#like his collection of cheap gas station sunglasses

[darabeatha]

T.ezca for the heart 🖤

[holysofia]

Reflections of a girl in her nineteenth summer

I

In the ignorance of youth and coupled with another half, I thought my heart to be whole, and it was whole, but it was nothing more than a shell filled with air. Leaving him, my other half, sliced my heart in two so that the wall that was once fortified by his presence is now left open. My heart is under construction, and I fall victim to any draft that comes my way. I collect tapestries trying to cover the opening, but their bland designs degrade the extravagancy of my heart’s interior.

Summer is coming. I must learn to be alone again, but I’m starting to think that a flower can’t bloom without admirers. And that a dying tree won’t fall without someone to mourn it. But God admires. And He mourns. Why can’t I be satisfied by His constant, encouraging, and unconditional attention? Why do I need a man to hold me?

Do I patiently wait for my other half—my true other half—to find me and make me whole? Do I submit to living with half a heart? Or do I seek and study until I learn how to regenerate it for myself?

For now, I pray that the mortar of faith will mend my heart’s walls.

II

I am nineteen, but that will change soon. It is summer, and I am about to embark on a new decade of my life, officially leaving childhood behind. Youth, with its gentle hands, has allowed me to step in and out of myself, to mingle between identities, trying them on like cheap gas station sunglasses.

I’ve always felt comfortable with girlhood but never hesitated to venture into boyishness. The loose reins of childhood allow us to be both and neither, to dance between the two without a thought, mostly because youth doesn’t ask of us anything. It has no demands or expectations or ambitions to force on us. I can’t say the same for adulthood. Its pressures hover towards me as my twentieth birthday approaches.

To get a head start on growing up, I feel the need now to align myself with either the feminine or the masculine. As a young woman—beautiful, alone, and seeking—I’ve geared myself towards femininity but not in its divine form. The femininity that I’ve been playing with is primitive, desperate, and weak; I’ve been looking for a man to satisfy me. But, even in its depravity, my femininity outmatches the masculinity of every man that God has welcomed into my life.

III

What I’ve realized is this: in my solitude, I must become the masculine that will complete my feminine. I will fulfill myself, becoming the wind and the flame that will meet and mix, burning this level down so that I may jump to a higher one. It is on a higher level that I will find external satisfaction for the bounty of femininity that I carry within myself, which I will conceal and protect until then.

But before I evolve into my masculine self, I will tell you who I am at this point, at the height of my nineteenth summer: a chaste madonna, a starved lioness, a sophistic chameleon, a student of the earth, a Saturnian succubus, a sphinxlike satyr, an untouched heart, and, above all, a disoriented visitor.

Manhood: I am growing up, and I am coming for you. My hips will keep swaying but wind, not earth, will be the force behind their intoxicating motion. My hands will cradle the hearts that God places into my path, and I will cradle them, not with soft waves, but with tongues of flame.

IV

Over and over again, I hear the guiding voices sing, “Balance…balance…”

I know I’ve heard this word before, but I can’t remember what it means. God wouldn’t allow me to bring my dictionary to this life, and, to gain readmission into His library, I must first unite the two halves of myself and become whole again.

@holysofia on tumblr, “Reflections of a girl in her nineteenth summer”

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 5

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~3,700

Warnings: None

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Lilah sat at a conference table, hands at her temples, groaning. The meeting was going nowhere. There had been so much goddamned bickering in the last hour that Lilah was tempted just to get up and walk out to see if they would even notice. The fucking testosterone in this room was thick enough to choke her.

They’d been arguing on and off for hours, save for a few breaks that Lilah had mandated when the urge to either bludgeon them to death or to pee arose. Every little thing had to be discussed, debated, twisted every which way. Nothing was simple, especially not when it came to the territory assigned to each side.

“Alright!” She yelled, finally having had enough. “Let’s just go over this again.”

Standing, Lilah leaned over the map.  The surface was covered by solid, clear plastic, onto which they were outlining territories with dry erase markers.  The current argument centered around the delineation of land around a fertile riverbed.

“Okay,” she grunted, “We aren’t planting crops, we’re just trying to figure out what land we’re going to be responsible for.” She put her hand over the area on the map, giving her friend a meaningful look, “We don’t need it, Seth.”

Making a derisive sound, Seth held up his hand, “Hold your horses. This river cuts through our liquor supply chain. We need access to the highway over there.”

Brasa shrugged, having leaned back from the table, “No one is saying you can’t import your liquor. Your horses will be safe.”

Lilah felt her eyes roll, couldn’t keep the sigh from escaping her lips, “He wasn’t talking about literal horses.”

Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, Seth barreled forward, “Yeah, but let’s say things get tense between us.  You could cut off our supply just like that.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “No, we’re going to extend out past the river and over the road.”

“An extra fifty miles,” Brasa drawled, “For an uninterrupted supply chain.”

“Correct,” Seth answered, a smug little smirk on his mouth.

As he eyed Seth, Lilah could feel the barest brush of warmth across her hands. Reflexively, she drew them back, closer to the safety of her body. The heat dissipated as Brasa stood, leaning his weight into his palms as he braced them on the table.

Like the rest of him, Brasa’s hands were large, the fingers spreading wide over the wood. Lilah noted how the gloves he was wearing stretched tight across the backs of them. She wondered, not for the first time, why he wore them.

“Then, I want the desert land here,” he pointed to a swath of empty land, “And here.”

Seth considered it before giving a nod. Lilah marked it out on the map with the coordinated colors she’d chosen before the meeting began.

“Wait,” Seth said, and Lilah’s jaw clenched, “What would you want with a couple hundred square miles of empty land?”

Brasa lifted a brow, “Are we holding more horses?”

“Forget the horses,” Seth bit out with a wave of his hand, “No one willingly chooses to own land like this.”

“Is that so?”

Lilah did not like the way he said that. A question wrapped around a veiled barb, wrapped in ridicule. She glanced at Seth to see if he caught the undertones in the words. He hadn’t. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved.

“There is a group of my people who have made camp there,” Brasa explained lightly.

Seth looked unmoved, “You don’t want us going out there and doing population control.”

Lip curling, Brasa replied, “Is that what you call what you were doing? Looked a lot like chaos to me.”

Without blinking, Seth shot back, “Well, its not our main bag, alright? This shit is new to us, since your people came along and infected my brother.”

And, there they were, talking in circles around the thing that made negotiating such an arduous task. Seth would never forgive Brasa for the hell he’d put them through, for the uncrossable gulf that now existed between him and his brother. Fighting with Richie about it only made things worse, and Seth was resorting to striking out at the only other available target.

“This isn’t the time for this,” Lilah edged, fingers tightening on the marker.

“When is the time?” Seth nearly yelled, “We started out killing them and now we’re marking out territories and writing fucking policies and procedures together.”

Lilah drew in a calming breath, “This is business, Seth.”

She’d explained it to him several times over. They needed the cooperation of Brasa and his people. There were just too many factions, too many rogue culebras to hunt down all by themselves. It would take scouring the land every day for years to make that happen. Brasa had already assured them that anyone getting blood at their sites was vetted intensely. Anyone who broke the primary rule and killed humans without regard for the safety of the group was eliminated.

Seth looked at her with ire, “Fuck business.”

“Yes,” Lilah countered with a sneer, “Fuck business. Fuck ending a war. Fuck peace.” She sat back in her chair with a huff, “You want to keep fighting forever? Guess what? You don’t have forever. He does.” She pointed at Brasa, “He has all the time in the world to wait you out, and he’s offering a solution—now, not later.”

Seth went quiet, jaw working. His fingers drummed on the table, eyes cutting.

Lilah saw the crack in his resolve and kept talking, “This sucks. It all sucks. Ironing out details fucking sucks.” She tapped her fingers on the map, “But these details are going to save lives. Possibly yours and mine. Let’s just get this done so we can get back to shit we used to do, the fun shit.”

There was a heaviness in the air as she trailed off, her expression urging Seth for some sort of compromise.  She was being honest when she said she wanted to get back to what she was good at. Lilah had been itching for a job for months, had actually stooped low enough to snag a pair of sunglasses at the gas station just to satisfy the restlessness in her hands. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end out figuring out who the richest person in the country was and rob them blind.

Brasa spoke, his voice piqued with interest, “What did you do before...population control?”

Seth cut a look at him that was both suspicious and angry, “We’re thieves. I run point, Richie is the box man, Lilah monitors with tech.”

“That is fortunate,” Brasa said as he sat, with a little smile that was far too easy for Lilah’s taste, “I happen to need a few items stolen for me.”

Lilah leaned her head on her head, motioning for him to continue. She was intrigued by the idea that he would be interested in contracting with them. A job was a tasty idea, at the moment, and found that she didn’t much care that it would be Brasa that would be directing them.

“As you might be aware, relics are often stolen from indigenous people and either put on display in a museum or kept in a private collection. I’d like some of those relics back.”

Lilah’s brows lifted. That was certainly not what she had expected him to say. The idea had some merit, though. Lilah’s favorite jobs were museums. So many pretty things that definitely needed a new home.

Seth considered it, “We’re not a cheap crew.”

True.

Nodding, Brasa simply said, “I have money.”

Definitely true. Every inch of Brasa’s office and the bar adjacent screamed money at her in an understated way. As old as he was, there was no denying that he likely had a cache of assets squirreled away.

Lilah looked back and forth between them, already calculating cost, labor, and expenses. Depending on what he wanted, she could potentially negotiate a hefty profit. And, if there happened to be something else in the museum that caught her fancy—bonus.

“Say we do this job,” Seth began, slouching in his seat, “And you pay us—and, we iron out all these details,” he gestured to the map. “Is that going to be it?”

“It?”

“Yeah. Or, are we going to have a dual relationship, here. Both contractor and partner.”

Lilah was actually a little impressed that Seth not only knew how dual relationships worked, but also applied it to their unique situation. She turned her attention to Brasa, curious to hear his response.

“I can contract others, if you like. But, I like to work with people I know, people that I...trust to have a stake in things going well for them.”

Logical. Practical. Efficient. Lilah was quickly learning how skilled Brasa could be when he wanted something done. He might want whatever these relics were back in his possession, but she wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss the fact that he was creating yet another tie between them, anchoring her nearby with every task they agreed to take on. It wasn’t possible to deny his motivations any longer. Denial wouldn’t do her any good. She was undecided on how she felt about it.

Seth remained silent, watching, waiting.  Lilah was holding her breath.

Brasa’s eyes narrowed, “I will give you the river, and the connecting highway from here,” he pointed, “to here. In lieu of payment, of course. You make take your horses wherever you like within that boundary.”

Mildly offended, Lilah cut in, “In lieu of payment, but you will cover expenses.  Air fare, hotel stays, food, and equipment.”

