admitted to himself, he was kinda grateful for theview. She seemed to be wearing just shorts, which he expected werealso his, under the shirt. While it didn’t exactly underline hercurves, it left a lot to imagination, and still showing off her longlegs. Her hair were wet and pulled to one size of her head, lettingsmall droplets run on her neck and then underneath the shirt and to…

Hecleared his throat. Shit. He was staring.

“Whatare ya doing here?”

Hecursed himself silently when he noticed her wincing and looking awayin embarrassment. That had came out a lot more agressive than he’dmeant to. You could say it was pretty common for him, but he usuallywantedto come off as agressive.

“Longstory short, I forgot my keys this morning and Sango’s out of town,so I came here and Miroku let me in. I didn’t expect him to leaveme here though…”

Shesounded a bit resentful, and once more, Inuyasha felt the cold handaround his heart. Did she not want to be left here alone withhim?

“Areyou hungry?” he asked, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling.His voice still sounded more gruff than he wanted it to but oh well,at least he was saying something nice.

“Iam,” Kagome answered, following him in the kitchen. “Do you needany help to cook something?”

Inuyashacouldn’t help the amused smirk that made its way on his lips. “Ithink I can prepare ramen just fine.”

Kagomerose an eyebrow, which he guessed was full of judgement, but hesimply glared at her, daring her to say anything. She didn’t,simply rolling her eyes and mumbling something like “Boys”.

Hejoined her in the living-room a few moments later with two steamingramen cups. The second he’d handed her hers, she was gulping itdown with an appetite that could rival his own — and he was ademon, so that was saying something.

Hesat down on the couch next to her, and maybe he moved to be a littlecloser than needed. She didn’t seem to notice, even though herknee, as she was sitting cross-legged, brushed against his thigh.

“Didn’tanyone feed you today?”

Kagomelooked up just enough for him to see her roll her eyes. “I’m justhungry.It happens to humans too, you know.”

Theamusement in her voice was obvious despite her annoyed act, andInuyasha felt a now familiar warmth spread in his chest, dissipatingthe previous cold. Their banter had become that friendly fairlyrecently, and it was unusual for him, to say the least. Miroku teasedhim, but it wasn’t all that reciprocal, and usually there was more…aggressiveness in his interactions with people. Even with his ex —Kikyo — things tended to be cold, if not downrightpassive-agressive.

“So,how was your day?” she asked casually between a few slurps ofmuch-needed ramen.

Hescoffed. “We’re doing small talk now?”

“Depends.Did something actually happen?”

Andthen, he had no idea why, but he actuallystarted telling her about that asshole of a wolf-demon who got on hisnerves, and about the phone-call with his brother that had reallymade his day shittier, and how he’d run into an old fox-demonfriend of his and he hadn’t been that mad anymore. Not only that,but Kagome was actually listening. It wasn’t about filling anawkward silence while they were eating. She responded to him, laughedwhen he got mad and started cursing, and even rested a comfortinghand on his arm when he mentioned his brother.

Hedid kinda snap and tell her he didn’t need her pity then, but she’djust shaken her head and told him that ‘it wasn’t about pity’.

Andher hand had stayed there. It was a bit warm from holding the ramencup, and her skin was smooth and soft.

Itfelt nice.

Whenhe stopped talking, he felt a bit ashamed for just how much he’djust shared with her. Part of him wanted to take it back, anotherpart feared that she would use it against him — it certainlywouldn’t be the first time.

Instead,she said “you really look like you need a hug.”

Hewould absolutely have protested if she hadn’t simply moved towardshim, wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him against hers, sothat his head rested in the crook of her neck.

Hedidn’t know what to process first. That she’d even donethat, or how warmshe was, or just how fucking goodshe smelled. Not just that, but the mix of his smell with hers, dueto her wearing his clothes, had even more of an effect on him. It wasabsolutely intoxicating.

Almostagainst his will, his arms moved to circle her waist, and he closedhis eyes, letting her warmth fill him.

Justfor a few seconds.

Ormaybe a few seconds more.

Finally,since she wasn’t letting go, he did, and she released her hold onhim as he carefully pulled away, his eyes immediately searching forhers.

Kagomewas just as confused as he was. Hugs weren’t a big deal for her,and she certainly hadn’t meant that one to be any different fromthe ones she gave to Sango or Miroku. But it wasdifferent. She didn’t know where this was going to lead.

