#what's the one poem that's like 'the couple drive me home after we hook up and for a moment i feel like i am loved' yeah well

[theinfinitedivides]

still here sitting on this but. the first shot he fired for Ki Cheol was on instinct. his body follows his heart. the last shot he fired for Ki Cheol was on instinct. his body follows his heart. the barrel of the gun is still smoking. he cannot move. his body follows his heart.

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 ~

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; chan x fem!reader, bonnie&clyde!au, criminal!au, 60′s!au, bank robbery, heavy use of tobacco, explicit language,weaponry, mentions of infidelity, manipulation, mentions of murder, mentions of reader being smaller than chan, mentions of religious beliefs, authorities, american style!au, death, implied su-cide. 

𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; SMUT!! sex against a wall (lmao good warning there cherry), dom!chan x sub!fem!reader, angry sex, dry humping, degradation, blowjob, face fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia, choking, possessiveness, implied corruption kink, creampie, unprotected sex (be careful plz), piv, clitorial stimulation, orgasm (m/f), cum. 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 ; 5.9 k 

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦 ; this was heavily inspired by both well bonnie and clyde but also “the serpent” because holy fuck i loved that serie so much 

also warning right; this is purely fiction and not meant to romanticise crime and i think it’s pretty obvious that i don’t know shit about how to rob a bank neither do i know anything about weapons,,, so take this with a grain of salt.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 18

It was love. Love had led you down this path and shattered the one you cared the most about, the one that held your hand, the one that promised to die for you. Silence filled your mind as you stroked his cold cheek, his eyes closed. 

Your partner in crime.

Bang Chan.

“Tonight, coming up on channel 4, the continuation of the Lagoons.”

You turned the knob on the car radio, the windows on the silver vauxhall viva rolled down, your hair fluttering in the light breeze that accompanied the summer heat. The voice on the radio got distorted as you shifted channels, the antenna on the car barely being able to pick up signal from how far out in the desolate area the two of you were.

“Who the fuck watches the lagoons?” you said, furrowing your eyebrows, searching for some funky tunes as Chan was driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He laughed, the cigarette smoke whiffing over to you, burning at the tip and hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Where we heading, sweet cakes?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows and checking himself out in the rearview mirror. You scoffed, adjusting the silk scarf around your head and reaching into the glove compartment of the light colored interior of the car, grabbing the half empty cigarette box. 

“Don’t call me that, I’m married” you say, the flicker of the metal zippo echoing, a purple flame igniting and burning the white end of the cigarette in your mouth, the orange part quickly stained by your lipstick. Chan smirked, casting a glance at you as you puffed, putting the lighter on the dashboard and leaning back against the leather seats, exhaling the smoke through the window as you observed the mountains that passed you, sweltering heat making your vision blur.

“And still you fuck me. What’s he good for? Cheating on you? You should just throw that ring away, I’ll buy you a new one”

The ring.

You and your ex-husband never officially divorced. You just packed up your things and left one night when he was out drinking, probably snogging a woman younger his age. The emerald ring that he once put on your finger held no meaning, it was simply for aesthetic now. Memorabilia from when life was worse, reminding you to always strive for something better. It was ironic, the way the sun shined on the emerald green symbolizes wealth and toxic jealousy. You couldn’t help but to feel jealous of the many young women he spent his nights with. You thought you had moved on but maybe you hadn’t since you refused to let go of the ring. Thank god you didn’t have his child or else you’d be tied down for life. You escaped at the right time. 

You didn’t answer Chan, simply staring out at the window. The car zoomed past with speed, there was no time for resting since you two were the infamous criminals that could be captured at any moment, it was still a miracle you were alive and well despite how many times you’ve been in open fire with the authorities. The two of you always managed and had each other in the end and the plethora of guns that were loaded in the trunk could buy you freedom for a little while. A gritty highway that never seemed to end, the tumbleweeds rolling about in the distance, he searched for a place you could rest since dusk would soon arrive. Life as a runaway couple had it’s ups and downs but the worst part of it was not knowing if you would survive another day, cops could just arrest you, rip you from your lover and lock you up like you were once before, writing love letters to Chan on a filthy piece of paper until you were bailed out by none other than your mother that you abandoned for him. They didn’t understand. He might be a criminal, stealing cars with his older brother since he admired his fancy lifestyle with hookers, expensive liquor and gold. He was so close until he stumbled up to you through a mutual friend and fell head over heels, he was too much of a hopeless romantic for him to be able to lead such a lifestyle. 

A big sign was ahead of you, a small red building inching closer to the two of you. Sure, it wasn’t the safest place, anyone could call the authorities on you but luckily telecommunications weren’t that advanced out here, most of the news being the ones you heard from between others lips. You two were simply a married couple whatever new village you infiltrated or at least that’s what people thought, the two of you were simply well-off, being able to afford the most expensive cigars and perfumes. The cigarette had burned down, almost meeting your plush lips that were covered in the latest lipstick. You threw it out the window, Chan had done the same moments prior. 

“What you say, hm? How about here for tonight?” he asked in a low voice, his hair slicked to the side, his jaw clenching as he rested his head on the headrest, looking at you with a quick glance with a smile. He always smiled when he gazed at you, it was almost a reflex. He was too smitten with love. You nodded, grabbing your oval sunglasses from the seat in between you and Chan, putting them on and observing yourself in the exterior mirror. Now you were ready for greetings with strangers, hiding behind your dark tinted shades.