His attention, when it turned to her, was keen.  Though his expression did not change, there was a twinkle of laughter in his eyes, possibly pride, as well, “Done.”

“What if,” Seth began, “We took this deal, and our horses, and added this area, too.”

He pointed to the desert Brasa had originally bargained for.  It was surrounded by enemy territory, across the river they’d just gained, with no inherent resources. Lilah glared at him, knowing he was needling his opponent. The man just couldn’t help it, consequences be damned.

“Well,” Brasa responded levelly, “I’d say that you might have your horses, but you’d be isolated, alone, and on the wrong side of the river.”

Seth conceded the point with a nod of his head, “Not a fan of sand, anyways. Unless its a beach. Beaches, I can do.”

Unmoved by the sentiment, Brasa simply replied, “I will keep the desert.”

Lilah blinked slowly, and when Seth made no move to argue, she asked “So its settled, then?”

Both of them indicated in the positive, with Seth saying, “There’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“One thing?” Lilah commented, though she didn’t expect him to respond. He’d started on a tangent, and getting him back on track would be difficult.  Better to let him roll through his thought process.

“You’ve got a whole group of culebras that you’re feeding, right?”

Brasa nodded, though his expression had shuttered.

“How are you doing that?”

A valid question that she had figured out not longer after these meetings had started. Lilah cut in, trying to head off any insult he might inadvertently blurt out, “He’s having it shipped in.”

“From where?” Seth asked, hands gesturing widely. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in kind of a food desert, here.  Literally and figuratively.”

Without an answer to his question, Lilah looked to Brasa, brows lifted. She was curious enough about his process to let the question stand.

Cocking his head to the side, Brasa licked his lips, “I run a rather complex medical supplies company. We ship all over the country. Part of that business is blood donation.”

Seth’s mouth thinned, “You’re stealing blood.”

Brasa huffed, “We transport most of it to where it needs to go. Call it a finder’s fee.”

“What about the sick people who need it?”

Where was all this compassion coming from? Lilah wondered. Although far from heartless, Seth didn’t usually care this much about the people he ripped off. Why should this be any different?

“Would you rather we feed on the humans in the area?” Brasa’s voice was low, dangerous. Lilah could feel the offense, as if it were her own.

“No.”

“Alright, then.”

Sensing that the conversation had come to an impass, Lilah gathered up her paperwork, “I’m going to get this all formatted and polished for both of your signatures. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

“Great,” Seth muttered as he rose, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Later, when her eyes started crossing from staring at the computer too long, Lilah shut down her laptop and sat it on her nightstand. Rubbing at her face, she yawned and settled against the headboard. Furtively, she glanced to the side, her hand already reaching for the candle she’d tucked away. After checking that the door was closed (despite having closed and locked it a few hours before), Lilah lifted the lid and inhaled deeply.

Coffee. Caramel.

A little too quickly, Lilah replaced the lid and set it back in its little hideaway. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling.  Lilah was feeling things she hadn’t really ever felt, not since she’d been in high school. And, even then, it was never this intense. She managed to get through their meetings solely because there was always something else to focus on. Every one on one interaction with him left her feeling frazzled and lightheaded. She’d stolen rare artifacts with less trouble.

In this business, Lilah had what most would call a late start.  She’d had a normal childhood, had gone through high school and done the work thing for a bit. Lilah had even sat in a cubicle, bored out of her mind. It wasn’t until she’d met a chop shop owner named Chewie that she’d been introduced to theft.  First, cars, then she’d set her eyes on higher things—art, diamonds, one time she managed to steal a yacht.

It had been a steady rotation of teams that were well-established in their own right, but never did more than a few jobs together before they split to keep the heat down. Lilah had spent almost a decade running in those circles before she’d run into Seth at a dive bar south of the border.  He’d hit on her, laughed when she’d knocked him off his barstool, and offered her a job.

And, here she sat. Hip deep in a relationship she didn’t understand and brokering a deal between her friends and the people they’d taught her to fear. Sneering at the course of her own thoughts, Lilah pushed her feet under the covers and turned off the light. It took longer than she wanted to get to sleep.

***

Oh, fuck, the bed was comfortable.  Lilah turned over, burying her nose in the pillow and kicking out her legs.  With a sigh, she settled back into the mattress that she was pretty sure was more expensive than her car. So comfortable was she that Lilah could be forgiven for taking a little longer than normal to become aware of another body in the bed with her.

She took a few seconds to assess and decide on what she was going to do, which was pretty much nothing.  Eyes opening, she waited for them to adjust to the warm light emanating from the lamp sitting on the nightstand. Cast in shadow, Lilah recognized the slope of Brasa’s profile. His eyes were closed, but she couldn’t tell if he was sleeping.

Her fingers curled with the urge to reach out and touch, her brain a little foggy from sleep. Lips parting, she breathed, lids falling to half mast Lilah let it roll over her tongue. She had to clench her jaw to stifle a pleased moan.

Lashes fluttering, Brasa opened his eyes, his head rolling to the side on the pillow. He looked her over calmly, unsurprised that she’d somehow ended up in his bed. Lilah, however, had questions.

“Is this real?”

His mouth quirked, “Does it have to be?”

She started to answer, and then stopped. Did it have to be? Lilah wasn’t sure which she preferred. When they were together, she felt excited and eager, even when she was outwardly annoyed. When they were apart, she struggled to reconcile the two versions of him that she knew to be true. With barely a thought, he’d eviscerated his opponents, hands tearing them into literal pieces. And then there was the way he was looking at her right now—all softness, all quiet affection.

Lilah’s silence continued, the space between them spreading thin with her indecision. Brasa shifted slowly to his side, lifting up onto his elbow so that he was looking down at her. His body was cut in half by lamplight, eyes too bright to be merely natural reflection.

Lilah’s skin drew up tight around the curves of her body as she worked to keep her gaze on his. Every inch of her seemed to be viscerally aware of him, responding to the smallest movement. Her nerves sizzled with his nearness.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes tracing the contours of her cheekbones, her neck, and shoulders. Lilah swallowed, disconcerted by the scrutiny, but unable to think of any way to break it. He studied her as if he’d never look at her again, memorizing details with tender care.

Finally, when she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she said, “How am I here?”

Brasa lifted a shoulder, “We had so little time together last night. Perhaps we needed more.”

She didn’t know what to do with that. Next question, then.

“You sleep during the day.”

Not really a question, more of a statement, but she waited for his answer nonetheless.

“Sometimes,” he replied, taking her change in subject in stride, “I need less sleep than most.”

“Why?”

He smiled, “I am very old. We need to sleep less, to feed less, as we age.”

Lilah had heard a little about this from Richie, who’d lamented that it took so long to build up a tolerance to going long periods without feeding.  And, she knew Richie only slept a few hours a night. She wondered just how often Brasa would need to sleep, given how much older he was. Lilah was no longer surprised at his efficiency with getting his projects together. If she could miss a few meals or miss a few night’s sleep every once in a while, she could get a hell of a lot done.

“That’s a nice perk,” she commented lightly, “When I go too long without eating, I get grumpy.”

Nodding, Brasa reached out and traced the pad of a finger over her shoulder and down her arm to her wrist, “I will keep this in mind and endeavor to keep you well fed.”

Would she do the same? He hadn’t mentioned that she had taken his blood without giving any in return. Whenever Lilah thought about it too deeply, she always came back to the same line of thought—his bite. She had tried to do a little covert research about the venom, but only found a few vague references to ‘donors’ seeking it out. Venom, it seemed, could be a popular drug in certain circles.

“I’m sorry that we left so quickly,” Lilah murmured rolling her wrist to place her hand over his, “I know that I didn’t...fulfill my end of our agreement.”

Twice. Two interactions in a row, she hadn’t. He hadn’t brought it up, but the disparity between what she’d promised and what she’d done nagged at her. She didn’t like to be made a liar.

Brasa’s brows lifted, “Are you afraid I’ll tell them?”

“No,” she replied quickly, “I just don’t want you to think I’m avoiding it.”

He smiled flirtatiously, “Are you offering now?”

Eyes widening, Lilah’s mouth parted, voice silent as her brain stumbled over forming a reply, “This is a dream. Is—is that even possible?”

He laughed, a real laugh. It made his face, so predisposed to severity, brighten in such a way that he fairly glowed in the dim light. Lilah felt her breath catch in the back of her throat, struck by just how goddamned pretty he was to look at.

“I don’t know,” he breathed, when he was able, “Would you like to try?”

The word ‘okay’ was out of her mouth before Lilah could stop it, her eyes wide, her heart beating hard. Brasa’s smile faded, his eyes focusing on her, the pupils bleeding out into the whites until there was nothing but blackness looking down at her. She drew in a shuddering breath, her fingers curling over his.

Sliding closer to her, Brasa cupped her jaw, tilting it back just a little. He glanced at her face again, checking for her consent. She gave the smallest nod, licking her lips. The motion drew his eyes to her mouth, his body growing hot against her. He leaned down, but instead of hovering over the thin skin of her neck, he moved to the side. The realization that he intended to kiss her came to Lilah in a slow, honeyed wave.

“Yes?” He asked, his breath fanning over her mouth.

“Yes.”

It was so, so slow, this kiss. Light pressure that grew heavier in the smallest increments. Lilah gripped his bicep, trying to ground herself as every nerve in her body screamed to life, reaching out desperately to get more stimulation. He drew back, changed the angle, and kissed her again—deeper, hungrier, tongue running along her bottom lip.

She was too hot, her skin seared by the heat emanating from him. Sweat rose and pooled in the hollows of her arms, beneath her breasts, the crease between her hip and thigh. She heard herself moan, felt her muscles relax as he rolled her beneath him. Brasa pulled away, nosing along her jaw and down to her neck. Lilah surprised herself when her lifted her chin, giving him more access.

The sharp press of his teeth snapped her awake. She sat up, breathing as if she’d been sprinting. Her entire body was shaking, her sheets damp with sweat.

“Well,” she croaked, “That’s new.”

[hisunshiine]

Money Heist | knj | Part 4

moodboard 1 | moodboard 2 | playlist | Netflix ReImagined BTS Masterlist

↳ #NetflixReImaginedBTS: Kim Namjoon x Reader starring in a bank robbery au

↳ M-18+, implied sexual content, major character deaths, bank robbery actions (violence, use of weapons, deciet)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Money Heist Masterlist | Heathfritillary (author)

The sound of the static coming from the radio woke me from my nap. Groggily, I shifted in the car seat and noticed that Ilsan was not in the driver’s seat. I began to change the frequency until I found a local Hawaiian station. We were the highlight. Everywhere. Our descriptions were plastered all over. We needed to leave Hawaii. It was that simple. We could not stay for too long.

The female radio host explained how every path out of the country was blocked. The authorities were adamant about locating and capturing the last two remaining thieves. It had been a little under a week since we left the condo and it felt like there was no way we would be able to get rid of them. It was as if they were closer than I could see. Every corner we passed, I was certain I would see a sea of armed police officers ready to shoot a bullet in my skull.

