#money rains down on highway

[tgirlwithreverb]

I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:

1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)

2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area

3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.

4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)

7) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered

5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.

6) water is free, go into the bathroom of any gas station or grocery store in America(offer not valid in most big cities or on the west coast, but in that case just go to the library) and fill up your water bottle

8) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)

9) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo

Gear world:

Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20° rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)

Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching

[fadeintoyou1993]

I've never seen so many trees in my life. As W.C. Fields would say, "I'd rather be here than Philadelphia." Fifty-four degrees on a slightly overcast day. Weatherman said rain. If you could get paid that kind of money for being wrong 60 percent of the time, it'd beat working. Mileage is 79,345, gauge is on reserve. I'm riding on fumes here, I gotta tank up when I get into town. Remind me to tell you how much that is. Lunch was, uh, $6.31 at the Lamplighter Inn. That's on Highway 2 near Lewis Fork. That was a tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat, slice of cherry pie and a cup of coffee. Damn good food. Diane, if you ever get up this way, that cherry pie is worth a stop. Okay. Looks like I'll be meeting up with a, uh… Sheriff Harry S. Truman. Shouldn't be too hard to remember that. He'll be at the Calhoun Memorial Hospital. Guess we're gonna go and take a look at that girl that crawled down the railroad tracks off the mountain. When finished, I'll check into a motel. The sheriff will be able to recommend a clean place and reasonably priced. That's what I need. A clean place, reasonably priced. Oh. Diane, I almost forgot. I've got to find out what kind of trees these are. They're really something.

TWIN PEAKS | 1.01 "Northwest Passage"

[bettyfrommars]

Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin

The Drifter

missed connections

out on the highway

blurb 1 blurb 2

monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader

18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2

A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.

(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)

Eddie had been drifting for a while.  He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him.  He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down.  Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone.  Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything.  Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.  

He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation.  It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go.  After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.  

He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again.  He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often.  In his mind, they were better off without him.

The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law.  Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter.  Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength.  There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it. 

Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him.  He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road.   He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.

Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere.  You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed.  You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.  

You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot.  A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new.  You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.

You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you.  He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears.  Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles.  My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him.  The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.  

You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes.  “Just one for lunch?”

He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around.  “You still serving breakfast?”

“All day long,” you assured him.  Seats at the counter were all full, so  you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin.  His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.

50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee.  “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.  

Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter.  “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”

Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter.  He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch.  He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.  

He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind.  He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.  

When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay.  It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.

“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged.  “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”

He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.  

“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips.  “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”

He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.

He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket.  His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.  

You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.  

You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up.  You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.  

You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room.  It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.

He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater.  His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.  

He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke.   He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.  

On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.  

“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.  

Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.  “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”

You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet.  “Give it time. They come out at dark.”

Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was.  His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him. 

He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips.  “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”  

Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot. 

 “I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it.  Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count.  He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him.  Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.  

“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.

You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively.  “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.  

“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing.  “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.

But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look.  “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”

—------

You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift.  When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.  

“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot.  It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you.  You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there.  His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say.  You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.  

You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.

After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.

Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood.  His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”

Your cheeks burned hot at the complement.  “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”

Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”

You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.  “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”

“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.

“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed.  But, he was craving something else.  

He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.

—-----

There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency.  You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure.  He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one.  He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.    

Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt.  “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.

“Yes,” you gulped.  “Please.”

Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch.  You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.

“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off.  He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh.  The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.  

You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand.  “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”

Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick.  “Do you want me to stop?”

You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you.  “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.  

He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you.  He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.  

The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between.  As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him.  He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer.  The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.  

Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it.  But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.

“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise.  Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked.  His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.

“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling.  Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.

He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move. 

It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer.  He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick.  But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.

“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding.  “I need you inside of me.”

And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.  

Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door.  He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence.  He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.

Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips.  He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.

There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.

There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.  

Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.  

It was Tony, and he shouted your name.  “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”

You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face.  Eddie turned his head to look at you.  The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place. 

Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.  

Tony pounded on the door again.  “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude.  IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”

By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele.  Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.  

But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.

“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.  

Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down.  Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance.  Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.  

“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.

“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were  trying not to scream.  

Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him

Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out.  “Don’t act dumb, man.  My fucking girl.  Someone said they saw her come up here.”

Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest.  “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage.  You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie. 

Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black.  His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.

You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.  

Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs.  “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.

Eddie strangled Tony with one hand  until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him.  He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.  

When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.

Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach.  His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson.  His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.

You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.

Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.

You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth.  “Are you okay?"

Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip.  You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.

While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.  

Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.  

Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.  

[kiriska]

I originally made this zine back in October. There was no particular impetus for it except I think I’ve just been low key constantly thinking about ghost bikes since I learned about them some years ago.

I rewrote some parts of this a few times and I’m still not happy with it, but it feels kind of pointless to keep fiddling with it. There’s too much I want to say and 8 pages isn’t enough.

Saying that drivers “choose” vehicular manslaughter sounds aggressive. I know (most) drivers don’t intend to do harm, but it doesn’t actually matter what their intentions are if someone gets hurt or is killed. Maybe drivers aren’t “choosing” to kill, but they are choosing to get gigantic vehicles and to go fast enough to kill.

Most recent cyclist deaths in the Seattle area have been on common biking routes, though none of them have bike lanes (Seward Park Ave, Spokane St, Marine View Dr). I’ve biked on all of these, some of them very frequently. It sucks passing by each time and knowing someone died there, and that it could’ve been avoided.

Basically everyone I know who bikes has been hit by a car at some point. A friend was hit while in a crosswalk a few months ago. (In a similar incident, a 13-year old kid was killed in a crosswalk last year.) Thankfully, no one I know has died yet. It does sort of feel inevitable though.

Recently, a car ran a red light and hit a bus. The bus was forced onto the sidewalk, where it killed a pedestrian. I walked by on my way home with groceries 5 minutes after this happened. Couldda been me. Everyone is a pedestrian at some point, but so many people avoid living life as a pedestrian. They drive everywhere and are only ever on foot within a building. My high school was one (1) mile from my house, but I had to drive to get there because of the 6-lane highway between us.

The problem is complicated. I mostly blame infrastructure, but that’s not easy to fix. We designed and built whole cities around cars and left no space for people, and that can’t be corrected without a lot of money and political will. We need roads that are “inconvenient” for cars and drivers. Ones that are narrower and have speed bumps and “traffic calming” devices slow drivers down by design, without relying on speed limit compliance or enforcement.

Seattle is cramped as hell and there aren’t sidewalks in a lot of places. But in order to build sidewalks and bike lanes, we need to take away space from cars, and hell gets raised every time anyone even suggests taking away parking, much less an entire travel lane. Lots of people depend on cars, but that’s never going to change without cities investing in the alternatives.

Buses and transit can become reliable. Bikes offer a lot of the same freedom and personal autonomy as cars. “No one wants to bike in the rain/cold/hills/etc” and yet Seattle has such a robust cycling community, both in commuters and recreational cyclists. “You can’t haul groceries/supplies/kids/dogs/etc by bike,” and yet so many people do.

And if people don’t feel safe on bikes, it’s just because of all the cars.

RIP Steve Hulsman, who was killed at the intersection of Marine View Dr and 46th Ave, the intersection in the photos, on December 21st.

[sports-on-sundays]

boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 1

Summary: Lando x female!reader - Not many people know how true loneliness feels. Not many people know how true love feels.

Warnings: lots of description, angst, mention of self-harm, loneliness, pain, mention of death of a family member, dreams ruined, emotional pain, getting drunk to ease pain, change from 2nd person to 3rd when it felt right, panicking, jumping to worst case scenario, nausea, screaming, confusion, questioning will to live, blood, kind of violent dramatic descriptions. PLEASE do not read if you seriously struggle with some things like this! I would hate to cause anyone to feel more pain!!

Requested?: Mate nah.

Author's Note: I just wanted to write a thing. Listened to sad piano music and Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day writing it. I hope you enjoy. Personally, I'm really proud of this one. Let's hope I got all the warnings in hah! Link to part 2

Sunshine, moonlight, daylight, night light, night life. On, off, under, over, around, on, and off again.

In the middle of your heart, if someone could dig deep down and pick through you, examine you, dissect you, they would find the softest little bleeding bit. But they would only find that after knocking down wall after all of slimy, tough, terribly dark black walls. No one would be able to find the strength to knock all those walls down. And even if they could, you'd never let them.

One can only be vulnerable if there is someone there to have their back.

All the vulnerability is pushed to that one little section of your heart; the most delicate place on earth.

All the pain.

It's impossible.

This road.

This road is made of brick and it's slippery. It's constantly raining. And you're constantly shivering. No one gave you an umbrella, because there's no one on this road to do so. Night after night, this rain beats on you. Your skin degrades away as if you were dead. For daytime does not exist on this road. You forget how sunlight looks. You constantly walk. Never wanting to sleep because the only place is the road. And you hate this road.

Yet it is your home, and any different would terrify you.

The friends on this road are the shadows. Shadows in the night caress your arms and kiss your cheeks, whispering of false realities, forgotten memories, and broken dreams.

On this boulevard of broken dreams.

There's no conscience of the pain any longer. You're so used to it, you're numb. And that's the way it should be. All you need is to survive.

You always ask yourself why. But if you're asking the question, why would you also know the answer?

There is no one on this road who knows the answer, and there never will be. If anyone knew the answer, then they wouldn't be on this road.

Stairways to heaven and highways to hell.

You're on the fast track to absolutely no where.

No one knows this road exists. You're one of the unseen. Most people live on the other side. They don't know this exists. Many of them are good people. They would help. If they could possibly stand it.

If they only knew. There's no way for you to call for help. All you hear is your voice echoing back at you as the dark starless sky closes in on you.

Like a snow globe. Never get in or out. Constant precipitation.

You're always shivering but you never get sick. At least not anymore.

Immunity.

Yes, and no one should be this immune.

No one should be this immune to this road.

Yet here you are.

On the boulevard of broken dreams.

9-5. 5-9. 24 hours non-stop.

Sunday is no different than Monday or Friday or Saturday or any other day of the week.

Money, money, money. Lots of people love it. Lots of people hate it.

Work, work, work. Get in the money to survive another day. Can't feel a thing because otherwise- how do you get through?

You get up, get dressed, get out the door, go to work, come home, get drunk, go to bed, and repeat it all over again.

Forever.

It's amazing how fast hope can be shattered with the cruel bitterness of this unfair world.

"Mama! I'm going to be a superhero!"

"Mama, I'm gonna be a football player."

"Mama! Mama! I've got it! I'm going to be a race car driver!"

And that time, you meant it.

Well, maybe you didn't, because it never came to pass. And your parents knew it. There was no way. Your family couldn't survive without government money.

But how can you explain that to a little kid? A little kid who had been told all her life that if you follow your dreams, they'll come true?

When you hold on to those dreams so hard, it's even more difficult to let them go. When you realized reality, you were ruined.

You were resigned to the fact that because of your position in society, broken heart, especially after your father passed away at a young age, and no chance to do what you dreamed of forever, that 9-5 in pain for the rest of your life was the path you were on.

The fast track to no where.

There's a girl in the corner, in the shadow, that no one would ever notice. High life superstars, and she's missing her heroes. Drunk, drunk, drunk.

She's missing them.

But one of them doesn't miss her.

Despite the crowd, despite the fun, the throng, the laughter, the music, the everything perfect after a good race, Lando sees.