Andthen, Inuyasha’s eyes stop looking into hers, moving down to herlips.

Hewas moving closer to her now, his eyes focused on her slightly partedlips, unable to think about anything except for her body stillslightly pressed against his, with one of his hands resting on herwaist, and the intoxicating smell coming from her. He wanted to kissher. He neededto. Now.

“Wait.”

Hefroze instantly. His eyes went wide with fear of rejection, butmostly, fear of mockery. He knewthat if Kagome didn’t want him, it wouldn’t be because of hisblood, but he couldn’t help but thinkabout it. Her hand fisted his shirt, keeping him from putting morespace between them.

“It’sjust I… I really, really like you, Inuyasha,” she mumbled, and herealized that shefeared his rejection. “I want to make sure we’re… You know…On the same page.”

Ifhe could have, he would have teased her sofucking hardfor that. Maybe he would, later, or maybe he’d tell her how he’dnever have dared to dream for a taste of her lips, let alone arelationship. Now though, he was too overwhelmed for that.

Silently,he lifted her chin and kissed her intensely, his tongue sliding inher mouth and his fangs grazing softly against her lips. She seemedto melt in his arms, leaving her half-laying on top of him,breathless, her eyes shining with desire when he pulled away.

Hesmiled. It was half a smirk, half the sincerest expression ofhappiness she had ever seen on his face.

“Don’tworry. I really, really like ya too.”

“Doyou think they’re okay?” Sango asked.

Mirokuyawned and looked down at the young woman whose head was resting onhis chest while her fingers lazily traced circles on the arm he keptaround her.

“Ihope so. It would be really annoying if we had gone through all thatfor them notto finally…”

Sheslapped his arm lightly. “There’s no need to be gross,Miroku.” There was another silence during which Miroku’s smilesimply widened. He absolutely loved that woman. “But do you thinkthey will be mad at us?”

“Youmean, because you stole Kagome’s keys and I gave her Inuyasha’sclothes and we did that on a day we knew it would be raining? Ofcourse not.”

“Ithink you’re being a bit optimistic.”

“Mydear Sango, they’re each other’s one true love. They’d betterbe happy.”

“Ormaybe we could just never tell them we had anything to do with it.”

Therewas a silence, during which Miroku imagined exactly what the(hopefully) new couple would do to him if they ever found out. Heswallowed.

“Yeah.We could do that.”

Saw people on Discord saying Inuyasha needed a hug… And I agreed.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#1yrago Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a  lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrine for the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years and have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html

[hey-itsnxel]

Level Nine.

*I never posted this fic on tumblr, but after just editing it, I figured why not?*

Rating: General Audiences. Words: 3,025 Tags: Rich Dan, Bartender Phil, Short & Sweet, Drunkeness Summary:  No one ever sat at the bar, until one night someone did.

[read on ao3]

Phil wasn’t sure how he ended up bartending at one of the most prestigious bars in New York City. One minute, he was pouring beer at a sports bar, barely getting paid minimum wage, and having to deal with the obnoxiously drunk groups of college kids that hung out there and the next? He was being whisked away by a man in a suit that probably cost more than Phil’s whole apartment to the rooftop of The Belmont Hotel.

Just like everyone else who frequented the bar scene, he’d heard about Level Nine. Despite being far past the ninth floor of the hotel it sat atop of, Level Nine was the kind of place only rich people could afford to step into. Gone were the frat boys spilling beer everywhere. Now it was socialites; It was men in business attire sipping rum and cokes by outdoor fireplaces while they discussed politics and business deals. Couples who were dressed to the nines, little black dresses and Gucci suits, downing extra dry martinis faster than Phil could make them.

It was for the socially elite. The rich. The famous.

Somewhere Phil definitely didn’t belong. Yet, here he stood, black slacks and a white button down shirt donned and martini shaker in hand. His hair was meticulously pushed back into a quiff despite knowing the strands were bound to fall in his face by the end of the night.

He just had to look the part. No one here had to know that he lived in a shitty one bedroom apartment on the other side of the city, no one had to know how pathetically broke he was until he got this job, no one even had to know his name if he didn’t want to tell them. It didn’t matter though because no one ever asked. Phil wasn’t even sure if he’d heard anything other than drinks orders since his feet his the patio floor on his first day.