The young man swerves onto the dusty driveway, the dust billowing from behind the car as stones flew everywhere, the car coming to a hasty halt. Your back bounced against the seat, removing your safety belt and opening the car door, stepping out with your shining red heels. The hotel seemed kinda small, perfect place for two sought-after criminals to hide. The building was a cherry red, tacky curtain in mustard yellow covering the chipped white window frames that held up the grimy glass panes. It lied in a remote place, being the only building as far as the eyes could see, beside the hotel there was a kiosk where one could buy the most basic necessities like bread, milk and cigarettes. As you were looking around the place, standing with your feet wide and your hand on your hip, Chan was busy unpacking the car. Not the weapons that were nicely hidden beneath a blanket but your two small briefcases containing nothing more than a couple of expensive clothes, makeup, a small notebook of your poems, a camera and photos of relatives. As you observed the mountainous landscape and dry land where cactuses made their home a small old man hurried out, dressed in a half-dingy suit and vest, the colorful tie being the main focus.

“Welcome welcome!” he says in a scurried voice. “Please, let me!” The old man shuffled over to Chan, grabbing the briefcases out of his grasp to which Chan bowed subtly in thankfulness. You and him followed the man inside through a lime green door and were greeted by the lobby that had a dark oak check-in counter, decorated with small trinkets of older times, a golden clock and small piles of paper. The man put down the bags in front of the desk, you casting a glance at Chan that was looking at the keys and the tags attached on the walls on small hooks.

“How long will you be staying for?” the man asked to which Chan hummed, looking at you before clearing his throat and answering - “Just one night”

“alrighty hmmm,,, then I’m guessing a double bed would suit your fancy? You do make a lovely couple indeed” he said with a smile, showing off his yellow stained teeth, years of coffee and tobacco. You smiled, clenching your jaw in frustration. 

“Thank you, which room exactly?” you said quickly, wanting the old man to hurry his actions. He looked back, exposing his half-balding grey head of hair and stretched for a pair of keys at the top, the keys jingling as he put them on the desk. 

“Room 4, it’s just here by the side. That will be 30 dollars” he said, writing something down on a piece of paper. Chan opened one of the luggages, quickly pulling out the needed amount and tips out from one of many wads of cash that were neatly tucked away between clothes and other products. He put the green bills on the desk to which the old man heightened his eyebrows, the generous tip falling to his liking. 

“Keep the change” Chan said with a smile, picking up the briefcases and heading to the room. You smiled at the old man as well, picking up the keys and turning to head over to your lover. 

You put the keys in the lock of the brittle wooden door, a small golden plate saying ‘4′ with a clear font. As the door opened you were met by a rather rustic room, the walls colored light blue and the bed frame the same wood as the door, murky white duvet covers on the bed. Luckily it was just one night.

Chan started packing up your belongings, mainly picking up a map of the area that he bought at a supermarket hours prior. He unfolded the bunt of paper, laying it flat on a vanity that had a round mirror attached in front. He placed his index finger harshly on a certain point on the map, his fingers clad in all kinds of rings with jewels. 

“Here we are, Johnsons motel, right?” You nodded at his question, him continuing talking in a firm voice. “So if we take this route tomorrow at around 9 am we should be there by 10:50 am which is perfect, we c-” You interrupted him mid sentence.

“Chan, you told me we weren’t gonna do this until next week, we have money!” you yelled, only then remembering that the walls are thin in such a matured building. He sighed, turning to gaze at you with dark eyes. He hated it when you contradicted him, it was almost like he was addicted to making you his slave and sure, he did take care of you whenever you were hurt due to his actions but he liked having you totally dependent on him, risking your life for him. The veins running down his arms got bolder, he moved the arm that was holding him up from the vanity instead standing right in front of you with a wide stance, his eyebrows heightened.

“What did you say?”

Your back hit the tasteless blue wallpaper as Chan walked towards you, trapping you between the wall and his muscular figure. A harsh gulp descended down your esophagus as you gazed intently into his hooded eyes, yours twinkling with mere innocence though you were far from innocent in the eyes of the public. He looked you up and down, almost swearing with his eyes, gliding his tongue against the inside of his cheek. 

“I said why can’t we just wait with that for a bit? We robbed multiple stores last week and we have money? I don’t see why you need to hurry so, like fuck s-”

“So you think money grows on trees? We do this together y/n and I could just leave you whenever, I’d just laugh seeing your ass trying to survive”

He leaned closer to your ear, his body pressed against yours. His hot breath lingered near you, tickling the shell of your ear.

“Or better yet I could kill you, no one needs a criminal” 

His voice vibrated through you, the deep tone scaring you but oddly turning you on, the heat pooling around your core, your panties sticking to the thin fabric of your panties. You burst into laughter, catching him off guard.

“You motherfucker” you said through your teeth, smiling brightly at him. 

“I don’t like this attitude you’re giving me y/n, I’m not joking with you” he said with a devilish smirk, moving away from your ear and staring into your soul. It was almost as if he stared through you, his jaw moving as he clenched it.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” your facial expressions turned serious in seconds, the smile wiping off your face. You looked him dead in the eyes, not even flinching when he smashed the rough palm of his hand on the wall next to your head, the loud sound echoing in the cool room, the slight humming of the air conditioner above the bed.

“No and you won’t be after I fuck you” 

You wanted to rile him up even more, get him so angry that he had no other choice but to pin you against the wall and stuff his cock so far down your leaking cunt that you’d alert the other guests around the motel, hearing how good Chan fucks you. 