He sees the girl in the corner that no one else ever notices.

"Do you need help?" in the gentlest of tones. He bends down, looking the broken, shell of a person, right through everything and into her eyes. Like he doesn't see the eye bags, the messed up hair, the cuts on her arms, the vacancy. Like he sees beyond the walls. Like he just wants to see the true person who has to be in there. Somewhere.

"Yeah," she murmurs. Her words slur, making it terribly difficult for the buzzed Formula One driver to understand her words. "Can you... get me another drink?"

You wake up the next morning, and as soon as you realize you don't remember what happened last night and you're in an unfamiliar bed and room, you feel your stomach drop. Your head feels like it's about to explode with the extreme ache in it. Nausea wells up and you swallow, filling yourself overflow with utter panic. The rate of your breath picks up, and as your chest rises and falls quicker and quicker, even if you wanted to call for some sort of help (if anyone would even come), you can't. You can hardly breathe, your vision becoming swirling and confusing as you gasp, feeling as if you're going to suffocate. You heartbeat pounds in your head faster and faster, and you realize that if anything happened right now, you'd have no way to save yourself. This sinks more extreme anxiety, and even more when you think of what could have already happened when you were drunk last night. What if you're stuck here, confused and panicking, with some creep who did unspeakable things to you last night-

The door to the room slowly swings open, and you cover your face in your heads, unable to set your eyes on whoever is there, just trying to breathe- stay alive- yet you're not even sure you want to keep living at this point.

"Hey, hey, hey," a soft speaking male voice says. You feel him come closer, and slip on the bed next to you. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you," he practically whispers. "I brought you to my home, but only because... you were a wreck last night. Listen to me..." He speaks soothingly, but you still don't look up. "Listen. I think you might be having a panic attack, or something adjacent. And I'm here to help you, not hurt you. Okay?"

You nod, staring down. Just one hot tear slowly rolls down your cheek.

"Can I take your hand?"

You hesitate, before nodding. You feel the thin, strong, smooth hand slip into yours. "Breathe with me, okay?" he says softly, then starts taking in slow, deep breaths. With every inhale, he gently squeezes your hand, and with every exhale, gently releases it.

You go on like this, and once you've sighed, confident enough of your safety, you let go of the man's hand and look up at him.

For a second, you stare.

And then it clicks.

And your jaw drops.

"Are you... you..." you stutter in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm Lando," he smiles.

You stare in shock at the man. "As in, like, the McLaren..."

"Yeah," he grins softly. "And I'll be right back, okay?"

"Lando-!" you squeal with a terrible, exhausted voice crack. Your emotions are so messed up right now.

He comes back and gives you a plate of food, sitting down next to you. You ignore the food for a moment and fix your eyes on him.

"Why am I here?" you ask softly.

"You needed help and I decided to give it."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You exhale slowly. "O- Okay.." These words from him are so strange to you. So unfamiliar. "I..." Suddenly, expected emotions well up within you. Uncommonly. You throw your arms around him and murmur, "Thank you... you're the... this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me in years... And it's you. I must be in a dream... You're one of the reasons I'm still here... I love Formula One... I love... I love you..."

He hugs you back, before gently prodding, "Why don't you try to eat a bit."

You nod and turn to the little breakfast he's made. It's a bit bland, but you're glad for that. You're not feeling nearly at your best.

But at the same time, you're sitting next to Lando Norris.

Bittersweet and confusing.

"Thank you..." you murmur again.

"Of course you can say no," Lando starts. "But can I know your name? What's your story?"

You sigh. What hurt can it do to tell him? "Y/n. And I don't have much of a story."

"Really? Seems to me you'd have a pretty interesting one."

You shrug. "Just another broken life. There are plenty of those out there, Lando Norris."

"Clearly every broken life is important. Consider yourself."

You sigh. "Your story is the opposite of mine. Grew up rich, followed your dreams, perfect life."

There's a certain softness in his eyes. "What were your dreams?"

"Same as yours..." you murmur, your voice cracking. You hesitate, before finishing, "All I wanted was to be a race car driver. Nothing else more than that. And I would've done anything for it. If I could have."

Lando stares. You eat. There's a strange silence, before he says, "Did you kart?"

"For some years. It lasted about one and a half. Then my father passed away, and everything changed. Even more."

He stares down. "I'm sorry..." But then he looks up, his intense eyes meeting yours. He looks even better in real life. "Y/n, your story makes me so sad. I'm so sorry... I... I'd do anything I could to help you fulfill your dream, at least somewhat."

You look surprised. "Why? You have the perfect life. Why do you care? Besides, we both know full well it's too late for me."

He blinks and seems to ignore your last comment, likely because it's true and he doesn't want to admit it. "Because I have the perfect life. You deserve to be in Formula One just as much as me. Yet, we're... Well, in opposite places."

"Right..." You can hardly believe these words.

"You seem like such a... Well, something stole your innocence too soon. There's so much longing and brokenness and love in your eyes but you're just... A shell of the beautiful woman that's inside of you."

You blink. "Why do you say that?"

He murmurs after more hesitation, "Last night when you were drunk, you know what you did? Well you cried and you told me your struggles, yes. But before I was about to leave the room and let you sleep, you looked at right me and you said something like, 'I'm so lonely. Where did my life go? I can't stand this much longer. Sometimes I wish I just had someone- a friend, a neighbor, a boyfriend, a sibling- sometimes I wish I just had someone there for me.'"

You stare, now unblinking, unsure what to feel. It is true, isn't it?

Lando looks you straight in the eyes. Past everything. Into your most delicate, secret spot.

You fight back from letting yourself choke up.

"Y/n, if no one else will do it, I'd ought to be that person there for you. And I'd love to."

Moist and foggy, so nothing is visible. There are echoes of life in the outside world, but not on this road.

For the first time in years, your tired feet have stopped. Perhaps done. Had it with this. They're bloody and twisted from the years of this pain.

Where has the numbness gone?

The rain pours down

on this road

and you can't tell

if those are teardrops

or raindrops

streaming down your cheeks.

Suddenly, you see a light. A light that has found the end of the road that you've been searching for for years.

Don't lose it. Don't lose it.

You could use some company.

As the light nears, it hurts. You double over and fall down in the puddles of the road, screaming in pain. You're so used to the darkness. For years it's all you've known. The light hurts. It's terrifying.

The light comes closer and closer, faster and faster, and panic fills you, realizing there's no escape. Your eyes burn and you sob for it to let you go.

You hate this road. So why do you cry, begging to stay?

You tremble as the light approaches, covering your skin.

But when it reaches you, the expected terror is not what you experience. Instead, it's a feeling unfamiliar to you. Something that only the shadows would taunt you with. But this is it. The real one.

Tranquility.

Suddenly the beating of the rain stops.

You look up.

An umbrella.

And shining eyes.

You heart breaks once again, but this time you mind a bit less.

It's scary, but just what you wanted.

This light, this man, this sunshine.

This sunshine takes your hand and pulls you up. This sunshine leads you off this road. This boulevard of broken dreams.

This sunshine has come in and knocked down the walls.

Seen what's hidden. Stepped away and stepped into your misery. To help you.

A smile so bright.

And for the first time in forever.

You step off this road and you see the stars.

[lovehael]

Foreign Aid as a Weapon

Most U.S. aid commits the recipient nation to buy U.S. goods at U.S. prices, to be transported in U.S. ships. In keeping with its commitment to capitalism, the U.S. government does not grant assistance to state-owned enterprises in Third World nations, only to the private sector. Most foreign aid never reaches the needy segments of recipient nations. Much of it is used to subsidize U.S. corporate investment and a substantial amount finds its way into the coffers of corrupt comprador rulers. Some of it subsidizes the cash-crop exports of agribusinesses at the expense of small farmers who grow food for local markets.

The net result of foreign aid, as with most overseas investment, is a greater concentration of wealth for the few and deeper poverty for the many. A large sum of money cannot be injected into a class society in a class-neutral way. It goes either to the rich or the poor, in most cases, the rich.

Aid is also a powerful means of political control. It is withheld when poorer nations dare to effect genuine reforms that might tamper with the distribution of wealth and power. Thus in 1970 when the democratically elected Allende government in Chile initiated reforms that benefited the working class and encroached upon the privileges of wealthy investors, all U.S. aid was cut off- except assistance to the Chilean military, which was increased. In some instances, aid is used deliberately to debilitate local production, as when Washington dumped sorghum and frozen chickens onto the Nicaraguan market to undercut cooperative farms and undermine land reform, or when it sent corn to Somalia to undercut local production and cripple independent village economies. It should be remembered that these corporate agricultural exports are themselves heavily subsidized by the U.S. government.

A key instrument of class-biased aid is the World Bank, an interlocking, international consortium of bankers and economists who spend billions of dollars- much of it from U.S taxpayers- to finance projects that shore up repressive right-wing regimes and subsidize corporate investors at the expense of the poor and the environment. For instance, in the 1980s the World Bank built a highway into northwest Brazil's rain forests, then leveled millions of acres so that wealthy Brazilian ranchers could enjoy cheap grazing lands. Brazil also sent some of its urban poor down that highway to settle the land and further deplete it. Within ten years, the region was denuded and riddled with disease and poverty. As Jim Hightower put it: "All the world's bank robbers combined have not done one-tenth of one percent of the harm that the World Bank has in just fifty years."

Against Empire by Michael Parenti

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

A Dead Man & his Raven

Chapter 1

Note: happy spooky season! this fic is inspired by The Crow, Sihtric being based on Eric Draven. Song lyrics mentioned: Run Away From The Sun by VV.

Warning for entire series: 18+! angst/fluff. this story deals with death, losing a loved one, depression, suicidal thoughts/attempts (no details), murder (described), violence. There is also a lot of fluff, but you have been warned.

Warnings for this chapter: mention of drugs, attempted robbery, violence, murder (described), suicidal thoughts/attempts (not described).

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You remembered your life with Sihtric, with a smile and a whole lot of tears.

wordcount: 3,5k

Masterlist

'I'm okay as long as you are okay.'

Prologue.

Sihtric shivered in the cold and pouring rain. Barefoot and shirtless, stumbling through the dark and deserted streets. His legs gave out underneath him after every few steps he took, causing him to fall down to his knees repeatedly, bruising his hands each time he caught himself. Wet strands of his shoulder length hair stuck to his pale, emotionless face, which carried remainders of mud, as did his bare, muscular arms and his toned torso. His tattooed fingers were bleeding, and his nails were short, dirty and broken. 

Clawing your way out of a coffin and digging yourself up from the dirt looks easier in the movies.

For a dead man, Sihtric felt awfully alive right now, even his warm breath was visible in the cold night’s air.

A sick grin tugged at his lips when he remembered why he came back, exactly one year after he was murdered, in the very street he now stumbled through, making his way back home. 

He came back because his soul had been unable to rest ever since. He came back because Odin had granted him some more time in the land of the living, to get his revenge on those who had taken his life away from him.

To take the lives of those who had taken his life with you away from him. 

He came back because he loved you, and you never got to say goodbye.

The Proposal.

You drove down the highway, going home after yet another late night shift at work. The weather was terrible. Rain slammed against your window and you could barely see ahead of you in the dark night. You hated the late shifts, but they paid more, and you desperately needed the money if you wanted to be able to pay the rent for the loft you lived in. Friends and family had advised you to move out months ago already, to find something smaller and affordable, but you could never leave that place.

