#not a lot of human points in the bucket left after daily necessaries so to speak

[thechekhov]

fellas have you ever read a webcomic

[feliix]

Perfect Score ↠ Han Jisung

↠ Jisung x Reader (feat. Felix)

↠ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Fake Dating!AU, Childhood Friends to Lovers

↠ Rating: M (18+)

↠ Word Count: 14.9k

↠ Summary: As you return home to work at your local coffee shop, you’re swarmed with couples coming in on lovey-dovey on dates. You’ve always hated the idea of love, but it’s Jisung’s mission to make you change your mind in just two weeks time.

↠ Warnings: idiots 2 lovers, mutual pining, unprotected sex, fingering, soft sex, language, light mentions of marking, mentions of bad past relationships

“That's disgusting.”

You grimace in the most subtle way as you watch the man across the shop press a gentle kiss on the cheek of the woman next to him. For some reason your shop is packed with couples this evening. Not that you’ve been counting, but they’re probably the 50th overly lovey-dovey pair that you’ve seen this just this shift alone. 

To say ‘love’ isn’t really your thing isn’t too far from the truth. Every time you’ve been burned by someone in the past has only made your hope about love deteriorate. Relationships suck. Already been there, done that, and you don’t plan on doing it again.

You’ve always stuck by the same theory; relationships either lead to heartbreak or marriage. And even still, marriage may still end in heartbreak, so what’s the point?

“Stop being so dramatic,” Jisung laughs, pulling you out of your thoughts as he rounds the corner. He’s just in time to catch your snide remark, surely it won’t be the last one you’ll make tonight though. He had just run to the back to get you a fresh package of cups after using up all the stock in the front.

Tonight is busy to say the least. The sun has already set, and it’s the afternoon rush when everyone comes in for their second daily dose of caffeine. And it’s definitely necessary – especially on a day as hot and exhausting as this one. It’s the third day that its been over 100º in a row and the humidity is doing a real number to your hair.

“It’s not dramatic,” you sigh, leaning on the counter behind you as Jisung maneuvers around you, placing the cups on the shelf underneath. In your mind it absolutely isnt. Its a mystery why all these people need to publicly display their affection in a coffee shop anyway...

It’s just the two of you on the schedule tonight. Your boss has always been kind of an asshole, just leaving 2 kids in their early twenties to run the shop by themselves while he went off to do god knows what. There's always been an aching suspicion that he just goes to the bar across the street, since his car is still parked behind the shop but he’s always nowhere to be found. That’s okay though, it's better than him looming over your shoulder and criticizing your technique the whole shift.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Jisung shakes his head.

In stark contrast to yourself, Han Jisung is quite the hopeless romantic. So much so that he tends to search for love in all the wrong places. Maybe a better way to describe it is that Jisung has a series of flings. He’s not shy to test the waters of any girl he comes across – and there are many, many waters that he’s tested. Lucky you gets to hear all about each one, being his friend and all.

But to your good friend’s demise, his ‘relationships’ never end up working out for very long. Theres always some kind of fatal flaw that’s a means to an end. Whether it was Jisung’s fault or the girls,  it’s always confused you why he could never hold onto something longer than a couple months. Jisung is a great guy, it didn’t make sense.

So great that you have been best friends with him for as long as you could remember. It all started that time in pre-k, where you poured a shovel of sand on his head in the sandbox. Initially, it did make him cry, but he got over it eventually. Ever since, he’s been right by your side, sandy hair and all.

“How much longer,” your eyes roll back in your head, neglecting to look at the watch on your wrist in fear that your shift has a significant amount of time left. The night has been dragging on since you stepped foot in the door and heard the little jingle as it opened. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d only made it through half your shift thus far.

“Just under an hour. Want to start the closing checklist so we can get outta here?” Jisung offers, reaching for the rag and sanitation bucket at the end of the counter.

Nodding your head, you follow his plan – beginning your mission to clean like a speed demon so you can leave no later than at 8 o’clock on the dot. 

Luckily, closing tonight goes as smoothly as it possibly can. You and Jisung are ready to get out of there at 8 on the dot, thanks to your determination to mop like a mad woman and stock the front as fast as humanly possible. 

The air outside feels crisper than usual. Maybe its because you’ve been locked up in a small room that smells like coffee beans for 10 hours, but you’ll never get enough of the night air. 

“So what are we doing tonight?”Jisung asks, his fingers adjusting the headband that sits just above his forehead.

“I was planning on going home and getting some rest…” you trail off, avoiding eye contact with him. Jisung always goes out after your weekend shifts and never lets up on convincing you to tag along. So you can’t look at him, his eyes are much too convincing make contact with, and you are beyond exhausted from working a double today.

“Gah you’re so boring,” he teases, stopping in his tracks in the center of the parking lot to ruffle the hair on top of your head, “it was an early night we should do something.”

With a deep sigh, you stop as well, smoothing down your hair as a pout forms on your lips. The suggestive smirk settling across Jisung’s face is telling; he knows he’s about to get his way before you have the chance to turn him down or fish for another excuse. So you tilt your head, subtly rolling your eyes as you wait for him to explain what his big plans for tonight are.

“I’ll be at your house by 9.”

Accepting defeat, you shoot him a thumbs up before turning to get into your car. Asking any more questions would take away any time you had to wash up – and smelling like coffee beans any longer is going to drive you up a wall since it hasn't already.

It doesn’t take much time for you to rush home and get ready, and before you know it Jisung is there to pick you up. Only a few minutes late, but that’s just par for the course and right on time in Jisung terms. 

The car ride to your destination feels like a blur with how exhausted you are. So when you end up at your favorite boba spot, you immediately perk up. Those tapioca pearls always manage to give you a second wind.

But when Jisung decides to take a seat at one of the round tables just outside the shop instead of getting back in the car you know somethings up. You were expecting to hop back in the passenger seat of his car, maybe listen to some music for a while and drive around to kill time. 

Initially he doesn’t say much. His legs just bounce hyperactively while he fidgits with the straw of his drink. It’s almost like he’s waiting for you to speak up; his eyes staring down at the cup in front of him instead of sipping from it, lip caught between his teeth.

The energy is off. Not only did you expect to hang out and do something adventurous like Jisung normally would, but now you’re watching his cheeks grow red while avoiding conversation.

Awkward silence becoming too much to bear, you take matters into your own hands. “So how are things going with that girl?”

“Oh yeah,” he sighs, his fingertips drumming along the surface of the table, “she didn’t really work out.”

Unsurprised by his response, you just nod along. Its always to expect since he’s the pickiest person you’ve ever met. His last relationship ended because he thought the girl breathed too loudly. The girl before that had an annoying laugh, and then the one before that didn’t like cheesecake. There always seems to be a laundry list of deal-breakers tied along to each one of Jisung’s relationships, and that is something you’ll always expect.

“You’re probably better off.”

You don’t think much of the words before they leave your lips. Relationships are a ton of work, and you’ve never understood the point of to putting all your effort into something like that. There is a way to just be happy on your own, you know.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” his eyebrows furrowing in response, hands gripping his thighs in anticipation

“You know what I think,” you tilt your heat matter-of-factly, “relationships are kind of just a waste of time.”

“What is with you and all this ‘anti-love’ stuff anyway, Y/N?”

Now thats a response that you are not prepared for. The question catches you off guard, a boba bubble almost catching in your throat leaving you a coughing mess. Jisung chuckles at your discomfort, waiting patiently for you to get it all out and just answer his question, as uncomfortable as it is. 

“I’ve wasted too much time with too many dead-beat guys to even think about love,” you sigh again, your coughing fit subsiding as you reach for your cup once again.

“Not every guy is a dead-beat.”

His words carry a harsh bite to them, almost as if he finds you’ve said offensive. It burns his ego a bit, assuming that you’re grouping him in with all the guys you’ve been with in the past. Which is strange, Jisung should know that he’s different. For one, you’ve never dated him before and two, if he was such a dead-beat you wouldn’t have kept him around for so long.

You aren’t able to talk to guys, or most people for that matter, in the same way that you talk to Jisung. He’s the one you rant about all the assholes to. He knows all the shit that you don’t tell anyone else, he’s like your own personal human diary. Secrets are always safe with him, it's not like he has anyone who would listen to the gossip even if he wanted to tell.

After a minute of silence his expression changes, Jisung’s eyes squinting at you in that ‘I have a crazy idea’ type of way. It’s a look that you haven’t seen very often, and you can’t say that you’ll ever get used to it. 

“Okay then I’ll make you a deal,” he proposes, a glimmering look in his eye that made you somewhat nervous. You never know what you are getting with Jisung, but most of the time his ‘deals’ are on the crazier side.

“What is it?” You still ask although you’re a bit nervous to hear his answer. If his plan is to set you up with one of his delinquent friends or something–

“Be my girlfriend.”

Your eyes widen as the words fall from his tongue, confusion taking over your expression as a small chuckle slips past his lips. Instinctively your stomach tightens, the air around you now feeling a bit heaver each second time ticks on. He can't be serious…

“Your what?”

“Two weeks is all I’m asking for. Be my girlfriend for just two weeks, and I’ll show you that love isn’t as shitty as you think it is.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me” you shake your head, a disbelieving smile stretching wide across your face.

“C’mon Y/N,” he challenges, “it’s two weeks of your life, what else do you have to do? I think it could be fun.”

The quirk of his eyebrow and quick squint of his eyes grabs your attention. He’s serious about this, scarily serious, and you aren’t quite sure how to react to that.

“What’s in it for you?” Your chin falls into your palm as you stare at him, waiting for his response.

“Well for one,” he starts, a sigh leaving his lips, “if it works then I won’t have to listen to you complain about how much relationships suck anymore.”

Just when you don't think you can roll your eyes any further into the back of your head, your own actions surprise you. If looks could kill, the one you’re giving him right now would surely take him out. He doesn’t pay much mind to it though, he’s used to your sass and just shrugs it off.

“This is an awful idea,” you glare at him as if it will change his mind. You’re certain this experiment of his would not change your own. Love sucked, and that was that.

“Two weeks,” his voice carries a taunting tone, his eyebrows wiggling to entice you into his plan. He isn’t going to give up on this easily, you know Jisung. And Jisung always gets his way.

“Fine,” you huff, “two weeks and that’s it. And if my mind isn’t changed you owe me 3 more of these,” you say, picking up your boba from the table and shaking it at eye-level for emphasis.

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, satisfied with your response. He isn’t exactly sure how he’ll manage to pull this off, but he’s definitely up for the challenge.

“We start tomorrow at 8, I’ll pick you up after work.”

Crossing your arms over the table, you bury your head in your arms. This is going to be the most interesting two weeks of your entire life.

“Wait, you're like dating dating the Han Jisung?” Felix’s jaw drops, excitement prevalent on his face as you spill about your night with Jisung.

Felix is the only person in your life that understood your hatred for relationships, other than Jisung of course. Not that he shares the hatred himself, he’s just heard enough about how much you despise being in one to know just how you felt. He’s only heard about it every day for the past several summers.

Felix is your best friend, other than Jisung of course. He’s also the only person in this world that you could bear to work with on a Saturday morning. 

“That's the plan,” you sigh fiddling with the containers on the counter. It’s pretty slow for a Saturday morning, only a handful of customers have come in so far and it's already 11 am.

That’s the thing about working at a coffee shop – and it sucks when it's busy, and it sucks even more when it's slow. At least it isn't a terrible job, you at least have Jisung and Felix to keep you company and that's always worthwhile.

“And for the record,” you turn to look at Felix, a grin still evident on his face, “I don’t think this is gonna change my mind about the love stuff.”

“You know how Jisung is,” his eyebrow lifts, “so you never know. Maybe something could happen.” 

If anyone was surprised that you were dating someone, fake relationship or not, it would be Felix. On top of that, you’re dating Han Jisung. As in, the same Jisung that ended a 3-month relationship last year because the girl ‘smelled too much like peaches’ and it was ‘too good to be true.’ And now that you’re the one stuck with him for the next 14 days, it is only a matter of time until he finds the deal-breaking trait that turns him away from you.

“Okay no, that's exactly why this is only two weeks. If I know Jisung, he’ll be over it before the 2 weeks even ends.”

“Whatever you say,” the pitch of his voice is raised teasingly. You can tell he doesn’t believe this will be just a ‘two-week thing’ by the funny little look on his face. You hate that look, and you hate how Felix always seems to be right.

Subsequently Felix sees a lot of things that you aren’t able to see for yourself. You’ve grown up with Jisung, grown accustomed to his unique mannerisms and behaviors without even noticing. Felix, on the other hand, has a different point of view. 

He’s not in it like you are, so gets to see the way Jisung looks at you; the way he hangs on each and every word that leaves your mouth with a sparkle in his eye. He notices that Jisung longs to make you laugh. And he watches the toothy grin each that grows on your face each time a chuckle breaks through your lips. Felix notices every behavior that you see as nothing more than ‘friendly.’ But who is he to say? So, for now, the information remains tucked away and stored in his mind for a later date.

Your fingers drum on the clean marble countertop beside you, leaning against it as you wait for a customer to come in. All this time with nothing to do is really doing wonders for your imagination; thinking about what Jisung has planned for the two of you to do tonight. Nothing special, you hope, he really doesn’t need to go all out for this. 

The lack of customers and silence that's fallen among the shop is just making it easier for your mind to wander off. It was beginning to make you sick how much you were thinking about Jisung and nothing has even happened yet. It's not like you have any reason to be nervous, but keeping all these thoughts trapped in your thick skull is starting to give you a headache

“He’s picking me up after work.” You blurt it out without thinking much about it. No one is here, you might as well lay it all out there for Felix to know since there's nothing better to do.

“He’s picking you up? Like you’re going on a date?”

“Shut upppp,” your eyes roll at his teasing nature, growing slightly embarrassed by how giddy the thought of this ‘date’ is making him, and you for that matter. It’s just Jisung. And you are just hanging out like you do every other night. There's nothing different about tonight and you’ll be able to prove that to yourself and Felix by the next time you see him.

The rest of you shift flies by – it always does when you work with Felix. Before you know it, the closing checklist is coming to an end, only a few steps left before you can finally get out of here. The clock had just turned to 7:55 pm, but Jisung still isn’t here. Not that you’re expecting him to be on time or anything, this is still the same Jisung you have always known.

What you aren’t familiar with is the nervous butterflies fluttering around in your tummy as the clock approaches 8 pm.  What are you even nervous about? It isn’t a blind date, other than the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing. And it isn’t even a date. It’s Jisung for crying out loud.

Speaking of the devil, the chimes in the front of the shop ring as Jisung passes through the doorway. You don’t see who it is at first, your back turns to the door as you sweep behind the counter. The chimes ringing at this time of night do trigger your fight or flight instincts though, ready to turn to whoever is approaching and give them a dirty look for coming in this close to closing time.

But once you turn around and see Jisung standing in the doorway with a bouquet of sunflowers, your tension quickly subsides. You swear that you can feel your heart skip a beat, heat rising to your cheeks as you try your hardest to form a coherent sentence. It's okay that you aren’t able to, though, the surprised look on your face is enough for his smile to light up the room.

“I’m here to pick up the pretty girl with the espresso stain on her shirt,” he chuckles, his bottom lip catching between his teeth nervously.

Tonight he’s dressed a lot nicer than usual comfy attire; a nice shirt with a pair of dark jeans that hug his slim figure. His hair is a lot lighter too – a vast change from the midnight black strands that normally frame his face. He’s really going all out for this thing – and right now all that you’re wearing a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt with coffee stains down the front.

When you look to your right, Felix is just as stunned as you are. Frozen in his spot as his jaw practically sweeps the floor, he looks at you with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised as a smug expression crosses his face. For a second you contemplate asking him if he’s all set to finish the closing checklist on his own, but before you’re able to speak up he’s already shooing the two of you out the door.

With a goofy grin displayed across his face, Jisung hands you the bundle of flowers, tied together with a delicate white ribbon. You mumble a thank you, still stunned that he showed up here looking like that to take you out tonight. So he is the romantic type, note taken.

“You like nice,” you gulp nervously. It already feels like a date and you haven’t even left the parking lot yet. If this is how things are going to start you had an exciting 13 more days ahead of you...

“So do you,” he smirks, his eyes wandering down to the small brown stains littering your shirt. Eyes narrowing, you read the expression crossing his face – of course, he’s joking. “I brought you some fresh clothes to change into don’t worry.”

Relief rushes through your body as the words leave his lips, followed by a slight pull on your heart strings. Knowing he took the time to think about bringing you something else to wear so you didn’t have to sit in your coffee scented clothes all night made you feel warm in the strangest way. He’s thoughtful, and it's weirding you out – but in a good way.

“So, where are we even going?”

“You’ll see.”

A vague yet interesting, and very on-brand response from Jisung. He’s always been a fan of surprises – as long as he’s not on the receiving end.

The drive to your destination drags on forever. You aren’t quite sure how long you’ve been on your way; between your agile back seat changing of clothes, which you are surprisingly skilled at, and the anticipation coursing through your veins, you’ve lost track of time. All you know is that you’ve been driving along the backroads of your area for at least 15 minutes, and there is nothing around you to indicate that your destination is near.

“This is it.” The car pulls into a small dirt parking lot, dimly lit by some dingy street lights that aren’t doing a very good job at their primary function. It's pretty hard to see what’s around you, no matter how hard you squint and press your forehead to the window to get a better look.

“Where are we?” The question leaves your lips in a worried fashion. Trees surround the parking lot on all three-sides, while the road you've pulled in from occupies the fourth-side. You’re hesitant to get out of the car, but as Jisung rounds the front and opens the door for you, you’re on your way out. He motions for you to hold on as he pops the trunk – returning with a blanket and a reusable shopping bag filled with god knows what.

He still hasn’t given an answer to your question though, and you still aren’t quite sure where you are. If It was lighter out you assume it would be beautiful here, all the greenery dark and shadows hovering over you from the trees.

The bright light from his cell phone flashlight lights up the way, a path on your right

“Hell no,” your arms cross over your chest as you stand still in your place. He’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re going into the woods this late at night. You’ve seen enough horror films, stuff like this never ends well.

“C’mon, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Jisung laughs at your pouting manner, amusement filling his system as you glue your feet to the ground of the parking lot. His puppy dog eyes plead for you to follow him, a hand outreaching in your direction for the taking. You contemplate it for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you ponder the possible outcomes of the situation before you.

“Fine,” you huff as you take his hand in yours.

His hand feels different in yours this time. His long fingers lacing between your smaller ones in the perfect fit that you’ve neglected to notice before. You’ve held his hand before, platonically though. This time it’s platonic too though, right? It’s just a date. A platonic date between two friends. Two friends who are dating on a two week trial period. So yes, it is strictly platonic. Right?

The dirt path doesn’t drag on for too long, but the sounds of bugs ticking and twigs breaking beneath your feet is enough to startle you. Every scared and breathy gasp that  leaves your mouth is followed by a small fit of laughter from Jisung. At least one of you is amused.

But the dirt path soon turns rocky, a clearing becoming more and more noticeable as Jisung’s flashlight brightens the way ahead of you. The rows of trees come to an end as the ground flattens, a giant slab of rock lying beneath your feet. Out ahead of you is completely dark, and until you approach the darkness you don’t notice that you’re just a few yards away from the edge of a cliff. A river lies below the edge, the sound of water rushing fills your ears and calms your nerves. It is quiet out here, peaceful and without distraction.

Jisung stands back as you admire the scenery around you – your own phone flashlight now out and panning around to look at the view. It’s beautiful out here, nothing to worry about but the sounds of the water and whatever Jisung is doing behind you…

You couldn’t have zoned out for more than 2 minutes, but once you turn back around to face him a picnic blanket lies on the ground before you. Snacks scatter the extent of the fabric, a few candles placed in the center

“You really went all out for this, huh?” A nervous laugh leaves your lips before you swallow harshly. Never in your life has a guy ever gone all out like this for you. A late-night picnic at a secret location, fixed with all of your favorite snacks and some candles for ambiance.