“Hah,,, is that your only threat?” you chuckled mockingly, running your pointer finger up his toned chest, lifting up his head by his chin and flicking your finger off it, striking a jeering smile at him. His knee traveled up your leg, jabbing at your wet clothed entrance to which you accidentally moan, the gain of friction finally arriving when your core was burning with pure arousal as Chan spoke. With a gleaming look in your eyes you rubbed against his knee, his slightly cold hands wrapping around your neck, feeling your larynx bob when you swallow your spit, not breaking eye contact for a second. His lips landed on yours, pushing his knee against your sex causing you to moan into the kiss as you rolled your hips on the flat surface of his dress pants. Your lips pursed, teasingly biting his bottom lip as a sign that you needed him, his tongue slipping into your mouth and danced around with yours in a sloppy battle. Your hands fumbled with the big metal buckle of his belt, undoing it in desperation and unzipping the black pants that covered his bottom half. Chan grunted as you palmed him through his boxers, his erection begging to be freed from it’s clothed prison, you squeezed his member, massaging it in your hands to make his knees weak, make him beg for you but this time you would be begging for him as he placed removed his knee from your dripping cunt causing you to whine from the loss of contact. 

“C-chan, please I need you” you pleaded in a thin voice, lifting your head up as his kiss diverted to your neck, his rough lips leaving kiss after kiss on the sensitive skin, moving down to your exposed collarbones. 

“You’ll only get what you want if you do whatever I ask you to”

You nodded eagerly, putting your hands down his boxers and stroking his cock, Chan groaning against the skin of your neck near your ear, your earrings rattling. 

“Yes, I’ll do anything! J-just fuck me already” you whimpered, your hot cheek against the wall. 

“Then you follow your little ass to the bank tomorrow and do what you are told, understood?” His voice was deep, humming as he nibbled on your ear, giving it small kitten licks.

“And if I don’t?” You challenged him for a last time, stopping your slow strokes down the shaft of his twitching dick and removing your hands from his underwear and instead wrapping your arms around his waist. He scoffs, pulling back and looking you in the eyes, slowly putting his hand around your throat and tightening.

“I’ll choke you to death, you know I’ll get away with it” he said with a lifeless smirk. You nodded in pure fear, your eyes twinkling in the minimal light that came from the sun setting outside the dusty windows. Suddenly his hands grasp a handful of your hair, gripping it by the roots and shoving you down on your knees that land on the frangible floorboards with a thump. He harshly lets go of your hair in order to pull down his pants and underwear, his hard veiny cock springing free mere inches from your saliva coated lips. Chan gave his cock a couple of strokes before rubbing the crimson tip against your lips, hissing when you poke your tongue out, him smearing his precum against the surface of your wet tongue. You pursed your lips around him, slowly working your way down his shaft, taking a breath of air every time you pull away, licking the underside of his dick with fat stripes all the way from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue off. His big hands grabbed either side of your head, him thrusting inside your throat, not caring if you gagged, that just made him even more viscous, hearing your desperate moaning and seeing the spit run down your chin and neck covered in his marks. Your head bumped against the wall with every thrust, your nose pressing up against his abdomen as he was balls deep inside your mouth. Your eyes burned, tears teasing at your tear duct, a cold salty stream rolling down your cheek as he stopped, pulling out your mouth, you coughing violently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tear with one finger before grabbing you by the neck, lifting your head up and looking into your eyes as he inserted his dick in your mouth once again, your thick saliva making his cock glisten. His silent groans only made you helplessly rub your thighs together, eager to have him inside of you. Every moan that slipped from between his swollen lips made the blood rush south, not to mention his fierce eyes that were glued on you as he coldly fucked your skull, no hint of compassion. He stretched out your throat, the clear outline of his cock making its appearance on your esophagus as he went deeper, groaning as you felt him twitch inside your mouth. As the familiar sensation of a knot in his stomach descended upon him he pulled out, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against your glistening lips before he was quick with his movements. 

It didn’t take much for Chan to throw you over his shoulder, legs thrashing and you squealing, telling him to put you down. He did but not in the way you expected, slamming you down on the plushy bed, a fine layer of dust swirling in the orange sunset that shined in. The impact caught you off guard, knocking the air out of your lungs. Chan climbed on top of you, his belt buckle touching your body as he hovered above you. You hastily shuffled upwards to the headboard, lifting your hips as you removed your brightly colored bell bottom pants revealing your panties that already had a wet stain decorating them, Chan chuckling as his thumb glided over the patch of wetness. 

“You’re so needy baby, all worked up from giving me a blowjob, huh? I can slip my cock into you so easily” he purred at you, his fingers hooking at the elastic band of your underwear, slipping them down to your ankles, you shimmying your foot out of the fabric and letting the panties dangle from your other foot as your spread your legs, Chan being in between them. He danced his fingers up the wet folds that presented themselves in front of him, you squirming at the slightest touch. 

“You think you have control, you think you can do anything without me? You’re wrong, without me you’re nothing” he growled at you, his fingers covered in your slick as he teased your clit, fingers rolling in circles as you clutched onto the covers, knuckles whitening. You hurried by taking off your top, throwing your bra somewhere in the same direction, exposing your hardened buds, Chan’s mouth watering. He did the same, momentarily losing contact with your wet cunt as he pulled off his shirt, his perfectly sculpted body surprising you every time, as if you hadn’t fucked him countless times before. Chan attached his lips to one of your nipples, the other one being fondled by his hand, the cold pure silver causing you to shiver. Your hands stroked his soft hair, twirling it between your fingers and softly whimpering. He left tiny marks all over your chest, his lips sucking and gently nibbling on your supple skin. When your entire chest was a mess of marks and spit he lifted your legs, leaning them against his wide sturdy shoulders as he teased your wet entrance, rubbing his tip against your folds causing your back to arch slightly, a long pitched mewl forcing its way out of your mouth. When he finally slipped his cock inside you he groaned at your tightness. 