The spacious loft was your home, and it had been for many years. It was the home you had lived in with your late, underground gothic rockstar fiancé, Sihtric Kjartansson. He had been fortunate enough to make a decent living out of being a musician for a few years already, by the time you wanted to move in together, and you both fell in love with the loft during your first and only viewing of the place. It had two floors, a huge roof window and a balcony. It was perfect, and Sihtric had immediately transferred the downpay after the viewing. One week later you were painting the walls black and started to move your belongings into your dream home. The loft was also where Sihtric had proposed to you, on Halloween night, which would be exactly two years ago tomorrow.

In hindsight, his proposal had been reckless and dangerous; you could've burned the entire place down within minutes, and you were still amazed that it hadn't happened. 

Sihtric, the hopeless romantic, had lit dozens of candles on the stairs, making for a trail all the way up to the huge second floor, which was only occupied with a bed and a few of his guitars, leaving a sea of space, which you both loved. And Sihtric had used that space on the second floor wisely, filling it entirely with candles and red rose petals, which were scattered out over the dark, wooden floor. When you came home late afternoon that day, after work, you were confused as to why the light switch didn't work, and you quickly walked out of the narrow hallway, through the door and into the dimly lit living room. You gasped and dropped your bag and keys as you stared at the countless candles in the loft, illuminating the high ceiling with a soft, orange glow. You were speechless, and Sihtric spooked you when he quietly snuck up behind you, covering your eyes with his big, warm hands. You jumped, but then laughed when you heard Sihtric's soft chuckle in your ear as he squeezed you in his strong arms.

'My angel,' he spoke softly, with his smooth voice.

His soft, smooth voice you loved so much, which had become harder and harder to recall as the months passed by since you had last heard it. You could always hear his voice if you'd listen to his band, but you never did. It was too painful.

After Sihtric had scared you and spoke in your ear, you turned around to find him shirtless, wearing only his black sweatpants and a black leather wristband that had your name on it, spelled out in runes, which he wore religiously every day.

'Darling,' you giggled, 'what is this? What happened to the lights?'

'I switched off the electricity,' Sihtric said, with amusement in his voice as his hands slid down to your hips, 'did I scare you?'

'You did,' you smiled, tucking his wild, loose hair behind his ear as he gazed down into your eyes with his own big, mismatched, love-filled pair.

'I'm sorry, my love,' he whispered with a half smile and pecked your lips, 'I just wanted to surprise you.'

'Surprise me?' you asked, squinting your eyes at him, 'what's the occasion?'

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed and bit down on his lip, smiling, 'the occasion being you,' he took your face in his hands, 'making me the happiest man alive,' he said, then kissed your lips, 'I love you, my angel, forever and ever and ever,' he chuckled, 'and even in death I will still love you.'

Before you could speak, he already lifted you up his arms and carried you up the stairs, where you felt breathless at the beautiful sight of at least a hundred burning candles, and an insane amount of rose petals scattered out, leaving only a small clear path to the bed. And above the bed, on the large, wooden shelf, Sihtric had placed even more candles. You already felt yourself tear up at just the sight and the thought of how much effort he had put into simply wanting to surprise you. And that was before you even knew that the big surprise wasn't just the romantic decoration, it was the proposal that would follow shortly.

'It's beautiful,' you whispered, after Sihtric had put you back on your feet, 'thank you, baby boy,' you kissed his cheek and earned a shy chuckle from your boyfriend, who had the biggest weak spot for any pet name you'd call him.

Despite his intense, vampiresque look, Sihtric was a very emotional and passionate guy, with a big heart and a delicate soul. All he wanted in life was to feel loved, but only by you. And he always said that the only thing he needed to breathe was to be loved by you, and to play guitar whenever he wasn't making love to you. 

'Come,' Sihtric smiled as he took your hand, carefully leading you in between the flickering flames, towards the bed.

He took your coat off and threw it on the floor, nearly catching fire. Without him having to ask, you moved up on the bed. Sihtric was quick to follow, slowly crawling over to you like a wolf. And he leaned in, lovingly trapping your body underneath his own.

'My angel,' he breathed, his lips brushing lightly over yours, 'even if I had endless time with you, I still wouldn't be able to get enough of you.'

You smiled and closed your eyes when he kissed your lips, gentle and slow, allowing his tongue to carefully taste you and explore inside your mouth as his hands tangled in your hair.

'I will always want more of you,' Sihtric whispered, 'I'm a greedy bastard like that,' you both chuckled at his words, 'and I am greedy, because I want to be the only one who could ever own your heart.'

He smiled and sat back, reached into his pocket, then leaned in again, taking your chin gently with his fingers.

'My sweetest angel,' Sihtric whispered, and held a subtle but stunning ring up to you, 'will you marry me and be mine, forever and eternally, not even allowing death to do us part?'

You had managed to say yes in between your ugly crying and soft sobs, and Sihtric was an emotional mess all the same when he saw how perfect the ring he had picked fitted your finger.

'Do you like the ring?' he asked as he wiped a tear off his cheek.

'I do,' you sniffled with a smile, 'it's perfect. You're perfect.'

'Hm,' Sihtric smiled shyly, 'no, I'm not perfect,' he said, then took the black and white painted mask that hung above the bed, and he covered his face, 'maybe now, perhaps?'

'Also now,' you smiled, 'you're always perfect to me,' you said and took the mask out of his hands, 'but nothing beats that perfect face you so love to hide. I love you, Sihtric.'

He smiled and leaned in, softly brushing the tip of his nose against yours. 

'Say that again?' he whispered.

'I love you,' you giggled as he climbed on top of you.

'I love you too, pretty baby,' Sihtric said, softly, 'I'm so fucking lucky to have you,' he kissed your lips and gazed into your eyes, 'make love to me?' he breathed.

'Hm, make love?' you taunted, 'we should wait till marriage now, don't you think?'

Sihtric frowned at you, and then you both snorted.

'I'm sure I can find someone to marry us early in the morning if that's the case,' he laughed and kissed you again. 'Come on, my angel,' he whispered, smiling softly as he cupped your cheeks, 'make a little love to me?'

And you did. You made sweet, passionate and slow love under the bright full moon, who was a witness to the intimate night as she peeked through the roof window. Your fingers curled in Sihtric's long and messy hair, while he leaned his forehead against yours, slowly bucking his hips into you. He looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, and with each thrust, soft moans spilled from his slightly parted lips, which were curled into a soft smile.

And once you had both felt that pure bliss of your own highs, you cuddled up in bed. And as Sihtric tried to throw the sheets over your bare body, it accidentally caught fire as it reached the candlelit floor. He jumped up and managed to quickly slap out the small flame while you stared at him with big eyes. When Sihtric turned back to you, you started to laugh, and he was fast to bury his face in your neck, ashamed.

'I better extinguish the candles now, huh?' he mumbled.

'How will you do that without triggering the alarm, or simply suffocating us?'

Sihtric looked up at you, then at the insane amount of candles, and he chuckled shyly.

'Fuck,' he sighed, and tried to hide his face in your neck again, but you were quick to cup his cheeks.

'My hopeless romantic, clumsy boy,' you smiled and kissed his lips, 'you never fail to amaze me, good and bad.'

'Darling,' Sihtric grinned, 'you know who you just got engaged to, right? Your entire life will consist of me not always being the brightest guy. That's why I need you.'

'Maybe not always the brightest guy,' you shrugged, 'but definitely the sweetest,' you smiled and trailed your hands up his muscular chest, 'and the sexiest.'

'I'll take that,' Sihtric laughed softly, before he wasted almost an hour to snuff out each candle, without triggering the fire alarm.

You teared up at the entire memory as you drove home, and as if you weren't hurting enough yet, the radio station you were listening to started playing the last song Sihtric's band ever released, only one week before he died. You froze at the sound of his voice and the words he had written for you, which now tore your heart open and threw salt in your wounds.

Let me hold you

And dream of a life

We belong to another world…

You had to pull over to the side of the road as you couldn't drive safely anymore. The torturous pain continued as you just couldn't get yourself to switch off Sihtric's voice.

Run away from the sun, to me

Run away from the Sun, into my arms

Disappear with me, love

Dive into the dark…

You punched your fists against the passenger seat as you screamed and cried, asking over and over again why Sihtric was taken away from you, and why you were still alive, when all you wanted was to die.

And god knows you tried, numerous times, to join him in death. But each time you had tried to end your life, you had been startled and interrupted by a huge raven, pecking violently at your window, as if in panic, causing you to lose the courage to continue your attempt.

Devil's night.

The raven started to show up a few weeks after Sihtric was murdered right in front of you. 

It happened the night before your wedding day, the night before last Halloween. You walked on the street together, his arm around your neck as your arm was circled around his waist, underneath his long leather jacket. Sihtric kept pecking your cheek lovingly, and stopped walking after every few steps you took together, so he could kiss your lips, and so taking forever to get home. The streets were already quite alive, as many people celebrated Devil's Night, causing havoc and mischief on the night before All Hallow's eve.

'Sihtric,' you giggled, after he had stopped you once again, to pick you up in his arms and push you up against the wall of a random apartment building, so he could kiss you and stick his tongue down your throat.

'What?' he chuckled and bit down on his lip, completely love-drunk, 'can't I kiss my soon to be wife?'

'You can,' you smiled and nuzzled his nose, 'but preferably at home, honey. We should get off the streets as soon as we can. I don't like being out during this night.'

'I know, my angel,' Sihtric whispered and gave you another soft kiss before he put you back on your feet, 'let's go then, love,' he wrapped his arm around you again and walked you around the corner, heading into the street the loft was located at.

And just when you did, you were greeted by a group of guys, clearly drunk and high on drugs. They eyed you up within a second and liked what they saw. The men started to whistle, soon followed by their catcalling, much to Sihtric's displeasure. Sihtric was very protective of you, which you loved, but he also knew that you hated it whenever he got into a fight because of it. And the last thing he wanted was to show up to his own wedding with a black eye or something of the likes. So he tried his hardest to ignore the disgusting words that were thrown at you, and he pulled you with him across the street, away from the men.

'Hey,' one of them hissed to his friends, unbeknownst to you, 'isn't he that guitarist and singer guy? That goth dude from that one band?'

And so they figured Sihtric must have some money on him, which they desperately wanted, as they ran out of drugs fast that night. Sihtric felt the group had followed across the street, and were now stalking the two of you in the night as you made way to your home.

'Stay close, angel,' Sihtric whispered as he tightened his arm around you, pulling you with him as he gradually sped up the pace you walked in.

You suddenly felt nauseous, as if you just knew something bad was about to happen. Sihtric felt the threatening tension too and already reached into his jacket, resting his hand on the dagger he always carried with him, hoping he wouldn't need it. But when he felt a hand on his shoulder while you were suddenly pulled out of his embrace, he didn't hesitate to stab the knife into the shoulder of whichever one of the drunks had just grabbed him. You screamed at the sight of the man collapsing, but still breathing, and you kicked your feet at the guy who had taken a hold of you. Sihtric punched your attacker in his face, pulled you back towards him and he shoved you behind his back.

'Leave!' Sihtric shouted, after which one of the men immediately ran away, knowing their planned robbery had spiralled out of control.

The rest of the guys seemed to slowly back off as well, as a few went to check on their stabbed friend, who would be fine eventually. Sihtric carefully pushed you to walk while he stepped backwards, keeping his eyes on the group. And when it seemed like the sudden violence and threat was over, he turned to you and took your face in his hands.

'Are you okay, baby?' he asked, 'are you hurt, love?'