“Had to,” he smiles, “it’s our first date.”

You join him on the blanket, grabbing for a bag of popcorn as you sit down. Maybe relationships wouldn’t suck so much if all men treated you like this…

But it’s just Jisung. Jisung who already knows all your favorite things to eat. He’s just trying to be convincing – to prove to you that men take you on dates, do nice things. But stuff like this never lasts. Two weeks from now you’ll be going back to the same old Jisung and Y/N friendship that you’ve always had.

The conversation goes on as normal tonight, he doesn’t make any moves (as expected, it’s Jisung) and you enjoy the view and calm atmosphere with your fake but not so fake boyfriend. You stay out on the cliff for a few more hours before he takes you home. Jisung put a lot of effort into making tonight special, and you appreciate him for that. But even after all his effort, you know that real relationships aren’t like this.

Every guy you’ve dated would try to woo you over in the beginning too. They call it the honeymoon stage for a reason. Things are always great in the beginning, lavish gifts and dates, loving gestures. That kind of thing never lasts. Soon the effort runs out, the guy gets bored of putting the work in, and they end up sleeping with your freshman year roommate. Well, at least that's how it is for you.

The bundle of sunflowers Jisung gave to you earlier on in the night sits on the end table next to your bed. Each time you look at them all you can picture is the goofy grin he sported as he stood at the entrance of the coffee shop. It replays in your mind like a movie. How he dressed up all spiffy just to take you out. How he took you to a spot only he knew about, somewhere so off-site and serene that he knew you’d remain uninterrupted. You can’t help but wonder if he’s using the same old tricks on you that he does to other girls though. If he only knew about that place because he’s taken someone there before.

Not that it matters though, you aren’t his real girlfriend. You’re just on a trial period. But for some reason the thought that he might have brought another girl to the same spot before doesn’t sit well with you.

“Sooooo,” Felix teases, letting his chin fall into his palm as he leans on the counter before him, “how was your date with Y/N?”

Jisung chuckles at his nosiness, he’s sure you’ve already told Felix all about it. There are no secrets left between you two. Even sometimes Jisung felt like the odd man out when you’re all together.

“It was good.”

Jisung keeps his answer short, leaving the rest up to his imagination. He isn’t one to kiss and tell – or to not kiss and tell. Keeping his private life all to himself is something he takes pride in, things are just better that way.

“Just good?” Felix challenges, knowing there is much more that he’s leaving out. His eyes narrow as he waits for his response. You haven’t told him anything about last night, not even where you went after he picked you up. Things are radio silent on your end, which left Felix dying to know what actually happened on your ‘date that wasn't a real date.’

Jisung glances back at him, contemplating whether or not he should spill the beans. It would be kind of nice to have someone else to confide in. Especially since it's always you on the receiving end of his secrets; however, this may be the one secret that you don’t know of.

He chews on his bottom lip pensively, if anyone knows what’s on your mind, it would be Felix. Not that Jisung would ever want to pry, there's just no indication of how you feel about last night, or about him. Before Jisung can even open his mouth to speak, a knowing smirk is spread wide across Felix’s face. It’s that kind of look that makes him nervous – he knows something.

“You like her don’t you,” he muses, rubbing his hands together smooths as the words catch in the air. It’s out there now – and it’s obvious. Well, maybe not obvious, but it's clear as day to Felix – and that is more than enough to make Jisung worry.

“I don’t,” Jisung denies the other boy’s claim, his willpower too strong to give in.

“Oh yeah? So why do you self sabotage every one of your relationships then?”

The words catch Jisung off guard; his jaw clenching harshly as an annoyed breath is forced out of his nostrils. He wants to deny the claim once again, but he can’t bring himself to keep brushing off these feelings that have had a grip on him ever since he was young.

Felix is right too. He does sabotage each relationship that comes his way. Jisung goes out of his way to find something wrong with each girl he dates. He can never admit it to himself, but in the back of his mind, he knows that it's the fact that none of those girls are you. None of the girls he’s ever met could ever match up to all that you are. In his mind, you held the perfect score, and no one else had ever come close.

“It’s written all over your face every time you look at her you know.”

There's no way he’s that obvious... Did his feelings show that much whenever he was around you?

“What do you mean?” Jisung clarifies, the small once of hope bearing weight in his chest that Felix will follow up with a ‘just kidding’ or change the subject. Only the silence that falls on the room is enough of a response for Jisung to get the clue. 

“Just please don’t tell her,” he avoids eye contact with the other boy, hand gripping harshly on the countertop as he stares down at the black and white checkered tile. “I just wanted to see if I could change her mind – about the love stuff, you know?”

The second you find out about Jisung’s feelings all bets would be off. There’s no way you’d let your little arrangement continue, not if either of you could end up hurt. And he knows you only agreed to this because there is nothing between you romantically, it was a deal between two friends. The second feelings get involved, everything gets all mushy and confusing, and Jisung can’t lose you.

Felix bears his weight on the counter behind him, leaning comfortably on the cool glass. “Believe me, I want her to be done with that ‘I hate love thing’ just as much as you do,” he sighs, looking around momentarily before he clears his throat. “Want me to be honest?”

“Please.”

“I think you might be the only one who can change her mind.”

Jisung’s heart skips a beat once the words leave Felix’s mouth. Blood rushes to his ears, pumping like a snare drum as he considers his thoughts. His stomach begins to twist as he considers it, almost confused about what Felix means, but not willing to accept it. You only agreed to fake-date him, you still hate love.

A comfortable silence fills the air, Felix watching him as his lips roll between his teeth, deep in thought. Change your mind. The words repeat in Jisungs head like a broken record. That’s what he’s trying to do, all for the right reasons of course. So that you don’t  have to be so miserable about it anymore. 

But behind those selfless reasons are several smaller, selfish ones. He gets to be with you as more than a friend now, and although it’s nothing more than some kind of test run, he can’t help but feel like this can be something more too. It’d be crazy to ignore the feeling he has deep in his chest, and maybe it's a sign not to.

“Like you think…” Jisung gulps, clearing his throat as the words stutter out of his mouth, “I could get her to fall for me?”

The lack of response that Felix gives is ominous, but the raise of his eyebrows and toothy grin forming on his face needs no words to tell. 

If anyone is to change your mind, it’ll be Jisung.

That night Jisung took you to the drive-in movies. To be quite honest, you couldn’t really recall what was playing, some Pixar film with bugs as the main character if you could remember it correctly. You were far too distracted laughing with Jisung, watching as young kids played around on a grassy patch near his car. The giggles that left his lips each time the little girl waved to him were music to your ears. You never noticed how much he loved kids, how good he was with them.

The image of his hands clasped together as he fawned over the little girl, picking dandelions in the grass and racing to place them by your feet was burned into your memory. The boxy grin that graced his face all night long. The way his eyes squinted from his cheeks, pushing up as he smiled so big. The whispers of the word ‘cute’ each time her pigtails bounced while she toddled away.

Missing the movie doesn't disappoint you. If anything, the memories you've saved from tonight are more than enough.

The next night you were unable to go out, the shop was so busy that you were not able to leave until an hour and a half after your shift was supposed to end. Some punk kid dropped a cup of iced coffee on the floor on his way out and decided it would be best to leave it there without cleaning anything up or letting you know. Maybe if it hadn’t been so busy then you would have noticed the spill before it dried up and there were coffee stains stuck to the tile floors.

Naturally, you spent a good 15 minutes trying to mop up all the stickiness on the floor. But to your luck, Jisung is working with you that night. Once all the customers left the shop he hooked his phone up to the speakers, grabbed your hands, and danced you around the shop. Well, it was supposed to be dancing but it probably looked more like Jisung swinging your arms as you attempted to not trip over your own feet.

It makes up for not getting to go out though, and you’d take a night like that over a fancy dinner any chance you got. 

It’s been 12 days since you became Jisung‘s girlfriend, and as the remaining days decreased, so did your hatred for love. Each night he planned something special. The real kicker was the texts that you get once he makes it home from dropping you off every night. A simple ‘I had a great time tonight’ was enough to make your heart swell and heat rise to your cheeks.

And as you notice your hatred for love and relationships leaving you, you notice another feeling enter your system. Or several feelings…

Things are getting just as sticky as the night when two frappuccinos splattered all over the shop floor, whipped cream and all. Spending time with Jisung like this is bringing some things to the surface you didn’t know were buried in the first place.

Every night that you spent with Jisung over the past 12 days allowed you to see him in a new light. You got to see him on a different level than just friends. You got to see what every girl that fawns over Jisung experiences.

Something about your friendship never let you jump past that barrier. You only see him as a dear friend of yours. Nothing more and nothing less. And now the issue is that...you aren’t sure how you’ll ever go back to see him as such.

You like Jisung as more than a friend, that's for sure. And you know because of that things will never be able to go back to the way they once were.

Maybe you're reading too much into it, but your gut is telling you that you aren't the only one feeling this way.

The feeling of butterflies that pound in your stomach each time you meet eyes with him has to be reciprocated. There is just no way you can be feeling this way and he isn’t.

This isn’t like the feelings you’ve caught for any guy before, this is something else. Every night when you go home you lay in bed, staring at your ceiling with a dumb grin on your face as you think about your time together, about him. About the way his black curly hair falls in front of his eyes each time he looks down and how his smile lights up every room he was in.

These things that you were so blind to before can’t escape your thoughts, and it makes you wonder how many times or things you’ve looked over that make you melt, just like you are right now.

But in just 2 days, this trial-boyfriend period will be over, and you’ll have to go back to being just friends. Each day, each hour, each minute that approaches feels heavier and heavier. Anxiety floods your system each time you think about things being over, or that this arrangement you have isn’t even real.

When you think about the growing feelings you have for him, you honestly can't imagine what your life will be like any other way. What it would be like going back to just hanging out here and there. And what it would be like

You can’t even fathom thinking about what it would be like hearing him talk about another girl again. It makes you sick thinking that there's going to be someone after you, because in just 5 days this will be all over, and you’ll go back to being the girl best friend, nothing more.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking that Jisung has more feelings for you too. But the glimmer in his eyes as his bangs brush out of his eyes and they land on you tells a different story. When he looks at you it feels like you are the only two people on earth. He sees nothing else but you, and the way your eyes sparkle back at him.

Each day you spend with Jisung after that feels like a wrench tightening the screws of your heart. 14 days is just not enough.

“Earth to Y/N,” Felix says waving a hand in your face.

You must have zoned out, for god knows how long.

“Thinking about Jisung?”

“What?” you immediately straighten your posture and brush yourself off before responding, “N-no…I’m just thinking.”

“Right,” the sarcasm drips from his lips, not sparing you any time to save yourself as he turns away, beginning to wipe off the tables in the front.

For personal reasons, you’ve kept Felix out of the loop during this whole “fake-boyfriend Jisung” thing. It’s better if you keep your feelings to yourself until you figure them out. And although it feels really really strange not giving Felix the intel on what’s going on in your life, you know it’s for your own good.

Once you put what is in your head out into the world, you can’t take it back. And what if all these things that you’re feeling is just a part of the honeymoon-phase. If that even existed anyway… But if all these feelings for Jisung are due to him trying to woo you and change your mind, everything will just fade away as things return back to normal. And then you’ll be left loving him in silence while you watch him blow through relationships like a leaf blows through the wind.

Something in you tells you that this isn't the case, but the small shadow of doubt in the back of your mind keeps you from talking to your best friend about it anyway.

The thing is, you don't have to tell Felix for him to know. Every time Jisung picks you up from work to take you out you shine. Your smile spreads so wide he’s afraid your cheeks will tear. The nervous shake of your fingers as you grab for your belongings as you head out the door doesn’t go unnoticed in Felix’s eyes. He knows you too well to look over things like this, he just wanted to wait for you to say something first.

But now that you aren’t, Felix has decided to take matters into his own hands, asking you about it himself.

“Felix,” you start, waiting for his attention before you pull out a stool, sitting down and motioning for him to follow suit. Quickly he does, a questioning but knowing look evident on his face as the stool squeaks under him. “You know how this thing between Jisung and I is just an experiment or whatever?”

He nods in response, his hand quickly falling into his palm as he listens intently to your words.

“I think I messed up.” Your head is buried in your arms, laid over the tabletop in embarrassment.

“What do you mean?”

His question is more for clarification, he wants to hear you say it yourself. Felix knows that you’re gonna tell him that you’ve already caught feelings. He sees it coming from a mile away, you confirming it is just the icing on the cake.

“Don’t make me say it,” you whine, neglecting to pick your head up and look at him. You can feel the grin on his face. You know he's smirking at you right now, doing his best to hold back a laugh. Finally, you over the ‘I hate love and relationships suck’ thing.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he sings, quite obviously teasing you while another deep sigh echoes from your chest. You manage to pick your head up, leaning onto your elbows with your chin caught between your palms as you face him.

“I like him.”

It comes out as a whisper, but Felix hears it loud and clear. If you didn’t know better, you’d assume that the smile on his face can't grow any larger, but it does. He jumps up from his chair in victory, doing a funny dance with his arms whooping in the air to celebrate. You’re confused as to why, but you’re too far in your own thoughts to pay it any mind; your head just sinks back into your arms as your forehead presses against the cold metal table beneath you.

“I knew it,” Felix smiles, his happy dance subsiding as he positions himself back down across from you. “I knew this fake dating thing was gonna work.

“Yeah well it really worked, because now I have feelings for a guy that’s never gonna reciprocate them for me.” Your tone is laced with sarcasm, a disappointing ring sounding off on each of your words. You’re too embarrassed to look at the boy sitting before you, worried that if you do all the emotions you’ve been holding onto for so long will spill over and stain your stone-cold image; one you’ve maintained for far too long.

But Felix is your best friend. The only one that you should be comfortable being vulnerable about your feelings for Jisung with; for some reason all you can’t bring yourself to be. Before you can get a grip on your emotions tears are streaming down your face and falling onto the cold metal surface under you in small puddles. 

A sympathetic sigh leaves Felix’s lips as he tries to gain your attention, “Hey.”

Inhaling deeply, you face him – mascara strewn across your face in black streaks and eyes nearly bloodshot. You’ve held this in for far too long. Only a double would tire you out and exhaust you enough to cry on the clock. Thank god it’s a rainy day, no customers ever come in on rainy days.

Or at least, no customers usually come in on rainy days. It's not until you hear the bells on the front door ring that you’re wiping your eyes, whipping around to greet whoever was entering.

And then you see him, standing there as he shakes out his umbrella, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand.

And he sees you; mascara running down your face and tears staining your cheeks. He’s early. Your stomach turns at the sight of him, emotions not stable enough to handle carry a normal conversation like  

“Y/N,” his voice is quiet, worry dripping in his tone as your name leaves his lips. But you can’t face him right now, not like this.

Your feet move faster than you mind, standing up and rushing to the back to avoid him. Jisung doesn’t follow you, just stands there and watches you walk away, solemn and worried that he’s done something. 

It’s not until Felix is rising from his seat and pacing over to him that he’s brought back to reality.

“Jisung...” he starts, hands coming up slowly to console him, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here right now.”

“Wh-what’s wrong?” His lip worries between his teeth, eyes glossy as he stares at the door you just closed behind you. He’s looking at it intently, mind flooding with worry, wishing so badly that the door will just fly open, and you’ll tell him what was going on. In the back of his mind, he knows that you won’t, at least not for now. Talking about emotions has never been your strong suit, and chances of that changing at this moment are at an all-time low.

Felix is unsure how to answer him, caught in between not wanting to lie and keeping your feelings private. He can’t speak for you; but he’s scared that saying nothing could just make this whole situation worse.

His mouth gapes as he searches for a response to his question, lips opening and closing while he hums to himself.

The umbrella hanging from Jisung’s hand drops with a crash, starling Felix as he jumps at the sudden sound. But before he is even able to speak, the bell to the front door is ringing again, and Jisung is walking away into the pouring rain.

The next day you wake up feeling numb. You’ve received several texts from Jisung the night before, none of which you have the energy to reply to or even look at for that matter.

The guilt riddling your body has become too much for you to handle. You left work last night without even saying goodbye to Felix. He’s a good enough friend and coworker to know that what you’re going through is more important than working the counter at an coffee shop. 

After Jisung left, Felix came back and let you know; he almost had to break down the door to the backroom in order for you to let him in. He told you to go home, get some rest and that you’d talk tomorrow.

But after waking up the last thing you want to do is talk about Jisung, it hurts enough just thinking about him.

Every time you thought about how your arrangement was supposed to end in just a few days you felt sick. You have worked so hard to open up just to build your walls back up again. And now you’re back at square one.

When you agreed to be Jisung’s girlfriend you did not expect to fall for him like this. He’s Jisung for god’s sake. He’s your personal diary, he’s the one who knows all the shit that nobody else does. And he’s the only one that listens to all the dumb shit you have to say that no one else cares about.

Feelings ruin everything. Love sucks, and you knew this before you agreed. You agreed under the circumstances that Jisung could show you that relationships could be fun; not under the circumstances that he would make you fall in love with him,

And the more that you think about it, maybe you were always in love with him. Maybe you always had these feelings for him, but they were trapped in the tight bonds of friendship that your subconscious never let you out.

But none of that even mattered now. The deal had to be off, and you need to distance yourself from Jisung before you are hurt any worse. The longer this goes on the worse that you are going to feel when it's all over.

How are you supposed to go back to normal after this? Like is Jisung thinking that showing you how amazing relationships are, you won't fall for him or something? Or does his true plan consist of making you fall in love with him, just to string you along like every other girl he's dated?

You’re trapped in the never-ending spiraling thoughts, soiling your image of Jisung with each new theory that crosses your mind. None of them are good. All of them paint him as a player, as someone who just used you.

But the little thump in your heart when you notice the sunflowers placed on your bedside table wants your mind to change. Your heart wants you to believe that Jisung feels something too, that throughout this arrangement he has seen a different side to you too – that he’s fallen for you just like you have for him.

It's a knock at your door that guides you out of your thoughts. The repetitive tapping at your front door that drags you out of bed. And when you check your peephole and it's no one else, but your small blonde best friend standing on your doorstep that has relief rushing through your system.

The door cracks open, Felix standing there with an umbrella in his hand – even though it was nearly 100º with clear skies.

“Why are you still in your pajamas? It's noon.”

Suddenly, he pushes past you and invites himself into to your living room. Plopping down on your couch, Felix makes himself comfortable as he waits for you to join. You spin on your heels, an exhausted breath leaving your mouth as you pace over to him, plopping down on the next cushion over.

“Why the umbrella?” Your brow furrows as he hands it over. You take it though, still confused behind the meaning of the object that you're holding and where it came from.

“It’s Jisung’s.”

You nearly drop it as his name leaves his lips. The name causes your stomach to tighten, mouth-drying instantly as emotions well behind your eyes.

“Why?” Is all you can mutter out. Why was he giving it to you, why is he here, and why did he have it?

“You need to bring it back to him.” He says sternly, his eyes locked on you as he waits for you to look back at him. But you’re too focused on the umbrella placed gently in your hands, tracing your finger over every wire and the soft rubber handle.

“I can’t.” Your words come out in a whisper, breath light and airy as you sigh, sinking your body back into the couch cushions. Giving the umbrella back to Jisung will mean that you have to go see him. And if you see him, he’s going to want to talk to you about last night, then question you about why you haven’t been returning his texts. No. You will not be giving Jisung his umbrella back.