Tonight was no different. The city lights were spread out like stars, a harsh contrast against the sky. The sound of traffic was muffled by the music playing over the speakers. Phil briefly wondered what it would be like to live this kind of life as he tipped a bottle of champagne into the flute in his hand, dropping a few raspberries to the bottom of the glass once he was done. The bubbles rose to the top and he repeated the process four more times before signaling a co-worker to come take the drinks where they needed to go.

No one ever sat at the bar. There was a set of three stools, matte black from top to bottom, sitting empty in front of him. The only human interaction they ever received was when someone bumped into them while ordering a drink. He supposed it would be weird to come to a place like Level Nine and talk to the bartender. They should probably just move them, honestly.

Phil had gotten lost in his thoughts of barstools and living the socially elite dream life when he heard someone’s fingers tapping against the bar. He jumped as he saw them, fumbling with the glass he had been wiping in his hands, before regaining some of the composure he was supposed to always have while he was working. The man didn’t even give Phil a chance to say anything before slapping a black card down on the counter, ordering a pair of manhattans, and walking away towards a much younger boy on the terrace.

His eyebrow rose as it fell on the black card. Even for Level Nine that wasn’t common. But he decided to think nothing of it and went to work making the man’s drinks.

Phil didn’t interact with the man again until he came back for his card. All his drink orders had been placed through one of the waitresses, who he had running back and forth all night. He signed off on the receipt without a word and walked out the door, hands stuffed angrily in the pockets of his pinstripe suit.

The boy who he had been sitting with was still on the terrace, a half empty glass dangled precariously in his left hand as he leaned against the railing. His head was hung, curls occasionally getting tussled by the breeze that had begun. With a sigh, he tipped the glass back like a shot and placed it on the table, walking out without a glance in Phil’s direction.

-

It was cold.

The outdoor fire places were lit, the hidden heaters in the base of the patio roof were on. None of those luxuries extended to the bar though, so Phil was freezing. His hands shook as he ran the cleaning rag over the surface for what felt like the 30th time despite their being nothing to wipe away. It was their dead hour, that awkward time where everyone was out eating dinner and had no reason to be at a bar. Yet Phil still had to stand there, attention ready, just in case someone were to come in.

He always felt awkward standing around doing nothing. He got fidgety and nervous, which resulted in him repetitively wiping down the counters and unused barstools. He turned the liquor bottles so the labels faced outwards, wiping the cloth over them as well. It was his least favorite part of the day.

Luckily, it seemed that part of the day wasn’t going to last very long.

Despite being early into their dead hour, the door of the elevator swept open and the same boy from a few nights ago stepped out. Phil hadn’t had a chance to look at him until now. His hair was dark, the same color as the whiskey he poured every night, falling in a mix of wavy curls across his forehead. He was wearing a black suit, minus the jacket which was draped over his arm. A black tie hung loosely from his neck.  All of that seemed normal from what Phil had gotten used to. Expensive suits were almost as common at Level Nine as the taxis were on the streets below. What really caught his attention, however, was the black and white Converse on his feet. The laces were tied sloppily, the sides scuffed, and they were a complete contradiction to the probably designer suit on his body.

The boy hesitated in the exact middle of the patio, his eyes flickering to the couches where he had sat previously and then back to Phil a few times, before his converse clad feet began to make his way towards the bar, eventually leaning against the counter.

“Hey. How are you?”

Phil was surprised. He wasn’t used to anything other than drink orders, but this random boy (who barely looked old enough to be in here) had his head tipped to the side, waiting for Phil to answer.

“I’m doing fine, thank you. What can I get you this evening?”

He looked past Phil, slipping onto one of the stools in front of the bar as he eyed the rows of liquor bottles on the shelves behind him. Phil’s eyebrow rose subconsciously. Much to his dismay, his mouth began moving on it’s own accord.

“No one ever sits there.”

The boy looked back at Phil, propping his chin in his hand.

“Well, I’m happy to be the first. I’ll look like less of a loser if I’m sitting here drinking as opposed to sitting over there drinking by myself. Rum and coke. Heavy on the rum, light on the coke.”

He flipped open his wallet, sliding yet another black card across the counter. That was two in one week. Phil stared at it blankly, his mind running with thoughts. Daniel Howell. The name on the card seemed familiar but Phil couldn’t grasp where from. It had to be somewhere important if he had a black card of all things.