'I-I'm not hurt,' you said as you trembled, and Sihtric wrapped his arms around you.

'Oh, darling, come here,' he hushed you with a kiss, 'I'm sorry this happened.'

'It's not your fault, sweetheart,' you said, and tears took over when the adrenaline left your body, 'but are y-you okay?'

'I'm okay as long as you are okay,' Sihtric smiled softly and wiped away your tears.

'Let's just go home, Siht,' you sniffled, 'I just want to go home with you, baby.'

'We will, love, we will go home now. I will always go home with you,' Sihtric said and kissed your cheek, 'I love you, my angel, forever,' he kissed your lips softly, 'forever, and ever and ever and even in death,' Sihtric chuckled softly, 'I love you so much, angel. I can't wait to make you my wife tomorro-'

A sudden gunshot startled you, echoing through the night and scaring birds out of their trees, cutting off Sihtric's words while you felt wet, warm drops splatter across your face. Sihtric lost his grip on you as blood suddenly gushed down both sides of his head, onto his cheeks, down his neck, and he immediately fell backwards, down on the hard, concrete ground, where you saw his life leave his mismatched eyes as he instantly died.

Once you realised what had happened, you fell down to your knees. Your trembling hands moving over Sihtric's lifeless body as his blood pooled around you, soaking your clothes. You brought your hands to the fatal wounds, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, as if it could still make a difference.

'No, no,' you whispered, 'Sihtric,' you grabbed his shoulders and shook him, 'Sihtric, wake up. Please.'

You sat back when he didn't move, raking your blooded hands through your hair, pulling your locks as you felt a certain kind of madness crawl into your body, settling in your bones. With eyes painfully wide open, you stared down at the man you were supposed to marry in less than 24 hours.

'Siht,' you said softly and let out a sob as you leaned in again, 'baby, please. Please wake up,' you kept trying and took his face in your hands again. 'No, no, no,' you breathed, 'come back, love, please. I- I love you. I need you here, baby, please!' 

Your tears blurred your vision and fell down on Sihtric's pale face, merging with his still warm blood, and in your slow approaching insanity, you kissed his lips and face all over, while you kept begging him to wake up.

 This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. This is not what was supposed to happen. 

You were supposed to grow old with him. To marry him, to travel the world with him and to eventually have kids with him. You were supposed to make love with him, for hours on end. You were supposed to laugh at his silly jokes and his clumsiness. You were supposed to smile and blush whenever he let you hear another song he wrote for you, or when he'd read you a poem he wrote for you, in which he'd always declare his undying love for you. You were supposed to go home together that night, where you had planned to get in bed and make sweet love under the clear, starry night, which you would gaze up at through the roof window afterwards, when you'd cuddle and whisper sweet nothings to each other.

But instead of all those things, you started to scream beyond your control, you didn't even know such inhuman sounds could leave your lips as you screamed at Sihtric to wake up.

'You can't leave! You're not supposed to leave me yet!' you sobbed, 'you're supposed to come home with me! Please!' you wrapped your arms around him as cops and medics came rushing in the street, which had been warned by a bypasser. 

You held Sihtric's heavy, lifeless body tightly in your arms as you screamed and cried, until the medics tried to pull you away.

'No!' you cried and fought them off, 'he is supposed to go home with me! He- he said he would come home with me!'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @bubbles-for-all-of-us @andakth @bel-bottoms @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @diosademuerte @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1

[creepedverse]

Hit & Run;🍎 Bonnibel Hayes on trust

Bonnibel didn’t offer her trust easily. She didn’t believe others were all that reliable. And you could feel it in the way she insists she doesn't want to burden you. Insists she can make her own calls, her own money, pick up her own boxes, get wherever the hell she needs to be without you. She wouldn't say it, but she really thought you'd fuck it all up. Maybe she was a bit controlling, maybe a bit paranoid.

But Bonnibel hit a deer on her way home last night. In her grandparents big red truck at roughly 11:30, Bonnie collided with a massive stag. It rolled over her hood and blood smeared across the windshield. A spiderweb of cracks adorned the now-dirtied window. Nothing coherent spilled out of her mouth in that moment, an all too common occurrence for Bonnie.

She pulled off to the shoulder of the highway and frantically climbed out. She stared down each side of the road, noting no beaming headlights that could put her right in that deer's position. Rain poured as quick as the blood, quickly drenching Bonnie's double braids and hands. She hurried to her victim.

Bonnibel grabbed the stag by the antlers. A large task in itself, she pulled its head off the road, opting to ignore the contorted limbs. Between blurry vision and heavy breaths, she dragged it behind her truck and beneath a towering oak tree. She just didn't want to make a bigger mess. Bonnie thought about how her manicure perfectly matched the blood seeping beneath the mangled stag, deeming it an uncomfortable coincidence.

It’s easy to see why Bonnie didn’t trust herself, either. She wasn’t reliable for a lack of trying, and everyone knew she tried her damn hardest. She fought like hell to keep her head on straight. But trusting her gut left her with blood on her hands, and no amount of nights at the water pump can clean off that guilt. Oddly enough, the truck was fine when she returned to her family's apple orchard. There was no dent, no shattered glass, no blood; the truck was exactly the same from dusk till dawn. She couldn't even remember when the cracks that weaved through the glass faded right in front of her. The only evidence of what happened was in her clothing, hair, and face. All soaked in rainwater and shame, another common occurrence for her.

Now that Bonnie thinks about it, shouldn't the stag have been heavier?

[prototypesteve]

Solo Travel: Find Magic.

Venturing out on a solo vacation can be daunting. There’s a shit-ton of adulting you’ll need to do:

It’s up to you to make your flight. It’s up to you to not lose anything. It’s up to you to stay hydrated and healthy and mindful and motivated.

It can be easy to give in and say “hard nope” and stay home, even if you really want to start travelling solo.

How do you get past all that, and find the will to save up, plan, gear-up, get a passport or a reliable road-trip vehicle, and go? Magic. You believe in magic and you let yourself want it.

When I was in my late teens I was in a waiting room and idly flipping through a magazine (it was the late 80s). I turned the page and there was a two-page tourism ad with a massive photo of Lake Louise, in Banff National Park. Supernaturally milky blue water, tiny red canoes, backed by a colossal wall of mountain capped by an ancient glacier. I remember murmuring aloud, “I want that.” I wanted to feel what that photographer felt. I wanted awe. I wanted magic.

Years later, I finally had enough of my shit together to go there, and it was everything I expected, and it made all the hard adulting worth it. (I wound up moving to Calgary so I could go to Lake Louise any time I wanted to.)

Photo 1: Lake Louise, Alberta. (This is from 2012, and taken with an old iPhone 4S, but it most closely resembles the view I saw in the magazine ad.)

In 2003, I saw a video about Tofino and Pacific Rim National Park. By 2003 I had plenty of experience going on budged-friendly road trips to Vancouver, where I’d stay in the (at the time, affordable) Jericho Beach Hostel. But Tofino would cost more, require a longer vacation, and take me way out of my “there’s always a city close by” comfort zone. But I wanted to see real waves, walk through a real coastal rain forest, and see the ocean fog roll in. I wanted magic,

Photo 2: My (used) 1998 Pontiac Sunfire, and a budget kayak, and my mediocre Norco mountain bike, somewhere at a rest stop along the trans Canada Highway, in British Columbia

By 2005 I had the right gear, a decent budget, and enough self-confidence to drive out and hike down sketchy wooden stairs to Half Moon Bay near Uclulet and see the actual Pacific Ocean—not the Salish Sea between Vancouver and Vancouver Island—for the first time. That week I felt the magic of being at the edge of my world. It made all the adulting easy.

Photos 3 & 4: The first time I saw the Pacific Ocean without Vancouver Island or the Olympic Peninsula lining the horizon, and the first time I saw fog move in over Vancouver island from the Pacific Ocean,

Ever since my 8th and 9th grade teachers told us stories about the old Globe theatre, I’ve dreamt of seeing a play in the rebuilt Globe in London (back then, even rebuilding the Globe was still a dream that wouldn’t be finished until the late 90s). But I live an ocean away, in Canada, I’m introverted, and no matter how much money I make, I have always felt like I’m out of my class-depth at any social gathering. Wrong childhood neighbourhoods, wrong schools, wrong career field. It took me until my 2nd trip to England to work up the nerve to buy a ticket to see a play at the Globe. I wanted to be there like one of the people I imagined during English class as we studied Romeo & Juliet, Julius Caesar, and The Scottish Play. I wanted the magic.

Friday night, August 23, 2024, I spent two hours almost dizzy with a flood of feelings I’m going to need months to process, because I sat in Bay H, Row C, Seat 29, at Shakespeare’s Globe, in London, and watched a beautiful, perfect, magical performance of Much Ado about Nothing, and like I said, I’m going to be sorting out my feelings about this for months.

Yes there’s the Osemanverse overlap, Much Ado appears in Loveless. There’s the Aroace angle, watching two seemingly aro characters get shipped by their friends and family, bla bla bla. There’s a lot. But whatever. For me the magic was being the adult who teenage-me grew up into, sitting there in my seat that I absolutely belonged in, on my trip that I put together for myself, to chase down dozens of my other lifelong dreams, sitting there, and feeling that I was allowed to be there, and then delighting in the magic of live theatre, compounded by the magic of loving myself enough to push through every excuse not to be there.

Photos 5, 6, and 7: The Globe Theatre (there’s no photography during the performance, and I don’t think I’d have bothered, if there was.

Find your magic. Thrive. It doesn’t have to cost a lot: My first solo trips cost me a tank of gas and a tenting campground fee, or a night’s stay at a hostel. It doesn’t need to be risky: Backpacker hostels and modern hotels often have more sophisticated security than your home or workplace. It doesn’t have to be ambitious: Maybe it’s lunch at a diner in a small farm town nearby, maybe it’s a low-key late summer concert in a park, maybe it’s building that sandcastle you never got to build because you grew up far away from water. Whatever it is, go find it! Let it change you.

[smolsleepyfox]

Okay so my grandma had dementia and she was a husk for months before she died. There'd been a few false alarms but that weekend I went home because the carers thought she might be waiting for the last person who'd regularly visited (me). Great start to a funny story, I know.

That weekend a friend invited me to a small festival to see a band I've been meaning to catch for ages. My mom told me to go, because let's be real, there's nothing you can do in that situation except wait. The festival was about 2 hours away, and it rained the entire fucking day. Pouring nonstop. Just driving on the highway I considered asking for a boating license once city hall reopened on Monday. My grandfather's umbrella decided to commit suicide by drowning while still in the air. The rain leaked through my battle vest and a rain jacket before wicking into my shirt before the second band was done.

And I was wearing sneakers. Why was I wearing sneakers? Because I'm a vain motherfucker and wanted to look cool. Not just any sneakers though, signature collection sneakers from my favorite band. As you can imagine, I was an hour away from contracting trench foot when we decided the headliner was not fun enough to get pneumonia for and went back to the car.

The only smart thing I did that day was pack woolen socks, a second pair of shoes and a spare jacket. So I changed into the shoes and put my soaked but beloved sneakers into the trunk.

My grandmother died that night. I woke up at 5am and three hours probably because my subconscious likely registered the phone ringing.

I promise this will get funnier.

We're an intensely practical family and this had been such a long process there was very little acute grief left. My mom went to see grandma and prepare her for collection, I got to unpacking our soaked shit and start the washer.

That's when I noticed that one of my shoes was missing.