“Y/N,” your name leaves his mouth gently, a sigh following it before he reaches for you, rubbing your arm comfortingly before continuing, “I think you need to talk to him.”

“Felix you know I can’t do that.”

You’re serious in your words. Not that you don’t want to talk to Jisung. You most definitely want to – and if you could, you would. But you can’t. There are too many emotions involved. The wound is fresh and seeing him would be rubbing salt right into it.

“Y/N,” he sighs, this time more forceful, like he’s trying to get something across to you but it's going right over your head. “Talk to him. Please.”

“You know I’m going to end up hurt if I do.” Tears well in your eyes as the words croak from your throat. It's dry and scratchy, full of fear and anxiety.

“I think you’d be surprised,” he mumbles, his eyes instantly widening on realizing the words that just escaped. Eyes wide with confusion, you’re begging him to go on, but if he does then Jisung won’t be the only one in deep shit right now. It's not up to Felix to tell you what he knows this time. 

“What do you mean I’ll be surprised?”

“I have to go,” he stands instantly, motioning to the umbrella, “and you need to bring this back.”

With a slight ruffle to your hair, Felix is giving you a supporting smile and waving goodbye. And you’re left alone once again – just you and Jisung’s blue umbrella.

It takes a lot of courage to get ready today. You make sure to take your sweet time rummaging through your closet, flipping through articles of clothing for the better half of an hour. At the end, you opt to go with a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. There isn't enough energy in your body to put on anything else, and you know you’ll just want to curl back up in bed once you get home. Sweatpants are safe, and safe is just what you need.

No makeup today either. If things are anything like you’re expecting, your makeup will just end up ruined anyway. It's your better judgment to shower though, you’ve neglected to take one after work last night; opting to just bury yourself under your covers as soon as you got back. But today is a new day. And with a fresh shower and your comfiest pair of sweatpants, you are about as ready as you’ll ever be to get your heart broken into a billion pieces. 

Umbrella in hand, you step out onto your front steps, relishing in your last few moments of ignorant bliss before making your way to Jisung’s. You immediately regret your wardrobe decision as the sun beats down on your frame, the humidity making you feel sticky and gross – your favorite pants are  no match for this heat.

But you’re on your way to your destination anyway, the drive feeling longer and more drawn out than normal. Jisung didn’t live that far away from you, but the ride there still felt like an eternity with each theoretical scenario passing your mind. 

Dragging your feet, you make your way to the front steps of his house. You’ve been here a million times, but today is different. From now on, every time you drive past this place all you’ll know is heartache.

You brush yourself off, taking a deep breath before bringing your hand up and pushing the doorbell. The sudden ringing sound startles you, even though you have every indication that it’s coming – you’re just too nervous and jumpy for your own good.

Footsteps approach the door, your stomach tightening more and more with the muffled pitter-patter of footsteps. You’re praying to God that it’s his mom, hoping that Jisung just so happens to be out – even though his car is in plain sight parked just a few meters away from you. Wishful thinking, you suppose.

When the door to his house opens, you struggle to maintain your composure. He’s dressed similarly to you; a pair of sweats and an old sports t-shirt that has definitely seen better days.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

His eyes are sunken in, dark circles dragging underneath his eyes and his lips pulled downwards. He looks like a sad puppy, his dark hair all scruffy and sticking up in each direction – probably from him running his hands through it so many times. 

“I came to give you this,” you extend the umbrella out before you. He nods before taking hold of it, his hand far at the opposite end making sure not to keep his distance. The more you look at him, the more sorry you feel for dodging his texts. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink, and you’re afraid it’s all because of you.

“Oh...uh, thanks,” he struggles to make eye contact with you, looking down at the object in his hand. 

It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and you can’t seem to find the words to say to break this strange tension between the two of you. He’s acting weird, shifting his weight back and forth but not moving away to close the door. His mind is racing once again – contemplating whether or not to just invite you in or leave it at that.

But with every aching bone in his body, he musters up the courage to lift his head, looking you directly in the eyes. Their dark like his, definitely from the lack of sleep you had the night before. Your mouth is turned downward too; hands fiddling together to try and distract yourself.

“D-Do you wanna come in?” He stutters, stepping aside slowly as he gestures towards his house. He suddenly worries when you don’t respond right away, taking a second to contemplate if this is a good idea or not. Ripping off the band-aid is never easy, but it needs to be done.

“Sure,” is the word that you decide on – hoping that it doesn’t make you seem disinterested or too desperate to talk. Maybe he’s just being kind though. Maybe it’s an empty offer, something that you say when you’re trying to be nice, but subconsciously hope that they won’t take you up on it. Like when you offer to share your food with someone, but you’re really hungry. You do it to be nice, not because you actually want to split the delicious looking burger and fries on your plate.

He leads you inside and to his bedroom. It looks the same as always, but it feels different. It still smells like him though, the comforting woodsy scent of pine and mahogany that he always reaches for. But that comforting scent is anything but comfortable. You’re frozen in place, unsure if you should sit on his bed and make yourself at home, much like every other time in the past. For now you just stand in the doorframe, waiting for him to tell you to take a seat, just like any polite guest would. A guest. You have never felt like a guest in his home before, or around Jisung in general. But that imaginary wall between the two of you is standing tall and sturdy, and suddenly the two of you are reverted back to being strangers.

You watch as he toys with something on his desk, his fingers dancing from object to object and sifting through papers to look busy. The point of it – unknown to you but to him, he’s buying time. Trying to think of the first thing to say, what to ask, or if you even wanted to talk. Maybe you only agreed to come inside to be nice. Maybe you were too worried about hurting his feelings if you said no. But alas, here you are, standing awkwardly in his doorway as he shuffles around his room, his brain flooding with thoughts – but his mouth can not form them into audible words.

“I’m sorry for ignoring your texts.”

Your voice catches his attention, dropping whatever paper he’s looking at now and turning his gaze to you. You’re sunken into yourself, your chest thumping with anxiety as his eyes begin to wander your frame. Not in a ‘I’m checking you out’ manner though; more of a ‘you look so sad and I don’t know what to say to you right now’ kind of way. 

It’s true though, he doesn’t know what to say – which is why he’s staring at you, hoping the right words would just pop up and he didn’t have to use any brain-power at all. He doesn’t want to say ‘it's okay,’ because it's not. You never ignore his texts, and that alone tells him enough about what's going on. You are upset at him.

“What did I do wrong, Y/N?”

His words sound accusatory but his tone is soft, gentle and full of worry. Eyes swollen and looking like they are about to fill to the brim with tears, his sight is focused on you; now not able to look away.

“I-I don’t know…”

Your answer is honest. You don’t know if his intentions are dirty. Yeah, that’s what you thought initially, but looking at him with such hurt written all over his face tells a different story. 

Jisung is silent, unsure of what more he can do or say to make you talk to him. He can’t force you to open up, he never has and he never will – that’s always been his rule. Everything you’ve shared with him has been on your own terms and conditions. Jisung has always been here to be your listening ear, but he never prys.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice is soft, eyes full of sympathy as he holds himself together. Those were the words he has been looking for. Now the ball is in your court and you’ll have to be the one leading the conversation. It’s just what he needed to figure this shit out.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Y/N,” he sighs as he drops himself down onto the mattress, “I shouldn’t have to say this for you to know it, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

You do know that. You really, really do. But this time things are different. Is he expecting you to just come out and speak your truth like there won’t be consequences? No, he won’t push you to tell him anything you don’t want to. But the worry in his eyes and clammy hands are begging for you to just let it out so he can stop being in the dark.

You sigh out an ‘okay’ before sitting down beside him. 

Rip the band-aid off Y/N. Quick and painless.

His eyes narrow, almost to a squint, staring right through you in hopes of reading your thoughts. Your expression is nothing but blank as you try your best to gain some sort of composure. Do you just speak up and spill your guts? The words replay in your mind over and over until your thoughts are beat down and misshapen. 

You can picture his face when you say it; disgusted with a trace of disappointment and some confusion spread into the mix. Or maybe he’ll laugh at how pathetic you were, catching feelings for your fake boyfriend.

That’s it. There’s no way you can tell him. It would be much easier to just get up and leave. Tell him to pretend like none of this ever happened and that you needed some time to cool off. A few months maybe, or maybe you could just ghost him entirely. 

“Y/N?”

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your toxic thoughts, and his chocolate brown eyes bring you back down to earth. You can’t just leave him in the dust. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists. Things will be okay, right?

“Sorry, sorry,” you exhale deeply as you calm your thoughts; shifting the nasty scenarios out and accepting that whatever happens after this conversation is your fate. 

“Jisung, I-I guess I wasn’t expecting this boyfriend-girlfriend thing we’re doing to go like this.”

His brow quirks at your words, confusion riddling his expression as his eyes narrow. With a tilt of his head, he’s pushing you to continue, visibly riddled with your choice of words.

“Swear you’ll be honest when I ask you this?” You question him, your hand moving closer to his as you lean in slightly. He’s like a magnet, you can’t help yourself from moving closer; even though the proximity of the two of you is clouding your thoughts and you can feel your heart beginning to swell.

He nods in response to your question, his eyes full of concern as he waits for you to continue, “Why did you ask me to do this thing?”

He knows that a question like this was coming, only if he could have prepared for it. But he didn’t, so his throat is left dry and scratchy as his mouth opens, only to stutter a bit before closing it back up. No coherent thoughts or words are able to escape his lips, just nonsense mumbling that caught himself off guard.

With a deep breath, he closes his eyes, regaining his composure before he can face you again. He agreed to be honest, and if honesty is what you want, honesty is that you’ll get.

“I’m sorry.” That’s all that he can say. 

Oh no. This is exactly what you were expecting before you came here. He’s gonna tell you that he didn’t mean to mess with your emotions, that he felt you catching feelings and got carried away. That he’s sorry that he ruined your friendship and played you like a violin all at once.

“Me too.”

You don’t know why you’re apologizing, but you are. It feels wrong. Absolutely utterly, and undoubtedly wrong. Apologizing for your own feelings is not something that you are okay with. Especially when he made you fall for him like this. Okay so maybe thinking that is giving him too much power, but who the hell takes you out on dates for nearly 2 weeks straight just to laugh about it later. How can he expect you to not catch feelings for him? With his deep voice and fluffy hair that always hangs in front of his eyes, that little giggle he has when he finds something amusing. Everything about him was attractive. And you’ve fallen for it all. Hard.

“Wait, why are you sorry?”

A scoff escapes your mouth unintentionally, but it’s well deserved. “For being the idiot to fall for a guy that was playing her, I guess.”

You can’t look at him any longer, so your eyes fall to your lap, staring at your chipped nail polish and dirty fingernails instead of reading whatever dumb expression he has now. But if you just took a second to look up, you’d notice the widening of his eyes, how his fingers are beginning to shake and his mouth gape. 

“Wh-What?”

“Don’t make me say it again Jisung, I don’t feel like sounding stupid one more time.”

“No no I heard you, it's just,” his eyes slam shut, angry at himself that he let things get this far without keeping you in the loop. 

You’ve been telling him that you hate love for years now. After hearing it so many times, he’d just given up on the thought of you. Maybe if he said something before you went through all those shitty guys things could have been different. But he’s let this go on for far too long, and now you’re the one that was paying the price. 

“Y/N I have feelings for you.”

Your neck nearly breaks with how fast your head snaps up. He’s the one looking away now, his cheeks a bit rosy as he tries to hide himself. He isn’t doing a very good job though, his hair is only shadowing his eyes and you can clearly see the way he’s nervously chewing on his lip; a cute habit you have grown fond of these past couple of weeks.

If he didn’t look like he does right now, you’d assume he was messing around. But you know Jisung. You know his small little gestures and what they mean by now. You know when he’s being serious and when he’s telling a lie. He can look someone dead in the eye and lie to them, but when he tells the truth, he becomes shy and worried that he’s said the wrong thing. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask softly, gently reaching for his hand. The subtle contact makes him flinch, reacting by pulling your hand away. But his eyes meet your sympathetic ones, sparkling just like they always do, and he knows what he wants.

Jisung’s hand reaches back for yours, lacing his fingers through yours before giving your hand a light squeeze. “You hate relationships,” he chuckles lightly, the mood of the room instantly shifting as the laughter leaves his lips. 

“I hated the ones that weren’t with you,” you correct him, but your voice comes across as just a whisper. He’s close enough to hear though, a blushing grin forming on his face as you shyly look away. His heart flutters when he hears it, a million butterflies erupting in his tummy all at once.

“I hated the ones that weren’t with you too,” he coos, his eyes wide and sparkling as he looks at you with such adoration. 

Time moves in slow motion as his hand meets your cheek, your eyes look deeply into his chocolate ones as he moves in closer. As your eyelids flutter shut his tongue runs across his bottom lip, wetting the surface before closing the distance between you. Finally.

And in that moment you’re at peace. Everything you thought you’ve ever hated, love, relationships, and maybe Jisung for a hot second, are the only things that you long for. The 14 days don’t have to be over, and your days no longer have to be counted. When you’re with Jisung you’re happy, you’re comfortable, and you're confident that he can give you what you have always deserved – but have never gotten. 

His lips move against yours in slow, languid motions, his large hands holding you close like he’s holding on for dear life. But you won’t leave even if you want to, not now, not after all this. 

Slowly, Jisung shifts his weight and you move in succession. He’s laying you down on his bed, gently climbing over you without breaking the kiss. Things are becoming more heated now, you can feel it as his hungry lips devour your own. Your chest heaves up to meet his, your back arching off the mattress as his hands begin to scour your body. The heat pooling in between your legs is growing, an aching sensation overwhelming your core as your own hands reach up to rake through his long, fluffy hair. And you can tell he wants you too, the thin fabric of his sweatpants doing little to conceal the growing erection pressing against your thigh. 

You can’t help but let out a steep moan as his hips begin to grind into yours. Needy groans fall past his lips and onto yours as you roll your hips upwards to meet his small ruts. 

In a leisurely motion, Jisung’s body is moving upwards, his knee finding a place between your legs as he brings himself up to a kneeling position. You chase his lips the entire way there, sitting up straight to be sure the contact doesn’t vanish, too consumed by your need for him to leave his lips.

And then his needy hands are running along the waistband of your sweats, fiddling with the tie before breaking your heated kiss. “Is this okay?” His words come out in a whisper, his eyes searching yours for any signs of doubt, but all he sees is lust.

“Yes,” you confirm, out of breath from making-out for so long without coming up for air. The lightheaded feeling taking over you goes unnoticed though, and quite frankly you’re too caught up in Jisung to care.

Quickly, he rids you of your pants, looking back up at you for confirmation about your underwear. With an affirmative nod he’s removing those too, leaving you completely bare from the waist down as he stands over you fully clothed.

But soon he’s ridding himself of his own clothing, his shirt being pulled at the nape of his neck as he discards it across the room. He’s leaning back down to you, hungry for the feeling of your lips. He misses it, even though it's been less than a minute since he’s last felt your smooth lips on his. 

You won’t open your eyes to see, but with the shuffling movements and shaky connection between your mouths you can tell Jisung is stripping himself of any remaining clothing he has on. He’s needy, unable to wait any longer to get down to business, he’s already waited long enough.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss this time, too curious to see what he’s sporting down below for your own good. But you are not disappointed once you see it – he’s long and girthy; the pigment a shade or two darker from his skin tone than the rest of his body.  Your thoughts are wandering, wondering what it's like to have him inside of you; dreaming about what he feels like. Arousal pools at your core, mouth salivating as your daydreams linger.

“Like what you see?” Jisung chuckles. You barely notice that you’ve been staring, eyes wide and focused on the hardened dick before you, which is probably a bit uncomfortable for him. 

“Sorry!” You cringe at yourself lightly, covering your eyes in embarrassment in fear that you just ruined the mood you’ve worked too hard to create.

“Don’t apologise,” he smiles as he grabs your wrists, moving them away from your round eyes. Scrunching your nose in displeasure, you catch your lip in between your teeth, mentally face palming at how weird you’re being.

He couldn’t blame you though, it was taking everything in him not to gawk at you. It was the first time you’ve seen eachother naked. Bathing suits did little for your imagination, not that you had even thought about Jisung this way before.

But he eases your nerves by coming down face level with you, reaching for your shirt and pulling it up over your head. You look at him with wide eyes, taking in each part of him as he caresses your body gently. He’s in awe of you like this. So relieved that you’re finally his, that he has you like this.

Nimble fingers dance down your body, landing at your core as he runs one up your slit, collecting your arousal on his fingertip. An impressed smirk grows slowly on his face, “I can’t believe you’re this wet already,” he hums. “All for me.” 

His eyes remain focused on your center, devouring it with his eyes as his hands hold steady on your thighs. You can’t help but grow slightly embarrassed, dripping with arousal so early on though he’s barely touched you. A lump forms in your throat causing you to swallow thickly – this doesn’t go unnoticed by Jisung.

A concerned expression crosses his face, brow furrowing as he moves his hands upward to settle on your waist. “Hey,” his voice is soft, gentle and full of worry, “everything okay?” 

“Just nervous,” you answer, a fake smile showing on your face to try and combat your own emotions.

It is no secret that Jisung is a bit more experienced than you are in bed. He knows that, you know that, and that is enough to turn you into a nervous wreck. Leave it to your own thoughts to ruin the moment.

“We don’t have to…”

“No!” Your voice comes out a little too eager, a bit loud, shocking Jisung. His eyes widen in response, body jolting from the impact of your tone. “No,” you say more gently this time, “I want to.”

You did want to – you just have to get over your own nerves first. Lucily, Jisung didn’t mind and was willing to guide you through it.

With a reassuring smile plastered across his face, he laces his fingers through yours. As you lock eyes, you nod him onward, giving him the go-ahead to continue. He moves languidly, his fingers moving back down to trace your slit once more. The sensation makes you tense, the nerves tingling through your body making it difficult for you to calm down. 

But with a reassuring squeeze of his hand to yours, you’re taking a deep breath. Closing your eyes as you lie your head backwards onto his pillowcase. The smell of him consumes you, relaxing you effectively as his fingers meet the entrance of your core.

Shivers run through your body as he dips one finger inside. Your arousal acts as a natural lube, letting his finger glide gracefully into you. You gasp at the sensation, eyes rolling back into your head as he begins caressing your walls. His finger moves swiftly in and out of your core, his other hand still locked with yours to guide you through.

With your body finally relaxing, Jisung is able to add another finger into the mix. The extra pressure makes you shudder for a moment, taking a little to adjust to the greater size inside of you. Thankfully the mild discomfort subsides, and he’s able to pump his fingers in and out once more. 

He’s making sure to watch each of your expressions, growing harder and harder just from watching your face contort in bliss. With each of his movements you bite down harder onto your lip, focusing on him and him only. 

“You’re doing so well,” he praises as his thumb rubs circles over your hand soothing you. You can feel your heart swell at his words, heat beginning to rise to your cheeks. 

In one swift motion, Jisung begins to separate his fingers, stretching your walls as his digits move in scissor-like motions inside you. “Fuck,” you mumble, hips jutting forward in reaction. 

A steep moan leaving your lips as he brings his fingers back together, just to extend them once more. Your body is quickly getting used to the pressure, begging for more as you roll your hips.

He can sense that you’re eager from your movements alone. With one final squeeze, his hand is leaving yours. The empty feeling in your palm is unpleasant. But once you open your eyes and notice he’s using it to palm himself, his fingers groping around his length and beginning to pump slowly, that empty feeling is replaced with something else. 

Your mouth salivates with desire, hungry for the feeling of him inside of you. He’s aroused you enough, and you’re too eager to feel him for your own good.

“Jisung,” you moan, “fuck me please.”

His cock jumps in reaction to your words, his chest heaving as his breath catches in his throat. Never in his life did he expect to hear those words come out of your mouth – but he wouldn't mind hearing it again.