They were zeroing in on us.

As much as we denied it, Ilsan and I had silently been thinking of Gwangju and Seoul. It was either surrender or go out with a bang. What mattered more? Our lives intact and in prison to rot forever or our lives cut short. There was no right answer and it felt as if I had no control. However, all we knew was right now we were together and for now, we were alright.

Ilsan walked over to the car with a bag in hand. He sat on the driver’s seat and began to groan as he pulled out items that would help us alter our appearances, “They said you had dark hair,” he handed me a blonde wig.

“Namjoon. They have police everywhere.”

“I know.”

“We won’t be able to leave.”

“We can try. The airline strip not far from here.”

“So, we are sticking to the plan?”

“He should be there to operate it for us. Get us the hell out of Hawaii. It would be easier to show up at the airport.”

“The cops wouldn’t expect that,” I murmured and he chuckled. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too.” He looked at me with a smile on his lips until the radio hostess caught our attention. She announced that the mastermind known as the Professor had been spotted and arrested in Egypt. Ilsan squeezed my hand as a way to reassure me, “We’ll figure it out,” he said as he gently tucked my hair behind my ear, “We always do.” But despite his words, I could not help but feel utterly alone.

They had us. They took Gwacheon’s, Gwangju’s, and Daegu’s lives, captured Busan, GC, and Seoul. And now, they had the Professor. Case closed. They were only missing us. Although I could not see them, I felt the noose around my neck.

➰

We pulled to a gas station. I leaped out and Ilsan waited patiently until I returned. He kept guard. Luckily, the gas station was at a remote place. There was nothing but roads around. A single car was parked and we assumed it belonged to the owner.

Inside I paced as I collected snacks. We had been riding relentlessly with no pit stops, taking turns to drive while the other slept a little. We had one goal; get the hell out of Hawaii. The airstrip was a few miles ahead and that was our ticket to leave. The Professor knew where everyone was and hid in Egypt. Unfortunately, he had been caught. Nonetheless, he made sure back in Jindo that all of us would have an escape route if we ever were in the position to leave our condo as well as flee the countries we were hiding in, unrelated to each other and with zero communication.  

I got to the register and did not make eye contact with the hefty and sweaty locals. With the items on the counter, he began to ring them in as the overbearing heat made my scalp itch. The cheap wig Ilsan had bought was bothering me and the urge of ripping it off my head overcame me. I must have looked uncomfortable or something because I sensed the man slowed his pace. I eyed him momentarily from the safety of my sunglasses and requested he hurried up. I did not appreciate how he glared at me. As he did, however, I noticed his cellphone on the counter. It was within my reach and I contemplated the best strategy to take it. We had not informed the pilot that we would be cashing in on our escape plan. That cellphone could be useful.

I bumped into a shelf filled with bags of candy with such a force that the bags fell onto the floor, creating a loud sound that made the man halt and rushes over to me. Pretending to collect some of them while repeatedly apologizing, I stood when he began to mimic me and collect the bags from the floor. I used the opportunity to lean over and take his phone. That was when I noticed the police sketch of Ilsan and me. My heart caught in my throat as a sudden sting of fear pressed harshly on my chest. No wonder the man kept glaring at me.

I rushed out of the station and walked back to Ilsan who was casually leaning against the hood of the car, “We have been spotted,” I said out of breath and simultaneously the hefty man came out and began to yell after me.

Ilsan jumped into the driver’s seat and we drove away as fast as we could.

➰

The sound of Ilsan groaning as he slowly woke up made me glance at him briefly before my eyes returned to the road. The window was open and the cold breeze cooled our bodies as we drove under the overbearing sun. Ilsan did not say much upon waking. He glanced at the phone I had stolen and dialed the number we were forced to memorize back in Jindo.

After a few attempts, Ilsan grunted in frustration. The pilot was not picking up, “Fuck,” he hissed.

“Try again.”

“I’ve tried three times.”

“Try again.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed, “Still nothing.”

“Well, he can’t just ignore us.”

“Maybe he’s not,” Ilsan said, “What’s the number?” I repeated the exact same number as he had dialed, “Yeah, it’s the same number. He’s fucking us!”

I flinched as soon as he threw the phone, sensing his growing frustration, “Namjoon.”

“Just drive.” I bit my tongue but I could not help placing my hand on his thigh. Despite his irritation, he took my hand and kissed the back of it, “I am sorry.”  

“We should be there soon,” I said as I sped up, “We’ll figure it out, even if it means we have to hijack one and hold someone at gunpoint.” He began to chuckle as he caressed the back of my head.

“Get in the plane.” he mocked my voice and I grinned when suddenly a bump so fierce made the car bounce violently, “What the fuck?” Ilsan turned his head to see what I had hit, “Shit Y/N, that’s spike strips!”

“Namjoon.”

“We just hit spike strips! Why are there spike strips on the road?”

“Namjoon... ”

“What is it, baby, what is it?” I panted as I stared at the sea of cop cars and armed men and women pointing their guns at our car ahead. He matched my gaze and spotted them as well. “Baby, stop the car,” he murmured.

“I can’t.”

“Turn around.”

“I can’t, we fucked our tires!”

“Drive out of the road,” he instructed and I did.

The soil underneath made the car shake violently as the tires of the vehicle were disintegrating. I drove as fast as I could with tears running down my cheeks when the sudden sirens behind us went off. I glanced at the rearview mirror and wept at the sight of the police cars chasing us. Ilsan kept encouraging me to drive as he reached for the bag behind his seat, pulling out an RPD. With the window rolled down, he aimed the heavy machinery at the cars behind us, firing at them.

I could not think straight. I did not know how they got ahead of us, how they knew where we were. That was when I noticed the dash of the car. The cell phone I had stolen mockingly glared at me. I should not have taken it. My mind was racing as I attempted to keep the car as steady as possible for Ilsan. However, the ground underneath was too unstable. It was not meant to be driven on. By continuing, I knew there was no way we would openly surrender ourselves anymore especially with Ilsan shooting at them. Yet the images of Seoul giving himself up suddenly roamed my mind. He must have been as scared as I felt, Gwangju as well. But we gave up our right to surrender unlike Seoul and had chosen the same path as Gwangju.

When I could not see any more land, I hastily hit the breaks. Ilsan banged his head and cursed under his breath, “Namjoon, look.” I stared out at a beautiful ocean. No land in sight except a long way down.

I backed the car slightly and the sirens got louder and louder until they stopped. I shakily shifted as I glanced at the rearview mirror, spotting the police officers getting out of their cars, slowly and cautiously approaching ours.

They had us. There was no way out. We were stuck. They did not know our names but they yelled at us to step out of the car.

Every inch of me shook violently. I could not form any thoughts. The whole situation felt surreal to me. My brain could not comprehend what was going on. Then, as I whimpered, I felt Ilsan’s hand on the back of my head. He pulled me closer to him, foreheads pressed against each other as he repeatedly said he loved me. I wept into the long kiss he placed on my lips.

I had no idea what was going to happen but Ilsan murmured, “I shot at them to slow them down, baby, I am so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“You know you are the best thing that has happened to me, right? I love you.” He said in between the many kisses, “Do you trust me?” I nodded at his question as I clutched his jaw, kissing him as if it were the last time I would ever see him. “I failed to protect you. If we step out, they will shoot us.” I eyed him through a blurred vision, panting as my heart accelerated. “Trust me,” he tenderly kissed my forehead as he reached for my seatbelt, securing me in place, “Keep driving,” he then whispered as he clutched the RPD before letting go of me and stepping out of the car.

As soon as he did, I heard the officers shout at him to put the gun down. I begged him to return but he immediately dropped to the ground. Blood splashing everywhere as his tall and lean body took countless bullets to the chest. I cried out as I witnessed the love of my life, the man I chose to marry and spend the rest of my life with getting shot dead before my eyes.

My foot lingered at the pedal as my heart shattered into a million pieces. Then as my side of the car was forced open by one of the officers, he instructed fiercely with a gun pointed at me. I gazed out to the ocean briefly as Ilsan’s last attempt to keep his promise roamed my mind.

Keep driving . He wanted me to take my chances with the ocean instead of them. He did not want to fail me.

With pressure on my foot, I accelerated and drove the car off the cliff. Every inch of me was numb. I closed my eyes as the free fall made me feel light. Mind empty, heart aching, I gripped the steering wheel with tears running down my cheeks. I understood why Gwangju went out as he did and admired him for his bravery. I could be just as brave, surrender to a being unknown and embrace whatever that was beyond life.

Fear for the unknown was not the right word to use to express how I felt. Every waking moment, since the heist, was an uncertainty. Every passing day I had to look over my shoulder. Senses on high alert, heart-pounding fiercer, I had to stay sharp. And I did with the love of my life, Kim Namjoon, beside me. All we had to rely on were each other; our intuitions, rationality, the rush of adrenaline as it pumped through our veins as it guided us to safety. And I did not regret anything. How could I?  

Although it was short-lived, I had experienced something only a few did. True love. I would never regret receiving that note. For the first time in my life, I belonged somewhere. I belonged with my brothers and more importantly, I belonged with Namjoon. I was meant to find him. Like a chain of events, everything I did was supposed to lead me to him, to this moment, and to this ending.

➰

T H E    E N D

➰

↣ all rights reserved © heathfritillary 2021. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed. 

[jeffreydesired]

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[cicadasymptom]

                                          𝑀𝑈𝑆𝐸 𝐹𝐴𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐸 ! !                             𝟫 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑓𝑖𝑡𝑠 or 𝑝𝘩𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒’𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒.                                         (  non - mutuals do not reblog )

THOMAS FREQUENTLY wears whatever is available to him at thrift stores and he has a particular eye for the peculiar, from old, ruffly high-neck women’s shirts to strange patterned mens button ups, he often leans towards animal prints, insect motifs, flowers, and mushrooms. He has a particular inclination towards cheap gas station and drug store sunglasses and makeups, and likes to collect insect-related jewelries. He dons skirts and pants, shirts and blouses each indifferently, preferring anything that will cover as much of his body as possible. 

HE WEARS only a small variety of shoes including thick-soled, steel toe work boots frayed at the edges, a cute pair of kitten-heel mary janes, and a pair of tabi boots courtesy of Ziggy ☆ Stardust, whom he also permanently borrows colorful shirts from to bring life to his otherwise bleak and dreary wardrobe choice of blacks and dull grays. 

HE DOES like to wear makeup, especially lipstick, and has every available color from the drugstore. He’s not particularly skilled at makeup, but he doesn’t really care what that even means. He likes the colors on his face and that’s that.  When he doesn’t feel like dressing up, he will lazily wear just a plain sweater with a long, pleated skirt, or a just a long and broad dress. 