Daniel seemed to read his mind, sighing slightly before he started speaking.

“Howell and Son Law Firm. My dad is Howell, I am unfortunately the son. One of them anyway.”

Oh! Duh! Now Phil could see it. The commercials, the newspaper write ups, the feature in that random magazine that had been accidentally delivered to his door. It all made sense as to why he would have a card of this caliber. He was slightly embarrassed at being so transparent. It took Dan all of ten seconds flat to practically read his mind and only another few seconds to do it again.

“Don’t worry. I get it a lot when I use that card.”

“Oh, right, I apologize.” Phil plastered his best customer service voice on as he moved to pour his drink.

To his surprise, Daniel laughed.

“You don’t have to be that professional with me. Trust me, I am nothing like anyone who comes up here.”

“I could tell by the Converse.”

Phil mentally slapped himself for saying that, turning on his heel to apologize. His words were caught in his throat when he saw the sheepish expression on Daniel’s face. His lips had quirked into an embarrassed smile, shrugging so faintly that Phil barely noticed it.

“Yeah, full disclosure, my father is going to have a fit about that whenever he shows up. So, I’m warning you to take cover.”

He watched as Dan forced a laugh, rolling his eyes in a way to was meant to be sarcastic. It came off as more sad than anything.

“I think I’m the safest out of everyone here. I have a whole bar to hide behind.”

Phil felt Dan watching him over the rim of his glass, his eyes following him as he moved around behind the bar to place the bottle back. It was unnerving, to say the least. Everyone who came to the bar barely cast Phil a second glance and now some lawyer’s kid was practically staring him down.

“What’s your name?” Finally breaking the silence, Daniel placed the glass down on the counter with a clink.

“Phil. I’ll add that to your lists of firsts, no one here has asked me before.”

The frown that fell across Dan’s face was sincere, his brow furrowed immediately. He took a slow sip of his drink, swirling the liquid in the glass.

“Rich people suck, tbh.”

Phil nodded a bit too quickly, making Dan snort. Their conversation , along with Dan’s drinks, flowed naturally from there.

By the time Dan’s father showed up, Dan was a bit drunk. His eyes had glassed over a long time ago, his sentences reducing to giggles every time he stumbled over a word. Phil had found the whole sight adorable, spending a solid portion of their conversation coercing Dan into drinking some water.

“I hate it, you know?” Dan slurred, leaning back on the barstool in a way that made Phil’s pulse quicken. He resisted the urge to reach out and push it back down to the floor.

“Hate what?”

“This.” He waved around, the stool wobbling beneath him before Dan moved forward and grounded it again. He leaned across the counter as if the next words that were going to leave her lips were some big secret. Phil obliged and met him in the middle, eyebrow risen.

“Working for my dad sucks. Going to law school sucks. Having to sit on that couch and talk about my future sucks…” Dan had turned the stool so he was looking away from Phil, his eyes locked on the elevator door. As if on cue, his father and an older boy stepped out. With a sigh, he glanced over his shoulder at Phil. “… I think most of all, my brother sucks.”

Pushing himself away from the counter, Dan grabbed his jacket and headed towards the couch. Just like he had warned, his father was already chastising him about the shoes. The brother stood off to the side, looking incredibly smug as he nodded along with everything Mr. Howell was saying.

-

For the rest of the night, Phil found himself staring towards Dan’s corner. He was slumped back against the couch, nursing a vodka tonic Phil had just made. The brother, who Phil found out was named Alex when he saw his credit card, was talking animatedly. Mr. Howell was practically beaming at every word that came out of his mouth. When the conversation fell on Dan, his expression immediately changed. He looked disapproving and stern, his lips drawn into a tight line as he shook his head everytime Dan spoke.

The later it became, the less Dan spoke. Until it was almost like he wasn’t there at all.

Phil found himself feeling bad for Dan. Despite only talking to him for an hour or two earlier, he could admit he’d developed a tiny crush on the brunette. They had a lot in common despite coming from two different paths of life.

When Dan got started on something he loved, the way he talked about it was captivating. Even if he was drunk. Phil had found this out when an older pop song started playing throughout through the speakers. Dan had immediately swerved the conversation onto that, ranting a mile a minute about different styles of music and how they’d changed over the years. Admittedly, Phil didn’t care but found himself hanging on every word Dan said like his life depended on it.