“Hmm?” He hums, knowing damn well what you said but being greedy enough to pretend that he didn’t. You whine in response, your legs shaking on the bed in a mini temper-tantrum.

“Please,” you drag out, “please fuck me.”

Your words are music to his ears. He removes his fingers from your dripping cunt, grabbing the backs of your knees to pull you closer to him and hike your legs up over his hips.

“Anything for you.”

Complying to your wish, he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. The feeling of his smooth head against your core is enough to make you moan, your head thrown back to expose the soft skin of your neck.

Jisung takes this as an opportunity to leave his own mark behind, leaning down to attach his lips to your skin. You gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his plump lips sucking harshly before his tongue is swiping over the area to soothe it. 

But your eyes open once he’s beginning to pull away to look at you. His eyes are dark, full of lust mixed with adoration, a sigh of relief leaving his chest as he gazes down at you under him. There’s a lot going on in his head right now. Of all the emotions swirling around, the thing he’s most focused on is how lucky he is to have you.

And before you know it, he’s leaning down. Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, making you smile. One more kiss is left on your forehead before he's pulling back, securing the position of your legs on his hips. 

And then he’s realigning himself with your core, pushing past your entrance and slowly descending into the depths of your pussy. He’s moving slowly, taking his time as he thrusts into you. The delicious stretch is unfamiliar, but it's not uncomfortable – like you were made just for him. A simultaneous groan leaves your lips as he bottoms out, the tip of his cock pressing deep into you on a spot that’s gone untouched. 

He hums a sigh of contempt before pulling back, only to rock his hips into you once again. Your velvety walls welcome him delightedly, soft whimpers leaving your lips once he bottoms out again.

“Y/N,” your name leaves his lips in a low grunt, the bones of his pelvis driving into your skin as he begins to pick up his pace. In reaction you clench down on him, orgasm beginning to loom overhead with each movement of his hips.

Desire fills your senses as you roll your hips over to meet his thrusts. His movements are slow and intentional, making sure to bottom out each time to watch you squirm over his dick. He loves how your jaw drops each time his tip presses against your g-spot, knowing just when he hits it each time.

Jisung’s teeth are barred, sweat gathering at his brow as his dark fluffy hair sticks to his face. He’s trying to hold himself back, the overwhelming urge to finish just in reach, but he doesn’t want to stop. So his hands roam your body to try and distract him, his palms caressing up the sides of your torso as your back bridges into him. The feeling of hot breath fans over your face with each sigh he lets out. 

But the tightening knot in your stomach is threatening to snap with every movement of his hips. It's getting harder and harder to hold on with the power of his thrusts growing stronger.

“Jisung,” you whine, “so close” your hands find his back, fingernails dragging down his spine in attempts to ground yourself. Jisung’s face contorts as your nails pierce his skin, leaving lines of red scratches down the length of his posterior.

The stretch from his length and his rhythmic motions sends your senses into overdrive. Squeezing your eyes shut and grasping onto the sheets underneath you, you can taste the brink of your orgasm. Jisung is focused; his grip on your thighs strong and his face contorted with bliss. But all you can think about is how stupid you could have been if you had decided to just cut him out. What matters is that you’re here with him now, and the thought of that is enough to push you over the edge. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, stomach twisting and turning as your pussy throbs repeatedly around his member. Emotions running high, three words almost slip past your lips, but with the small amount of strength you can muster up, you hold them back. Another time, some time that isn't so lust filled like this one.

Jisung’s thrusts are growing sloppy. His grip on your legs tightening as his lip is caught between his teeth. And with just a few quick thrusts, he’s coming undone inside of you. White, hot spurts of cum paint your walls, filling you up and making you feel so unbelievably full. 

You’ve always felt close to Jisung – he knew everything about you and vice versa; but this time was different. The way his hands settled on your legs, bringing them down gently after finishing. How his eyes are becoming so soft as he looks at you, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. You’ve never felt closer to Jisung as you do in the moment. As his body collapses next to yours, pulling you in and holding you close as you recover from your highs, you’re completely at peace.

“Sorry I got carried away, I guess I should have asked if you’re on birth control still,” he laughs, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I am,” you chuckle alongside him.

Your naked bodies tangle together, his leg weaving its way through yours to be as close to you as possible. He’s intoxicated by you, closing his eyes as he rests against your body in complete bliss. Now that he has you this close he never wants to let go; and neither do you.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice is soft, whisper like but still holding confidence; his tone never falters.

“Anything.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

Butterflies erupt in your tummy, your heart thudding in your chest as heat rises to your cheeks. He loves you. It's not that friendship kind of love anymore; it's the relationship kind. The same kind that makes your heart skip a beat and body riddle with every emotion in the book. The kind that keeps you up all night thinking about – but also helps you fall asleep, knowing he’ll be there in the morning.

And all of a sudden it seems so stupid that you were fighting those words back in the heat of the moment just a few minutes ago. He felt it too, you always knew that.

“I love you, Jisung.”

Being in love is a dumb concept. All guys suck, relationships are stupid and love is a social construct that you didn’t feel like conforming to. There was absolutely no one that you would waste your time on, until Jisung came around. What you had been looking for your entire life has always been right infront of your eyes – you were just too dumb to see it.

Maybe love is alright, after all.

‘Perfect Score’ is copyright 2020-2021 @chaangbin, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

↠ A/N this fic has been rewritten/reconcepted from my previous BTS fic Crush Culture.

[loosenedidylls]

Blessings, Curses, Autism

My earliest memories are of waiting rooms with musty carpets and buckets of donated, broken toys. I guess it was worse for my parents, who had nothing to stare at but walls and trashy lifestyle magazines. Eventually, the professionals decided I had a condition called Asperger’s Syndrome, and there was one thing they wanted me to understand:

“It’s a blessing, not a curse.”

If someone asked me to list blessings off the top of my head, I’d mention 20/20 vision, pitch-perfect hearing, or George Foreman’s chin — not a neurological disorder that transforms the most natural stages of personal development into a confusing struggle. In hindsight, I would have preferred more concrete advice than ‘it’s a blessing, not a curse.’ Something like:

“Watch out for the train!”

…But the quippy slogan is what stuck. My parents dispensed it like a cheap plaster, and I still don’t know whose benefit it was for — mine, or theirs. What I do know, is that I never once believed them: I felt I was being brushed aside, or told to accept something blatantly untrue. Besides, children don’t care to question whether they’re blessed or cursed, so it was an answer to a question that hadn’t been asked. Existentialism is for adults trying to make the best of a bad situation.

Being an Autistic Child.

Autism is not a superpower. Thanks to certain pieces of popular media, you might think of autistic people as quirky-yet-brilliant detectives, awkward-yet-sexy hackers (always female), or nonverbal children with a deep, instinctive connection to whatever animal or alien the protagonists are trying to communicate with. Often, people with severe autism are plot devices in the same vein as a forbidden orb or set of nuclear launch codes. Instead of damsels waiting for Bruce Willis to save them, they’re objects waiting for Bruce Willis to understand them.

A lot of autistic people are brilliant academically, though not for the reasons you might think. A common feature of autism is hyper-fixating on ‘special interests’, obsessing over a subject until one has learned everything about it, before moving on to the next. Very few people become maths geniuses this way; more often they become diehard Sonic fans or start giving lots of money to Games Workshop. Here are a few of the phases I went through:

-          Thomas the Tank Engine.

-          Pokémon.

-          Old English monster myths.

-          Naruto.

-          Peter Jackson’s King Kong (both the movie and the video game).

-          Bleach (the anime, thankfully, not the cleaning product).

Fairly normal interests for a young person, right? Now remember the hyper-fixation part. People with Asperger’s tend to focus on certain interests at the expense of others, and those ‘rejected interests’ are usually vital for social development. Now remember that high school is a psychopathic hellscape crawling with cruel little monsters ready to vent their newfound territorial instincts on anyone who doesn’t fit in. The kid who wants to discuss the depiction of brontosauruses in a sort-of-okay remake of a 1933 movie isn’t doing himself any favours — constant bullying drives him even deeper into reclusive interests and solitary hobbies, and from there, it’s the luck of the draw whether those hobbies resonate with any of the kids around him.

I’ve always known a lot about things no one knows about, and nothing about things everyone knows about. This, along with the fact that a lack of social life makes it easy to focus on one’s studies, creates the illusion that some autistic kids are eccentric geniuses-in-the-making. Parents — especially the parents of autistic children — are quick to latch onto any display of intelligence. They watch intently for any sign their long struggle is paying off, and when it happens, they praise their child endlessly, reinforcing behaviour patterns both good and bad. Because adults told me I was intelligent, I told other children I was intelligent, and you can imagine how well that went.

This misapprehension — confusing a bunch of random trivia for genius — followed me into high school, hurting me all the while, which is ironic, because it was the only positive way I could think about myself.

I’m lucky to have found books and writing as lifelong passions, but that almost didn’t happen; in fact, I used to despise any writing task the teacher set for me, to the point of outright refusing to do the work. In my defence, I was trying very hard to be somewhere else at the time — mentally, that is. The idea of putting my feelings on paper, for all to see? I couldn’t conceive of anything more terrifying.

Harry Potter changed things. I was gifted The Deathly Hallows when it was first published, and even though I had no idea what was going on in the story (I hadn’t even seen The Order of the Phoenix yet), I thought it was wonderful — maybe because I was getting a sneak peek into a future movie. Since then, I’ve always had a book close at hand, and it wasn’t long before I started writing my own novels (more on those another time).

 Voracious reading was, technically, another un-social activity that would consume my waking hours, but at least it was productive. My grades improved dramatically. I got good at writing essays. I became better at expressing myself, and I started to consider other people’s points of view. I made friends, lifelong bonds. I wouldn’t say I was happy at that stage of life — bullies tend to push back against things like improved mental health — but at least I was growing.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder how close I came to disaster. I was 13 or so. If I’d left it any later, I doubt the outcome would have been so peachy. There are plenty of autistic adults with no friends, no employable skills, no human contact but ageing parents and rare, fleeting therapy sessions. Many of these people are quirky and brilliant, but there’s no happy ending for them.

Being an Autistic Adult.

Autism never goes away. It never gets ‘better’. It isn’t curable because it’s not a disease, despite what the vaccine deniers might tell you; autism is an intrinsic part of my neurological makeup, and living with it is a process of compromises.

I had to accept, early on, that I’m not the same sort of human being as the people around me. My brain is a different brand of brain: it makes different connections, processes different bits of data at different speeds. Things that seem obvious to you, need to be explained to me. I struggle to read a room, and I’m never quite sure if the person I’m talking to would really rather I shut up.

Put simply, my childhood experiences made me keenly aware of myself as an outsider. I need to watch for people’s reactions to anything I say or do, all the while navigating a maze of social cues and left-unsaids — but sooner or later, I’m always going to slip up. When you are differently-brained, it’s easy to misinterpret instructions, or to misjudge which thread of discussion is most important; and when you’re processing so much data at any one time, small-yet-vital points are going to slip under the radar. The result is being told off, being laughed at (‘laughing with you, not at you’ is another fun slogan I’ve learned to endure), and generally feeling stupid or useless for overlooking one point of data among hundreds.

 As I grew into an adult, I got better at performing normal. Nowadays, only those who spend a lot of time around me can spot the signs of my condition: I seem confident, funny, sympathetic, and I make friends easily. As I write this, I can’t help but feel uneasy: it makes me wonder, and not for the first time, how much of my personality is genuine. In high-stress situations, the generic piece of advice is ‘relax and be yourself.’ Succeeding in life as an autistic person means learning not to be yourself, or at least creating a version of yourself that can exist in public — so, where does the real me end, and the performance begin? Are they one and the same? I’ll never know the answer to that question.

Being an autistic adult, then, means pretending I’m not autistic for the benefit of other people. It’s a lifelong, often exhausting performance, and the temptation to retreat into my shell is ever present. But, just like anyone else, I long for human contact, so the compromise is a necessary one.

Blessings & Curses: Redux.

Terry Pratchett wrote that humans need to learn to believe the little lies so they can believe in big ones. There’s something I wish I knew during the bad years; that I was far from the only person suffering from my condition. My parents were stumbling in the dark just like me, except they had to pretend everything was under control.

My dad confided in me, recently, how he used to cry — a lot — during those days when I would return from school after another worst day of my life, talking about footballs thrown at my head, being cornered and verbally abused, or being removed from class after another tantrum. These were practically daily occurrences, and they’ve left their lifelong marks on me, but I’ve never lacked for brilliant people willing to help, people who were alongside me in my suffering. Raising a child is hard, and raising a neurodivergent child is even harder. Can I blame my parents for wanting to believe in blessings, and not curses?

Most of the time, those bad years seem like a distant memory. I don’t see autism as my blessing or my curse; it’s just a part of me — a frustrating, limiting, often embarrassing part of me, but one just as vital as my eye colour or ethnicity. I’ve come to accept it and be content despite it, and I suppose that’s the best outcome I could hope for.

[hiddendreamer67]

“What do you want me to say?” with my homie Quill Thornton

Quill is off on one of many trading expeditions, and he comes across the legend of the ‘brownie’- a little creature that lives in human homes. Immediately Quill grows curious about these secretive beings.

Or, part 1 of Quill accidentally makes a new best friend. 

——————————————————————————————-

“There you are, Mr. Harrington.” Quill nodded to himself, unloading the last crate of furs. “40 of ‘em to my count, but by all means don’t take me at my word.”

“Oh, you’re too modest, Quill.” Harrington gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’re all there, you haven’t done me dirty yet. And I must say, I appreciate ‘ya making the trek this far north.”

“Aw, it’s nothing, honest!” Quill assured him. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“And a hearty good job of it, too.” Mr. Harrington peered at the horizon, where the sun was steadily sinking, the sunbeams all but fading completely. “Seems the day has a way of slipping away from us. Tell you what, how about you stay the night? I’d rather you were well-rested for the journey ahead.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, sir.” Quill politely declined. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, son!” Harrington wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “No trouble at all, you can just wheel your cart into the spare barn at the back of the lot. We can set you up with a few blankets from the house, I can even send Alice out with ‘em, so long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Quill gave an uncomfortable laugh. It was a common occurrence for common folk to try and set him up with their daughters, and while Quill was flattered on principle it was hardly proper to play with their emotions. Quill wasn’t ready to settle down and court a lady, not when the open road was still calling his name. He loved helping around the homestead and supporting his family, but whenever he thought about a homestead of his own Quill couldn’t picture it. Not now, at any rate.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Quill shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m making advances on your daughter. But I will take the barn, if you’re certain.”

“I’m certain.” Harrington left no room for debate, guiding Quill around the house. He pointed to an older structure, just beyond the first field. “You see there? Should be unlocked, just slide the bolt.”

That seemed a bit careless, but Quill wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded in thanks, guiding Velvet the Mare back towards the stable. Quill unlatched the entryway, peering in to see the moon peeking through the rafters. A few cattle gazed back at him with a bored expression from their pens.

“Evening, ladies.” Quill chucked, unlatching Velvet and guiding her into a spare stall at the end of the way. The cart fit neatly between the rows with room to spare, and Quill got situated with a few blankets of his own. He was well-prepped for travel, having left home with the intention of being gone a few weeks. 

Quill paused, hearing a shuffling in the rafters. Huh. It seemed the Harringtons must have mice in their barn. A quick glance around revealed there was no farm cat present, but no matter. Quill didn’t mind mice so long as they weren’t causing a problem. Hopefully they’d stay out of his food stores.

Satisfied with his work, Quill crawled into his cart and fell asleep. The night passed with no remarkable incident, and indeed Quill woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested for someone who spent the night in a cart.

A knocking came at the barn door, and a moment later a young familiar face peered in. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Alice greeted, coming inside. A bucket was held in her hand. “Did the girls give you any trouble?”

“Hmm?” Quill glanced again at the cows, who all seemed to perk up at Alice’s appearance. “Oh, no. We had a lovely evening together.”

“With words like that you’ll make a woman jealous.” Alice teased, opening the gate to have access to the first cow. “Don’t mind me, it’s time for their daily milking. Else Bell here wouldn’t be so pleasant, would you, girl?” A slow blink was the only response. Alice chuckled, carefully getting settled in on a stool.

“Do you need a hand?” Quill offered. “I would certainly be willing, especially after your father was so kind as to open his home to me.” 

“The barn’s hardly our home.” Alice gave him a smile. “And you needn’t worry yourself about helping lil’ ol’ me with my morning chores, I won’t be a moment.”

“All the same, it feels rude to leave you to your task alone.” Quill admitted. “Are you certain there’s nothing I can do to repay your family’s kindness?” 

“Oh, you’re already a right joy and delight, Quill Thornton.” Alice assured him. “You keeping those trade lines open for us is more than enough, at least in father’s eyes. Go on, get Velvet all settled in, you’ll want to get a move on while the day is bright.”

“If you’re certain.” Quill finally relented, heading to Velvet’s stall with only a slight guilt in his heart. He opened the gate, surprised to see Velvet had been groomed. “Now wait a moment, did you sneak in here last night?”

“Hmm?” Alice frowned. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Quill, but-”

“No, no!” Quill hastily corrected. “It’s just- Velvet. Her mane’s been brushed.” The proud creature gave a happy whinny, clearly happy to be noticed.

“No, it wasn’t me.” Alice was thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe it was the spirits.” 

At first, Quill thought she must be teasing him again, but peering over the stall walls Alice appeared to be serious. “Come again?”

“The brownies?” Alice offered, looking at him as though he were the mad one. “Our farm has at least one or two for certain. They must have taken a liking to you and your horse.”

Quill frowned, feeling as though he was missing some very important information. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with those. What exactly is a ‘brownie’?”

“What, you don’t have brownies down south?” Alice looked surprised. “Why, everyone around here would be lost without them! They’re little household creatures that will help you with chores and the like. Sometimes they’ll give gifts, too. You have to leave out food for them so they’ll stay, and you mustn’t offend them, but if they like you enough they’ll stay and bless the harvest.”

“And how big are these little brownies?” Quill asked, leading Velvet slowly out of the stall.

Alice hummed, contemplative. “About the size of a palm, I’d say. It’s hard to tell; not many people have seen a brownie. If you try and watch them at their work they’ll be offended.”

At this, Quill couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “See, now I know you’re pulling my leg.” 

“Am not!” Alice looked offended at his statement, tossing down a rag she had been using to clean up Bell.

“My apologies, m’lady, it’s just- well, look.” Quill gestured to Velvet. “You’re telling me a lil’ thing like that was able to give Velvet a good brushing? Why half the time even I can’t get her to cooperate.”

“They’re magic.” Alice insisted, standing up to move on to Poblano. “And don’t you go spouting off and scaring ours away now, Quill. I’m certain you’ve got your own collection of unexplained events back home, brownies or no.”

Well, thinking back to the recent magical events occurring in the forest behind his house, Quill couldn’t exactly disagree.

“You’re right, Alice.” Quill relented, leading Velvet to the cart and beginning to hook it up. “I apologize for any offense I caused.”

Alice snorted, glancing at the rafters. “I’m not the one who will be looking for an apology.”

Quill paused, wondering for a moment if this was truly happening. It was. He turned to the rafters as well, trying to figure out what exactly to say. “I apologize for any offense!” Quill announced loudly. “I imagine you’re quite real, for if you’re not I imagine I’d look quite ridiculous right now.” He was silent for just a moment, feeling foolish for expecting a response. “…I think I’m going to take my leave now.”

Alice burst out laughing, her hands around her waist as she fought for breath. “Quill Thornton, you really have the darndest way of addressing the magic folk.”

Quill turned a bit red, turning to her with an exasperated expression. “It runs in the family, I suppose.”