You know how they say when you have enough background stress built up anything can set you off? Yeah, I was MAD. I searched the car twice, went through the laundry, then just scrolled through eBay absolutely FUMING. The shoes were a limited edition and none of the resellers had my size. Even worse, I have orthopedic insoles because of my wonky knees and one of them was obviously in there.

My mom advised me to message the festival organizers. I wrote them an email before realizing this is 2024 and found them on Instagram. I genuinely didn't have high hopes. Whoever ran their insta did see my message the next day and promised to take a look. I still didn't expect anything but already appreciated their effort while I was considering the reasonably priced but wrong size options on ebay.

Except the guy went to the parking lot to look - and found it! I genuinely do not want to know how wet it was by then. Maybe it was already at maximum saturation when I left it.

I couldn't just pop down there since I didn't have a car and four hours round trip from my mom's place seems excessive. My aunt lives very close to the festival grounds but we've never had a close relationship and with her it's always a gamble if she'll do something nice for you.

Luckily, the rock friends (name of the organization) are nicer than my aunt.

Which is how I had to text my mom that there would be a package with a possibly very wet and muddy shoe coming, and to please toss that in the wash before I could pick it up on the weekend.

I donated the money I would have spent on the drive and/or new shoes to the festival people. They deserve it.

[fionajames]

prompts

A/N: Hello guys!!! I decided I'd send a list of various prompts for you guys to send me as requests. Absolutely anyone is free to use this! There are one word, dialogue, idea and song prompts!!!

One word prompts

hiraeth 

lost

catacombs

bloodhound

whisper 

broth

brine

froth

angel

wheat

camp

cry

shadow

bramble

herd

pack

wild

runaway

solstice

courage

tracks

woods

hike

firefly

quill

moon

sun

stars

spirit

song

splinter

clear

ice

sea

clouded

hum

jinx

limbo

wire

barbed

spear

sword

breath

holly

sink

drown

canine

willow

twine

whistle

Song prompts

not strong enough (boygenius)

meet me in the woods (lord huron)

cherry wine - live (hozier)

sweet tooth (cavetown)

1979 (smashing pumpkins)

bloodhound (the foxing)

rory (the foxing)

still feel (half alive)

best friend (rex orange country)

be nice to me (the front bottoms)

wires (the neighbourhood)

running with the wolves (AURORA)

the night we met (lord huron)

i’d rather be alone (boodahki)

cocaine jesus (rainbow kitten surprise)

romantic homicide (d4vd)

duvet (bôa)

breezeblocks (alt-J)

me and the devil (soap&skin)

heavydirtysoul (twenty one pilots)

father (the front bottoms)

waterfalls coming out of your mouth (glass animals)

genesis (grimes)

devil like me (rainbow kitten surprise)

rockstar (boywithuke)

bad habit (steve lacy)

my ordinary life (the living tombstone)

notorious (neoni)

nothings new (rio romeo)

lighthouse (the waifs)

step on me (the cardigans)

inside out (duster)

the man (taylor swift)

mind over matter (young giant)

rises the moon (liana flores)

sparks (coldplay)

mama’s boy (dominic fike)

way down we go (kaleo)

evergreen (richy mitch & the coal miners)

yorktown - the world turned upside down (original broadway cast of hamilton)

i love you so (the walters)

505 (arctic monkeys)

labour (paris paloma)

worldstar money - interlude (joji)

willow (taylor swift)

leave a light on (tom walker)

pretty boy (the neighbourhood)

lovers rock (tv girl)

the last great american dynasty (taylor swift)

you’re on your own kid (taylor swift)

ho hey (the lumineers)

stubborn love (the lumineers)

dear arkansas daughter (lady lamb)

watching him fade away (mac demarco)

o children (nick cave & the bad seeds)

Idea prompts

running through wheat fields

running through garden hose droplets

dancing in the rain

walking in the bush

splashing in the sea

horse riding

rolling down grass fields

trekking through forest

swimming in forest creeks

rock hopping

daisy chains and crowns

collecting wood for fire

bonfire at night

walking on abandoned highways and roads

lighthouse exploring 

cartwheeling and playing in fresh grass

morning dew and crisp morning air

dirt under your nails

tree climbing

abandoned towns

walking on train tracks

wooden boats

island exploring

baking in then morning quiet

watching movies very late at night

staying up late at sleepovers

corn mazes

wheat fields

frozen lakes

frozen forests

paper planes

jam jars

friendship bracelets

barbed wire fences

blood dripping on tiles

scratchy vinyl music

empty dark cold nights

canine teeth

fireflies in fields

camp cabins

sea shanties

sibling play fighting/rivalry (blood or not)

road trips with loud music

picnic dates in the forest

busy arcades

bookstore dates - the smell of old books

playing soft acoustic guitar in nature

playing fiddle and dancing around campfires

stargazing

laying in bed awake

Dialogue prompts 

“please kill me”

“i’m everything you can not control”

“i am the monster you created”

“am i that easy to forget?”

“i will never hesitate to put my life on the line for you”

“stars can not shine without darkness”

“i miss the old you”

“remember who you are”

“please don’t leave”

“listen here pal”

“how much is enough”

“i remember smiling the whole way home”

“i never told you i was falling in love”

“do you want to go wander around aimlessly?”

“you still feel like home”

“no matter what, you’re still my brother”

“i could never hate you”

“let me help”

“help me, please”

“we’re just kids”

“water is so exciting with straws”

“i can’t stop thinking about you”

“get in the blanket fort”

“when they smile, i forget how to breathe”

“platonic love is just as important”

“i’m homesick for a place i’m not sure is real”

“smile more, it looks beautiful on you”

“runaway with me” 

“dance with me?”

“come back to bed”

“your bleeding on my floor”

“stars sparkle in your eyes”

“sarcasm is a weapon”

“can we just go back?”

“i miss how it used to be”

“hold me”

“any closer to them and i’ll kill you”

“i’ll be by your side forever”

“are you ok?”

“it’s going to be okay”

“i’m going to cry, but happy tears”

“can i crash on your couch?”

“we’ve got more than two people crashing in our house”

“i belong with you”

“you’re my soulmate” 

“hold my hand, please?”

“they smile when you message them”

“i want to live”

“sing to me”

“we’re finally home”

A/N: @techs-goggles9902, @skellymom

[mogwai-movie-house]

The Best Album Per Year for Sixty Years

No-one asked for it, of course, but I do like making lists, so here's me pondering what have been the best Long Players in the album artform the past 60 years. I originally tried to keep it to just one per year, but many years that proved impossible: when listing multiple albums I have tried ranking them with the one I feel narrowly edges out the others first, and I use lower case to indicate an album that is not at the same level as others on the list but was the best I've heard from that time.

Feel free to have fun with the list and make up your own.

----------------

1962 Bob Dylan - Bob Dylan 1963 The Freewheelin' - Bob Dylan 1964 another side of - bob dylan 1965 Highway 61 Revisited - Bob Dylan 1966 Pet Sounds - The Beach Boys / Blonde On Blonde - Bob Dylan / Revolver - The Beatles 1967 Magical Mystery Tour - The Beatles / The Velvet Underground & Nico / Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme - Simon & Garfunkel / Safe As Milk - Captain Beefheart 1968 Astral Weeks - Van Morrison / The White Album - The Beatles / Bookends - Simon & Garfunkel / We're Only In It For The Money/Lumpy Gravy - Frank Zappa 1969 Let It Bleed - The Rolling Stones / Abbey Road - The Beatles / In A Silent Way - Miles Davis 1970 Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel / Plastic Ono Band - John Lennon 1971 Imagine - John Lennon / Blue - Joni Mitchell / What's Goin' On - Marvin Gaye/ 2 - Moondog 1972 Exile On Main Street - The Rolling Stones / Discover America - Van Dyke Parks / Clear Spot - Captain Beefheart / Ege Bam Yasi - Can 1973 Raw Power - Iggy And The Stooges 1974 Blood On The Tracks - Bob Dylan 1975 Horses - Patti Smith / Discreet Music - Brian Eno / Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd / Velvet Donkey - Ivor Cutler 1976 The Ramones - The Ramones 1977 Low - David Bowie / New Boots & Panties - Ian Dury / Marquee Moon - Television / 77 - Talking Heads 1978 Music For Airports - Brian Eno / This Year's Model - Elvis Costello / Third (Sister Lovers) - Big Star / More Songs About Music & Food - Talking Heads 1979 Unknown Pleasures - Joy Division/ Fear of Music - Talking Heads / Into The Music - Van Morrison / Sheik Yerbouti - Frank Zappa / Rust Never Sleeps - Neil Young 1980 Remain In Light - Talking Heads / Closer - Joy Division / One Trick Pony - Paul Simon / Common One - Van Morrison 1981 Faith - The Cure 1982 Thriller - Michael Jackson / 1999 - Prince / 4 - Peter Gabriel / Too Rye Ay - Dexys Midnight Runners / Big Science - Laurie Anderson / Nebraska - Bruce Springsteen 1983 Swordfishtrombones - Tom Waits / Murmur - R.E.M. / Hearts & Bones - Paul Simon / Off The Bone - The Cramps 1984 Purple Rain - Prince & The Revolution / Hatful Of Hollow - The Smiths / Various Positions - Leonard Cohen / Reckoning - R.E.M. / The Unforgettable Fire - U2 1985 Don't Stand Me Down - Dexys Midnight Runners / Rain Dogs - Tom Waits / Around The World In A Day - Prince & The Revolution / Suzanne Vega - Suzanne Vega / Hounds of Love - Kate Bush / Hunting High & Low - A-ha 1986 Parade - Prince & The Revolution / So - Peter Gabriel / The Queen Is Dead - The Smiths / Graceland - Paul Simon / Steve McQueen - Prefab Sprout / Blood & Chocolate/King of America - Elvis Costello 1987 Sign O The Times - Prince / The Joshua Tree - U2 / Strangeways Here We Come - The Smiths / Actually - Pet Shop Boys / Tango In The Night - Fleetwood Mac 1988 Irish Heartbeat - Van Morrison & The Chieftains / Green - R.E.M. / Viva Hate - Morrissey / The Serpent's Egg - Dead Can Dance / Surfer Rosa - Pixies / Naked - Talking Heads / Introspective - Pet Shop Boys / I'm Your Man - Leonard Cohen / Blue Bell Knoll - Cocteau Twins 1989 Disintegration - The Cure / Technique - New Order / Doolittle - The Pixies / Oh Mercy - Bob Dylan / Avalon Sunset - Van Morrison / Rei Momo - David Byrne / Behaviour - Pet Shop Boys / Candleland - Ian McCulloch 1990 Extricate - The Fall / The Good Son - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Songs For Drella - Lou Reed & John Cale / Jonathan Goes Country - Jonathan Richman 1991 Screamadelica - Primal Scream / Achtung Baby - U2 / The Bootleg Boxset - Bob Dylan 1992 It's A Shame About Ray - The Lemonheads / Henry's Dream - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Automatic For The People - R.E.M. / Good As I Been To You - Bob Dylan / The Future - Leonard Cohen 1993 Debut - Bjork / Dubnobasswithmyheadman - Underworld / Exile In Guyville - Liz Phair / Neroli - Brian Eno / Come On Feel - The Lemonheads / Zooropa - U2 / Vena Cava - Diamanda Galas