Maybe the crush also stemmed from the fact Dan was the first person in Level Nine who had spoken more than two words to him. He had seemed genuinely interested in whatever Phil was saying even stopping him to ask questions. Phil had never been more paid attention to in his life.

It was late. People had started to drift out of the bar, leaving only the  Howell’s and a few odd people meandering about. Dan caught Phil’s eye from across the room, rolling his eyes with what Phil assumed was supposed to be subtle head nod towards his brother.

It definitely wasn’t subtle.

His father and brother had already turned their heads, casting a single glace at Phil before before turning back around. Mr. Howell stood up and Alex followed, leaving Dan slumped against the couch. It was sad that it didn’t surprise Phil when they left without speaking a word to Dan.

“Bye to you too.” Dan huffed, loud enough to attract attention from the few remaining customers. His father didn’t turn around, the elevator doors already closing behind him. Phil smiled sympathetically at him, to which Dan raised his empty glass, mocking a cheers motion from across the patio, before returning to the barstool he’d claimed early.

“Well that sucked.”

Phil was already sliding a glass of water down the bar a lemon wedge on the side (because ‘water without lemons was gross’ according to Dan.) Dan twirled the lemon in between his fingers, fumbling with it before it fell to the floor. His bottom lip poked out in a pout as he looked down towards the floor, eyes lifting to Phil in the best puppy dog expression he’d ever seen. It took Dan approximately three bats of his eyelashes before Phil was practically power walking to the end of the bar where they kept the fruits for cocktails and placing another lemon in Dan’s drink.

“Thank you, Philly.”

The smirk on Dan’s lips alongside the nickname made Phil roll his eyes and a blush creep onto his cheeks simultaneously.  

“It’s my job.” He mumbled, resisting the urge to take the lemon away out of spite (he would just end up giving him a new one five seconds later anyway).

Dan stared at the water, silently watching the condensation drip down the side, while Phil resumed the nightly cleaning schedule for the bar. Every so often, he could feel Dan looking at him, but he’d always looked back down before he could catch him in the act.

“You’re the last person here, you know we technically closed like 30 minutes ago.”

Phil moved from behind the bar, the latch of the gate clicking behind him.

Dan hopped from the barstool, his feet hitting the floor with a thud.

“I know. I was waiting for you to get off.”

Swinging his arm forward, he motioned for Phil to lead the way.

“Why?” Phil started walking, pausing in front of the elevator before turning to the stairs the employees usually took. Dan quickly looped his arm through his, stopping him dead in his tracks. Before Phil could object, he had pushed the button for the elevator door and drug Phil inside.

“So I can take you home, duh.”

The way Dan spoke made it sound like it should have been obvious. His confidence faltered a split second later, when he started stammering over himself.

“I mean, like, literally home. I’m not trying to fuck you or anything yet.... Not yet like I’m planning on it or anything. I mean I could be into that one day if you’re into that. I mean literally take you to your house. Is that creepy? Now that I’m saying it outloud it sounds incredibly creepy.”

Phil couldn’t stop himself from erupting into a fit of laughter. Dan’s drunken rambling was almost as cute as the blush the spread across his face. He leaned back against the wall of the elevator, looking up at the weird designs painted on the ceiling.

Once he finally calmed down, he turned to Dan.

“It’s not creepy. But, you definitely can’t drive right now.”  

“Phil, Phil, Phil." Dan tsk-ed sarcastically, shaking his head, before he wrapped his hand around Phil’s. "You think I, the son of the man who founded Howell and Son Law firm, drives himself anywhere? Ha!”

Phil deadpanned at his dramatics. What was even happening?

“No, seriously. I have a driver tonight. Let me take you home?”

Phil hesitated, but after taking one look at the hopeful expression on Dan’s face, he knew there was no way he was going to tell him no.

(Little did Phil know, this wouldn't be the last time he found himself in the backseat of this car. Funny how things work out sometimes.)

[retroreaderr]

Finger Guns (Remus x Reader High School AU)

First few weeks at a new school have been rough on me, so I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to get anything done. This is based on a dorky interaction I had with a stranger on my way home from school on Friday, and it actually brightened my day, so here’s hoping it can brighten yours! 