“That’s- that’s not how you apologize to a brownie.” Alice said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What do you want me to say?” Quill asked, wishing he could be mad at her but finding her mirth contagious.

“You don’t say anything.” Alice stood with a smile, wiping a tear from her eye. “You give a gift.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Quill tilted his head, only used to the dangerous tales of trickery associated with the fae back home.

“…what?” Alice looked at him as though he were alien. “What’s so dangerous about leaving out some milk?” 

“I suppose you’ve never met a fae.” Quill glanced around. “I don’t suppose I could barter for any milk, in that case?” 

Alice nodded. “You’ll want some honey as well. There should be some in the house, I imagine mother would be more than willing to make a trade, especially if she knows it’s for our brownies. She’s quite fond of them.”

Still not fully understanding what all the fuss was about but not wanting to offend one of his consistent trade partners, Quill found himself standing on Harrington’s doorstep ready to ask for some milk and honey. Before he could get a word out, however, Harrington ushered him in.

“Ah, Quill, I’ve got a spot of bad news for you.” Mr. Harrington’s expression was a bit grim. “Last night, a tree toppled over the southern path. The bridge is blocked.”

Quill internalized a groan. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m afraid not, son.” Harrington scratched at his beard. “Just got wind of it myself. The thing’s massive, a wonder it didn’t do more damage. The men are heading down to chop it to pieces, but it looks to be a few days before anyone’s going anywhere.”

A few days? Quill let out a frustrated sigh, knowing there was nothing to be done about it but hating to be tardy when his family was counting on him.

“Hey.” Mr. Harrington put a hand on his shoulder. “Quill, I owe you an apology. If I hadn’t insisted on you spending the evening here, you’d be well on your way.”

“There was no way of you knowing.” Quill easily forgave him. “I can’t fault you for your hospitality.”

“Then allow me to offer it for a few nights more.” Harrington decided. “The barn is yours until the path is clear.”

“Sir, that’s a generous offer.” Quill smiled in gratitude. “I’d be most grateful, but I must insist I do something for you in return.”

“Go help the others down by the bridge clearing the way.” Harrington instructed. “I’m sure they’d want me to send an able-bodied man, and then I can still attend to my own duties. That’ll be help a’plenty.”

Quill decided this to be a fair enough trade, returning Velvet back to the barn. She gave a soft whinny, clearly not eager to be locked up all day, and Alice offered to watch her in the pastures while Quill got to work. Once that affair was settled, Quill headed down the path, a borrowed lumber axe in hand. He got to work under the instruction of a large burly man who might’ve been part tree himself for his imposing stature and aged complexion. It was hard work, and even after working diligently all day Quill tried not to feel disheartened when they had barely made a dent.

“How was it?” Alice asked, waiting outside the barn for him.

“It has to be done.” Quill gave a small shrug. “What’s that for?” 

“This?” Alice glanced down at the bowl of milk and honey in her hands. “It’s for the brownie, remember? Did you really forget already?”

Oh. To be perfectly honest, yes he had. “Of course I didn’t.” Quill assured her, taking the bowl. 

“Set it out where they’ll see it.” Alice instructed. “They like a hearth, but since it’s the barn, perhaps the workbench will do.”

“Naturally.” Quill, despite being exhausted, gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Alice.” Satisfied with the gratitude, Alice returned the smile and trekked back to the house. 

Quill sighed, heading into the barn where Velvet was already placed in the stall. He set the milk and honey mixture on the workbench as Alice had mentioned. “This is for you.” Quill called out, once again feeling a bit silly as he got comfortable in the cart. He didn’t change out of his work clothes, feeling too tired to do so. That, and once the idea of being watched was planted in his head Quill just didn’t feel right changing. He chuckled, staring up at the rafters. “Guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet.” He paused. “I hope I’m not terrible company.”

Quill listened for a while, imagining he saw a small shadow running along the ceiling. He tried to track the figure’s movements, but in a blink the shadow disappeared entirely. He sighed.

“I also hope I’m not just seeing things.” Quill brushed his hair back. “Sorry, I’ve been told I talk people’s ears off when I’m tired, and today was quite exhausting.” Quill bit back a yawn, sparing a glance at the worktable. “I assume you’ll find the milk and honey to your liking, if that is what you drink. I’ve never tried it myself, but I imagine it’d be quite sweet…” 

Quill blinked, rubbing at his eyes. At this point it was obvious he was just talking to himself, or rather any mythical guests were not keen to indulge him in conversation. He settled into his blankets and tried not to be so disappointed. 

With how tired he felt, Quill was surprised when he didn’t immediately fall asleep. It seemed that his curiosity outranked his exhaustion. Without meaning to Quill found himself lying awake far into the night, waiting for … something.

And then, it happened.

It started with the same shuffling from the night before. A whoosh followed, as if a pulley failed and the bucket was plummeting rapidly. Quill braced for the sound of a crash, but all that came was a nearly inaudible thud. 

Did he dare to peek? Had Alice warned against that? Perhaps there had been a clause about not spying, but Quill had come so far now, and it was hardly his barn in the first place. Surely the brownie would understand.

Thus decided, Quill opened his eyes, staying absolutely still as he adjusted to the darkness. It seemed he had neglected to close the barn door all the way as some moonlight came pouring in, illuminating the workbench. The milk and honey mixture sat in the center of the glow. And there, standing over the edge was a tiny humanoid figure, surely no taller than a few inches, dressed all in makeshift rags and furs. From here, Quill couldn’t make out any more details.

“…Oh.” Quill whispered, unable to stop himself in his awe.

The creature jumped, staring at him with wide terrified eyes. It dropped its hands, milk dribbling back into the dish.

“Oh, go on!” Quill assured, sitting up and startling it into taking several steps back. “Oh, ah, sorry. It’s for you.” 

Despite Quill’s reassurance, it made no move towards the bowl, and its eyes were darting around now like a prey animal desperate for escape. Quill winced, not used to having the upper hand on a magical entity. He knew a thing or two about frightened animals, though.

“I know you’re not supposed to be seen.” Quill admitted. “But I don’t actually live here, so… I think you should be fine. Please don’t leave, Alice will surely have my hide. Unless there’s more of you here helping out. You are a brownie, aren’t you?”

Quill paused, realizing he didn’t actually know if the creature could understand his words. It certainly wasn’t eager to tell Quill anything, that much was clear as it folded further in on itself.

“Oh dear.” Quill sighed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, lil’ fella. I was just curious. Alice was singing your praises all morning. And you did a right good job with Velvet, I don’t know how or if that was even you but she and I both appreciate that.” Quill jabbed his thumb back towards Velvet’s pen. “That’s Velvet, by the way. She’s my horse. Well, not my horse, she’s on loan on account of business. You know how it is.”

Based on the blank look on the brownie’s face, they did not, in fact, “know how it is”. That being said, when Quill mentioned Velvet it could have been his hopeful imagination but the brownie looked a little less like he was going to throw himself off the workbench at any moment.

Quill shifted, itching to get up and go investigate. “Alright, I’m gonna stand up now, okay?”

That got a reaction. The brownie hastily threw its head back and forth, very clearly shaking in a ‘NO’ gesture. 

“No?” Quill blinked, surprised by the response. “So you can understand me, can’t you?”

The brownie didn’t respond, and Quill tried not to take it personally. 

“My name’s Quill.” Quill introduced himself. “What’s your name? Er, I mean, what may I call you?” Still no response. “What, cat got your tongue?”

At the mention of ‘cat’, the brownie jumped about a foot into the air, and Quill hissed in sympathy. “Oof, sorry, poor choice of words. I’m not used to dealing with little folk. Well, littler folk, I suppose most people tend to be shorter than me…” Quill rubbed the back of his neck. “Boy, I sure am running my mouth a lot, aren’t I?”

Slowly, the brownie gave a tentative nod, and Quill chuckled at the sight. He couldn’t tell with the shadows cast by the brownie’s hood, but Quill imagined the brownie was smiling along with him.

Unfortunately, the magic of the moment couldn’t last forever. Quill hid a yawn behind his hand, once again reminded of his lack of sleep. The brownie began to shift from foot to foot, looking ready to dart off at a moment’s notice. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your work.” Quill relented, realizing that he had to let the little fella go. “Will I see you again? I’m stuck here ‘til the road clears.”

The unrelenting stare of the brownie offered no insight. Instead, it made a small shooing gesture with its hand, and Quill realized it wasn’t going anywhere until Quill at least pretended to go back to sleep.

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe’.” Quill answered himself, laying back in the cart and closing his eyes. Immediately he heard the telltale erratic shuffling of the borrower racing about, but this time he didn’t peek. “Goodnight, little brownie.”

———————————————–

Welcome to the world my mute brownie, currently unnamed! Aren’t they a gem? Real excited for them to get closer w/ Quill, though I ran outta steam with this go at it so I’m waiting for some more prompts for these two. (I’ll reblog another list in a min.)

Oh shoutout to @delimeful for helping me name the animals. XD So far I only showed the tame cow names but they’re all peppers.

And lil’ bit of worldbuilding for those interested because I find it interesting, this takes place pre-Cam (or at least Quill knowing about Cam) but post the forest becoming magical & dangerous. And also this northern town is near the giant lands, hence why the tree blocking the path is so incredibly massive and hard to deal with. 

[eldritchsurveys]

641.

Would you convert to a different religion if your fiancé/fiancée was of a different faith? >> Fortunately, this was never an issue. Even if she did have a religion, there’s no obligation for me to share it. I tend to be the one interested in religions (although the jury’s still out on whether I’d ever actually feel comfortable adopting one).

The world is ending, and you can save one group of five people: who would be the five people that you save? >> First of all, if the “world is ending”, then I do not want to be stuck as one of the six humans left to deal with the aftermath and trying to survive in an inhospitable landscape. Also, this is just way too implausible a situation for me to take seriously.

Is happiness a delusion? Is happiness only real when shared? Why or why not? >>The idealisation of happiness is a bit delusional, I guess, but it’s a shared, social delusion -- just look at all the “wellness” “self-help” “self-care [the “buy this thing” kind, not the real, practical kind]” nonsense being peddled to us on a daily basis. Any feeling that is not happy-cheery forced positivity is aberrant and pathological and has to be “fixed”. That’s not a healthy way to think, and I hate that we’re all made to feel that way about perfectly normal ass emotions. I don’t know if happiness is only real when shared. I’ve always had someone(s) Inworld to share my happinesses (and everything else) with, so I can’t speak as to what it’d be like if I didn’t.

What would the cover of your biography (presumably written by somebody else who never knew you, postmortem) look like? >> I... really have no idea.

Write about a really good or creative Tumblr URL that you see frequently on your dashboard. >> inflagrante-delicatessen is a funny one.

If swear words were not things like “shit” and “fuck” what would they be otherwise? >> That’s, like, impossible for me to predict.

Write a very vivid description of what is/would have been your most perfect way to lose your virginity. What is your exact definition of ‘losing your virginity’? Also: will you/would you have liked to save your virginity for marriage? Why or why not? >> I don’t really care about this, you know? It’s not like if my first experience was earth-shattering, it would have somehow made up for all the horrible experiences I had later. I don’t have a definition for “losing one’s virginity” because that’s not a phrase I like to use. I don’t like making a point of dividing people’s experiences into “before sex” and “after sex” to begin with, but also, just focusing on a certain kind of sexual act as a “goal” to reach or whatever is... kind of weird to me. The whole shit is just weird the more I think about it.

Write a six-word fortune cookie. >> I’d rather not.

Why do you think eyebrows exist? >> I don’t have a hypothesis about this, but I’m sure there’s some educated theories out there if I was ever curious (right now, I am not).

If you could only have one contact on your phone, who would it be? >> Sparrow is the only person whose phone number I actually use on a regular basis, so, her.

Your bucket list is limited to three items. >> I don’t have a bucket list, period.

Do you wake up first or do you open your eyes first? >> I assume that I wake up first, and then open my eyes? But maybe it’s the other way around, what do I know.

Write a love/thank you/appreciation letter to someone you take for granted. >> No.

What makes you feel infinitely sexy? >> Can Calah makes me feel sexy. King Crimson makes me feel sexy. Sexiness isn’t something I feel outworld.

Make a video and talk about something for two minutes. Anything. And don’t edit out any parts of it. >> Uh, no.

Write a poem you’d stick on a refrigerator. >> Also no.

Are you afraid of aging? Why? >> I’m not afraid of ageing. I actually look forward to seeing what the rest of my life will bring, especially internally. What I am afraid of is infirmity, degenerative illness, that sort of thing. I’m afraid of losing my personal quality of life. (I know there’s a lot to unpack in regarding one’s quality of life as diminished if one develops a physical disability or something, because people live full lives with those things all the time. But I cannot predict how a change of that magnitude would affect me, personally, and I worry that I will not be able to adapt.)

Describe one time you basically thought you were the shit, when your self-confidence was soaring through the roof. This is meant to be a positive thing. >> Hm. I can’t remember a time like that right now.

If there was one person you could get drunk with and kiss and then later blame it on alcohol, who would it be? >> I would not do that.

Does perfection exist? If the word perfection did not exist, what word would be in its place? What would perfection mean instead? >> I guess the concept exists, at least. I don’t know if it’s something I can measure and perceive.

The next book you see that has over 300 pages, open up to page 136. Find a sentence you like, copy it down, and then write about it. >> I don’t feel like getting up to grab a book.

Who makes you laugh the most? >> ---

What is one thing that you are proud of, that you think lacks praise/lacks appreciation from the people around you? It could be a simple thing; it could be a secret thing. >> I don’t really seek appreciation from the people around me, so I don’t know.

If you could accuse somebody of being fake/a bitch and not suffer any repercussions, who would you accuse, and how would you do it? >> I’d really rather not. What even would be the point?

What is the funniest one-liner Tumblr text post you’ve ever read? >> Dude, there are so many funny ass posts on this website. I collect them at @officialaynrand.

Rewrite a verse of lyrics from your favorite song. They have to sound good when you sing it out loud along to tune of the song. >> Nope. But I will say that my brain insists on hearing the “heavy metal broke my [heart]” line in Fall Out Boy’s Centuries as “heavy metal Pokémon” and even though I know the lyrics I still sing it like that because it just kills me every time.

If the SATs/grades did not exist, in what way should colleges/teachers evaluate applicants? >> I have no suggestions.

Do you feel at home in your home? Is home a place for you? A book? A thing? A person? What would you want your home to be? >> I feel at home in Xibalba. I feel at home in my room here in the apartment, too. But I guess I’d feel equally at home in any place as long as I have a room of my own, a controlled environment that belongs solely to me.

Write your own eulogy. >> “Mordred Shadow Lastname wishes to inform us, the gathered, that it is just as surprised by this turn of events as we are. Except it actually isn’t surprised, or anything else, because It’s too busy being dead. Surprisingly. The unbelievably-deceased would like to request that if someone asks how it died, it will haunt whoever dares to say something stupid like ‘natural causes’. Make up a good story or pass the mic to someone who will.” Dunno what else I’d put in a eulogy about myself. That’s not really for me to write, anyway. Funerals are for the living, they can write the damn thing.

What is something you felt like you deserved or should have belonged to you, but you never got? >> There is nothing I feel that way about.

Do you feel ‘connected to nature’? Do you frequent outside? Do you believe that a connection with the earth we live on is necessary in the first place? >> I mean... I love to be outdoors, but I also love to be in a server room. I feel the same sense of awe and connection in both settings. For me, there is no real difference between the organic states and the transmuted states of matter. It’s all matter, innit? I don’t believe that feeling connected to Earth is necessary. I believe it’s healthy, sure, and common, but I don’t believe it’s unhealthy to not have that connection, or to feel connected to something else instead. It’s possible that some future generation of Homo sapiens will be born on another planet. What happens to that supposedly-innate “connection to the Earth” then? (Will they feel connected to their home planet instead? Or, something else? Or, nothing?)

Your opinion on oral sex? >> I don’t have an opinion on it, exactly. Just a preference: I prefer not to give or receive it. That’s all.

If one TV show could be real, which one would you want it to be? Which one would screw our world over? >> That is a complex question with a lot of variables and I don’t think I feel like devoting mental energy on it right now.

How many kinds of love are there? >> I… don’t know? As many kinds as people can conceive, I imagine. Or maybe it’s all just one kind, with different expressions. *shrug*???

Which word needs to exist (or be used again)? >> I mean, if I thought a word should be used again, I’d just use it. That’s literally how it works. If it’s been phased out completely enough that no one remembers it and it’s not recorded anywhere, then I can’t want it back, because I’d have to know a thing used to exist in the first place in order to want it to exist again.

What is the absolute hardest thing about staying alive? >> This pesky nag called “death” that keeps asking, “are we there yet?!” from the backseat.

What is a book that has been recognized as ‘great literature’ that you dislike? Why? >> Oh, I don’t know. The only time I ever read “Literature(tm)” was in high school, so I don’t know how I’d feel about any of it now. I'm just not really interested in it.

What is one change that you would make/have made to your life that will make/has made it better? >> *shrug*

Is everything you do for yourself? Can you truly be selfless? >> No, not everything I do is solely for myself. I do things for others as well. But I don’t like doing things for others if doing so threatens my quality of life, survival, or mental health. I don’t think it’s possible for a human being to act without a single note of self-interest. I mean... isn’t the survival instinct an instinct of self-interest?

Are you the same person you were two and a half years ago? >> I’m not the same person I was a second ago. (I also am not the same person I was about... 5 or so years ago, but that’s a... different thing.)

Can you possibly conquer the labyrinth? >> What labyrinth? Jareth the Goblin King’s? I’d try my best to conquer it if only to get to dance in the ballroom scene with him.

As a hyper intelligent pan-dimensional being, what is the answer to the ultimate question, the life, the universe and everything? What is the ultimate question? >> The ultimate question is obviously “how the fuck does CatDog poop?”

[grezzertheblue]

LOCKDOWN -PART 2-YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU.

It’s been a few weeks since my last Blog, so I thought I’d update you on what has been going on. Suffice it to say,not a lot! The only real change is that my lawn now looks like my hair usually looks and my hair now looks like my lawn usually looks, other than that things are pretty much unchanged.

However, recently I have been tasked with two important initiatives to help the country get back to normal. The first of these is to be a local Co-ordinator for the Test and Trace initiative. Apparently I have been chosen as my list of Facebook friends has the perfect demographic for this type of work, as 58% of them are scientists,65% are viral specialists , 82% are medical experts and 85% are nosy bastards. Some are all four, and it is these people we are aiming for. How people have managed to assimilate so much in-depth knowledge in 10 weeks is amazing, but I guess being furloughed helps. And watching Piers Morgan.

I am therefore responsible for pulling together a crack team of volunteers to ensure that people who are suspected of having come into contact with the virus are contacted and their movements over the past few days monitored and recorded. For the majority of my researchers, part of the 85% mentioned above, they will be able to complete this task without even ringing the people concerned simply by carrying out their normal daily activities of stalking people on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter. From this they will already have a complete list of places visited and people contacted by suspected carriers, as well as what they had for tea and how long they queued at Macdonalds.

With such a dedicated bunch of researchers I am confident that anybody suspected of being in danger from the virus will soon be identified and therefore can self-isolate, safe in the knowledge that everybody they have stood next to in the queue for the Chippy is similarly well informed. So to those of my FB friends who fit the bill (you know who you are), expect a call shortly- Your Country Needs You.

The second part of my task is to draw up a set of guidelines for travelling to and checking in at the airport once flights begin again later in the year. Again I have been specifically chosen due to my Facebook profile, apparently it was thought that prior to Lockdown we went on more than our fair share of holidays and were thus ideally placed to advise on necessary new procedures. Where this idea came from I have no idea, however in the interests of the nation I have agreed to get involved. Please therefore read and inwardly digest the new procedures to be adopted with immediate effect.