1994 Selected Ambient Works Vol. II - Aphex Twin / Toward The Within - Dead Can Dance / Let Love In - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Dummy - Portishead / Autogeddon - Julian Cope / Vauxhall & I - Morrissey 1995 Anthology - The Beatles / The Ugly One With The Jewels - Laurie Anderson 1996 Boys For Pele - Tori Amos 1997 Ladies & Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space - Spiritualized / The Boatman's Call - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds / Time Out Of Mind - Bob Dylan / Vanishing Point - Primal Scream 1998 Up - R.E.M. / I'm So Confused - Jonathan Richman 1999 Play - Moby / I See A Darkness - Bonnie Prince Billy 2000 XTRMNTR - Primal Scream / All That You Can't Leave Behind - U2 / The Marshall Mathers LP - Eminem / Kid A - Radiohead / KY - Lemon Jelly 2001 Vespertine - Bjork / Love & Theft - Bob Dylan / No More Shall We Part - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 2002 The Eminem Show - Eminem 2003 Room On Fire - The Strokes / The Man Comes Around/Unearthed - Johnny Cash / The Wind - Warren Zevon 2004 Has Been - William Shatner / How To Dismantle An Atom Bomb - U2 / You Are The Quarry - Morrissey / The Milk-Eyed Mender - Joanna Newsom / Smile - Brian Wilson 2005 Another Day On Earth - Brian Eno / Le Fil - Camille 2006 Modern Times - Bob Dylan / Surprise - Paul Simon / Love - The Beatles 2007 for emma, forever ago - bon iver 2008 vampire weekend - vampire weekend 2009 No Line On The Horizon - U2 / The XX - The XX 2010 show me the face - michelle gurevich 2011 Angles - The Strokes / So Beautiful or So What - Paul Simon 2012 Life Is People - Bill Fay / Old Ideas - Leonard Cohen 2013 Comedown Machine - The Strokes / Crimson Red - Prefab Sprout 2014 Ghost Stories - Coldplay / 1989 - Taylor Swift 2015 ★ - David Bowie 2016 Lover, Beloved - Suzanne Vega / Stranger To Stranger - Paul Simon 2017 American Dream - LCD Soundsystem / antisocialites - alvvays 2018 music for installations - brian eno 2019 weezer (teal album) - weezer 2020 rough & rowdy ways - bob dylan 2021 happier than ever - billie eilish 2022 dragon new warm mountain i believe in you - big thief

[ashintheairlikesnow]

CW: Paranoia, PTSD, reference to drugging, Finn is an unreliable narrator

Death Valley on AO3

Asheville, North Carolina

Present Day

-

There was a young man with a typewriter and a chair writing poems on the corner for ten dollars apiece. Finn handed over wrinkled cash, so worn it felt like cloth and not paper anymore.

"What's your name?" The young man asked, looking up at him. A chilly breeze toyed with the scarf he'd wrapped around his neck, and he had an endless smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Finn couldn't remember the name on the driver's license in his wallet. He just shrugged. "It's not for me. Write a poem for my cat."

"Your cat? Sure, no problem." The young man's fingers settled over the typewriter's keys, and then he paused. "Uh, what's his name, then?"

Further down the road, another young man played guitar with his back against a brick wall. Next to him, tourists in coordinated outfits streamed in and out of a store that sold snow globes alongside tshirts and local jewelry. Someone laughed, briefly washing the guitar out entirely.

"Her name. She is a girl. I call her Little Mother." The young man blinked. Finn cleared his throat. "Because she has just had kittens, you see. Two months ago. Two kittens."

Well, three. But only two had been born alive. And all three now made Finn's truck feel more like a home. Or less like a cage, anyway.

"Aw, that's cute. Okay, yeah, I can work with that." The young man paused, and then began to type, fingers clicking in a stuttering rhythm as letters popped up on the slightly yellowed page.

Finn stood in silence and waited, letting his eyes wander. No one looked at him beyond the barest glance, and yet he imagined he could see them pause, take him in. Maybe wonder if he looked like someone who did not belong.

Maybe he fit right in, another scruffy man in an old army jacket barreling towards forty in a city full of people who had found their way here from somewhere else. Not like some cities he'd been to, where the people seemed to radiate determined ambition. No, in Asheville everyone seemed to have come here searching for some place where the downtown had more people playing instruments for money - or writing poems - than it did hurrying men and women in suits. Where ambition was overwhelmed by a moment to sit still.

Did he like it? He didn't know.

He saw too many men here, in the gas stations along the side of the highway, in mechanic shops when his tire went flat or his brakes needed replaced, who looked like Robert. Narrow faces with narrowed eyes. Jovial laughter with something cold behind it.

Maybe he was just paranoid.

Maybe every man who smelled like diesel fuel and had dirty coveralls would always make him think of Robert.

Maybe none of them looked like Robert at all.

"Hey, dude."

Finn blinked out of his thoughts to realize the young man had finished and was holding out the piece of paper to him, even waggling it a little to get his attention.

"Oh-"

"Your poem is ready-"

"Yes, I see-"

They were speaking over each other, and Finn's cheeks colored in vague embarrassment he couldn't easily define. He took the paper maybe more quickly than he needed to, half-ripping it from the young man's hand and turning to walk away.

His heavy boots splashed through a mud puddle leftover from yesterday's rain, but he barely noticed. He skimmed the lines of the poem, trailing down the paper like falling leaves.

Little Mother / like all mothers you make new worlds / held in a single set of eyes / a universe in the flick of a tiny tail / which makes me the man who feeds planets / a little kibble / so that pebbles / become mountains / and galaxies / expand

Well... Not the worst thing he had ever spent ten dollars on.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he dug it out, walking along the curve of a hill past a group of women, one in a tiara and a Tshirt declaring her The Bride.

"Hallo?"

He winced. No matter how long he lived in this country, his accent always thickened on that first word of every phone call. He saw someone glance at him - probably normal, totally normal - and yet his heart stopped. Then started again as they kept moving.

Every friendly smile seemed like Robert's just before he'd handed Finn the water bottle in the desert.

"Hey there." Noah's voice was warm and friendly, as always. "You good? We were supposed to meet twenty minutes ago."

"What?" He pulled his phone back to check the little clock numbers on the screen, then winced. "I lost track. I'm sorry, Noah."

"No worries. You've always been awful at keeping track of what time it is." Noah laughed, and maybe it meant nothing, but Finn felt like it was mocking, a little cruel. His eyes closed.

"I used to be better at it," He murmured. Barely speaking. Maybe not even out loud.

"Well," Noah continued after a beat of quiet, "Come on. I got us a table. Come sit down with me. We need to talk about your next six months or so."

Finn nodded before he remembered Noah couldn't see him through the phone, muttered an assent, and hung up. He walked past an empty storefront with papers taped, tattered and torn. Some advertised live music that had happened long ago. One was for a rally occurring next week. Three identical posters asked Finn to vote no on a proposition.

Not that Finn could vote.

Not that he could even have said no anyway.

The restaurant was takeout only, but when Finn stepped inside a sour-faced woman took him by the arm with fingers that felt like bear traps and pulled him behind a curtain, past the busy kitchen and into a room in the back.

Dimly lit only by lamps in the corners, it had four tables. Three were empty. One held a familiar face. "Hey, you," Noah said brightly. He looked Finn over-

Up and down-

Finn shuddered as the woman let go of his arm. He still held the paper with the poem in his left hand, wrinkled from his grip, slowly crumbling.

Maybe he didn't look at Finn that way at all.

"Hallo, Noah," Finn said, and moved on shaking legs to sit at the other seat at the table. "Why am I in Asheville?"

"Oh, just a town I like." Noah leaned forward. A little older than Finn, he smiled broadly. A friendly man, when he wanted to be. The table was so small their knees nearly touched beneath it. Steaming coffee was set out in mugs in front of them by the same woman. "Have some friends here, long-time friends. I wanted to talk to you about the last job getting botched. Well, not botched. You just didn't show up for it at all, did you?"

Finn swallowed. His throat felt suddenly tight, as if a belt had been wrapped around it and pulled hard. Weight on his hips and a smile like a skull grinning pale...

He took a breath. "I-... asked someone else to do it. Was it not done?"

"No, no, it was. But not by you." Noah leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms on the table. His knees nudged firmly into Finn's. "I asked you to do the job, Finn. The more people we bring into each job, the higher the risk. I asked you, and you said yes."

You did not ask. You told. But Finn didn't dare say the words. He only stared at Noah, heart pounding. "I'm sorry," He managed, voice thin. "I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed."

"You're not?' Finn's fingers curled around the handle of his mug. Coffee tasted bitterly dark. Bitter to hide something dissolved in it? No, Noah wouldn't do that.

Or would he?

"Then... why did you ask to meet me here?"

Noah frowned, tipping his head to the side. "Because I'm... worried."

Finn blinked. "Worried?"

"Yes. I've known you a long time. Not like you to skip out on jobs, sit in one place for a week at a time like you have been... You were searching for the name last week."

Finn thought he had disabled Noah's ability to read his search history. He thought-

"... Do you have a keylogger on my computer-"

"Finn. Why are you thinking about Robert Weber again?"

Finn's breath caught. "Please don't say his name-"

"Tell me why you want to look him up again and why you're avoiding me and I won't. Why is Robert Weber on your mind?"

Every repetition felt like Bloody Mary. Three times in the mirror and Robert might appear, grab him by the throat and snarl, how dare you, little Mouse...

"Stop-"

His hand shook so badly he dropped the mug, coffee splashing across the table. His poem and his cats forgotten as he stared at the tinted liquid across the table. Noah swore and grabbed napkins to wipe it up. Finn was too frozen to move.

Noah left a pile of soaked napkins to one side and grabbed Finn's trembling hand so tightly it hurt. "Finn, please, talk to me. Why? Just tell me why."

Was it concern in his eyes and voice?

Or jealousy?

Worry, or anger?

"I-I don't know," He whispered, and slowly raised his eyes without moving anything else. Noah was slightly blurred through his eyelashes. "Why are you watching everything I do?"

Noah sighed. "You know why, Finn."

Because you own me, your very own Mouse.

"Do I?" His lips barely moved.

Noah's own lips pressed together in a line. His eyes were dark. "Do I need to say it again?"

Because you're mine. Finn tensed, waiting for it, to hear the words out loud. Because you belong to me.

All Noah said was, "Shit. It's because I care about you." Then he slid his own mug across the table. "Here. Drink mine. I'll order some more."

Finn nodded, taking the mug in both hands and lifting it to his lips to sip.

Noah believed the spill was an accident, and Finn felt himself relax. This way, he knew there wouldn't be anything in it to make him easier to hurt.

Not that Noah ever had.

Maybe Finn saw Robert everywhere. Maybe Noah didn't deserve this. But maybe he did. Maybe Noah was just another tool in the box, to him. You always lock the tool back alone in the darkness.

"I wish you'd just trust me," Noah said, and leaned his cheek against one hand, tone full of sadness and regret.

Finn kept his eyes on the coffee.

What would you do to me if I did?

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful

[chaotic-goodsir]

@ashturns30 Happy birthday week! I hope it's okay for me to join in with this challenge, even if I cheated by only making something for one day and posting it a day late 😅

Your fic Remember You Like A Song - which everyone should go read first if they haven't, because it's brilliant - is THE fic that got me invested in MacNaCross in the first place. This was going to be just a short, extremely fluffy pre-portal drabble-thing inspired by it, but I got carried away and it ended up longer than planned. I hope you don't mind me posting something inspired by your fic, but no worries at all if you do for any reason - just let me know and I'll take it down.

Anyway, thank you for hosting this challenge and I hope you have a great birthday week!

***

What Was The One You Always Loved?