Word Count: 1800ish

Moving to such a small town had seemed like it would be just like in the movies, everyone knows who you are, you're the cool new girl and everyone wants to know you. You'd have a group of friends, ride around in the back of your step-dad's truck past corn fields, eating ice cream you got from the local ice cream parlor and talk about how shitty Mr Bradshaw is at teaching geometry. 

Needless to say, it did not live up to your fantasies. Moving to a small town meant everyone had grown up together, their parent's grew up together, and it meant that their friend groups were tight-knit and damn near impossible to join after such a long time of bonding. You spent your days in monotony, waking up and heading to the bus, an excited wave from an enthusiastic lowerclassmen and then that was it. Someone might ask for your homework to copy, or that one girl in Chemistry might ask you when the project is due, but other than that? You were ignored. Everyone knew about you, you were the new girl from out of town, and no one cared.

Two weeks in and you’d grown used to it, well, numb would be a better word really. Yeah, you’d grown numb to being ignored. You had an acquaintance here and there, but no one really seemed… engaged when they talked to you, no one seemed interested in what you had to say.

But maybe you didn’t need to talk.

Friday afternoon, you sat on the bus, numb to the outside world as music blared in your ears, effectively drowning out any noise from the babbling bumbling band of boys beside you. They spoke of rebellions never to happen, and of futures that most likely wouldn’t come true, so it was useless to bother. The loudest one, a slender boy with a mop of messy black hair atop his tan head, tapped you on the shoulder vigorously trying to get your opinion on their debate.

You waved him off and looked dramatically out the window, the less rowdy boys in your peripheral vision. Leaning your head on the back of the bus seat, mentally groaning at the ancient leather smell it’ll leave in your hair, you relaxed and tapped out the rhythm of “Don’t Stop Belivin’” on your thigh. Your face set in its neutral expression, you expected you looked none-too-pleased, but it was the end of the day and frankly, you were none-too-pleased with yet another day of being ignored.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted one of the boys looking at you. You side-glanced over, eyes glossing over his ruffled brown curls and freckled skin, momentarily wondering why he was staring so intently. As you raised a hand in confusion, he seemed to snap out of it and awkwardly smile, his friends seeming unaware of his quiet chuckles of embarrassment. You noticed he too had earbuds in, maybe he was kind of annoyed with his friend’s loud behavior as well.

Smiling broadly and making a silly face, he threw some dorky finger guns your direction, shaking his shoulders with it. Confused, you hesitantly shot some back, offering up an amused smile. Seeming content, the stranger smiled and looked back towards the front of the bus, his friend’s still too caught up in their discussion to have noticed the quiet one making faces at the new girl. Still a bit perplexed as to what just happened, a small smile set on your face as you relaxed back into your seat.

Seeing as your bus ride was the longest forty minutes of your life, your face at one point had set back into it’s neutral expression. Soon enough after you noticed your smile had faded, the awkward boy was back to making goofy faces at you from the corner of your vision. Looking over at him, your smile returned and he seemed to sit a bit straighter when he saw.

He made a goofy face, crossing his eyes and blowing up his cheeks. You returned, scrunching your eyes closed and sticking out your tongue. Opening your eyes again, you saw he’d moved to awkwardly shimmying his shoulders to whatever song he was listening to and once again, waggling some finger guns in your direction.

Your song just shifted to “The Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult, so you raised a brow and shimmied your shoulders to the rhythm of the cow bell. Soon enough, a silent laugh had found his lips and it was infectious. The friend of his that’d bugged you earlier took notice of the silent exchange and joined in with the finger gun action, though with much more confidence than his awkward pal.

Shaking your head at their antics, you smiled brightly at the awkward little boy who was corralled into a conversation with the what-appeared-to-be-brothers.

“So how was school, honey?” Your mother asked as you came through the door after getting home. She was sitting on the couch and eating her stress away, as usual since she was having a tough time getting a job in the new area.

“Better than usual,” you responded, heading to the kitchen for a snack.

“Oh, d’you make a friend?” She followed after you, hopeful that you’d get out of the slump you’d been in since the move.

“I think so,” you shrugged, leaning down and looking in the pantry. “Mom, you ate all my pudding cups. Again.”