“fuck y/n, you’re so tight no matter how much I fuck you” he said, leaning over you so that your legs almost touch your chest, planting one hand beside your neck as the other one choked you, the restriction of air making you lightheaded but only adding to the pleasure that burned at your core as he relentlessly fucked into your squelching cunt. Your feet dangled near his shoulders lifelessly as the sheer momentum of his thrusts made you move upwards on the bed, the bed frame creaking due to the age it carried, you hoped no one noticed what scandalous activities was going on this room but it was probably already too late as your moans turned into high pitched cries. Your hands folded over Chan’s wrist as you tried to stabilize yourself, it took every ounce of strength to not close your quivering thighs. His thrusts got faster, rolling his hips against yours as the hand around your neck loosed, a harsh slap landing across your tear stained cheek, his thumb dipping inside your mouth, you latching on instantly.

“Look at you, thinking you’re so tough. You’re weak, remember that” he said with a lifted smirk, asserting his dominance through his dark gaze. You nodded, feeding his ego even more as the hand around your neck tightened, making you lightheaded with arousal, his cock ramming into your tight cunt that begged for release just like you. Chan loved seeing you like this. All fucked out with drool hanging from the corners of your lips, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he vigorously made your world shake, going hard enough to make the bed squeak loudly, the headboard bumping into the wall with every thrust. You couldn’t form a single sentence, blabbering incoherent sentences with his name stringed into it, in your mind you made perfect sense but your hesitant lips didn’t do the same. 

“f-fuck!” you cried out, the even pace getting sloppier as the skin slapping sound grew louder, bouncing against the awfully colored walls of the shabby motel room. You squirmed around on the bed, flailing your arms as you desperately tried to grab onto either your lover or the flowery sheets, your efforts fruitless as you felt your orgasm approaching with wide strides as Chan started circling your swollen abused clit with the pad of the hand that wasn't forcefully holding onto your throat, making you swoon. You arched your back as you couldn’t hold on any longer, clenching around his cock with every ounce of perseverance. With weak legs you interlaced them, trapping him deeper inside you as the merciless fiddling with your bud made you let out a breathy broken moan, your tits bouncing with the movements. The male looked at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, adoring your bloodshot eyes. How he loved staring down at his prized possession. He had ruined a once innocent girl, made her his with the mere power of love and crime. 

He lulled his head back as he was dangerously close to his climax, drawing in a harsh breath from between his clenched teeth, the air cooling down in his mouth before warming up in his tobacco-stained lungs. He was sent over the edge with a final thrust that made your body jolt in excitement, his thumb now simply resting on your clit as all thoughts were wiped clean from his mind, his hot seed spilling into your cunt, unknowingly making you cum as your abdomen contracted, your teary eyes squinting together, not in pain but in pleasure. His cum painted the quivering walls of your sex, draping his body over yours as he panted, staying inside you to ensure every drop of cum was where it supposed to be. His lips were coated with a fine layer of saliva, two lips meeting in a loveable kiss. It might seem odd to others. That you love a man that only brings you down or uses you, at least that’s what it looked like from a different perspective but you were infatuated, maybe even obsessed. He made you famous and he took you under his wing when you fled from your scumbag of a husband. 

Now Chan was the only thing that mattered.

He pulled out, falling down beside you, the weight of the bed shifting as his built back hit it. The cum dripped out of you slowly, hitting the sheets and staining them. You ruffled your hair before you stood up, cum running down your inner thigh as you made your way over to the shower. Chan instead crept down under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in a half lying position, casting glance at the dark oak bedside tables where a packet of cigarettes was left haphazardly along with your metal zippo, a gift from your dad that died in war. It was important to you, important enough to destroy you with smoke. Chan retrieved one of the deadly sticks from it’s pretty eye catching packaging and lit one end, inhaling the smoke. He put one hand beneath his head that was supported by the pillow as he other one momentarily removed the cigarette, flicking the ashes on the cold tile floor, the grey thick smoke spreading through the room, interlacing the bed sheets with it’s scent. The gentle tapping of the water on the bathroom floor calmed him, calmed him from knowing that tomorrow might be the last day he’s alive. Or maybe it’s you. 

Here you were again, getting into the sparkling clean car that was loaded with nothing more than a multitude of weaponry that many times wasn’t used against civilians, just to give a gentle reminder that you don’t fuck with the two of you unless you wanna get a bullet burned through your skull. If they ask for it they are gonna get it.

Chan loaded the suitcases into the truck where a blanket covered the weapons, the pile of murder machines looking innocent like this. The sand of the desert was blowing in your face, your long skirt flowing in the wind. Just because you were a criminal didn’t mean you had to dress out of fashion, the style was a part of it. You gazed out into the valleys of dust, the lonesome tumbleweeds drifting with the wind like a blind rat following the smell of musky cheese, not aware that it’s heading to it’s own death.

“Ready, sugarplum?” Chan said, wrapping his hand around your head and leaning it against his sturdy shoulder. 

“I was born ready” you whispered into the wuthering wind. He smiled but put on a serious face as you looked at him, before walking over to the passenger seat, opening the car door.

“Let’s do what we do best, darling.” you said with a bittersweet grin, sitting down and closing the door. 