The highway outside is a river of speeding taillights in the dark, reflecting red and green and yellow in the rain that runs down the diner's grease-streaked window.

Steam rises from the mug of black coffee in John's hands as he waits for it to cool, soaking in the warmth. The caffeine fix should, in theory, keep him awake long enough to reach the motel PIEP have booked for them without collapsing on the side of the road.

Two pairs of motorbike gloves lie on the table, beside his wallet and an almost-empty pack of cigarettes (he'll have to pick up more at the gas station before they leave). Across the booth, Wilbur frowns at his strawberry milkshake, stirring it with a red-and-white striped plastic straw.

'I swear they used to put more sprinkles on these.' There's a solemn gravity to his tone that few people but Wil could apply to the matter at hand. 'Used to be more colours as well. Half of these are just red. What's that about?'

'Is there a difference?' John asks. 'Surely they all just taste of sugar?'

Wilbur scoops a piece of cream and eats it from the end of the straw, the actual spoon lying ignored on the table.

'Its about the principle, Johnny' he says, stabbing the straw into the air between them like a teacher illustrating a point. 'If they're gonna call them 'rainbow' sprinkles, there oughta at least be an even ratio of colours.'

John smiles, taking a sip of still-too-hot coffee.

'Duly noted, Lieutenant Colonel.'

'Don't give me that cheek, MacNamara,' Wilbur says, grinning. 'You lectured me on the flaws of digital watches for half an hour yesterday.'

'Yes, because I can't in good conscience let you waste your money on such an abomination. Time is-'

'-a precious thread in the fabric of the universe, deserves respect, sure, I get it. And sprinkles are a precious thread in the fabric of a good milkshake.'

'I'm not sure the metaphor works quite so well in this case.'

Predictably, a dollop of cream is flicked his way. He dodges with practiced ease, laughing. It hits the back of the booth, earning them a scowl from a passing waitress that's probably deserved.

The diner is quiet, save a couple of fellow travellers and a few employees unlucky enough to be working late. There's a jukebox in the corner - a classic, vintage one with that archway shape and faded neon lighting - but the scrap of paper taped to the front reads Out Of Service. A cheap plastic radio on the counter provides the alternative, courtesy of some local station's late-night show. The host sounds as though he'd rather be at home in bed. John can't help but sympathise.

A familiar sequence of strummed chords catches his attention. He taps his fingers silently against the coffee mug and listens, remembering last year on the drive back from Shenandoah National Park. (Almost a year ago, now, though it doesn't feel it. Time, for all it's importance, is a wily creature that slips away if you lower your guard.)

*

It was late summer, the tail end of a slow August. The road wound it's way like a silver snake through a sea of green just beginning to turn gold, and Wilbur was leaning against the window on the passenger side, explaining to John why he should learn to ride a motorbike.

He made some good points, but John was only half-listening, distracted by the song playing on the radio. It had seemed to fit the drive, the scenery, the whole weekend, so perfectly that it had buried itself in his brain in a way that music usually doesn't. He's heard it a few times since, always fondly picturing the same memory. And yet he's never managed to catch its name.

*

He tests the temperature of his coffee again, the burn on his tongue bringing him back to the moment.

'You good?' Wilbur asks, reaching a hand across the table. John puts the mug down and takes it, lacing their fingers together.

'Just tired.'

'You look half-dead, darlin'. No offence.'

'Coffee should help. Do you know what song this is?'

Wilbur tilts his head a little, listening.

'This one? Nah, I don't. Why?'

'No particular reason. I just like it.'

That earns him an odd sort of look, followed by a pause and a quiet 'huh' that's half a laugh.

'What's funny?'

'S'just I think that's the first time you've expressed an opinion on music that I didn't ask you for.'

John opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. He knows he's told Wilbur how musical theatre makes him uncomfortable, and why loud music in grocery stores should be banned (it's distracting, there's no need for it, they're awful places already with their fluorescent lighting and endless rows of too many options...) - but those are probably not the kind of opinions Wilbur is talking about.

John's never had a favourite song - it's Wil whose CD collection takes up two shelves of the bookcase in their living room - but if you held a gun to his temple and demanded he choose, he'd probably pick this.

'I think I've heard this before,' Wilbur is saying now. 'It's cute, all that kiss me stuff. Very romantic. Didn't know that was your kinda thing.'

John turns his face to the window, a little embarrassed. It doesn't help his case that the singer is crooning something saccharine about fireflies.

*

The night before the drive home, the lightning bugs had surrounded their campsite, like miniature fallen stars hovering in the dusk. They were part of the reason John had wanted to come out to Shenandoah. After a week spent handling an a gruesome case, he needed the reminder that the world was more than just horror and paperwork. That sometimes it could also be beautiful.

Wilbur stood behind him on the slope of the hill, arms wrapped around John's waist. He was talking, of course. This time about watching fireflies in his parents backyard as a kid.

'They looked like this, mostly. But sometimes you'd get these weird green ones...'

'Green?' John asked.

'Yeah. Bright green, like... neon, or somethin'. They moved differently, too. Made this weird noise, sorta like whispering. Never seen them anywhere else.'

'You're sure they were fireflies?'

'I don't know,' Wilbur leaned forward, resting his chin on John's shoulder. 'Probably just imagined it. I was a weird kid. No one believed me then, either.'

John took a drag on his cigarette, careful to angle the cloud of smoke away from Wilbur's face.

'Whatever you saw, I'm sure it was real. Many things exist in this universe. There's room in the scope of infinity for green fireflies.'

Wilbur had pulled him closer, kissing him on the cheek.

'See, this is why I like ya so much. Don't matter how crazy I sound, you'll still give me a chance.'

John had laughed at that, watching the ordinary, yellow-gold fireflies form constellations around them, a million tiny fires to match the glow of his cigarette. He'd had the sudden, irrational urge to suggest they stay - pack up their tent tomorrow, leave the car behind and keep walking into the wilderness. Become their own unsolved mystery. Abandon PIEP and everything it demanded of them. Hell, even go looking for green fireflies.

He didn't dare mention it. The concept itself was less terrifying than the thought that Wilbur might agree.

'Mmm,' he'd answered instead. 'I wonder what that says about the both of us.'

*

The song fades out, lyrics first and chords trailing after. The DJ's bored monotone takes over. To John's mild irritation, he's managed to miss the name of the song yet again.

'...thank you to Jodie for requesting that one - I hope you and your husband have a wonderful wedding anniversary. So, next up we have...'

Wil stops tracing lazy circles on the back of John's hand and glances towards the radio with an amused smile.

'What?' John asks, raising an eyebrow. 'You're plotting something.'

'Me? Never. Just thinkin' I'm gonna need to find out what that song is called, since you like it so much. For future reference, y'know?'

He winks.

John frowns back, awaiting an explanation.

'For when I get round to marryin' you. Assumin' you'd want me?'

John almost spits out the coffee he's making a third attempt to drink. Several responses run through his head at the same time, none of them especially coherent.

Wilbur just laughs, and finishes the last of the milkshake.

'Don't look so scared, Johnny. When I'm really askin' I promise I'll do a hell of a lot better than that.'

[snickerdoodlles]

If you could have a storyline for chai what would it be ?

i might disappoint you nonny 😅

lita uses the mafia as flavoring for Phayu and Prapai, seemingly with the intent of more sexy, more dangerous, and/or more alluring. which is ridiculous. mafias don't exist in dramas to make the characters sexy. mafias exist in dramas to give pretty boys trauma and make my faves cry.

i think lita writers intended for the semi-legal street racing to be hot, but what i see is Pakin's recruiting grounds. just look at the rules: no violence allowed, bet anything from money to people, don't. tell. anyone.

no violence...enforced by violence and threats of death

bet anything from money to people -> what will you risk, what do you value, how do you treat your 'possessions'

don't tell anyone -> the most important and most obvious rule. why would Pakin give a shit about anyone knowing? the races are an open secret. he shuts down highways. this rule exists so that he knows who might be capable of keeping his other secrets.

the street races are designed to attract reckless young men who come from families with money, influence, and power. they give Pakin not only a lot of information on who might be useful to him later, but also leverage. any consequences from illegal street racing is unlikely to stick to these boys--which is why they think they're safe. but now Pakin not only knows a lot more dirt on them than they do him, but he's also the person they call when they're in trouble (see Phayu, see Prapai)

and Chai's his right hand man. he's the face of the races.

now, there are a lot of character quirks about Chai that i immensely enjoy. as i said in a previous post, the fact that his wardrobe includes zebra print shirts delights me endlessly. him trying to keep his customer service voice in place when the guy calls him a lackey is hilarious. when Rain ordered the mafia men to wait so that he could get a few kicks in on his kidnapper, my first reaction was to text tortoise "Phayu is Pakin's favorite, but Rain is Chai's." and i do think Chai genuinely likes both of them, and i like the idea of Rain sometimes chilling with Chai during the races.

i just don't think it will be enough.

Pakin got two big fish during lita canon--he sort of already had Phayu, given that Phayu works on his bikes and organizes his races, but now Phayu owes him a favor for his men scaring off Rain's kidnapper. and then there's the even bigger fish Prapai, who's the heir to an international corporation, filthy rich, and has shown discretion, loyalty, and drive as one of the top racers--and now owes Pakin a favor and can be threatened with conspiracy for murder. Pakin doesn't care about these two staying around in his races as much as he cares about the fact that he has a hold over them now. one of the main faces holding that power over them will be Chai, and Chai will always be Pakin's man first, Phayu and Rain's friend second.

these boys need to find a way to get away from the races and all these mafia men stat.

[karatekels]

KK3 Terry please!! :))

Original Prompt: (by anonymous)

In just about every [KK3] TerryxReader fic/hc I’ve read, I always feel that deep down he doesn’t actually care about the reader (which I figure would be cannon tbh) Anyway, could you please do anything pertaining a Terry that is genuinely in love with us to heal my heart pls 😫🤚

---

Here you go! It’s full of cliches, but I couldn’t help myself. Enjoy!

---

Deluge

---

You look at the clock again, but only four minutes have passed since the last time you checked the time. Today had been crawling along impossibly slowly at work, and you were frustrated and exhausted. It’s Valentine’s Day, and it’s the first one in awhile where you’ve actually in a relationship with someone. You and Terry had been together for a few months now, and this would be the first real celebration of the two of you as a couple. He was also busy with work today, but that was fine; he tended to spoil you at every opportunity, so you both had happily agreed on having a nice dinner at his home after work and keeping things simple.

Good thing, too, you think to yourself. You were exhausted. You had tossed a nice outfit in your car this morning on your way to work, and hoped that Terry would be amenable to you having a quick shower and change before dinner. You still wanted there to be something special about tonight; you two hadn’t really had time for anything more than a casual meal since New Year’s Eve.

You had told Terry that you loved him that night, and while you knew he hadn’t been ready to say it back, you hadn’t let that stop you. Terry had been through so much in his life, and he had so few reliable people that had stood by him, cared for him. You really only knew about Johnny, and even that relationship was built on the horrific traumas of war. Of course it would be difficult for him to open up enough to care for you that deeply, especially as you had only been together for a few months. But you hadn’t been able to hold it in anymore; you knew the depth of your feelings for him, and part of you hoped that by telling him, he would be able to open up a bit more. Were you taking a risk with your own heart? Sure, but it was worth it. He was worth it.