[aesthyuckic]

AVENOIR | l.dh - SEX

(gif not mine - credits to rightful owner)

Genre: High School AU (at beginning) ; Tarot Reader!Witch!Hyuck

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: (for future chapters will bold if in use) belief contradictions, mentions of r*pe, blood, swearing, violence, mentions of abuse, slow but with a purpose

Pairings: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) x Reader (F)

ACE OF PENTACLES - opportunity, prosperity, new venture

They had been in San Diego for quite some time now. Everyday seemed the same in the way they lived. Wake up, hang out at the beach in hope of getting money from tourist, wait until sunset to work on the streets, get something to eat and preferably find a cheap motel room. It’s not at all what Donghyuck signed up for and he was starting to really regret his decision.

He looked back at the past few months with Cosimia. He found it difficult to get close to her, not just mentally or spiritually but also physically. He remembered there was one time after they had just arrived here that they were in the store, getting something to eat. When he tried to tap her shoulder to ask her something, she flinched away from him. There was that familiar sense of fright in her eyes. They always tried to get a motel room because they hated the homeless shelters and due to money, they only got one bed rooms. She would never sleep in the bed if he was there. She would lay on floor if she had to, or go outside. It was only recently that she would get in with him and even then, she was practically teetering on the edge.

He understood the weird behavior was due to what she experienced in that deceivingly happy orange house. Nevertheless, it didn’t help him because he felt like he was doing something wrong. He never asked her about anything of it, mostly because he didn’t know how. As it was, it was hard to get close to her on that level but it was easier than anything else.

People walked around them in swimsuits while eating ice cream. They sat on the warm sand of the spring day, under a big umbrella. It was good for shade but didn’t do much for the still hot air that surrounded them. The tarot card box rested next to the boy while he sat back on his hands. His sunglasses didn’t do much to keep the glare from the light reflecting off the sand from blinding him. He looked to his left to see the girl sitting on the sand who was attempting to build a sand sculpture.

He questioned how she could seem so content at their current situation. They hadn’t eaten anything, nor did they have any money as of the moment. He envied it as he scrunched his nose.

“You lied to me.” He muttered, aloud as he turned his attention to the sea to avoid eye contact.

“About what?” She asked.

“The night we left, when I asked you if we’d be okay and you said we would.” He reminded her.

“I didn’t lie. I said we’d be okay, I never stated a time as to when.”

“I hate you.”

“Please, if you hated me, you know full well you could’ve left by now and gone back.”

It was true, they had discussed it multiple times. Donghyuck could go back home, whenever, if he wished. She made it clear she wouldn’t go back with him though. She had given him plenty of opportunities to leave and continued to do so but he still stuck by her anyway.

“Besides, this is okay to me...” She mumbled.

“How?” He huffed. “This sucks!”

“It’s just much better than what it was like a few months ago... I feel freer, like I can breath and just be. Not all of us had parents that loved us.”

He noticed his blood start to boil at her words. She wasn’t wrong, in fact, she was right, she was always right. He did grow up in a loving home it’s just he was overworked to an extreme. He just hated the way it sounded like his life was so much better than hers. He had a short temper, and honestly, he had no reason to get upset about but he did. He was just stressed out from their living situation. He stood up, looking like a child who just got done throwing a tantrum.

“I’m gonna go find seashells or something.” He frowned before stomping away from their spot on the beach.

“Have fun with that!” She yelled as he continued to stomp further and further away.

She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh as she still played with the sand. She didn’t chase after him, only because they had disagreements and arguments countless times. He always came back but he only went away to think anyway. He would always come back and remain silent, which was odd for him but it’s because he knew he overreacted, sometimes he was in the wrong.

He had come back around sun set. A pout occupied his lips as he walked up to the girl that sat on the towel under the umbrella that no longer protected from the sun. He thought she looked pretty under the golden hour light which broke his pout. She noticed the few seashells he cradled in his arms. He straightened his posture as he saw the look on her face.

“What? I said I was gonna collect shells or something...” He mumbled as he walked pasted her to sit on the other side of the towel.

“I never said anything about it.” She responded.

“Yeah, but you were thinking about it.” He muttered.

He got up shortly after only to take their umbrella down as the sun set. He didn’t say anything else or even look at her as he did so. She started to help with packing and assuming Donghyuck wanted the shells he collected, she wrapped them up, gently, in the towel. She put it away in a backpack that they had to shared, making sure they wouldn’t get crushed and ruined. He was already standing up with the umbrella on his shoulder as she finally slung the backpack over one of her own.

They walked into the streets together but didn’t stray far from the place they were staring to call their closest sense of home. They went into one of the sketchy and messy alleyways to pull out a foldable table onto the side walk. They also dragged out a few milk crates for seats along with the table. Cosimia was the one to grab a piece of crumbled paper from the bottom of the backpack. She uncrumbled the piece of paper to reveal words written in red marker. She taped it to the front of the table before sitting down next to the boy.

‘Tarot and Psychic Readings, 5$’ the sign read. No one seemed attracted by it though, not this evening anyway. Countless tourists and teenagers walked pasted them on the busy Saturday evening. Eventually, a couple of people had stopped by for a reading. Donghyuck was finishing up the second one for tonight. He smiled out of politeness and bid the elderly lady a goodbye and thank you.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get a motel room tonight?” He asked as he handed the money over to the girl.

“Maybe, it’s still early...” She shrugged. “We’ll have to get chicken nuggets or something from the Loop again though.”

“Please, no,” He groaned. “It’s gas station food, I throw up every time!”

“We don’t have a lot of money right now...”

“We never do.”

It became very quiet between the two of them. Though, the sounds of the city helped the air from getting too awkward. Some conversation, muffled music and sirens kept their minds occupied. He turned his attention toward Cosimia to see a frown on her face as she looked down at the dirty side walk with her arms crossed.

“I just hate the way we’ve been living since we’ve left, that’s all.” He admitted while playing with his fingers. “It stresses me out and I thought this was going to be fun...”

“Me too,” She nodded. “But we’ll be okay soon.”

“You say that,” He started. “But I’m not sure if it’s true. Yeah, you say you can predict the future and all but how do I know you’re not lying? I’m eighteen in three months and that’s really scary to me... If things don’t get better between now and then, I wanna go home but I don’t want to leave you here by yourself. It’s not just dangerous for you, but me. We’re still kids and you’ll still be one by the time June comes around. Literally some creep could snatch you up off the street and no one would ever see you again.”

“You really don’t think I can take care of myself? If you want to leave, then go, that’s your choice but you’re not dragging me back with you if you do.”

“But-“

“No buts, Haechan, our lives were very different and you don’t know what mine was like. I worked hard to earn that money to get down here and I let you tag along. I told you earlier I was happier here, in this moment, regardless of how shitty it may be. Doesn’t that say something?”

He never sees that part of her often. The last time she snapped like that was the night they left and she had every right to. For the most part, she was quiet and calm. He thought he’d seen tears prick at her eyes after she yelled at him. He hadn’t seen her cry for months but he felt extremely guilty because of it. Maybe it was because he knew if what his eyes had told him were true, it was his fault, he shouldn’t have gotten into it like that... He meant well, though...

“The cops are coming,” She uttered. “Help me get the table before they get here.”

She was quick to grab the makeshift sign off the front of the table and shove it into the backpack. They folded the table up and rushed into the alleyway with it. They kicked their crates to the sides, out of the way. They stood in silence under the yellow light of street lamps. A dog barked in the distance but it didn’t do much to ease the thick air.

He wanted to say something but it was most definitely the worst time to do so. The cop car came from around the corner, the blue and red lights flashed down the brick walls of the alleyway. Truthfully, they could’ve better spent their time than taking down illegal setups and such. The two watched as the car slowly cruised by until it disappeared down the street.

“They won’t be back for awhile.” She informed him as she grabbed her end of the table.

They brought the table back out into the side walk and grabbed the crates to sit on once again. He noticed she was sitting further away from him before and while she was generally a quiet person, the silence given to him was scary. He could tell she was upset, unsure if it was with him or with the things he said. He got upset with her too but over stupid things, so, it was fair. Their personalities clashed often but he guessed it improved their relationship and kept things interesting.

A lady with platinum blonde hair approached their table. She was nicely dressed and with no doubt pretty. She stood tall in her black heels that contrasted with the frilly, white lace top she wore. She seemed like a tourist, only by the way she seemed so excited to be there. The young woman talked to Cosimia in Spanish. Donghyuck was only able to pick up a few words here and there. He only understood the action of the blonde sliding a five dollar bill to his friend on the other side of table.

Cosimia smiled, kindly at the lady after she pocketed the bill. She took the lady’s hand and looked up with her. Judging by the smile on the blonde’s face, she was saying sweet things. Though, everything was quick to fade when the young girl’s expression drop and she let go of the customer’s hand. Her own hands grip the edge of the table as she took deep breaths.

“¿Qué pasa?” The young women asked, seeming concerned for the girl.

“Nada, nada.” She reassured her before she continued with the reading.

She said minimum things to the customer after the weird moment. Though it was obvious something was wrong, the blonde was still sent away with a smile on her face. He wish he payed attention in Spanish class to know what she had said.

“What was that about?” Donghyuck asked.

“She’s doing to die...” She sighed. “In a place crash on the way back to Spain. Her girlfriend was going to propose to her as soon as she got back, too. I only told her the part about her girlfriend proposing, though.”

“What?!” He exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say something about it then?!”

“If I told her it wouldn’t do anything, anyway!” She frowned. “I can’t prevent things no matter how hard I try, I can only predict. Even if she did know and avoided getting on that flight, she would still die somehow. If you’re meant to die at a certain time, it happens. The only thing telling her would’ve done was change the timeline of how things happened. If things change like that, I can’t see anything.”

“How are you ever able to tell the future again if that happens to the timeline?”

“It’s like a ripple in a pond, it eases eventually. How long it takes depends on how big the thing was that caused it, you know? I don’t do it or at least, try to not do it often. I need to see what’s coming, I’m not use to things bring unclear.”

“So, did you know I was coming with you?”

“Yeah, I did. I don’t know what would’ve happened to you if I did mess with the timeline.”

“Do you know everything that will happen? With us, I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. I only see the important things and no, I can’t tell you anything. If I tell you anything I’m not suppose to I know and it will mess things up for me.”

There was an abrupt slam on the table that both startled them. They looked to see a black, gloved hand on the table. A tall, rather handsome looking young man towered in front of him. He wore white glasses with black shades despite it being night. His hair was dark and slightly wavy. His lips were plump as well. He finally took off his glasses which revealed sharp eyes. He smiled at them.

“You’re a psychic?” He asked.

“This some American Horror Story shit.” Donghyuck leaned over to whisper to Cosimia.