The bank wasn’t too far away, that being that it was still in the same state since many other robberies required long car rides that was either filled with funky tunes or more cigarettes than you can count. This one wasn’t any different. His two hands were gripping the steering wheel as he drove faster than the speed limit, praying to whatever nonexistent god he had in his head that the police wouldn’t flash their red and blue sirens behind the vehicle. He probably prayed to the money. He often said that money did things not even god was able to do and there was truth in Chan’s words or maybe the both of you were too infatuated with the idea of money that you would go to any lengths just to get it. Just to smell the fresh dollar bills in your hands. The car was in complete silence, only the growling of the engine being heard. It was always scary heading to a new place, you never knew what would happen there. Maybe it’s the last time you witness your lover behind the steering wheel, the last time you feel the wind fluttering through you hair due to the rolled down window. Maybe it was the last time you would see the emerald green jewel reflecting it’s light as the sun bounced off the glossy surface of the stone. You denied your longing for your husband, beside all the cheating and drugs you were ready to stay with him but there was one thing that Chan could do better; love. 

You could tell how tense Chan was. The way he anxiously checked the rearview mirror and forcefully looked straight at the neverending road in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty apparent that this lifestyle was driving him mad, making all his nerves stand on the edge of his skin, paranoid to the bone. But there was no end in sight unless someone else put that end there. He was never gonna stop, go as far as he could and shoot for the stars. It was people like him, greedy people that life usually steered the wrong way and well,,, you were one of those as well, greedy for luxury even though the life you were living now was anything far from that. You turned to Chan, his one hand rested in his lap and you slowly reached over to grab it, rubbing your thumb over knuckles. His eyes momentarily diverted from the road to you, looking at your eyes that were focused on his slightly rough hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, Chan parked into the parking lot of the bank, the building being just as remotely placed as the motel. Perfect. The car was strategically placed near the road for easy escape if there would even be any required. As you stepped out of the car you opened the trunk, uncovering the multitude of weapons that lay beneath the blanket and passed Chan his favorite rifle, the M1918 Browning Rifle. You simply stuck to a revolver since you could hide it in your holster for when you needed two hands to grab the money and shove it into the burlap bag. 

There wasn’t much thought needed for the robberies that happened this far away from the city, the local police station was a good drive away so neither you or Chan worried too much but it was still a risk. The big wooden doors were slammed open by him, a shot up into the ceiling shattered a lamp and next second your ears were filled by the terrified screams of men, women and children. You didn’t hesitate your movements as you went up to the multiple receptionist desks where the women in neat uniforms were all kneeling on the floor. 

“Get the fuck up!” you yelled, jumping on the desk and pointing your gun at one of the girls, she looked rather young and innocent with her dark shaking pupils that wandered with pure fear. You yelled at her to open all the vaults, to which she complied not having any other choice than to get shot. Her hands quivered as she put the money in the bag, filling it up with valuable green bills that would promise you dreams. You glanced back at Chan that was pointing the rifle at the people that lied down on their stomachs with their hands on their head, the sound of a child's tears not even bothering him or his conscience. You held the gun to her head, lonesome tears streaming down her face as her legs were barely able to hold her up. A smile cracked on your crimson painted lips as the bag filled up, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your blood making you fly on the clouds, you could do whatever you wanted in this moment. You were free. 

Just as you were about to turn around, signaling to Chan that the mission was done you heard another gunshot that was foreign from the usual sounds of the weapons you carried. It didn’t sound like it came from inside the building. The second after you heard a window shatter, glass flying over the civilians that screamed in fear once again and then you heard a thump, a loud one. You looked over your shoulder and there he was, your lover with a bullet through his back, the puddle of sangria red blood spreading over the bright vinyl flooring. This was the sight you feared the most in the world and here it was, right in front of your naked eyes. You dropped the revolver you held in your dominant hand and rushed over to him as you heard a male voice over a megaphone from outside the building. 

“Civilians, exit the building immediately”

The crowd of people squeezed through the doors, fleeing to whatever corner they could or hiding behind the countless cop cars that flashed their colorful sirens. You dragged Chan’s head into your lap as you fell down in defeat, looking at his closed eyes and his face that turned a pale blue with hints of grey, he was cold to the touch and his blood stained your clothes as well as the floor, the dark red marks on the floor that lead to his body as you dragged him closer to you, cupping his cheek. Frigid tears rolled down your cheeks and accumulated on your chin before dripping down onto his face, coloring his lips with a clear sheen. 

He wasn’t gone, he simply couldn’t be. He was your Chan, the Chan that always got away no matter what. Nothing could stop the two of you, not a stupid bullet through his back. You shaked him as you sobbed loudly, your lips quivering as black streaks of mascara covered the supple valleys of your cheeks. 

“Chan! Chan, fuck!! Wake up!!” you yelled as you shook him vigorously but his lifeless body was limp in your arms, no sign of life to be seen. You hugged him closer, not feeling his heartbeat or lungs filling with air from this cursed place. He wasn’t gone, he was still here and he would wake up one day, you told yourself these lies because they are easier to believe than the cold hard truth. Your blood boiled with pure rage. Somebody had stopped your dream life, that someone being the law itself but no matter who it was it still stopped you and you never took no for an answer. Your empty lost gaze diverted to the loaded gun that lied only footsteps away from your cowered body.

“Exit the building, leave the weapons” you heard the voice call out from outside, the megaphone crackling and distorting the voice. 

What was better?

Dying in the hands of the authorities or dying in Chan’s arms?

[pascalscenarios]

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE (Ricky Hauk x Reader)

Just The Way You Are

Scenarios Series

Ricky Hauk x Reader

Summary: Ricky feels as if he needs to change to keep up with your lavish life

Warning: Mentions of an abusive parent, social classes

Words: 1982

Author Note: Based on a scenario from my twitter. Ricky Hauk is so cute ugh! Enjoy! - K 

You first met Ricky when your car broke down on the side of the road. You managed to get to a payphone and look up in the yellow pages to see if you could get a tow truck down to where you were located. The first number you found was for Al’s Service Station.