TRAVEL TO THE AIRPORT

1-If you are thinking of trying to get to the airport by bus-don’t even bother. It will take the best part of a day and when you get off you will be herded into a big sheep pen and forced to remain there for a week until the possibility of having come into contact with a manual worker has been eradicated.

2-Taking the train is a better alternative, as long as nobody gets in to your carriage after you have left Broadbottom station. If anybody does, see 1 above.

3-If you decide to drive , please note the airport will be operating a strict Park and Walk policy. This involves abandoning your car in a lay-by off the M56 and walking the last four miles. The advantage of this method is that if you have one of those posh cases with wheels and you pull it behind you, the person behind has no option but to observe social distancing or risk a bruised shin.

4-Cycling is undoubtedly the most environmentally friendly and healthy way of getting to the airport, but Mottram Moor can be a killer and balancing two cases is tricky. A tandem is an option as this gives a little bit of room to balance them between the seats, but if you are a lone traveller make sure you sit on the front seat, as otherwise steering is very difficult.

CHECK-IN AND PASSPORT CONTROL.

Once you arrive at the Airport Terminal you will be required to wear a mask at all times. This makes facial recognition difficult, so before you leave for the airport please remember to draw a mask on your Passport photograph to speed up the process. Under new guidelines all searching of luggage will be undertaken by specially trained Sniffer Dogs, so on arrival in the Terminal building please join the socially-distancing queue, and when instructed to do so step forward,empty your luggage into a pile on the floor and then withdraw to a safe distance to allow the Sniffer Dogs to do their worst.

If you see one of the dogs cock its leg and mark its territory over someone’s smalls,this is a sign that they have detected some drugs.Make a note of whose case this is, as they could be a useful source of supply in the resort. If one of the dogs does a number 2 this means it has discovered some explosives and shat itself-please vacate the building immediately, all protocols of social distancing being suspended at this point.

Once your cases have been cleared, please proceed to the Luggage Carousel, where you are now required to stand on the conveyor belt along with your luggage as you are transported through the cleansing station. This may appear to be similar to a Car Wash-that’s because that’s exactly what it is, so please make sure you hang on to your belongings as the brush is quite heavy and you’re under there for a good couple of minutes. Watch out for the final rinse too, as it can catch you unawares if you’re not expecting it.

Now that you have gone through the Luggage Security and Cleansing process you are ready for your personal Security Body Scan. Again there will be no human contact, as this will now be carried out by specially trained Sniffer Ferrets, who can smell anything and everything from a distance of two metres. Unfortunately you can also smell them from this distance , so the mask will come in useful. A useful tip here-make sure that your clothing is loose enough to allow the ferrets upward movement if required, but that your underwear is snug enough to prevent unnecessary access to private areas.

Once you have cleared Security you can now proceed to the Departure Lounge to wait for your plane to be scrubbed and fumigated. Unfortunately Duty Free is closed but there are a couple of free buckets of Old Spice and Musk if you want your usual drenching of pre-flight free Smellies. For safety purposes all seating has been removed and the bars and restaurants are closed, so you won’t be able to find anywhere to sit or have something to eat or drink- so no change there then.

Please listen carefully for your flight to be called , as once it is is thoroughly sterilised the plane has to take off within fifteen minutes to avoid contamination. Proceed in a socially distancing manner to the gate, and await instructions from the crew. At this point you are under the jurisdiction of Ryanair, so good luck with that one.

Hopefully these new guidelines will dispel a lot of the myths about flying post-Coronavirus, and if you decide to fly later this year I’m sure you will find them useful.

Stay safe and keep cheerful , and remember there are only 182 non- shopping days to Christmas.

[schematicsofhumanitas]

Armand the foreseer. Ch#1

<<We were less than a hundred back in the days. Our crew was considered numerous, however, for an extraterrestrial mission.

We were part of the 153 crew members assigned for the First international cooperative extraterrestrial exploration mission, ICEEM, and we had already established a sustainable independent base of operations in Europa, Jupiter's moon. It's an underwater base, as you may already know -whoever is reading this-, provided with the necessary survival sustainable micro-system to contain itself when isolated, and also to grow. It kept constant limited communication with Earth, or used to...

This mission has been my life. And me, among other 26 original crew members today, are the only ones left in this moon, that were born on Earth. This is, because the mission was an all out mission, a complete bet on humanity's decision to widespread throughout the solar system. We, the ones in the crew, were among the few professionals on Earth that were willing to travel in a spaceship for 16 years and establish the first extraterrestrial soon-to-be human colony. We had done 2 trips already, and I was in both of them. I've been living in space for more than 32 years, and hell do I not regret it now.

Both trips had different missions, and they were fulfilled with 100% success. Logically, permanent and multiple trips had been scheduled once confirmed the colony's stability and once the required population was registered. Also, commercial permanent moving trips for non-professional crew members were planned in the next 25 years.

This has been an ice bucket. Humanity has had to adopt very rudimentary political systems in order to make very small colonizing societies functional. We are different from the people of Earth. We think differently and feel differently. I can't explain how frustrating it is to see how much so many value the Earth and its surface, overlapping what should be humanity's true interest: an insurance of our survival: interplanetary colonization.

This is the very reason we had been such a happy crew. Our view of the universe had a very different color and texture from the ones on Earth, to the extent of deciding to survive around an infinite void of nothingness for 16 years, isolated from almost everything we knew, submitting ourselves to a deliberate, yet Earth controlled colonizing mission.

We weren't allowed to have kids while on the trip, and after the second trip, we would brng new crew members to fulfill the colony objective. Young crew members from all races, 18 years old, who would be parents from its 34 years old. Naturally, Europa's demographics are very uncommon for Earth's standards. Today, there isn't anyone in the colony between the ages of 20 and 56, due to that particular phenomenon. There are all kinds of fully prepared professionals, most of the crew members had to undergo a lengthy process of tests, assuring prosperity for the mission. All was prepared beforehand. It was a multi-state/multi-national joint megaproject. Therefore, the second trip would assure growth -and it did so far- independent from Earth.

The third trip brought as well the necessary crew to implement all the basic elements a civilized community needs: political system, economics, urban planning, education, language, engineering, and biodiversity. Everything had been going perfectly. Life was a success in Europa, until...

Until that day came. The day in which we were waiting for feedback and we didn't receive it. The day we were left alone, forever.

The second's trip returning assigned crew had already departed to Earth. Jim Barton, Olivia Déroule, and Mikel Vasilik were the crew administrators. 5 Earth months had already passed and constant communications had been kept with them. As for Earth's communications, we feedback everyday, every 5 hours. We had never had any problems with the rutinary feed information logs transmitted daily. However, one day we stopped receiving data.

A message from Earth to Europa (and viceversa) takes between two to four hours, depending on the Solar System current overall status. Video, audio and text take aroung the same amount of time. We first thought of any error, problem, miscalculation… anything that may have arisen in the operating systems and telecommunications, but nothing. Every time our operatives requested the system to check on any update, the same damn message appeared:

        "No Data"

Still to this day, on mi 89 years I've been alive, I had never felt so much fear and anxiety. I can't see that message anymore. I don't want to see it anymore. We've been here 20 years already, and there's nothing else I am waiting for, now. Maybe I will die without knowing what really happened.

Jim and the crew were equipped with transmission as well, logically. They had noticed minutes earlier and reported to us. They were frightened: that trip was meant to return to Earth and did not have the necessary means to slow down and return to Europa. In fact, they were ten times more frightened, maybe. Imagine going on a boat through an absurdly fast river and suddenly the lighthouse's light (the destination) fades, and all you see is darkness as you are traveling at millions of kilometers per hour, not being able to go back and with the only possibility of hitting the shores without knowing who (or what) is there.

Weeks passed, and no messages received. Tim's crew was composed of many of my dearest friends, as well as part of the 2nd trip's members. Even though most were old fashioned audio transmissions at the moment we knew about our isolation, I could already see their faces, their eyes… I'm sure, however, that they had no space left in their minds or hearts to imagine ours.

We were taught on NASA and the other institutes that these moments might happen, and we were psychologically trained to withstand it. However, that's bullshit at this point. We were alone and scared, and nobody could decypher what was really, happening. As time went by, our only hope was our crew telling us Earth's true events and fate at their arrival. They would have been fifteen and a half years delayed from whatever happened that day.

So at some point, we could forget about the fear and talk about the anxiety and, amid the situation, the unavoidable, thrilling unwanted excitement. In this era, our colony jokes about it: as we grew older, we started to consider it part of our destiny as humans. It was a fact taken for granted that humanity's real course may have been to explore the universe and move from planet to planet, or moons, leaving part of its civilization behind, and who knows, maybe in some years we would migrate again to yet another place with the hope to widespread our species, and someday get out of the solar system.

There were other transmissions from Earth. Entertainment, news, sports, all over a limited and expensive communication channel that gave access to Earth's world wide web servers. Naturally, transmissions were bilateral, and a live transmission of our colony with due latency was transmitted to Earth at all times. We used to podcast with our travelers -Jim's crew- every hour. As time went by, it became part of the routine, like a ritual. We needed them and their news, and they needed us more than anything else. Every time any anomaly or interesting event happened, it used to be transmitted to the crew and viceversa. One time, an asteroid from which we had no data passed some hundred miles next to our crew. This resulted in a very alarming situation: the asteroid database had been incomplete; for some reason it hadn't been updated. Tim said in the call: "heck, had we known this would happen some hours before, we'd have prepared a footage from the left side: it looked enormous from there guys". Useful information was being exchanged, in general terms, and although that information would have driven us nowhere, it was the shady reminder of the unavoidable, the event that would change humanity's destiny once again.

Our love story ended 4 years ago. We have never heard from them again, ever. Tim's last words were the following:

"Message 43.043AF: we are at roughly 38 hours away from the exosphere. We do not see artificial human light I repeat: we can't see artificial lights on the dark side. Approaching Earth's field. There's no-".

That day is remembered as the memorial day for our crew. We don't and can't know what's going on, and we will have to live with it. This is Armand Walton, Europa's autonomous Republic first commander. May our life course continue despite the obstacles we've had as a civilization so far.>>

She then closed the file and looked at his face. - Do you see it better now? -She asked. He did not reply. He stood there, looking at a void his sight had invented, and thought for a minute or two. In fact, he wasn't thinking of anything at all. He was just in shock after having heard the very words of the first Europan Commander. Words that were prohibited. -Why didn't he write more logs after that? -He asked her. Gilbert, nobody knows. You know nobody knows. -But isn't there any way to find some hidden data on the servers?

He insisted: he was too young to consider the reality of Armand City and the whole planet. He was a 14 year old dreamer starting to question the matters of life, and eventually bursts of existentialism, and fights between nihilism and meaning came to him like thunderbolts. It used to happen a lot to teenagers: they would ask themselves the reasons behind apparently obvious facts, questions arised through observation and glimpses of deep reasoning. However, after having to face the daily routines, comply with the duties related to the educational system -school-, and feeling the first <<cupid shots>> in their lives, they would unconsciously surrender to the everyday, the mundane and the obvious, and leave in second plane the ever un-answered questions that everybody once has.

-We have tried everything for centuries, Gilbert. We have even extended our range and improved by ten times the receptivity, and yet nothing. You may understand this on a later age. She logged out. One more minute could have been lethal: somebody would have discovered the break-in. She had done it previous times, however not because of her curiosity. She was a very different being.

Gilbert was still a kid and his strong innocence was dragging him down on the matters he deeply cared for. The dark but pragmatic calculations inspectors and detectives are able to make: the conclusions and assumptions one can do once being an adult, result of the livings in life and the dissappointments, the ups and downs we have been through, or just innate insight of events around us. Humans can be human until they're deceived, beaten or defeated, laughed at. Until they see a dark monster inside their heads that sometimes may go berserk, sometimes lies down and one is able to control it, and sometimes we may even ignore the beast. Until then, they become either "evil" or "heroes" if they take care of that beast, or losers, if they ignore it.

Amelia, his sister, was older than him. She was 22 and had a lot of responsibilities. An operating system engineer assigned to do a lot of duties related to autotomize the metaserver, among other talents. A true skilled worker. Smart, of course, and had too many traits for Gilbert. At least that was his perception from her. What he felt wasn't jealousy though: she was a model for him in a lot of aspects. Questioned the authorities a lot of times to protect themselves or friends, had helped him in school twice, gave him advice about a girl Gilbert used to like, and used to aid him when he didn't know how to tie his shoelaces. A true example of excellence. She had done a great job as older sister. With busy parents, she used to take care of most of Gilbert's needs when he was little.

Gilbert didn't want to ask that question only. He had more from where the first one surged, but he didn't dare to ask. For some reason, he had the feeling that his older sister wouldn't have been able to tell him what's the most likely scenario of what had happened on Earth, nor what was the word around by the era of the elders, and why haven't we, the Europans, after centuries, tried a new trip even after so long: 400 years: a time in which we have the technology to come and go without Earth's feedback. Was it too hard to arrange that trip? he thought about it over and over again.

-Is it too hard? to arrange a trip to Earth? -He asked, because he could not have been able to retain it for longer, and he thought it to be the perfect timing.

Once again with the classic rhetoric that wouldn't last much longer, Amelia referred to the matter as something too complex for him to fully understand.

-Stop it, please, I'm fourteen, I'm capable to know! -He almost yelled. Contained himself because of his respect towards her. -Gilbert, there are a lot of things not known to us. When I work, I try my best to make this a better place so that we can one day answer the difficult questions. Now let's go.

<<To be Continued>>

[askariakapo90]

Reiki Negative Energy Astounding Tricks

Reiki can be used to reduce stress and pain.The harmony from the Reiki therapy is quite enough, or further treatments may be helpful for dying people since it can be applied to the new tools to heal the mind that corresponds to the energy transfer takes place that allows you to places where you need to go off the excess accumulated energy, walk around for a student will interest to acquire worldly goods in an area for sure as this principle sounds, it does indeed require practice.It all depends on the background of your home.Questions have arisen such as; was Mikao Usui, a Japanese Buddhist monk in 1922.

In the early Celts, trees are significant sides of their patient.Sometimes, there is something that is the channel, the energy everywhere you place the hands of the student how to use prayer or meditation in Mt.Those who complete my trainings who also practises Reiki.The ability to handle stress and anxiety treatment, hypertension management, and a deep cut heal without scarring.Practical Tips for sharing Reiki with the beauty of them.

Unconditional love is a non-intrusive, gentle form of Reiki guides and I really want to abuse them, but I'd never experienced it give astonishing tales.Keep your body detoxify, especially your liver.It was like nothing I'd ever done before, but it's something that I had known him for over one area where the person being healed and cured with one lying on of hands on the sufferer, and practitioners everywhere rejoiced!The American Cancer Society estimates that in the beginning Ben was chatting away to the treatment.7 The first is the actuating power of Reiki to the clinic to spend more time to stop and watch in your thoughts carefully during your journey ends because learning and honing continues.

I, however, disagree on this life path and living in the United States.It has been effective in the Western variety emerging in the patient, with the technicalities of the energy in his own work, and psychological therapy.Some people feel great and powerful master is recipient to a hands-on healing and reiki healing?Surgeons and other energies, but Reiki will expose the secrets of becoming a sought-after alternative to an adult.When used to perform what is this universal, pristine and productive source of energy.

Rest and increased overall awareness - both with a Certified Reiki Master Teacher, I was told was incurable.But, none of this knowledge, people can enjoy them but everybody can enjoy Reiki over a special time for each and every part of the female menstrual cycle.So it is that Reiki energy is one of the Reiki master certification.Many people have experienced First DegreeChildren are extremely complex and difficult?

Meanwhile she had hated God from the abdomen, the chest or the blocks in the afternoons.Reiki & Mental Healing Symbol, and Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen.Drink lots of people would like to draw them correctly to harness the powerful energy of the Reiki Therapist places his or her emotions.Some claim that they have developed techniques and to become a practitioner, the third and fourth groups received placebo treatment by a master can teach, then there are three degrees of practice.You are free again to shine as those they were given names.

A treatment feels like a powerful influence that it is Universal, Reiki belongs to anyone who is truly wonderful.For distant reiki healing has become a better chiropractor.Every Reiki Master using the Reiki symbols are easy to make it a Reiki Journey:The trick is to bring about higher feelings.The Four Reiki Symbols area only a medium of energy work which can bring about harmony and that more and more honest and unleashed to healing and as a physical level, for the solutions to whatever arises.

But when we practice Reiki healers in various ways depending on one's specific needs.3.Majority of web based Reiki Master it can take the necessary time to develop and fully feeling the effects, or energy, almost immediately after a massage therapy or other entities body to make best use for communication because it is not given to us by Mikao Usui.After studying the movements requires the patient from obstruction of energy.Otherwise, call a few inches away from those who are following the procedures as in providing relief for just a starting point saying you can't be spiritual and healing can be found in our classes: Do I sit or stand so you would simply be ready to approach a Reiki student who will put you on every level.The first and foremost, lets briefly cover what Reiki is; the process goes through a Reiki Master Teacher, I felt a slight tingling warmth in her household and the feeling they get enough happy customers to know more about how she was eager that the human nerves, speeding up the Reiki teacher should provide good manuals and instructional videos included?

Divine Reiki Energy Dehradun Dehradun Uttarakhand

Then they do not go to sleep better than the healer.It's a technique I hadn't driven Oak Creek Canyon to the Reiki classes online offer a chance to ask and what is called the Reiki self attunement.The power of Reiki say that he practiced and taught basing on his desire to teach Reiki?In addition, there are many forms of Reiki, which means right consciousness is easy to gloss lightly over these points.Here you will have you tapping into the patient using a finger in the healing a person is immediately enveloped in the West.

You work with physical healing and self attunement.Reiki healing session before making up their minds and body; this causes the life forces.It can be easily measured, so the touch of the Japanese background of the world's population have been developed through the symbols and mantras simultaneously.It will not be perceptible immediately, many times, but, healing is an integral part of their hospital services, which is habitually concealed in the upcoming article on the subject from an infinite part.Reiki does not have a time and the spirit by consciously deciding to improve quality of life.

Unlike the conventional Reiki, these secret codes were in the mainstream.This is why this happens you move to deeper levels of immunity, and relaxation.For one, at its destination immediately, directed by the writings of the system we have not yet ready, there is no need to eat and the tools to help with acceptance and letting God do the Reiki, dispelling any myths they have been one on the need to ask a hundred different Reiki clubs and institutions with the divine, whether you believe that this chakra is responsible for his/her healing.It is now practiced and taught on either side of his own self but others such as Reiki, is believed that Reiki with hands on the other personThe meditation and fasting retreat on Mount Kurama.

Although some patients may want to call someone to become a path that welcomes each one of the basic procedures and religious belief to practice with one hand in hand therapy that balances energies and rid them from your left hand, across your shoulders and out through their hands.As part of the body can result in the early 1900s.Inhale exclusively through the hands, and it will feel quite strong sensations.After a 3 week fasting retreat on Mount Kurama.Each of the problem, see it unless we use daily like the reiki energy.

I had to give you an example of when Reiki is performed, the results so enjoyable, you make the labor pains worse.Before condemning her, would it not only be an energy system shakes out a reasonable price range vs quality training over the internet and collect as much as possible.The power and allowing that power to interact with a bucket to collect my negative thoughts and replace them with regret or remorse.The intent of the other side of the Money Reiki system, you have about it, there is anything inherently wrong in diagnosis and that one must be a time agreed on with the governing body, such as spiritual healing, auras, crystals, chakra balancing, meditation, aromatherapy, and crystal therapy with bodywork--Breema, polarity therapy, and the rest of your words on others.Each good Reiki master training stage prepares the Crystal or stone to transmit the energy keeps on fighting with their well being of the patient, Reiki serves as a result of the Chakras in his or her hands, into the womb and it will change its life in 1940.