[toast-the-unknowing]

I was just rereading work a little harder, work another way (& crying about it) and Adam mentions he had to bring all the stupid gifts Ronan gives him in the move. And I imagined them a little older, trying to clean out the house or whatever and they go through the gifts they’ve collected over the years just like reliving memories & being assholes & making each other laugh 💕maybe Adam can't bring himself to get rid of even the most useless junk. just thought i’d share some random fluff ily bye

Adam does not generally hang onto useless crap, which he likes to point out every time Ronan bestows one of these “gifts” on him. Ronan likes to argue that this means that he has lots of room for shit.

The gifts mostly end up in a box in the back of their closet, except the cactus (that would have been cruel), and the apron (that actually was useful, and anyway Ronan ends up wearing it more than Adam, so he’s the one who has to bear the indignity of having EAT MY MEAT emblazoned across his chest), and the mug that Adam thought was a plain white coffee mug. He only realized after he’d already taken it into the office that it changed in high temperatures to say HOT STUFF. At that point the damage was already done and he might as well keep it in his office, although he did have to swear Gansey to secrecy so that Ronan would never know that Adam was getting use out of something he’d bought for him.

Ronan finds the box when they’re getting ready to move into a house, after years in the apartment when they need more space. He’s about to make fun of Adam for having a box of random crap, except then he recognizes the random crap.

“Fuck,” he says, pulling out a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses that have the word HOLLYWOOD across the top of the rims like a hideous and blocky mountain range. “I thought you threw this shit away.”

“What, and let you win?”

Ronan digs through the box, taking things out at random. Adam runs his fingers over them where Ronan lays them on top of the bed. He snorts when he gets to the card Ronan gave him several Valentine’s ago, which looks like the card a kindergartner would give one of their classmates, because it is; Ronan had thrown the rest of the pack away until he’d found the absolute ugliest cartoon dinosaur. “God, sometimes I can almost forget how tacky you are.”

He’d gotten out of the habit of buying Adam cheap garbage. A little of Adam’s frugality has rubbed off on him, if not for his own sake, then because it took some of the fun out of wasting money, knowing it would make Adam unhappy. But mostly it was just – he has more opportunities these days to give Adam real gifts, the more that he knows what Adam will want, the more he knows that Adam will allow it. He doesn’t need a smokescreen of empty gestures so he can sneak the real support and appreciation in under the radar.

But, well, there’s still something to be said for cheap garbage. “This was fun. I should do this more.”

“No, you really shouldn’t,” but tell that to the banker’s box of crap you’ve lovingly hoarded for several years, Parrish; and when Ronan pulls over at a gas station in Ventura for emergency caffeine and sees a small rack of key chains by the register, shades-wearing suns smiling at him over the word chillax, he grabs one.

[bikesquareeu]

How a not trained lazy guy rode 50 km by ebike

Liguria - Day 1 - Sestri Levante-Levanto

First day, first post. I’m mapping for Fr-ont-it Interreg project some 200 km - 125 mi of e-bike cycling route. In the next few days I will post some info and experiences.

Foreword

If you are one of those “I can’t understand why people can even think about riding an e-bike”, well, you are in the wrong place and you will feed our bouce rate on Google Analytics. See you next life.

If you are interested in cycling tourism, if you have children and want to go on holiday by (e-)bike, if you like food&wine tasting but want to ride your bike as well, just keep on reading. I divided this long post in sections so that you can skip what is not interesting (shame on you if you skip a comma!).

How to get here

Train, train, and train again. Forget renting a car, it’s useless, expensive, and you will miss the most beautiful things to do and to see. Wherever your flight is landing find a way to get to Genoa or La Spezia train stations and then you will find plenty of cheap local trains (”Regionale” or “R” on the time schedule).

Even though they can be late think of how much time you would have spent looking for a spot to park your car, how much money you would have spent on gas, parking, health, how much noise and CO2 you would have produced.

I got here by train from Asti to Sestri Levante, one easy change in Genoa Piazza Principe, 2 hours and a half for €18,95.

E-bike rental

Yesterday I googled “ebike rental sestri levante” and I found Cicli Enrico, I booked in advance my ebike, the price is pretty average (€40 on the first day, then less, I spent €125 for 4 days). The guy is very welcoming, he has been running a bicycle shop for 15 years and a few years ago he started renting e-bikes.

The shop is easy-to-reach on foot both from Sestri Levante station (1,5 km - 0.93 mi) and from Riva Trigoso station (1,7 km - 1.06 mi).

Accomodation

This part of Italy has plenty of accomodation places and I won’t spend too much words on this topic. Since I decided to leave yesterday for today the only affordable place was a double room at Tigullio Camping & Resort, nothing fancy but it gives what it promises: free WiFi access, swimming pool, bar, restaurant (closed for refurbishing, will open next week, unlucky me). Extremely easy to reach from Riva Trigoso train station (1 km - 0.63 mi).

E-bike & GPS & equipment

Even though my job is renting e-bikes, I’m not so bike-techie. I asked for an e-bike to ride on asphalted roads and with an endurance of at least 50 km - 30 mi. I was given a Winora powered by Yamaha and I am completely happy with it (so far). I rode a little bit less than 50 km - 30 mi and I still have 40% battery.

In order to map the routes I’m using my smartphone (Fairphone 2, Android 6.0.1), I planned my route on Naviki on my laptop and I’m using it as a GPS navigator as smartphone app. It gives you the idea of where you are going and it records the track, you can download it in the most used formats (kml, gpx, ovl, tcx). When I will be back to the office I will share the tracks on a private BikeSquare platform and then they will end up on the official project platform.

I’ve been using my smartphone all day for IG stories (BTW follow me as @itaway1, now. Just do it!) and for GPS track recording and I used one battery and a half (I have a spare battery).

More useful things:

Helmet, it’s not mandatory for 18+ years old, but it’s always better to wear it.

Sunglasses, actually today it was a mix of cloudy and sunny, and most of the route was shady, but they are very useful.

Water, 1 litre bottle was enough for me, I haven’t seen any fountain along the route, but you will find some bars at every village.

Sunscreen, I hadn’t, my mistake. Lucky me I was on holiday in Lampedusa just a few weeks ago and my skin was almost ready for sun bathing.

Bicylce lights and high visibility vest, I know, I know, you won’t ride your bike during the night but... guess what? There are some long tunnels and somebody want you to be visible (see the picture below).

Bike shorts, when you ride an e-bike your bottom will always hurt before your legs, so buy a pair of shorts with padding right there where it’s needed.

Route

My plan was riding more or less 95 km - 60 mi from Sestri Levante to Porto Venere in 3 days. Today I rode 41 km - 26 mi of my plan (plus some kms when I was trying to get out of Sestri Levante). I covered Sestri Levante - Framura - Bonassola - Levanto. The route is based upon the Rete Ciclabile Ligure (Ligurian Cycling Network) available on the Geoportal (link in Italian) of the Regional Administration.

Part 1. Sestri Levante - Passo di Bracco

As soon as you get out of Sesti Levante the road begins climbing uphill. You go from 1 metre above the sea level to 615 metres in 20 km. You always follow the SS1 Aurelia, which is in the collective consciousness of the average Italian people is the worst place to be by bike, it should be always packed with cars and lorries. I was wrong, I think I crossed nothing more than 30 cars in 2 and a half hours. You always go up and up and up. At the beginning you can find some vineyards.

Fun fact: I was pedalling uphill and I crossed two young women who were hiking and taking pictures of these vineyards (picture below). They were so impressed by my pace on that steep uphill that I couldn’t help admitting: “I’m cheating, this bike is electric”. They are from South Africa and they “definitely want to come back to visit Italy”.

Then you ride under shade-giving woods up to the Bracco pass (615 metres - 2018 feet). The sound of crickets is so loud all along the route, really relaxing.

Part 2. Passo di Bracco - Framura

A few kilometers more and then go down following the directions to Framura. When you see the train station follow the signals to the “porticciolo” (small harbour) and then take the lift to get to the bicycle lane. If we were in a reasonable world the lift would have the size to fit, at least, one bike, but it’s not (video below).

A post shared by Itaway (@itaway1) on Jul 12, 2017 at 1:28pm PDT

Part 3. Framura - Bonassola - Levanto

This part is definitely my favourite one. I’m a train nerd and those six kilometers are a bike&pedestrian-only lane built where there once was a railway. There are some well-lighted tunnels, they are properly used by lots of people. You always find tons of bikes parked whenever you find a tiny beach or any spot for bathing.

Plus, since there were trains here, it’s completely flat (lazy me).

In a few minutes you get to Levanto where the bike lane suddenly ends in a so called black spot.

A post shared by Itaway (@itaway1) on Jul 12, 2017 at 8:40am PDT

The way back

I told you that I’m a train nerd and I already knew that the bikes don’t pay ticket for catching the trains so, at the end of my tour, I reached the Levanto train station and asked to prove my belief. When the man at the counter confirmed the free ticket I asked him where the bike coach would have been. He sardonically answered: “Who knows?”, then suddenly a memory came to his mind and added: “Usually the locomotive is on that side, so the bike coach shoud be on the opposite side”. Well done, guy. He was right.

Nevertheless it’s not so easy to put a 22 kgs e-bike on the train. Step free access is available neither to the platform, nor to the train, nor even inside the train. I needed to climb three steps and then hang my bike to some 2 metres high hooks (picture below).

Anyway the ticket from Levanto to Riva Trigoso is €3,60 and the journey lasts 25 minutes. Real bargain!

Pros & Cons

Like the Gilmore Girls I will give you a pros&cons list of my experience.

Pros

Most of them are already mentioned above.

The uphill part of the route is mostly shady at noon.

The SS1 Aurelia road is incredibly low trafficked in this area.

The tunnels of the former railway are the best repurposing ever seen for cycling tourism.

The e-bike is perfect for not-trained tourists who enjoy riding bicycles.

Bikes don’t pay ticket on the trains.

Cons

Along the SS1 Aurelia road there are lots of laybys and there is always rubbish on the ground. There are no trash bins as well, but this does not justify those a**holes throwing things along the road.

There are no cycling signs at all. There are just a few boards describing the Framura-Bonassola-Levanto former railway.

No step free access to trains and platforms.

What’s next

Tomorrow I’m catching the train from Riva Trigoso to Levanto and I will ride towards Riomaggiore and then I will decide if I want to pedal further to Portovenere and La Spezia.