Bringing yourself out of your musings, you check the clock to see that it’s now past 5. You could finally pack up and go home! As you pack up for the day, you look out the window and see that the torrential rain – very uncommon for California, even in February – that had started around mid-morning was still persisting, the sky a dark and gloomy grey. Perhaps you and Terry would have a romantic night snuggled by the fire? Smiling at the thought, you run to your car to avoid getting too wet, trying to focus on getting to your love.

---

You really hated driving in the rain, but you were almost there, just approaching the turn off the highway to Terry’s neighbourhood of opulent estates. You needed to push past your fatigue and stress before he saw you; he could read your face like a book. He had spent months trying to convince you to let him hire a driver for you, or even just to pick you up on occasion, but you had put your foot down. You know that Terry had meant well, but you needed to maintain your independence, and relying on somebody else and their money that much would have made you go mad.

Chuckling at the memory of the last time he had tried to persuade you – ending in a bit of a tantrum on his part that you had found both adorable and hilarious, you take the next exit.

BANG!

Something in the car makes a horrible noise, and you feel the car shudder underneath you. Panicking, you manage to pull over to the shoulder before the car completely stops moving, smoke emitting from under the hood.

Terry was never going to let you drive yourself again.

Groaning, you throw your hazards on and try to keep calm. Surely someone would drive by and give you a hand, right?

Two hours later, you admit to yourself that you had, in fact, been wrong. So many cars had passed you without even pausing that you had long stopped getting excited at the sight of approaching headlights. After the first hour or so, you had forced yourself out of the vehicle and popped the hood, wondering if somehow, miraculously, you could figure out what was wrong despite your complete lack of mechanical skills. Or, at the very least, maybe someone would see you and take pity on a young woman stranded on the highway in the rain. All that that had accomplished was getting you completely drenched, your tears of frustration mixing in with the rain running down your face. You were shivering, upset, and scared. It was almost completely dark now, and you were out of ideas.

It takes you a minute to realize that the latest pair of headlights to drive past hasn’t turned the corner yet and that the glow of red taillights was behind you; had someone finally stopped for you?

Turning, you’re briefly blinded by the lights coming from the other car, but as your eyes adjust you see an unmistakable silhouette step into the light, walking towards you. Terry.

Letting out a cry of relief that can barely be heard over the rain, you sprint at him as he comes towards you, scooping you up into his arms, burying one hand in your hair to press you closer into him. You feel yourself leeching off his heat immediately, teeth chattering, and hope he doesn’t mind.

He finally sets you down on the ground, holding your face in his large hands, trying to brush your tears away with his thumbs.

“Oh G-God, Terry! I can’t believe it’s you,” you sob, as he checks you over for injuries. “How did you find me?”

“When you didn’t show up I started getting worried. I called your work, but they said you’d left, I called your house, but got the machine. I drove to your place, but your car wasn’t there, so I just started driving around. I’ve got people looking for you everywhere, baby.”

He can’t seem to keep his eyes off your face, his blue eyes shining with a light you’ve never seen before, his expression stricken.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, hiccupping as your tears constrict your breathing. You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, but seeing him in this kind of panic makes your heart ache.

“Baby girl, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m so sorry that I took so long to find you. But now I’ve got you, Y/N, I promise. I love you, baby.”

Your body seems to stop functioning for a moment. You don’t feel the rain, or the cold; all that you’re aware of is the sound of your heart beating, loud and steady, and his words echoing in your head over and over. For him to say those words was such a huge step, not just for your relationship but for himself, and it meant more to you than anything.

Launching yourself at him, a smile of pure joy on your face, you leap into his arms, wrapping yourself around him and kissing him, pouring as much passion and happiness and love into the kiss as you could, and to feel him return it completely uninhibited was indescribable. Kissing Terry before had always been pure magic, but now every touch of his lips against yours sang with sincerity, devotion, adoration. You completely lose yourself to the kiss until Terry eventually lowers you to the ground, having carried you over to his car at some point. The smile he gives you is utterly breathtaking, but concern flashes over his features as he takes in your shaking.

“Oh doll, what am I thinking? You’re completely drenched; you must be freezing. Get in the car, I’ll go grab your stuff.”

In true gentlemanly Terry fashion, he opens your car door for you, settling you in before reaching across and turning the keys in the ignition, setting the heat to full blast before closing the door and running over to your vehicle. He returns a minute later, tossing your stuff into the backseat before hopping into the front and driving off for his house.

You’re exhausted now, your whole body trembling slightly, but you feel relatively relaxed, knowing that you’re safe with him. You feel Terry reach over and brush your wet hair out of your face, stroking your cheek with a warm hand, and nuzzle into it, fighting to keep your eyes open just to look at him.

“I know you’re cold, baby, we’re almost there. You’re gonna be fine,” he says soothingly, glancing over at you. You see his grip on the steering wheel tighten, the only sign of his stress that you can make out.

“I know, Terry,” you breathe, smiling sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed again against your will. “I’m with you.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, but you feel the purr of the engine get louder as he rushes to get you home. He drives right up to the front door, throwing the car in park and running to your side of the car, lifting you up in his arms once more and carrying you bridal style.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with me – I can walk!” you protest weakly, snuggling into his chest despite yourself. He shushes you, and you don’t push him on the matter, content to close your eyes and take comfort in his arms around you. Nothing could hurt you now.

The front door is open and Terry strides into the foyer with you, barking out orders in a calm but intense voice.

“Milos, her car is just off the highway on the shoulder of the exit at the bottom of the hill. Get someone to find it, retrieve it, and bring it back here, repaired by the morning. Contact the head of security and get him to call off the search; send them all home.”

Milos’s only response is the sound of his shoes on the marble floor as he walks briskly away from you two. You hear the sounds of other members of the staff gathered around, not speaking but clearly curious and concerned, and decide to feign sleep rather than face them, humiliated at the idea of everyone staring at you while you looked like a drowned rat.

“Margaret, you are to call into her work and tell them that she needs the week off; I don’t care what you have to offer, just make it happen. And find her some clothes, please, anything that can be ordered to get here tomorrow. Do you still have the measurements for her dress from New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, Mr. Silver,” the woman replies, quick and to the point as always. You’ve always adored Margaret; her unwavering loyalty for the man you loved meant a lot to you, and you knew that she had become sort of a surrogate mother to Terry in some ways over time, though you suspected neither would ever admit to it. You’re pretty sure you only hear hers and Terry’s footsteps moving through the hall now, and you’re grateful for it.

“Good, I trust you’ll take care of it. Get the chef to make some soup; tell him to throw in anything and everything that can help fight off an illness; she’s been out in the rain for hours. And find me the number of the best doctor in the city to have on standby, just in case.”

“Yes, Mr. Silver. Is there anything else that either of you need?”

“Tell everyone to get out as soon as possible. Everyone stays out for the next few days unless I specifically request them. That includes you, Margaret. You’re going on vacation; anywhere you wish. Take your sister, put it on the company card, I don’t care.”

“Yes, Mr. Silver, I’ll take care of all this right away.”

“I know you will, Margaret. Thank you,” he says sincerely. He uses that tone for so few people in his life, and you never get tired of hearing it.

You hear the older woman’s heels clacking away down the hall, and feel Terry press you closer to him as he moves more quickly in his haste to get you upstairs.

“Try to stay awake for me, love, just a little longer,” he says, kicking open the door to his bedroom and walking right into the ensuite bathroom with you. Your heart skips a beat at his new pet name for you; you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing him say that word.

He sets you on your feet and starts undressing you, and you move to help the best you can, but your body is largely numb from the cold. He pulls your shirt over your head and peels your pants off of you, leaving you in your underwear to go start the shower, and you’re still struggling to remove your bra when he returns, now completely naked himself. He pulls you close, and you feel his muscles tighten briefly as your cold, wet hair makes contact with his warm skin, but he makes no complaint, taking the rest of your clothes off and guiding you into the shower.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you briefly as you step into the jet of hot water. It scorches you at first, and you make a whimpering noise, pressing close to him, but you quickly adjust to the new temperature, feeling your body relax and thaw under the spray.

Terry gathers your hair up, getting it off your neck and wet before grabbing your favourite bottle of shampoo. He massages it into your scalp, taking all of your tension away, and you moan at the feeling. Of course he would be good at this too.

You smile up at him as he rinses your hair, pausing to appreciate how wonderful it looks down, the dark curls brushing his shoulders, and looks down at you, pausing to give you a quick kiss on the lips. He continues washing you, lathering your body with soap, the water and his hands working to relax your muscles and wash away all traces of the evening until you’re putty in his hands.

Feeling more in control of your limbs, you turn on the spot to face him, wrapping your arms snugly around his waist, kissing his chest right over where his heart is. He looks down at you, smiling softly, his hands running up and down your body slowly, almost absentmindedly. This moment isn’t sexual; it’s a moment of pure intimacy between you both.

“You seem to be feeling better, smiling like that,” he says, cupping the side of your cheek fondly.

“You love me,” is all you say in response, your awe evident in your tone as you nuzzle into his chest, perfectly content. You feel his chest rumble, and he turns the water off.

“I do, Y/N. I really do.”

His eyes are shining with that new light again, making you feel tingly all over, and reaches outside of the shower stall to grab a big, fluffy towel and wrap it around you. All bundled up, he tugs you to him, tilting your face up to kiss him. You hum happily against his lips, and he gives your bottom lip a playful nibble as he breaks the kiss.

“I love you too, Terry.”

You pull him back down, trying to initiate a kiss, but interrupt yourself with a yawn. Not now! Terry chuckles, pulling away from you, and you let out a noise of protest as you try to keep him in place.

“Come on, my Sleeping Beauty,” he cajoles, tugging you out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist, to your slight disappointment, then helps you towel dry your hair. He disappears into the bedroom briefly, returning in nothing but a pair of briefs by the time you’ve finished drying off, and holds out a shirt of his for you to put on.

You don’t take it, too focused on below his waist, staring at him with hooded eyes. He smirks slightly, shaking his head.

“Don’t even think about it, doll. You’re practically dead on your feet! It’s straight to bed with you,” he says sternly, forcing the shirt over your head despite your reluctance.

“But I want you,” you whine, sounding like the brat you were definitely starting to become. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“Isn’t it traditionally the man that tries to seduce his partner into bed with lines like that?” he jokes, trying to deter you.

“Terry!”

“Sleep first, love, I don’t want you getting sick. We’ll have time for Valentine’s later.”

“You promise?” you ask, fighting back another yawn. He helps you to the bed, trying not to laugh.

“I promise, Y/N. We’ve got all the time in the world,” he says sincerely, tucking you under the covers.

“Mkay,” you murmur sleepily, your eyes already falling shut. You feel him move away from the bed, and reach out blindly for him. “Wait, stay!”

“I was going to go see about your soup.”

“No soup!” you grumble. “You, please.”

You hear him sigh from across the room, and feel the weight of the bed shift after a moment. Smiling victoriously, you let him pull you against him, twining your legs around one of his and nestling into him, kissing his chest.

“You’re planning on getting your way a lot with me now, aren’t you?” he asks in mock exasperation, but kisses your forehead affectionately, and you feel him smile. You hum in assent, your body relaxing against his, feeling very drowsy.

“It’ll go both ways, I promise,” you mumble fondly.

“Sleep now, sweetheart. I’ll be right here,” he whispers against your hair, rubbing you soothingly until you drift off in his arms.

---

Hope you all liked this! I do have a Part 2 in my head (featuring smut, duh) if people are interested, but I thought I’d just do a sweet one for now!

(Also I don't know what movie the gif is from but it seemed fitting for wet from the shower Terry)