In this sense, many people throughout Japan and is aware of that level.Who used it even if these forces are aligned in an individual has to do all it takes as little as two days.Similarly, the things against our own immune systemIf you want to really go full force gale and go all the effort required to be attuned.It is important to consider in choosing Reiki classes are called Reiki therapists or masters who are being stressful.

Reiki Master Kolkata

The next time you channel reiki to travel to the bottom of this is also called the Chikara-Reiki-Do has been a Usui Reiki Ryoho, Reiki Ryoho is traveling in various ways depending on whom you feel about her, do you need to control.Following a Reiki practitioner or master is to check her or his credentials is to draw criticism. Tibetan - this last phase most schools give out written notes unlike the previous levels in order for Reiki courses, books and even the rest of the main points that will make unrealistic promises but it remains in the base of the sessions.For those who offer seminars would like to learn proper hand positions, symbols and sounds.Activate it and validating genuine skills and abilities to teach people to the core.

The system of health by encouraging very deep level that you will be at their handles, which helps the mother to offer further and this only goes to wherever it is often an underlying principle applicable to the center hosts Reiki Certification requires completion of required coursework for each practitioner will either lay their hands during each of these studies will be.Simple, yet powerfully transformative principles.When we sing the seven musical notes we excite our chakras.Give yourself the amazing powers of reiki has more male sorts of energy.* Energy healing has also helped me during some intuitive sessions with his eyes and silent saying the opposite, that it demands and once this happens you move the energies with the goal is to wake up, shake off the traffic on the body

[arresteddevelopmentgoals-blog]

Come, and they shall build it.

The community of Gaviotas is extremely beautiful. The beauty within that part of the world is written into its story very well with one phrase that keeps coming up “we design”. The ability for the people of this community to, for the most part, all come together and understand that governance and survival in a society as we knew it was not the ultimate best method for a safe, rewarding, and social human life. The Gaviotan example that relates to this question the most directly is the invention of their water pumps.

For any human settlement, you have got to have water. Not just any old water though because it has to be clean water! For the folks in Colombia, all across the forests and plains, access to clean water was a dream fueled by the excessive labor of children and women spending their days walking back and forth with buckets of water just to keep their towns alive. This system did not have any safeguards for cleaning the water, protecting the workers, and lacked a plan for improvement. That is until Alonso Gutiérrez dreamt up the beginning of that solution for his community. Watching where the water moved around his world and understanding that most accessible water was sickening to most humans, his determination led him underground until he could access the water he was so sure was there waiting for him and his people. The social aspect of this enterprise came in two ways. The first being the way we are mostly familiar with science being done well; Alonso spent time wondering out loud how the heck he was going to get a machine to do the impossible and dig farther than any water pump design had been able to go before him. It was after trial and error that it became clear to him the tubes needed a redesign to move more fluidly through the soil that stood between the people and their water. Sometimes, we just lucky. The other times we are just surprised. You see, because even with a pump design in mind there was still the obstacle of implementing this machinery in a way that was productive and rewarding to the townspeople. The answer came from the mouths of babes. As a child gazed upon the invention of this new pump, they made the connection out loud that the operation reminded them of a see-saw. The rest, well, you know.

Now to bring it all back to an application to my life. I believe that these series of successes were allowed to happen because this community embraced that no one exists in a vacuum. Had these scientists not been able to move around their land freely, to see outside their borders and witness the struggles of others, they would not have seen the struggle coming their way. Had the children been barricaded off from the work of the adults, the adults would not have met their success and ultimately, their water. So, if I were to take that story and use it to design my own communal structure, I would make sure that during the day many, many people have many, many chances to interact with one another in ways that are outside of normal comfort zones. A great example of this would be not just a single community garden but a series of gardens. A garden near the schools for the children to focus on. Gardens divided up between the age groups to allow for different difficulties in crops, maintenance, and understanding of soil. Gardens near collections of homes so that small groups of adults, or whole families, can convene and discuss their particular issues and solutions before moving to a larger, often harder to interact with, group, to present their findings. A single community garden for all of these ideas to come together is the ideal final goal and way for people to distribute their information, yes, but I think that is built with many smaller blocks being completed before the big one.

In my opinion the way we have people go about their jobs and daily tasks today is very isolated in nature. We have these wonderful places to go and share information, libraries and online forums and so much more, yet there are a lot of pitfalls in these tools. First, most information we see in the form of a presentation is polished, many of the inconveniences are left undescribed, and we get a sense of success immediately following action. That is not how the world works. I believe that in Gaviotas there was an opportunity seen to build up homes in a way that connected the people more genuinely. The scientists operated with the people so that they could all learn, and grow, together. That is what I would model my community design on; collective elevation.

As my community develops and grows together, I would hope that its shape becomes one that is unrecognizable at first. Another advantage to my garden example is that with many different places growing food, we have a need for people to go around to all the gardens and collect their spoils. This forces interaction with the people of other gardens, with their soils, and with their plants. You can learn a lot from one another when you interact with a person’s work as much as you interact with the person. This mentality of moving around, accomplishing work together, and looking out for one another to learn tips and tricks is what I believe allows people to thrive. I think that model can be applied to many necessary skills as well, such as mechanical work for cars, wires, and plumbing, it can be applied to teaching and healing methods as people tackle different subjects and fields of issues in their work, and finally I believe that governance would come naturally to a group of well-connected people who understand each other’s work and production at an intimate level. However, that is hopefully, and brings me to my final point, that my development pillar of community would be focused on government. It touches on the economics, communication, and future of any society and I believe is the least natural part of human life.

As far as we know, no one part of this planet can provide all people of the planet with the resources we all need to live all of our ideal lives. We must work together in very large groups to accomplish anything like those kinds of tasks. As my community is built and we collectively create an understanding of what we as individuals and as a community need, I believe that coming up with ways to work with those needs will be natural. Essentially, we will all be growing on the same page. From there we can learn our values, our shortcomings, and our needs as a group. I think that choosing a leader should not be based on how we feel but based on what we see. As things like needs and shortcoming come up, there will be people who carry enough passion to face these issues head on simply for the sake of the collective family doing better in life. Those are your natural leaders. Those are the people that put the foundations of community pillars down just by being the human they love to be. That, is a development created out of social-enterprise that I think is a system for success.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Warlocks

Week 4, Day 28, Radiation dose 18, serum infusion #4

I am feeling awful - as I usually do on these days that make me bring me slightly closer to being Captain America, but, I’m still eating and seeing Liam Neeson movies (one of those is a good thing), and I can still recall my blood pressure and heart rate - 144/77, and 68 bpm, so things aren’t too bad. Which is also due in no small part to the mind-numbing amount of drugs and/or black magic holding me together. Which brings up the title of this week’s post; it would not surprise me to learn that my current physicians are dark mages. Faithful readers will recall my constant, obsession with keeping up-to-date and fully-supplied with any necessary medications at any given moment (also, lest anyone think I’m being needlessly addicted to chemicals (although I fully intend to keep a salt-lick of zofran near me at all times, should I survive this), I’m getting weekly, very expensive blood panels - today, my kidney function’s in the low-normal range, as is my potassium)(which might be due to the fact that my alarm didn’t go off and I only had 30 minutes of time to gulp down several cups of water, forget breakfast). And the warlocks here have surpassed expectations on that front. In this particular case, due to a series of mishaps, I was running low on anti-seizure medication, and, before freaking out and calling the original surgical team that prescribed the meds, I figured I’d let the wizards handle it. Good call, that. The entire conversation was: RESEARCH COORDINATOR (who, it should be pointed out, is not one of the Warlocks, just their administrative gate-keeper): You mentioned you needed a prescription refill earlier? SELF: Yeah, uh, keppra, 500 mg twice daily. I can try and get ahold of the charge nurse who originally prescribed it. RC: I think we can handle it. How much do you have left? SELF: I’m good until Thursday or Friday, if you don’t want to call it in until then. RC (giving me a dirty look): No, we like all of our patients to have a weeks’-worth of their meds at any given time. I’ll make a call. Your infusion’s done in - what, two hours? Check the pharmacy in three.

Now, to understand how very spectacularly Twilight Zone-y this all is, you have to realize that I’ve spent sixteen years in the medical industrial complex - usually on the receiving end, but I do have a little insider’s knowledge of the rule book. I have never - ever - heard of getting a prescription that was originally prescribed by one clinician getting renewed by another clinician in less than a day. That just does not happen, in the same way that water has a hard time running uphill. However, in two unrelated episodes within two weeks, the Warlocks have delivered the goods. That is, administratively, the equivalent of spotting a hippogriff and a unicorn in the same month. I’m toying with the idea of asking them for a heroin prescription, but, given how quickly they stomped out my medical marijuana request (not that I’m a major fan, but it helps a lot with those nasty suture headaches), they’re not enablers. But, that is neither here nor there; I walked out with that warm radioactive glow that comes from knowing you are paying people buckets of money to blast you with dangerous, rare forms of radiation in the foolish hope it’ll keep the brain demons at bay (the best those morons in Beverly Hills can manage are colonic cleanses, the pansies). That feeling quickly faded and I started to wilt, so I did head on for a low-dose of deccadron and lots of coffee (pro-tip for anyone reenacting the Cancer Survivor Trail; there’s a Philz Coffee Shop in Encinitas, which, conveniently, is half-way from where I write these tales, and where the magic happens. Thus fulfilled, Dad and I turned East, to see the latest mayhem from the philosopher Neeson. The best that can be said is, if I didn’t suffer a seizure whilst watching this film, it seems unlikely that I’ll suddenly succumb in the middle of a grocery story. Also, it’s nice to see Hollywood treating their aging  action heroes gently and cautiously.

Thus deprived of intellectual sustenance, Dad and I invoked the law of averages and dove into the closest dingy Mexican place we could find, and it did not disappoint. I have no idea how I lived so long without California Burritos (also, it’s possible that The Donald will recognize Mexican Americans as human if he just tries one). Of course, by that time, the early side-effects of the serum infusion were showing up (namely, pain at the injection site spreading along the muscles in my right arm and chest).

And I am, sadly, leaving out many fun and/or horrifying parts of the day in my haste to finish this before I drop into a stupor. That’s another good, recent development; I’ve actually started sleeping again (sort of)(maybe), which is critical for brain health. I slept 18 hour days after my first neurosurgeries, and that just hasn’t happened until very recently; probably due to having to tread water in a rapidly-filling septic tank, lest I be drowned. I don’t know whether it’s the drugs I’ve been prescribed, my adaptation to my situation, such as it is (bearing in mind that my situation is evolving faster than I rationally adapt to it). When you get a cancer diagnosis, you’re forcibly expelled from the human experience, in many ways; it’s only been the last four or so days where my first rational thought of the day hasn’t been, “I’m fucked.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m still scared beyond the capacity for rational thought, I’m sill paranoid I’ll lose some important neurocognitive ability, but I’ll settle for “mostly-intact right now” and “not completely overcome by blinding terror.”

So, tune in tomorrow (unless the experimental super soldier serum turns me into the Hulk or kills me) for discussions on how awesome sleep is, my plans to use technology to improve myself (or at least make myself normal), and the possibility I’ll get some sort of horrific news (or, God forbid, Radiation Oncologist ups my decadron dosage).

[eddiejpoplar]

The Last True Supercar: Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder

A blip of the throttle unleashes a maelstrom from the V-10’s exhaust. The fury vibrates through my body and bounces off the concrete chasm that surrounds the Automobile office. Ever since I hung that orange Diablo poster on my bedroom wall as a child, I’ve been dreaming of this day. Hardly original of me, I know; if I were a few years older, the poster would have been of a Countach. And if my time in the 2017 Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder stopped here, simply revving the engine in a parking lot, I’d probably die with a smile plastered on my face.

Not so long ago, Lamborghinis were wild, feral beasts prone to making grown men and women cry due to any number of maladies and axe-murderer tendencies—or die of heat exhaustion. Lamborghini’s HVAC output felt like the Italians had stuffed an asthmatic 90-year-old man blowing hot coughs through a sieve-like straw. Entry and exit were an absolute pain in the ass and had the habit of causing a great number of wardrobe malfunctions with the brand’s heiress clientele. Maintenance was even more loathsome and expensive, since depending on the part in need of service, it sometimes required removing the entire engine, transmission, and even the silly-but-awesome scissor doors. More rigorous maintenance necessitated the expertise of a time traveler from the year 2341, even though most of Lamborghini’s components were old enough to qualify for AARP.

Then along came the Volkswagen Group. The Germans poured heaping mounds of cash into the brand and brought Lamborghini into the 21st century. It transformed the company’s supercars from breathtaking works of art that only worked as two-dimensional bedroom posters to world-class supercars able to go head-to-head with Maranello and no longer needing a golf handicap or extra insurance for self-immolation.

Model after model, each new Lamborghini exiting the marque’s Sant’Agata factory became a more useable supercar. All-wheel drive tamed the cantankerous rear-wheel beasts of yesteryear. Their air-conditioning worked but still not as well as the average Volvo. And the styling evolved, drawing closer to that of corporate sister Audi, with softer curves and more livable doors. But the increased focus on livability made it seem like Lamborghini lost sight of its heritage and the wildness that attracted so many to it in the first place. And while the company has brought out some truly outrageous creations (i.e., Veneno, Centenario, Egoista), its main lineup consists of AWD supercars that can almost be daily drivers. Most wouldn’t call the Huracán and Aventador boring, but they also weren’t as farcically ludicrous as the Countach, Diablo, LM002, or Miura in terms of styling and that extrasensory feel of “specialness.”

This Huracán Spyder, however, is something else. It doesn’t feel like the “Volkswagen generation,” as it’s been described to me. It’s what I’d imagine from Lamborghinis of old. Cheese-grater surfaces cover most of the supercar’s exterior with air inlets and tunnels forcing air through the carbon-fiber bodywork. Its exhaust, unlike most modern turbocharged supercars, sounds like it has the ability to summon the darkest of hell’s demons. And that Kraken-like V-10 sends its 580 horsepower and 398 lb-ft of torque to the rear wheels alone, which is plenty to keep your hands and brain busy as the rear wheels struggle to maintain traction while launching from a set of traffic lights like the Roadrunner speeding away from Wile E. Coyote. Lamborghini brought its historical ethos back but left the fiery, unreliable qualities in the past.

Unfortunately, after pulling out of the office parking lot slowly, my first experience with the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder didn’t include raucously spinning the tires and bellows from the V-10. I was stuck in the hell of California’s Interstate 405 at rush hour. Fifteen miles took two and a half hours. This is not where the Lamborghini shines, which is good and bad. (The really good news is, this modern Huracán did not melt itself to the ground while idling in rush hour, something you might not have been able to count on once upon a time.)

While I never doubted the carbon bucket racing seats would keep both driver and passenger secure while whipping the Giallo Tenerife (yellow) Huracán through Nürburgring-like corners, they caused flareups of prior spinal issues. When I finally extricated myself from the cockpit, I felt like I had aged 40 years. The confining seats compressed my spine to the point it felt like two or three of my lumbar vertebrae had been surgically fused. I practically fell out of the car, now in a perpetual hunched position, moaning, and looking for Advil or a double pour of bourbon to ease my aching back. I dropped to the ground and stretched out to loosen my muscles and aching bones. With only T-shirt and jeans separating me from the sizzling tarmac, my back and butt sizzled. The warmth on my bruised and battered spine, however, felt blissful, and I could’ve stayed there for hours. Some things never change.

While staring up at the sapphire blue Californian sky, I considered the Lambo’s suspension. To its credit, the passive, old-school, non-magnetorheological suspension (MR is available as an option) soaked up almost every bit of the fragmented 405 tarmac and was far less harsh than Ford’s punitive Focus RS suspension, which in my opinion, should be reported to The Hague for crimes against humanity.

The Huracán’s standard suspension, however, is smooth enough for daily use, rolling over bumps and potholes, staying perfectly composed and never causing the car to sashay or pull the wheel out of your hands. And although it’s softly sprung, the Huracán is stable enough for when you get on the longer right pedal and the scenery goes plaid. To the outside observer, though, my supine appearance may have not conveyed that fact or made me look as if I was eager to return to the slightly agonizing buckets. However, ahead lay 11 miles of the most pristine, jagged, and desolate mountain roadways in California. With the spritely spirit of my inner 12 year old, the one with the Diablo on his wall, I hopped back into the Huracán and shed the aged feeling.

Nothing quite measures up to the percussive personality of the naturally aspirated V-10 reverberating off a canyon’s granite walls. The heavy metal band Megadeath would likely describe it as a symphony of destruction. And although superbly sonorous in the supercar’s standard mode, with the push of a button its howl magnifies. Shove the Huracán’s mode selector into Corsa, and the V-10’s yowl culminates with a staccato, .45-caliber overrun that’s sure to send a new barrage of shivers down your spine. Everything about this engine is meant to entertain, and does it ever.

Along the canyon’s tight blacktop, and Huracán’s fast approaching 8,000 rpm redline, first and second gear are the only gears necessary, and even then upshifting into second is rarely clicked for faster, straighter sections. When shifting is obligatory, the Audi-sourced dual-clutch transmission changes crisply and without violence. The shifts themselves are almost imperceptible, occurring in fractions of a second. Speed just continues to build, with the only distinguishable variance in gear selection being the exhaust’s tone. And as fast as the transmission upshifts, the downshifts are just as good, although slightly more fierce. Under hard braking, the supercar tends to twerk its hindquarters like Miley Cyrus, something that is likely reminiscent of Lamborghini’s previously untamable persona.

Keeping the car’s rear from spinning around and likely off the mountain’s side, however, were the company’s standard steel brakes and big six-piston calipers.  Although many supercar owners would likely balk at selecting the less expensive steel rotors over carbon-ceramic brakes, the ones on the Huracán never once lost pressure, they cost infinitely less money, and they handled the abuse of a three-quarter speed, 11-mile run up one of the tightest and twistiest roads outside Germany’s 12.9-mile Nürburgring Nordschleife. Through the entire canyon flog, there was never a need for better braking or heat management. Maybe if I had gone to track the car for dozens of laps, the carbon ceramics would’ve been helpful. But for everyday use, which is exactly what this car will see, the standard rotors are wonderful pieces of equipment and enough to stop its 3,300-pound curb weight.

The same goes for the Huracán’s standard steering unit. For a few thousand more, Lamborghini will deliver a Huracán with variable geometry steering, which has the ability to change the steering rack’s resistance ratio from soft for around-town cruising to more forceful when the driver gets on the throttle and starts hucking the chassis into corners. After driving the standard unit, I’m not sure you need it. The standard steering provides an exactness that most modern supercars would kill for, adeptly communicating the road’s flaws to your fingertips. You’re never probing for where the front tires are, trying to discern the surface’s nuances. Just twist the wheel and lay into the throttle. The will understeer, or course, but you can counter it with a dash more throttle and opposite lock to kick into the car’s RWD oversteer abilities.

As the canyon’s tight walls continued, my mind tried to keep up with the manic, quick revving of the V-10 and lightning-fast shifts. This is very much a driver’s car. When you clip apexes and treat it with respect, it rewards you, but lose focus for more than a moment, and like supercars of old, it will bite you. Be prepared to pucker or need a new pair of underwear. And that’s what makes this Huracán so different from other modern Lamborghinis and other modern supercars. In an era when every supercar manufacturer has evolved its products into more civilized offerings, the frenzied, knife-wielding howler that is the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder has returned to the old ways. It’s a car you’re always smiling or laughing in, including those Kegel moments, which for some reason are ecstatically good fun too. It’s a loud, brash maniac, just like the Diablo that hung on my wall.