After calling and waiting for 20 minutes, Ricky had come with a tow truck, wearing a mechanic jumpsuit and a red baseball cap worn backward.

“Hey, I’m Ricky” He greeted you quickly, then went straight to hooking up your car.

You give him a sweet smile introducing yourself.

“Thank you for coming- I don’t know what happened. One minute I was driving, next thing, my started smoking and stopped running”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll take a look when we get back to the shop”

You thought Ricky was SO cute. He had gorgeous brown eyes that you ever saw.

On the car ride to the shop, you tried your best to make conversation with him. He didn’t say much. He was quiet and reserved. A man of few words.

You and Ricky had different upbringings. You have a perfect life. You came from a wealthy family and live in an affluent part of town. You could have anything you wanted. Ricky on the other hand had an abusive father growing up who is no longer in his life. He and his younger brother Joey were raised by a single mother and they struggled financially. They lived off paycheck to paycheck. Unlike you, Ricky couldn’t have the things he wished or dreamed for.

Ricky was hesitant around you. He knew how rich people were. One wrong move, or if you ended up saying something they found offensive, its cuffs slapped around his wrist.

He was already in a shitty mood and didn’t feel like talking. He got his two-week notice from Al that he was being laid off and his mom was still pretty ticked off at him thinking about the possibility of college, leaving her and his younger brother joey behind to fend for themselves. He didn’t need any more tension in his life.

Getting to the shop, he got to work on figuring out what was wrong with your fancy convertible. He popped open the hood of your car, looking around and fidgeting with different parts.

“Sometimes wrong with the engine. It’s gonna take an hour or two to fix. You might wanna call someone to come pick you up and come back later” he states.

“I’ll just wait, no biggie” you shrug.

He cocked his eyebrow at you. Were you serious? Why would someone like you willingly want to stay in a run-down part of town he thought. “You sure? We got a phone by the register-” he motions towards the desk

“I’m sure. I don’t mind waiting” you smile.

“Alright, suit yourself” turns his back towards you, crunches his face in confusion. He thought you were strange for deliberating staying.

You could have called someone to pick you up, but the truth is, you waited to stay to get to know Ricky and you weren’t in a rush to get home.

...

Ricky started to warm up to you after a while, making conversation with you as he worked on your car. You were sweet and you seemed different from the normal rich people he dealt with and he liked that. You treated him as an equal, not as someone who was below you.

After talking about anything and everything random things, you left him to focus on fixing your car. You probably irritated him. You wandered around the shop, exploring the different parts, tools, and old materials stashed around the garage.

Under a pile of greasy rags, you noticed a black leathered book. You opened it up to find writing inside. They were poems. Beautiful yet heart-wrenching poems. You were amazed by each one as you continued to flip the pages.

“Alright, your cars- hey!” Ricky quickly pulls out the rag from his back pocket, whipping the grease from his hands, and walking towards you.

He takes the books from your hand, closing it shut.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean- did you write those?”

He signs looking down at the book.

“Yeah… I did”

“They’re amazing! Do you like poetry?”

He nods. “Yeah, I love it.”

“I love writing! I’m majoring in journalism at Redding. My parents don’t see a future in it though. They want me to have a ‘real career’, whatever that means” you roll your eyes.

“Poems and writings are more of a hobby…I was thinking about taking a writing course down at Redding University. I went to go check a class out but I don’t know… thinking about it.”

“If you love and are passionate about writing and poetry, go for it. That’s what my grandma used to say. You’ve got a gift, Ricky.” You smile.

He changes the subject ”Uh your cars done- we should start it up, see if it’s running” he tosses the book on the side on top of an old crate and walks with you over his car.

You slide into your car, putting the key into the ignition, the engine roaring again.

“Ah! Thank you so much!” You get out of the car and hug him tightly. He was taken back by your hug, but he smiled and wrapped his arms around you.

“Here,” You said handing him money.

“Thanks,” he stuffed it in his pocket.

“It was nice meeting you, Ricky” you smile.

“Drive safe, if you have any trouble, just come by” …

“Ricky!” You shout coming back a couple of days later. He was laying on a creeper and rolled himself out from underneath the car he was working on. “Hey!” he sits upright, grabbing a towel from his pocket and wiping his hands. He gets up walking towards you.

“You alright? Your cars not giving you any trouble is it?” He says, continuing to wipe his hands.

“No, I came to see you actually.” You start blushing slightly.

“Me? Can you see me?” he points to himself in disbelief.

“Yeah, I wanted to bring you this” you hand him a book. “As a thank you”

He stuffs the towel back in his pocket, taking the blue canvas-covered book from your hands.

He brings it to flip through the pages, noticing they were filled with poems.

“It’s a book of poems. I’ve had it since I was little, but I wanted you to have it”

“What?- No I can take this-”

“It’s inspired me a lot, maybe it will spark something in you”

“Look this is nice in all, but I-”

“Don’t argue with me and just take the book!” you laughed.

He smiled “Alright, alright…” he chuckled. “Thank you”

“Bye” you waved towards him walking back to your car.

“Wait! Before I go-” he is getting a little shy now. “Do you maybe you want to hang out sometimes? We could go catch a movie or something do else- or if you don’t wanna hang out that's fin-”

“Are you asking me out?” you cocked his eyebrow at him

“Y-yeah…if that's okay”

A giddy smile appeared on your face, you took the pen from the front pocket of this jumpsuit, taking his greasy stained hand, and scribbled your number down.