Stay tuned!

by Alberto Riva @herrufer

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 20

I wait my turn at the single blinking red light in Gold Haven, Kentucky, and turn left before pulling into the gas station. This is the first place I ever pumped gas in my life. It was a lot cheaper then too. My Pontiac isn’t a whole lot nicer than the 1988 Fiero I drove back then, but in this town, it doesn’t stand out, and that’s exactly what I need. I tug on a trucker hat and slip on sunglasses before opening the door and climbing out. The old pumps I expected, the ones where the numbers click over as you fill up, have been replaced with newer models. Even better. It lowers the chance that someone will recognize me if I can avoid all human interaction. I swipe my card, get my gas, and twist the gas cap back on. When I get back to Nashville, I’m finally going to look into replacing this car. I rarely splurge on anything. Even though I won a “million-dollar recording contract” on Country Dreams, the amount I saw was laughable. Albums? They’re expensive as hell to produce. And as far as the pay I get per show when I’m on tour, after all the expenses are covered? It’s also nothing to write home about. But as my share of the ticket sales goes up and I build my fan base, that will eventually change. But for now, I’m saving every penny I can and getting by on the bare minimum because I don’t know when the bottom will fall out. Not much has changed about that since I married billionaire Justin Karas. Thoughts of my husband spiral through me, followed by equal jabs of guilt and regret. I can’t believe I did it again. This morning I just up and walked out. I don’t know what I was thinking beyond . . . if I didn’t get out of that penthouse at that very moment, I felt like something inside me was going to break. I had to get out of that city. I know I’m a coward and an idiot. No one has to tell me that because I’ve already called myself every name in the book. I tear the receipt off and tuck it into my coat pocket before slipping back into my car. I turn the key. Click. I try it again. Clunk. Shit. I sigh, releasing a huge breath, and drop my forehead against the steering wheel. This is karma, I’m pretty sure. This is what happens to women who leave their husbands—not once, but twice—without an actual explanation. Crap. As much as I want to indulge in a pity party, now isn’t really the time. I gather myself, haul my purse over my shoulder, and push the car door open again. This place used to provide full-service fill-ups, but they discontinued those about the time I was learning to drive—not that I would have paid the extra two cents a gallon for the luxury. I check my trucker hat to make certain it’s secure before crossing the small lot and turning the corner to the side of the building where the garage bays are. Both overhead doors are closed, probably due to the howling wind, so I pull open the cloudy glass door and step inside the waiting room. Creedence Clearwater Revival is jamming so loud you’d think you were standing right next to the stage at Woodstock. The cheap wood-paneled walls I remember from before have been replaced with metal diamond plating and spiffy blue paint that matches the outside of the building. The gas station has definitely gotten a makeover since the last time I was in town. I ding the bell, but it can’t be heard over the ringing guitar riffs. I don’t listen to enough CCR. But the fact that I could use a couple more upbeat songs takes second place to the fact that I need to have a vehicle that works, and there are no employees in sight here. I decide to take matters into my own hands and sneak behind the counter to the doorway that leads to the garage. Inside, the smell of oil, exhaust, and rubber fills the air. Not unpleasant, but very real. It’s darker in here, so I pull my sunglasses off and balance them on the bill of my hat. My attention snags on the man bent over, turning a wrench under the hood of a classic Mustang. He’s wearing coveralls tied around his waist, and a black thermal shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. “Hey. Can I ask you a question?” My voice loses the battle against the volume of the music. “Hey!” I yell. Still no response. I scan the room, locate the stereo, and march over to it. I slap my hand on the power button, and the music cuts off mid-lyric. The man jerks up and turns to look toward the now silent stereo. “What the hell?” he barks, his eyes catching on me and staring intently. “Who the hell do you—” “Sorry. You couldn’t hear me over the music.” I turn to face him fully, taking a few steps closer. I open my mouth to apologize again, but recognition sets in. “Logan Brantley?” His narrowed eyes widen. “Selena Wickman. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” He pulls a rag from the back pocket of the coveralls and wipes his hands. He looks like he’s about to hold one out for me to shake, but looks down at it and frowns. “Hold on a sec.” He turns on his heel and strides to the sink in the corner. The scent of citrus cuts through the oil and exhaust, and I realize he’s scrubbing his hands clean before he offers me one. I’m not sure whether I’m embarrassed or flattered. After all, Logan Brantley was the premier bad boy of all bad boys, and I’ve crushed on him since I was old enough to crush on boys. He never looked my way, though. Older than me by a few years, he cruised around in his vintage Camaro like a badass, always with a different girl in the front seat. I was beneath his notice, and then he lit out of town as soon as they handed him a diploma. I had no idea he was back, and I can’t help but wonder how the years have treated him. He finishes washing and comes back to me, the scent of orange clinging to him. “Of all the gin joints . . . What the hell are you doing in my garage, Selena Wix?” He throws my stage name in this time, and the heat of embarrassment creeps up my neck. I lick my lips, rough from the heat of my car blasting on them during the blur of a drive from Nashville. I turned my radio up nearly as loud as it would go and started belting out the lyrics to every country oldie I could find. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Justin, and how he might have reacted when he found the note. The voice in my head that sounds like Mama says he’s just going to write me off this time. “Selena?” Logan drags me back to the present. “Sorry. I, um, my car won’t start. I was getting gas, and then I got back in and turned the key, and just nothing. Well, a click, but then nothing.” I snap my mouth shut when he grins, because I think he’s laughing at the fact that I’m babbling like an idiot. “A click. Bad starter then, probably.” He cranes his head toward the overhead doors. Trying to see my car, maybe? “What kind of hot ride you got these days? I could see you in a Lexus. You always were classier than the other girls around here.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Me? Classy?” I wore hand-me-downs from the ladies at church who had daughters a few years older than me until I was sixteen and moved up to shopping at the ultra-discount stores. Maybe he’s referring to the fact that I kept my boobs and butt covered, unlike some of the girls who scored that ride in his Firebird. What’s he going to think when he gets a look at my Pontiac? I’m going to blow his Lexus theory right out of the water. I’m still the same Selena I was before; the fringe and glitter of Nashville haven’t changed me yet. Nor have the couple of weeks of being tied to Justin’s billions.

Logan’s eyes fix on mine again. “Yeah, you. You’ve always been a class act. Although these days, I’m probably wrong about the Lexus. I bet you’re rollin’ in a Bentley.” His reference to Justin’s money is impossible to miss, as is the slow, measuring look he gives me. “Yeah, I could see a Bentley suiting you just fine.” I’m not sure why he’s so impressed. I’m wearing washed-out skinny jeans, a heather-blue thigh-length sweatshirt, a short black leather jacket, cowboy boots, and my trucker hat. Not exactly runway couture here. “No Bentley. No Lexus.” Although Justin has a chauffeur-driven Bentley, it’s not mine. So I might as well burst Logan’s bubble quickly. He shrugs. “All-righty then. Let’s go see what we’re working with.” I follow him out, almost slamming into his back when he stops short in front of the Pontiac. “Please, woman, tell me that ain’t your ride.” I pull my shoulders back and brazen it out. “Sorry it’s not up to your standards.” He jerks his head to the side to get a look at me. “It ain’t up to your standards—that’s the problem.” I shrug. “The high life isn’t always as glamorous as you’d think.” He mutters something under his breath, and I don’t catch all of it. What I do catch sounds like sorry excuse for a husband. “Keys?” He holds out a hand, and I drop them into it. He has to adjust the seat way back before he can squeeze into the car. When he slides the key in the ignition and turns it, there’s nothing. Not even a click or a clunk. “Um, there was a clunk too. After the click.” “Yep. Starter or the solenoid’s shot. I can order one, but I won’t be able to get the part until Monday at the earliest. Maybe Tuesday.” Considering it was going on five o’clock on Saturday, I wasn’t surprised by this. “Okay. I really appreciate it.” He climbs back out of the car. “Happy to help out the hometown girl who made good. I’ll get Johnny from the gas station to help me push it into the garage.” “Thank you. Seriously. That’s one less thing to worry about then.” Except for how the hell I’m going to get to Gran’s, I add mentally. I’m exhausted from the long day, but I pop the trunk anyway and haul out my bag. I round the car to the passenger side door and collect my purse. Hooking the strap over my shoulder, I shut the door and start around the hood. Logan throws a hand out in a “stop” gesture. “What the hell are you doing?” My eyes cut to his. “Going to Gran’s house.” “On foot?” “It’s not that far.” “It’s cold as shit, and it’s at least three miles if it’s a step. You ain’t walking.” I bristle at his pronouncement. Lord above, save me from alpha males. “I’m not sure when you decided it was cool to make decisions for me, but I’m just going to do whatever the hell I want, thanks.” “Selena, don’t be ridiculous.” My temper flares hot and fierce. All thoughts of previous embarrassment are shoved right out the window. “Do you not recognize the signs of a woman about to break? Because I’m hanging on by a thread here, and the last goddamn thing I need is another man telling me what I can or can’t do.” My voice has climbed an octave and a half by the time I finish snapping the words out. “Whoa. Honey. Calm—” “Don’t even . . .” He holds up two hands in front of him, as if warding off the she-beast taking shape before him. “I’ll give you a ride. If you want.” He hastily tacks on that last bit, and I can feel my anger draining away as I agree. “Okay. Thank you.” Logan tugs my bag from my hand, and I don’t fight him. I’m whipped. Dog tired. Worn out. I just want to get to Gran’s so I can face-plant on what I hope to God are clean sheets, and hibernate for a few days. We pull out of the service station in Logan’s big black jacked-up Chevy truck. The seats are dark gray leather, and it smells new. I scan the interior, looking for a dangling pine tree air freshener labeled New-Car Smell, but I don’t see one. The electronics are so fancy that I think it must be new. Apparently Logan Brantley is the one living large these days. He flips on the radio—to a country station, of course—and heads out of “downtown” toward my gran’s. I do the mental quote-y fingers around “downtown” because it’s one blinking red light and four corners. Given that the people of Gold Haven, Kentucky, aren’t all that creative, they just refer to downtown as the Four Corners. There’s the beauty shop corner, the pharmacy/post office corner, the pub corner, and the service station corner. That’s the sum total of the Four Corners. The radio DJ’s voice catches my attention when he says my name. My latest single comes on. I should be giddy over the fact that I’m getting airplay, but all I can manage right now is a slight smile. I didn’t come home to be Selena Wix. Logan looks at me as if he’s expecting me to say something, so I mumble the first thing that comes to me. “Guess you know you’ve made it when you hear yourself on your hometown radio station.” Logan shakes his head. “That’s satellite. Local station plays you all the damn time. Don’t play much else.” “Oh.” The word comes out shaky. He’s looking out the windshield when he says, “I always knew you’d make something of yourself. Glad you took your shot when you had the chance.” He glances sidelong at me before adding, “Even if it did put you out of my reach.” I’m so blown away by the surreal situation I find myself in—back in Gold Haven, riding in Logan Brantley’s truck—that I can’t even fumble for a response. Apparently Logan doesn’t mind, because he continues. “So, what the hell are you doing here, looking like you been rode hard and put up wet?” I choke out a laugh and raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you said I looked good.” He smiles, glancing toward me again and then back at the road. “Oh, you do, but you look tired, strung out—and you’re short a husband.” I ball up my left hand and cover the rock with my right palm. Here in Kentucky, it seems even more obscenely large. “I just needed a break,” I say. “I needed to step away for a little while and sort some stuff out. By myself.” Logan flips on the blinker and turns right into Gran’s gravel drive before slowing the truck to a stop close to the house and shifting into Park. He turns toward me in his seat. “I would’ve thought this was the last place you’d come running to.” A million memories await me inside this house—and whatever mess Mama left behind after she broke in and helped herself to some of Gran’s most prized possessions. I take a breath, my shoulders rising, and then let it out slowly, straightening. “I guess when you decide to make a run for it, the most natural place in the world to run is back to your roots. I’ve only been gone nine months, but so much has changed. I wanted a bigger life, and boy, did I ever get it.” I don’t even think before I speak, the truth of my feelings spilling out of me. “But it’s gotten so big, it’s like I don’t know who I am anymore. I thought if I came back here, maybe that would give me the answers I can’t seem to find anywhere else.” “You made a run for it?” I’m not surprised that’s the part he picks up on. “It’s a long story.” Hoping to leave it at that, I reach for the handle and push the door open before jumping down to the ground. Practically need a damn stepladder for that thing. I hoist my purse up one more time and meet Logan at the front of the truck where he’s holding my bag. He follows me up the front steps to Gran’s purple porch. She picked that color the summer before she passed because she was banking on it pissing off her crotchety old neighbor. She was right. Gran was always right. I guess the real reason I came back is because I’m hoping I can find her guidance and wisdom here, even if she’s not. I unlock the dead bolt and push the front door open. Dust motes float in the air. I guess getting picked up and tossed in jail got in the way of Mama doing some cleaning. Logan drops my bag just inside the front door. He takes a step back, and I slip inside. “Thanks. For the ride and for the help with the car. You can leave a message on Gran’s machine when it’s ready. I’ll be checking it.” “Ain’t no trouble.” He’s standing with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his coveralls, and I have no idea what he’s waiting for. I start to push the door closed, but Logan says, “Be ready at eight.” “Wha—what?” “You heard me.” “But I . . . What?” “You came back to find your roots, Selena. I’m gonna reintroduce ya.” I told myself I wasn’t going to go as I crawled under the clean sheets of my old bed and didn’t set an alarm. I told myself I wasn’t going to go while I ignored the high-pitched chime of the doorbell at seven forty-five. I told myself I wasn’t going to go while I covered my head with a pillow to muffle the pounding coming from the door. I told myself I wasn’t going to . . . until Logan Brantley was standing in the doorway of my old bedroom. Stunned, I shot up in bed. “What the hell? How’d you get in here?” “Told you I was coming at eight. Figured you wouldn’t be ready, so I came early. Now get your ass out of bed. We got places to go tonight.” “What part of me ignoring you for the last fifteen minutes hasn’t clued you in to the fact that I’m not going?” He strolls into my room as if he’s right at home and leans against the lilac-printed wallpaper. “You came here for a reason. I recognize someone looking to hide away and lick her wounds, but that don’t help much. Trust me. I know.” I push the covers down, thankful I opted to sleep in my sweatshirt and some leggings. “You’re really going to drag me out of here?” “Kicking and screaming, if I have to. Given that any picture of you is going to end up online somewhere, you might want to fix your makeup.”