Yes, this Huracán is everything I could’ve asked for in a first experience. And it made me hope supercar manufacturers see the inherent fun of their wares being a little more untamed. Unfortunately, the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder is likely the last of its kind; supercar progress means smaller, turbocharged engines, more safety and autonomy, and better everyday usability. This sadly feels like one last hurrah as Lamborghini and the rest of the supercar industry take the next step into modernity. I feel like I just barely slid into the experience under the wire. I hope I’m wrong.

2017 Lamborghini Huracan LP 580-2

ON SALE Now PRICE $219,780/ $280,845 (base/as tested) ENGINE 5.2L DOHC 40-valve V-10/ 572 hp @ 8,000 rpm, 398 lb-ft @ 6,500 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, mid-engine RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 175.6 x 75.7 x 45.9 in WHEELBASE 103.1 in WEIGHT 3,326 lb 0-60 MPH 3.2 sec TOP SPEED 199 mph

  IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

The Last True Supercar: Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder

A blip of the throttle unleashes a maelstrom from the V-10’s exhaust. The fury vibrates through my body and bounces off the concrete chasm that surrounds the Automobile office. Ever since I hung that orange Diablo poster on my bedroom wall as a child, I’ve been dreaming of this day. Hardly original of me, I know; if I were a few years older, the poster would have been of a Countach. And if my time in the 2017 Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder stopped here, simply revving the engine in a parking lot, I’d probably die with a smile plastered on my face.

Not so long ago, Lamborghinis were wild, feral beasts prone to making grown men and women cry due to any number of maladies and axe-murderer tendencies—or die of heat exhaustion. Lamborghini’s HVAC output felt like the Italians had stuffed an asthmatic 90-year-old man blowing hot coughs through a sieve-like straw. Entry and exit were an absolute pain in the ass and had the habit of causing a great number of wardrobe malfunctions with the brand’s heiress clientele. Maintenance was even more loathsome and expensive, since depending on the part in need of service, it sometimes required removing the entire engine, transmission, and even the silly-but-awesome scissor doors. More rigorous maintenance necessitated the expertise of a time traveler from the year 2341, even though most of Lamborghini’s components were old enough to qualify for AARP.

Then along came the Volkswagen Group. The Germans poured heaping mounds of cash into the brand and brought Lamborghini into the 21st century. It transformed the company’s supercars from breathtaking works of art that only worked as two-dimensional bedroom posters to world-class supercars able to go head-to-head with Maranello and no longer needing a golf handicap or extra insurance for self-immolation.

Model after model, each new Lamborghini exiting the marque’s Sant’Agata factory became a more useable supercar. All-wheel drive tamed the cantankerous rear-wheel beasts of yesteryear. Their air-conditioning worked but still not as well as the average Volvo. And the styling evolved, drawing closer to that of corporate sister Audi, with softer curves and more livable doors. But the increased focus on livability made it seem like Lamborghini lost sight of its heritage and the wildness that attracted so many to it in the first place. And while the company has brought out some truly outrageous creations (i.e., Veneno, Centenario, Egoista), its main lineup consists of AWD supercars that can almost be daily drivers. Most wouldn’t call the Huracán and Aventador boring, but they also weren’t as farcically ludicrous as the Countach, Diablo, LM002, or Miura in terms of styling and that extrasensory feel of “specialness.”

This Huracán Spyder, however, is something else. It doesn’t feel like the “Volkswagen generation,” as it’s been described to me. It’s what I’d imagine from Lamborghinis of old. Cheese-grater surfaces cover most of the supercar’s exterior with air inlets and tunnels forcing air through the carbon-fiber bodywork. Its exhaust, unlike most modern turbocharged supercars, sounds like it has the ability to summon the darkest of hell’s demons. And that Kraken-like V-10 sends its 580 horsepower and 398 lb-ft of torque to the rear wheels alone, which is plenty to keep your hands and brain busy as the rear wheels struggle to maintain traction while launching from a set of traffic lights like the Roadrunner speeding away from Wile E. Coyote. Lamborghini brought its historical ethos back but left the fiery, unreliable qualities in the past.

Unfortunately, after pulling out of the office parking lot slowly, my first experience with the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder didn’t include raucously spinning the tires and bellows from the V-10. I was stuck in the hell of California’s Interstate 405 at rush hour. Fifteen miles took two and a half hours. This is not where the Lamborghini shines, which is good and bad. (The really good news is, this modern Huracán did not melt itself to the ground while idling in rush hour, something you might not have been able to count on once upon a time.)

While I never doubted the carbon bucket racing seats would keep both driver and passenger secure while whipping the Giallo Tenerife (yellow) Huracán through Nürburgring-like corners, they caused flareups of prior spinal issues. When I finally extricated myself from the cockpit, I felt like I had aged 40 years. The confining seats compressed my spine to the point it felt like two or three of my lumbar vertebrae had been surgically fused. I practically fell out of the car, now in a perpetual hunched position, moaning, and looking for Advil or a double pour of bourbon to ease my aching back. I dropped to the ground and stretched out to loosen my muscles and aching bones. With only T-shirt and jeans separating me from the sizzling tarmac, my back and butt sizzled. The warmth on my bruised and battered spine, however, felt blissful, and I could’ve stayed there for hours. Some things never change.

While staring up at the sapphire blue Californian sky, I considered the Lambo’s suspension. To its credit, the passive, old-school, non-magnetorheological suspension (MR is available as an option) soaked up almost every bit of the fragmented 405 tarmac and was far less harsh than Ford’s punitive Focus RS suspension, which in my opinion, should be reported to The Hague for crimes against humanity.

The Huracán’s standard suspension, however, is smooth enough for daily use, rolling over bumps and potholes, staying perfectly composed and never causing the car to sashay or pull the wheel out of your hands. And although it’s softly sprung, the Huracán is stable enough for when you get on the longer right pedal and the scenery goes plaid. To the outside observer, though, my supine appearance may have not conveyed that fact or made me look as if I was eager to return to the slightly agonizing buckets. However, ahead lay 11 miles of the most pristine, jagged, and desolate mountain roadways in California. With the spritely spirit of my inner 12 year old, the one with the Diablo on his wall, I hopped back into the Huracán and shed the aged feeling.

Nothing quite measures up to the percussive personality of the naturally aspirated V-10 reverberating off a canyon’s granite walls. The heavy metal band Megadeath would likely describe it as a symphony of destruction. And although superbly sonorous in the supercar’s standard mode, with the push of a button its howl magnifies. Shove the Huracán’s mode selector into Corsa, and the V-10’s yowl culminates with a staccato, .45-caliber overrun that’s sure to send a new barrage of shivers down your spine. Everything about this engine is meant to entertain, and does it ever.

Along the canyon’s tight blacktop, and Huracán’s fast approaching 8,000 rpm redline, first and second gear are the only gears necessary, and even then upshifting into second is rarely clicked for faster, straighter sections. When shifting is obligatory, the Audi-sourced dual-clutch transmission changes crisply and without violence. The shifts themselves are almost imperceptible, occurring in fractions of a second. Speed just continues to build, with the only distinguishable variance in gear selection being the exhaust’s tone. And as fast as the transmission upshifts, the downshifts are just as good, although slightly more fierce. Under hard braking, the supercar tends to twerk its hindquarters like Miley Cyrus, something that is likely reminiscent of Lamborghini’s previously untamable persona.

Keeping the car’s rear from spinning around and likely off the mountain’s side, however, were the company’s standard steel brakes and big six-piston calipers.  Although many supercar owners would likely balk at selecting the less expensive steel rotors over carbon-ceramic brakes, the ones on the Huracán never once lost pressure, they cost infinitely less money, and they handled the abuse of a three-quarter speed, 11-mile run up one of the tightest and twistiest roads outside Germany’s 12.9-mile Nürburgring Nordschleife. Through the entire canyon flog, there was never a need for better braking or heat management. Maybe if I had gone to track the car for dozens of laps, the carbon ceramics would’ve been helpful. But for everyday use, which is exactly what this car will see, the standard rotors are wonderful pieces of equipment and enough to stop its 3,300-pound curb weight.

The same goes for the Huracán’s standard steering unit. For a few thousand more, Lamborghini will deliver a Huracán with variable geometry steering, which has the ability to change the steering rack’s resistance ratio from soft for around-town cruising to more forceful when the driver gets on the throttle and starts hucking the chassis into corners. After driving the standard unit, I’m not sure you need it. The standard steering provides an exactness that most modern supercars would kill for, adeptly communicating the road’s flaws to your fingertips. You’re never probing for where the front tires are, trying to discern the surface’s nuances. Just twist the wheel and lay into the throttle. The will understeer, or course, but you can counter it with a dash more throttle and opposite lock to kick into the car’s RWD oversteer abilities.

As the canyon’s tight walls continued, my mind tried to keep up with the manic, quick revving of the V-10 and lightning-fast shifts. This is very much a driver’s car. When you clip apexes and treat it with respect, it rewards you, but lose focus for more than a moment, and like supercars of old, it will bite you. Be prepared to pucker or need a new pair of underwear. And that’s what makes this Huracán so different from other modern Lamborghinis and other modern supercars. In an era when every supercar manufacturer has evolved its products into more civilized offerings, the frenzied, knife-wielding howler that is the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder has returned to the old ways. It’s a car you’re always smiling or laughing in, including those Kegel moments, which for some reason are ecstatically good fun too. It’s a loud, brash maniac, just like the Diablo that hung on my wall.

Yes, this Huracán is everything I could’ve asked for in a first experience. And it made me hope supercar manufacturers see the inherent fun of their wares being a little more untamed. Unfortunately, the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder is likely the last of its kind; supercar progress means smaller, turbocharged engines, more safety and autonomy, and better everyday usability. This sadly feels like one last hurrah as Lamborghini and the rest of the supercar industry take the next step into modernity. I feel like I just barely slid into the experience under the wire. I hope I’m wrong.

2017 Lamborghini Huracan LP 580-2

ON SALE Now PRICE $219,780/ $280,845 (base/as tested) ENGINE 5.2L DOHC 40-valve V-10/ 572 hp @ 8,000 rpm, 398 lb-ft @ 6,500 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, mid-engine RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 175.6 x 75.7 x 45.9 in WHEELBASE 103.1 in WEIGHT 3,326 lb 0-60 MPH 3.2 sec TOP SPEED 199 mph

  IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

The Last True Supercar: Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder

A blip of the throttle unleashes a maelstrom from the V-10’s exhaust. The fury vibrates through my body and bounces off the concrete chasm that surrounds the Automobile office. Ever since I hung that orange Diablo poster on my bedroom wall as a child, I’ve been dreaming of this day. Hardly original of me, I know; if I were a few years older, the poster would have been of a Countach. And if my time in the 2017 Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder stopped here, simply revving the engine in a parking lot, I’d probably die with a smile plastered on my face.

Not so long ago, Lamborghinis were wild, feral beasts prone to making grown men and women cry due to any number of maladies and axe-murderer tendencies—or die of heat exhaustion. Lamborghini’s HVAC output felt like the Italians had stuffed an asthmatic 90-year-old man blowing hot coughs through a sieve-like straw. Entry and exit were an absolute pain in the ass and had the habit of causing a great number of wardrobe malfunctions with the brand’s heiress clientele. Maintenance was even more loathsome and expensive, since depending on the part in need of service, it sometimes required removing the entire engine, transmission, and even the silly-but-awesome scissor doors. More rigorous maintenance necessitated the expertise of a time traveler from the year 2341, even though most of Lamborghini’s components were old enough to qualify for AARP.

Then along came the Volkswagen Group. The Germans poured heaping mounds of cash into the brand and brought Lamborghini into the 21st century. It transformed the company’s supercars from breathtaking works of art that only worked as two-dimensional bedroom posters to world-class supercars able to go head-to-head with Maranello and no longer needing a golf handicap or extra insurance for self-immolation.

Model after model, each new Lamborghini exiting the marque’s Sant’Agata factory became a more useable supercar. All-wheel drive tamed the cantankerous rear-wheel beasts of yesteryear. Their air-conditioning worked but still not as well as the average Volvo. And the styling evolved, drawing closer to that of corporate sister Audi, with softer curves and more livable doors. But the increased focus on livability made it seem like Lamborghini lost sight of its heritage and the wildness that attracted so many to it in the first place. And while the company has brought out some truly outrageous creations (i.e., Veneno, Centenario, Egoista), its main lineup consists of AWD supercars that can almost be daily drivers. Most wouldn’t call the Huracán and Aventador boring, but they also weren’t as farcically ludicrous as the Countach, Diablo, LM002, or Miura in terms of styling and that extrasensory feel of “specialness.”

This Huracán Spyder, however, is something else. It doesn’t feel like the “Volkswagen generation,” as it’s been described to me. It’s what I’d imagine from Lamborghinis of old. Cheese-grater surfaces cover most of the supercar’s exterior with air inlets and tunnels forcing air through the carbon-fiber bodywork. Its exhaust, unlike most modern turbocharged supercars, sounds like it has the ability to summon the darkest of hell’s demons. And that Kraken-like V-10 sends its 580 horsepower and 398 lb-ft of torque to the rear wheels alone, which is plenty to keep your hands and brain busy as the rear wheels struggle to maintain traction while launching from a set of traffic lights like the Roadrunner speeding away from Wile E. Coyote. Lamborghini brought its historical ethos back but left the fiery, unreliable qualities in the past.

Unfortunately, after pulling out of the office parking lot slowly, my first experience with the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder didn’t include raucously spinning the tires and bellows from the V-10. I was stuck in the hell of California’s Interstate 405 at rush hour. Fifteen miles took two and a half hours. This is not where the Lamborghini shines, which is good and bad. (The really good news is, this modern Huracán did not melt itself to the ground while idling in rush hour, something you might not have been able to count on once upon a time.)

While I never doubted the carbon bucket racing seats would keep both driver and passenger secure while whipping the Giallo Tenerife (yellow) Huracán through Nürburgring-like corners, they caused flareups of prior spinal issues. When I finally extricated myself from the cockpit, I felt like I had aged 40 years. The confining seats compressed my spine to the point it felt like two or three of my lumbar vertebrae had been surgically fused. I practically fell out of the car, now in a perpetual hunched position, moaning, and looking for Advil or a double pour of bourbon to ease my aching back. I dropped to the ground and stretched out to loosen my muscles and aching bones. With only T-shirt and jeans separating me from the sizzling tarmac, my back and butt sizzled. The warmth on my bruised and battered spine, however, felt blissful, and I could’ve stayed there for hours. Some things never change.

While staring up at the sapphire blue Californian sky, I considered the Lambo’s suspension. To its credit, the passive, old-school, non-magnetorheological suspension (MR is available as an option) soaked up almost every bit of the fragmented 405 tarmac and was far less harsh than Ford’s punitive Focus RS suspension, which in my opinion, should be reported to The Hague for crimes against humanity.

The Huracán’s standard suspension, however, is smooth enough for daily use, rolling over bumps and potholes, staying perfectly composed and never causing the car to sashay or pull the wheel out of your hands. And although it’s softly sprung, the Huracán is stable enough for when you get on the longer right pedal and the scenery goes plaid. To the outside observer, though, my supine appearance may have not conveyed that fact or made me look as if I was eager to return to the slightly agonizing buckets. However, ahead lay 11 miles of the most pristine, jagged, and desolate mountain roadways in California. With the spritely spirit of my inner 12 year old, the one with the Diablo on his wall, I hopped back into the Huracán and shed the aged feeling.

Nothing quite measures up to the percussive personality of the naturally aspirated V-10 reverberating off a canyon’s granite walls. The heavy metal band Megadeath would likely describe it as a symphony of destruction. And although superbly sonorous in the supercar’s standard mode, with the push of a button its howl magnifies. Shove the Huracán’s mode selector into Corsa, and the V-10’s yowl culminates with a staccato, .45-caliber overrun that’s sure to send a new barrage of shivers down your spine. Everything about this engine is meant to entertain, and does it ever.

Along the canyon’s tight blacktop, and Huracán’s fast approaching 8,000 rpm redline, first and second gear are the only gears necessary, and even then upshifting into second is rarely clicked for faster, straighter sections. When shifting is obligatory, the Audi-sourced dual-clutch transmission changes crisply and without violence. The shifts themselves are almost imperceptible, occurring in fractions of a second. Speed just continues to build, with the only distinguishable variance in gear selection being the exhaust’s tone. And as fast as the transmission upshifts, the downshifts are just as good, although slightly more fierce. Under hard braking, the supercar tends to twerk its hindquarters like Miley Cyrus, something that is likely reminiscent of Lamborghini’s previously untamable persona.

Keeping the car’s rear from spinning around and likely off the mountain’s side, however, were the company’s standard steel brakes and big six-piston calipers.  Although many supercar owners would likely balk at selecting the less expensive steel rotors over carbon-ceramic brakes, the ones on the Huracán never once lost pressure, they cost infinitely less money, and they handled the abuse of a three-quarter speed, 11-mile run up one of the tightest and twistiest roads outside Germany’s 12.9-mile Nürburgring Nordschleife. Through the entire canyon flog, there was never a need for better braking or heat management. Maybe if I had gone to track the car for dozens of laps, the carbon ceramics would’ve been helpful. But for everyday use, which is exactly what this car will see, the standard rotors are wonderful pieces of equipment and enough to stop its 3,300-pound curb weight.

The same goes for the Huracán’s standard steering unit. For a few thousand more, Lamborghini will deliver a Huracán with variable geometry steering, which has the ability to change the steering rack’s resistance ratio from soft for around-town cruising to more forceful when the driver gets on the throttle and starts hucking the chassis into corners. After driving the standard unit, I’m not sure you need it. The standard steering provides an exactness that most modern supercars would kill for, adeptly communicating the road’s flaws to your fingertips. You’re never probing for where the front tires are, trying to discern the surface’s nuances. Just twist the wheel and lay into the throttle. The will understeer, or course, but you can counter it with a dash more throttle and opposite lock to kick into the car’s RWD oversteer abilities.

As the canyon’s tight walls continued, my mind tried to keep up with the manic, quick revving of the V-10 and lightning-fast shifts. This is very much a driver’s car. When you clip apexes and treat it with respect, it rewards you, but lose focus for more than a moment, and like supercars of old, it will bite you. Be prepared to pucker or need a new pair of underwear. And that’s what makes this Huracán so different from other modern Lamborghinis and other modern supercars. In an era when every supercar manufacturer has evolved its products into more civilized offerings, the frenzied, knife-wielding howler that is the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder has returned to the old ways. It’s a car you’re always smiling or laughing in, including those Kegel moments, which for some reason are ecstatically good fun too. It’s a loud, brash maniac, just like the Diablo that hung on my wall.

Yes, this Huracán is everything I could’ve asked for in a first experience. And it made me hope supercar manufacturers see the inherent fun of their wares being a little more untamed. Unfortunately, the Huracán LP580-2 Spyder is likely the last of its kind; supercar progress means smaller, turbocharged engines, more safety and autonomy, and better everyday usability. This sadly feels like one last hurrah as Lamborghini and the rest of the supercar industry take the next step into modernity. I feel like I just barely slid into the experience under the wire. I hope I’m wrong.

2017 Lamborghini Huracan LP 580-2

ON SALE Now PRICE $219,780/ $280,845 (base/as tested) ENGINE 5.2L DOHC 40-valve V-10/ 572 hp @ 8,000 rpm, 398 lb-ft @ 6,500 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed dual-clutch automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, mid-engine RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 175.6 x 75.7 x 45.9 in WHEELBASE 103.1 in WEIGHT 3,326 lb 0-60 MPH 3.2 sec TOP SPEED 199 mph

  IFTTT