“You better call me, or I'm just going to have to come back here and find you” you laugh.

And since then, you and Ricky have been inseparable ever since.

…

You and Ricky were friends at first, but eventually the more the two of you started spending time together, you both started falling for each other.

You had brought him home to meet your friends and family. They were disapproving of you dating a guy from the wrong side of the tracks, but you didn't care what they thought about the two of you. Under the tough and hard exterior that protected him from outsiders, he was sweet, loving and protective towards his family, thoughtful, hard-working, and intelligent.

After meeting your friends and family, Ricky realized who he was and where he came from wasn’t going to be good enough for you… or in this case your friends and family. He was so out of his element and stuck out like a sore thumb in your world, and everyone noticed. And it wasn’t just the fact he was underdressed, but the fact they have accomplished so much, and here he was financially unstable, not going to school, and jobless. He needed to change if he wanted to keep up with you and the people in your life.

You didn’t even have to try with his family. Just like Ricky, his mother and brother had to warm up to you first. His mother wasn’t sure of your intentions, but once she saw how you two were together, you gained her trust and she welcomed you with open arms. Joey liked you from the moment you told him that you loved macaroni and cheese.

After Ricky had met your friends and family, you saw a change in him. You had no idea what was going on. He was like a whole different person, acting like the snobby people you grew up with.

You brought him to another family event. He was dressed up fancy, which he looked very handsome but it wasn’t him, that wasn’t your Ricky and introduced himself as Richard?

The whole night you watched him not lie about himself and laugh at jokes you knew he didn’t find funny.

This wasn’t your Ricky.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah sure, excuse us” he smiles at your parents' friends.

You walk outside to the garden and turn to face him.

“What the hell is going on?” you question.

“What do you mean?”

“For the past several weeks, you haven't been acting like yourself. That’s not you in there. I don't know who the hell is standing in front of me, because surely this isn’t my Ricky. Where’s the guy I fell in love with? A mechanic who loves and has a passion for poetry…”

He noticed how upset you were. Tears forming in your eyes. He thought this would make you happy.

He sighs. He couldn’t keep up his charade. “I just..” he pauses. “After meeting your friends and family…I realized I’m not good enough for you. I don’t belong in your world. I’m from the opposite side of town, I’m from a single-parent and low-income household. All these people see right through me...they see me as nothing- I just thought if I changed-“

“Ricky” You cup his face in your hands. Your thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“You don’t ever have to change who you are for me! I see you! I know who you are, I know your heart. I don’t care about your past or where you come from. Who you are as a person means way more to me than your upbringing and how much money you have. I love me just the way you are.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course...With every fiber in me...I love you” You kiss him softly.

You both pull away, your foreheads resting against each other. “Let’s get out of here, please,” he says.

“Where do you wanna go?” you asked.

“God anywhere but here” he laughed. “How about dinner near your place, the one you took me to on our first date,” you asked. “I feel like eating a greasy burger, fries, and a milkshake.”

He laughed, “alright”

“Okay, we better hurry up before my parents try to stop us” you chuckle.

“They’re going to kill me...they don’t like you being out on my side of town so late,” He says, taking your hand as you quickly exit, using the side gate.

“They can get over it and besides I’ll be okay because I'll be with you.”

MT // @wifeofdindjarin @icanbeyourjedi @sara-alonso@greeneyedblondie44 @hb8301​  @alberta-sunrise @spacenerdpascal @ryleyrooroo @reader-s-cantina

[m-c-coy]

Sero X Kaminari ghost au

Here's a fanfic idea I won't do anything with but I hope you enjoy!

Sero lives an average life. Average job, average looks, average apartment, etc. But he likes it like that.

The only really exciting thing in his life is his friends: Mina, Kirishima, and Bakugou.

They go out every Saturday night. Tonight being Mina's turn to choose what they do.

They go bar hopping for a bit until they get lost along the way and end up in front of a fortune tellers shop.

It being Mina's night to choose what they do demands that they get their futures read.

So they go in and do exactly that. Kirishima and Bakugo get told something about love making them blind, Mina gets told that she will excel at her new job (and upon request will be successful in love as well).

Oddly enough they all also get told that they will grieve the lost of someone they all hold dear soon.

Then Sero goes expecting the same but the old lady that has been telling their fortunes almost freezes the moment he sits down

"You will have a boring life full of disappotment and loneliness."

"That's nice"

The old lady quickly grabs what looks like a necklace that has a small obsidion rock with golden lines running through it like lighting.

She buts the necklace in Sero's hand and says he must keep it on him at all times if he wants a chance of having an exciting and fulfilling life.

He tries to leave without it but she says thats its free and he needs to take it. So he does.

Over the next week of wearing the necklace he notices some werid things happening.

And by werid I mean that he is now being haunted by what looks like a blond ghost his age in clothes from hundreds of years ago.

Sero tries to ignore it to see if it will go away but he won't stop talking.

"Hi! My names Kaminari Denki and I need you to help me cross over to the after life!"

"No thanks dude, I think I'm good."

But Kaminari won't leave him alone and keeps messing with his lights, throwing things off his shelf, messing with his TV, etc.

Its driving him crazy! Denki even follows him to his job! He can't take it any more. He wants him to leave him alone!

Sero's friends start to notice his werid behavior as well and don't hesitate to let him leave their next saturday outing early for "personal" reasons.

"Why do you keep following me, huh!? Why can't you see that I don't want to help you and instead bother someone else with your problems?"

"My soul is trapped in the necklace you're wearing...I have to go where ever it goes."