My jaw drops, and I blink at his blatant honesty. “Jesus, it’d be a wonder if you had a girlfriend. You’ve got zero tact.” His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Maybe I’ve got more than one. Tact isn’t exactly what the ladies are looking for these days, Wix.” “Whatever. Get out of my room.” I jerk my head toward the door, in case he isn’t getting the message loud and clear. Logan laughs, and I can’t help but appreciate that the man grew up real nice. He changed out of his shop clothes into worn jeans and a clean thermal Henley, this time in a deep forest green. From the way it stretches across his chest, I can tell the man is built. I might be a married woman, but I’d be doing the sisterhood a disservice if I didn’t take a minute to appreciate the fine specimen in front of me from an academic standpoint. I make a shooing gesture with my hands, and he finally turns and walks out . . . and I’m obligated to appreciate the back view as well. Shaking my head, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and reach into my bag. I pull out a pair of jeans and a longish black sweater. I search until it becomes clear that I didn’t pack any socks. At least I remembered to bring underwear. That reminds me of being backstage with Justin and him freaking out when he thought I didn’t have any, and that I’d have to do my show in a dress without panties. Why is it we seemed to find our rhythm in the midst of the craziness that’s touring, but as soon as we step foot back in his world, I nearly have a nervous breakdown? What does that say for our future? I push away the insistent question. I’ve got time to figure this out. I just need to get right with myself before I can start trying to figure out the rest. So instead, I head for the bedroom bureau and score some socks alongside the other odds and ends I left and never came back for. I’ve been meaning to come back and clean the house out and sell it, but something always stops me—and not just the general lack of time in my schedule. When I wrote a check for the property taxes a couple of months ago, I told myself it was time. But I haven’t been able to pull the trigger. Even now, I’m not quite ready to let go. Which is ironic because in so many ways, I couldn’t wait to shake the dust from this town off my boots. And once Gran was gone . . . coming back was too overwhelming. And yet, like I said to Logan, it was the only place I thought to run. Life is funny that way. I, being the Kentucky girl that I am, recall a line from the movie Days of Thunder. Tom Cruise’s nemesis, Rowdy Burns—the guy who becomes his friend after they smash their rental cars all up on the way to dinner—says something about how as a kid he farmed so he could race, but later he was just racing so he could get back and live on the farm. At least I think it went something like that. It may not be some classy, iconic movie quote, but it always stuck with me. Just one more way of saying the grass is always greener on the other side. I’m not in the same position as Rowdy Burns, because I don’t have some burning desire to come back to Gold Haven permanently, but I can’t help but wonder if, someday in the future, I’ll be singing and touring my ass off to save enough to quit. It’s unfathomable. I freeze in the act of pulling a sock on. Did I just imagine my future without Justin in it? Because if Justin is part of my future, money surely isn’t an object, right? And then comes the bigger questions: if Justin is part of my future, will I still be touring and singing ten years from now? Even if this does work between us, at what point is he going to think the country music gig—while cute—is getting old? Stop borrowing trouble, Selena. I make a conscious decision to bury the questions again for tonight. I’m not ready to answer them yet. Maybe having Logan show up at my doorstep was some kind of serendipity in the form of a welcome distraction. Stripping out of my leggings, I pull on the jeans and trade the sweatshirt for the sweater, and look at my reflection in a mirror that saw me through the awkwardness of my teen years. It’s easy to catalog all the ways I look different now. My hair is longer and shinier—courtesy of using the products my stylist recommended and not Suave. My entire body is slimmer—thanks to the restrictive diet and calorie counting. But would you believe that my boobs are perkier? No, I didn’t sell my soul to the devil; I discovered the miracle of push-up bras and was actually fitted for one in my size. My face, to go along with my slimmer body, is narrower, my cheekbones sharper, and my eyebrows have been professionally shaped. But beyond that, I’m still the exact same girl I was when I left. Is that girl ever going to be enough for Justin? “Stop it,” I scold my reflection. “Just stop.” “Hurry up, Selena!” Logan yells up the stairs, interrupting me.

[nationallampoon]

Mike Pence Returns to The Crossroads

“I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees, Asked the Lord above ‘have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you please.’”

~ Robert Johnson, “Cross Road Blues”

Meanwhile, in Donald Trump’s White House… (pt 5)   (read pt 1 here)

Two new White House interns are nervously awaiting a meeting in the Cabinet Room. Both are wearing Ivanka Trump “Embellished Mock-Neck Slit Dresses.” One dress is in the color “Blush,” the other the brighter “Berry” hue.

Don Jr. and Eric Trump come into the room talking loudly. “So dad offered Meat Loaf the job and he said no,” Don Jr. says.

“The Communications Director thingy?” Eric asks.

“Yeah, ungrateful prick. Good morning girls.”

The first part of White House orientation is being done by the Trump sons at their father’s request. Don Jr. opens a file folder on the table and starts going through the new intern’s resumes. He says, “So … Your names are Karen and Tamela.”

“Yes,” Karen and Tamela say in unison.

Eric says, “We’re going to call you Christie and you Sabrina.”

Karen and Tamela, now Christie and Sabrina, exchange a confused look. “Uh, okay, I guess,” Sabrina says. She’s wanted to work in the White House since she was thirteen and is not going to risk any perceived insubordination.

Don Jr. asks, “Christie, do you have a business card?”

“I’m Christie?”

“Yes.”

“Not yet.”

“Let me show you mine. Picked them up from the printer’s yesterday.” Don Jr. flicks a gold business card holder open and places a card on the table.

“Good coloring,” Eric says.

“That’s bone. And the lettering is something called Silian Rail.”

“It’s, uh, a … nice, business card,” Sabrina says.

“Let’s see mine,” Eric says and presents his card. “Eggshell, with Romalian type. What do you think?”

“Nice,” Don Jr. says. His iPhone dings its text message alert. On the phone is the text, FEED ME A STRAY CAT.

Christie and Sabrina have moved beyond confused to uncomfortable. Approaching scared in a hurry.

Eric says, “Christie, Do you like Huey Lewis and The News?”

“I don’t know. Is that a band?”

“Their early work was a little too new wave for my taste, but when Sports came out in ’83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He’s been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor.”

Eric syncs his iPhone with a bluetooth speaker and plays the song “Hip to be Square.”

“In ’87, Huey released this record, Fore, their most accomplished album,” Don Jr. says. “I think their undisputed masterpiece is “Hip to be Square”, a song so catchy, most people probably don’t listen to the lyrics. But they should, because it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it’s also a personal statement about the band itself.”

Don Jr. puts his Gucci briefcase onto the table in the Cabinet Room. He begins to pull seemingly random items out of it.

“What’s that?” Christie asks.

“Duct tape. I need it for … taping something.”

“Is that a raincoat?”

“Yes it is!”

In the Oval Office, President Trump has just signed an executive order making the manufacture and sale of Guy Fawkes masks illegal and a Class E felony. Punishable by up to five years in federal prison and/or a $250,000 dollar fine. Trump holds up the executive order for the cameras, saying “This is big stuff. We’re cracking down on this kind of stuff, bigly. We can’t have these masks in our mostly black inner cities and liberal college campuses. Those kids are dickheads anyway, okay?”

Within days, now-illegal Guy Fawkes masks will begin to be hot commodities on the black market. A street vendor in New York City’s Chinatown will start covertly peddling them out of a counterfeit purse stand at $500 bucks a pop.