Monday rolled around and you’d nearly forgotten about the dork on the bus, shoving your hands into your unseasonable sweatshirt as you headed out the door. Who cared if it was going to be in the upper 80’s later? It’s not hot yet and that’s what counts. It wasn’t until you sat at the edge of your driveway, “Don’t Stop Me Now” ringing in your ears, did the brunet come to mind. A ghost of a smile placed itself on your lips as you turned up the music.

Familiar yellow and orange flashing lights greeted you, and you fell into routine again. Seven seats from the front, left side, bookbag beside you, one ankle over the other knee, music blaring. Relaxing your head against the seat, as usual, you were pleasantly unperturbed when a familiar gaggle of boys bounded their way onto the bus. How they didn’t want to die this early in the morning was beyond you. The brothers, as usual, sat beside each other in the seat in front of you, the chubby one and Mister Finger Guns sat in the seat across the aisle from them.

Mister Finger Guns, as you’d decided to dub him until further notice, looked absolutely abhorred at the idea that the Brothers wanted to talk this early in the morning, and so, put in his earbuds as soon as he sat down. Yawning very unattractively, you slid your thumb across your thigh to the opening of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” as Mister Finger Guns looked over, the expression on his face absolutely screaming “ugh.”

You sleepily chuckled, well, more like exhaled sharply through your nose and bounced your shoulders a bit, but you understand what I mean. He yawned groggily, his eyes watering a bit as he tossed you some sleepy finger guns. Suppressing yet another yawn, you waggle your finger guns back at him. He held up one of his finger guns to his cheek and moved his mouth to “pow” as he moved the gun away. You hazily nodded in agreement.

He smiled at you, his eyes glossy before resting his shoulder on the chubby one’s shoulder and drifting off. If only you had a chubby one to fall asleep on.

You began seeing more and more of Mister Finger Guns around school, you didn’t have any classes with him, but you saw him on your way to Chemistry, and when he saw your Face Of Discontent, he did his darnedest to make you smile in the short window he was given, and boy did it work.

At lunch, you sat with a few acquaintances, they babbled on about what they did over the weekend without you, and with a sigh, out the earbuds came. Glancing around the smelly cafeteria, you bit into your half-cooked school lunch french fry and you noticed Mister Finger Guns from a few tables over.

He was with his friends, you assumed they were close. Not knowing if he noticed you or not, you decided to examine his group in their natural habitat. They all needed their own names, you decided. The tall one with messy black hair donned a football jersey, so he was dubbed Number 4 after his jersey number, his brother wore a leather jacket and dramatically ran a hand through his luxurious mane of dark hair, so he was now Edge. The chubby one who was rushing to get his Algebra homework done, he seemed like a Peter. You couldn’t place a finger on exactly why, but it just fit.

Soon enough, Mister Finger Guns took a pause between helping Peter with his homework and took a sip of his chocolate milk carton, accidentally locking eyes with you in the process. He nearly choked on the milk in surprise, spilling some down his chin. Suppressing a loud laugh, you bit your lip and imitated his awkward shoulder shimmy finger guns combo.

The next week was filled with more awkward miming, and .even more quiet chuckles. Sometimes Number 4, Edge and Peter joined in, but more often than not they realized this was one of those things just for Mister Finger Guns, and you could tell he appreciated it.

Funny faces between classes, mime-offs during lunch, and of course, finger guns on the bus. You found yourself attempting to look a little more forlorn than usual in hopes that you'd run into him and have another cute interaction, and without fail he'd always perk you up with his lopsided smile and kind eyes.

Lunch on Friday was different, Mister Finger Guns was too wrapped up in a conversation with his friends to notice you, Edge blocking his view of you. All good things come to an end, you supposed, shrugging and slipping in your earbuds.

You didn't notice Number 4 and Peter pointing to you as they talked to Mister Finger Guns, and you didn't notice when they'd all patted him reassuringly on the back as he stood up. You didn't notice when he took a deep breath and tugged at the hem of his jumper, nor when he dodged his way through the lunch crowd to make it over towards you.

You did notice, however, when he tapped you on the shoulder. Turning round, you pulled out an earbud and was surprised to find him standing there, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets.

“Uh, hi,” he greeted, his lopsided smile turning up the corners of his cheeks.

“Hi,” you responded, nibbling the inside of your cheek. “I'm (Name).”

“I'm Remus.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrine for the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years anhd have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrinefor the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years and have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html