The machinations of further legislation regarding the rationing of poster board and Magic Markers is underway. Sharpie markers coming into the United States from Mexicali, Baja California have been slapped with a seventy-five percent tariff. And President Trump’s daily Twitter attacks on Michaels arts and craft stores has effectively driven them out of business. All of this has been done in an effort to punish whatever and whoever possible connected to making protest signs against Trump and his White House.

Having come directly from Steve Bannon’s bat-filled basement office, Stephen Miller enters the Oval wearing his gimp suit. Miller has paired the gimp suit with a pair of $560 dollar blue suede Salvatore Ferragami “Parigi” moccasins. An aide unzips the mouth slit on the gimp suit and Miller says in a muffled voice, “Bannon wants you to turn on Morning Joe, Mr. President. Important segment coming up.” The aide re-zips the mouth flap and Miller bear crawls out of the Oval Office on all fours.

To get messages to the President, his staff occasionally has to relay them through the television he watches all day to make sure they are heard. This morning Melania needs to get her husband to go to the barber to tame his ridiculous hairdo, take his Propecia and Lipitor, and pay Barron’s allowance so he can order some medieval swords for his new collection.

Chief of Staff Reince Preibus drew the short straw and is being interviewed on Morning Joe. When Mika Brzezinski asks a question about what President Trump meant when he told Senators on a conference call that “golfing left-handed is fuckin gay,” Preibus answers:

“Mika, the President has more important things to worry about than political correctness on conference calls. He has other things to do. Such as working for the American people. Such as repealing and replacing Obamacare. Such as making sure he keeps his barber appointment, taking his meds as prescribed by his doctor, and giving his son Barron his generous allowance by the end of today. President Trump is a father first and he is not going to apologize for making that a priority.”

Mika Brzezinski looks directly into the camera and asks, “What?”

Of course, Trump is watching and he immediately picks up the phone on the Resolute desk to tell his secretary to confirm an appointment with his barber for him and Mike Pence.

“Mr. Pence is not in Washington today, Mr. President.”

Trump asks, “Where the hell is he?”

Meanwhile, in Rosedale, Mississippi…

Vice President Mike Pence’s disguise is convincing. His signature silver hair is hidden under a simple black, curly-haired wig. A high-quality fake mustache is stuck on his upper lip. The ensemble is completed with cheap gas station sunglasses. Thrift store jeans and hoodie purchased by a trusted aide at a Salvation Army. Chuck Taylor sneakers that have been scuffed with a wire brush and sandpaper to look worn. And an Army issue field jacket with the name tag reading BURR.

To avoid detection, Pence took a Greyhound bus — in disguise — from D.C. to Mississippi. When he made the same trip last year, the disguise wasn’t necessary. No one noticed the governor of Indiana walking the streets of Rosedale, Mississippi.

On Symonds Road, isolated and remote, hardly a landmark visible in all directions, is the Remembrance Mortuary and Crematorium. Mike Pence steps inside the small building, looking for the mortician, Elston Gunn. For years, that man has worked as an intermediary of sorts.

Gunn is a big man, shaped like a cannonball. He wears a pair of denim overalls so big that it would be hard to guess how many “Xs” come before the “XL.” He greets Pence quietly, with a thick drawl. “Been a year, huh? There’s a full moon tonight, I noted.”

“Yes,” Pence says. “I need to see Him tonight. Can you arrange the meeting?”

Elston Gunn smells of formaldehyde and embalming fluid. He reaches into the front pocket of his overalls, retrieves a red handkerchief, blows his nose into it, peeks inside to see what came out and says, “You got the money, I assume?”

“Ten thousand. It’s all there.” Pence puts a manilla envelope stuffed with cash on a small table.

“Three o’clock in the AM. On the button. Be absolutely sure you’re not followed. Be sure you’re alone.” Gunn pulls a red velvet Mojo Bag out of the front pocket of the denim overalls and hands it to the Vice President of the United States. “You’ll need the Mojo Bag. Put it on the ground at the Crossroads at one minute before three. Then say the prayer.”

“I remember.”

Inside the Mojo Bag is a mixture known in voodoo and Delta Blues songs as “hot foot powder.” A blend of cayenne pepper, graveyard dirt, ground coyote jawbone, sulfur, bluestone, kosher salt, and gunpowder. Also in the bag is a severed paw from a black cat, a bat wing, a human eyeball, and a pair of loaded dice.

Hours later, Pence has made his way to the intersecting cross of Highway 1 and Highway 8. He checks the time on his Rolex. 2:58 a.m.

Then 2:59.

No longer in disguise, having changed into a long black robe and flip flops, Mike Pence places the red velvet Mojo Bag on the center of the Crossroads, bows his head and whispers, “In nomine magni, dei nostri Satanae Luciferi excelsi.”

About thirty seconds passes.

“Hello, Michael.”

The Devil has appeared at the Crossroads. Illuminated in the moonlight. Smelling of fecal matter, bile, and rotting meat. Scaly green skin. Skinny arms and legs. Hoofed feet. Bifurcated tail. Red eyes. Three-inch horns on his forehead. Alongside the devil is a glowing hound the size of a Kodiak bear.

“Ave Satanas,” the Vice President says.

“How are you, my son?”

“Exhausted, but energized.”

The Devil hisses, “Yes, I know. For us to continue, you know what must happen. You must greet me properly.”

In Latin, the ritual is called the Osculum Infame. Translated, it means the “Kiss of Shame.” Satan turns around, exposing to the Vice President the second face he has on his ass. An eyeball in each cheek that moves independently like a chameleon’s, his tail acting as the nose, flicking back and forth, and doubling as his anus, the Devil’s second mouth.

Pence goes to his knees. Satan laughs softly out of both of his mouths. A long, forked tongue comes out of his backside and licks the side of Pence’s face. Closing his eyes, Pence leans in and performs the Osculum Infame.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to Belphegor?”

Pence reaches out and scratches the Devil’s giant glowing hound behind the ear. “Hey there, Belphy. Good boy. That’s a good boy.”

“So,” Satan says and he spits fireball-loogies into the dirt out of both his mouths, “everything is going to plan.”

“So far,” Pence says. “We’ve been successful in continuing the slow implantation of increased hate since the campaign. I think we’re a year away from beginning to re-normalize some of the ethnic slurs that have been taboo.”

“I’d like to see ‘kike’ re-enter the lexicon. That’s a fun one. But I’d start with ‘hymie.’ It’s a little softer.”

“Good idea.”

Illuminated in the moonlight, Satan takes a a scaly green hand and gently taps the Vice President on the cheek. “That’s good work, Michael. That idiot has no idea he’s being manipulated does he?”

“Not a whit. All it takes is some flattery when we know he’s watching us on television and a steady stream of right wing news stories and we steer Donald any way we please. I could get him to say the Earth is flat within a week.”

The Devil lets out a guttural laugh. “He really is a thick, dopey stooge.”

“If there is any sign of resistance, all we have to do is throw him a rally in an airport hangar with mouth-breathing troglodytes in cheap hats agreeing with everything he says and we’re back on track.”

Satan says, “I’m sending one of my best men to keep an eye on things in the White House.”

“Is that necessary, Master?”

“Everything is okay. You’re getting everything we agreed upon, don’t you worry, our deal is solid, I just want direct updates. You won’t even see Pazuzu. He’ll be mostly invisible. But he’ll be keeping an eye on your progress.”

“As you wish.”

“Pazuzu has a wicked sense of humor. He may make himself known to tell a few jokes. He’s been working on some new material. The kiddie-rape stuff is hilarious. I want you to be back here a year from tonight.”

The Vice President says, “I understand.”

“Good night then, Michael. And Michael?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Keep up the good work.”

Illustrations by Mikey B. Martinez

Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |Chapter 3

  Mike Pence Returns to The Crossroads was originally published on National Lampoon | The Humor Magazine Est 1970

[darabeatha]

Constantine XI: Emperor, mostly known as the last Roman (byzantine) emperor. Gentle and determined, he likes board games like shoji and chess

Ashwatthama: Born Brahmin who lead a life of a Kshatriya. Character from the Hindu epic Mahabharata who participates in the war between the Pandavas and Kauravas. His story is about revenge, the difficulty of being 'good', the guilt and consequence of actions, justice, rage, and punishment amongst other themes. A man with the spirit of a warrior though sometimes he can get a little too heated about things. Despite this, for someone who claims to be the avatar of rage, he is rather calm usually.

Vlad III: Was a prince and ruler of Wallachia (Romania) most commonly recognized as Vlad the impaler. In fate his story is intertwined with that of vampires as he was part of the inspiration for Bram Stoker's story 'Dracula'. 'He is unmistakably a king and is always pompous. He never let go of the attitude that he is king and his Master is the subordinate.'

Jason: From Greek mythology, Jason was the captain of the argonauts, the most ambitious crossover story where Jason gathers a bunch of greek heroes on his ship (like Hercules, Castor and Pollux, Medea, Orpheus, Theseus, Atalanta, Achille's dad peleus, etc etc) to retrieve the golden fleece which will allow him to finally take possession of the throne he is the legitimate heir of. He is kind of an ass and depends a little too much on his teammates but he shines as a captain and leader when he is pressed against a corner and his life is being threatened. Don't think too much about his outfit.

Camazotz: Bat god from Maya mythology. He resides in the house of the bats, one out of the five houses that reside in Xibalba (the underworld), which is stacked with tests and trials. He finds it funny when people make fools out of thmselves but hates being called out on it when it happens to him. A bit grumpy and unpredictable. He loves mangoes and playing ball games.

Odysseus: Also another greek hero from the popular epic poem 'the odyssey' by Homer. It tells the story of Odysseus, one of the men who fought in the Trojan War, and his struggles with coming back home after the war ends. He faces a lot of challenges on his way back and ends up doing 8475487456 turns before reaching home. Terrible with directions but very cunning. Has a boob window. He also came up with the idea of the Trojan horse! Everyone falls for him.

Tezcatlipoca: Aztec god associated with duality, obsidian, conflict, the night sky, hurricanes, smoking mirrors, warriors, jaguars, war and much more. He also takes a big role in the myth of creation. In fate he is quite the definition of duality, he'll do whatever he wants and follow his own rules, he's quite fond of warriors and modern weapons like guns. Owner of a collection of cheap gas station sunglasses.

Charlemagne: Also referred to as an emperor, he was the king of the Franks; he united a large portion of western and central Europe, he's often referred to as the father of Europe but you can (and please do) call him Charlie. He likes awesome and cool things and he has trouble reading. Always peppy and enthusiastic.

Moctezuma II: An Aztec emperor and one of the last ones before the fall of Tenochtitlan. The first contact between the Europeans and the civilization of Mesoamerica happened during his rule so he is often recognized as the emperor who established the first contact with the Spaniards + one of the last ones. He is always somehow frowning or looking a bit too stern even when he is calm, and he carries a lot of rage and guilt inside of him. He respects Tezcatlipoca a lot and he likes drinking hot chocolate a bit too much