Denki continues to try and apologize for the trouble he has caused. He says that he was only trying to help him but Sero doesn't want to hear it anymore. He takes off the necklace and chucks it into the tree line.

And with that. Sero walks off and is free from the annoying little ghost. His apartment is quiet, all of his stuff is organized, and he actually has a productive day at work!

But its almost to quite now. His apartment dosen't feel as lived in and he has nothing to distract him when his work gets slow.

He soon realizes that he was a little harsh on the ghost that just asked for his help. So he goes back for him.

He goes back to where he thinks he tossed the necklace and begins to search but he can't find the necklace anywhere. He's panicking now becuase he thinks he just lost Kaminari for forever.

"Did you drop something young man?"

Its the old lady from the fortune telling. She has the necklace in her hand and scolds Sero for not taking better care of his things.

Once Sero gets back home he puts the necklace back on and can immediately see Denki again. He apologizes for what he did and asks if he would still like his help in finishing his unresolved buisness.

Kamianri of course agrees with his 100 watt smile and Sero can't help but bask in the light.

The mood is almost immediately ruined though when kamianri admits that he dosen't know what his unfinished buisness is.

Time to call in the moral support!

Sero calls over Mina, Kirishima, and Bakugo to explain why his been acting weird and for their help in freeing Denkis soul.

"So remeber that necklace that ildy lady gave me, yeah it kinda huanted and the ghost needs our help."

"Bullshit!"

After Denki reveals himself and their shock wears off, they get down to buisness.

They ask Denki about his life and how he died to see if that could be any clue to why he hasn't moved on yet.

"Well I died from being struck by lighting..."

"Thats kinda manly..."

Denki tells them that he was tied to a metal poll during a thunder storm and left to die becuase the people of his town thought he was a demon in disgues.

They basically find out that he didn't have a life full of friends or fun and died to young to truly experience anything so they decide to go on adventures so that Denki could actually "live" a little.

They take him to the mall, site seeing, carnival, museums, game nights (Denki figures out that he can possess a controller and actually play with them) and even to the bars

All of them get closer to him and he feels like the finale piece of the puzzle making their little group whole.

Once Denki learns that it is socially acceptable to date the same sex, he becomes Minas wingman at the bar. Literally ghost pushing girls into her arms or stealing their items for Mina to "find" and give back

Kaminari is determined to make Kirishima and Bakugo confess their obvious feels for eachother. He give Kirishima peptalks about how they have the actual ability to be together and gives him old English poems to recite to Bakugo. Denki gives Bakugo plenty of time to confess his feeling by some how always getting the two of them alone. Whether that's sticking them in an broken elevator or locking them in rooms.

But now that the gang can see Kaminari, they can easily tell that Sero is his favorite person to help. He follows him at work making sure that his coffe cup is always in reach, holding elevator doors open so he dosen't have to take the stairs, catching stakes of papers before they can fall off his desk, etc. He does it so seamlessly that they don't even think Sero notices his actions.

After a few months of hanging out together the group is once again out on another Saturday night. They have already hit a couple bars and are now walking through the park.

Mina is texting the girl Denki helped hook her up with, Bakugo is hold Kirishimas hand as he drags them to a swing set.

Sero walks over to a pond off to the side. He dosen't even have to look to know Kamianri has followed him and is floating next to him.

Sero can't help to notice how pretty Kamianri looks in the moonlight making him look like he is glowing, but also solid. Like hes a real person.

"So, do you think that we are any closer to you crossing to the otherside?"

Denki shakes his head no and Sero mentally sighs in relief.

They watch their friends laugh behind them and Denki smiles. He's so happy that they found and are with the love of their lives.

Denki frowns at the thought.

"I didn't tell you the whole truth of how I died."

Sero turns to Denki completely as he tells his story again but this time he says why he was left to die by his towns people.

"I don't know how, but they found out that I didn't like women. Were I'm from... liking men is a sin or the act of the devil so...they thought it was best to get rid of me and cleans their town of evil."

Sero never wished so badly that he could touch Kaminari and pull him into a hug.

"That wasn't right of them. I'm sorry you had to go through that...but while you're here you are free to like whoever you want."

"What if...what if I like you?"

Sero pauses only for a second before smiling the biggest smile in his life.

"Well...seeing as how I kinda fell for you, I would accept your feeling for me."

Kaminari has a shy smile on his face and asks if Sero could close his eyes for a second.

Sero does without hesitation and its not long after he feels what could only be described as phantom lips on his.

When the pressure on his lips leaves his, he opens his eyes to see Denki moving way from him. And see as he starts fading away.

Denki looks at his hand then up at Sero with big water eyes. Or maybe thats Seros eyes. He can't really tell in the moment.

Denki gives him one last smile before thanking him for everything and then disappears from existance.

Sero tries to grab him but its useless. He's gone. He turns and walks back to his friends.

When he finally reach them and they ask where Denki is, he finally allows himself to cry.

They end their Saturday night outing in Seros apartment all cuddled together and mourning the loss of their friend.

Some more time has passed and no one has really recovered from Kaminari's abrupt departure. Mina, Bakugo, and Kirishima try to keep a brave face on for Sero's sake but they all feel the loss.

Because all things happen on Saturday, the gang decides to go on a walk around town as their activity. Mina brought her girlfriend along so now Sero has somehow become the 5th wheel and is not fan of this revelation.

His sad boy hours are cut short though when he is suddenly hit by a guy caring a box.

They both go to the ground with the box opening and spilling everything around them.

The guy immediately starts to ask if Sero is okay and if he needs help getting up, but Sero can't respond in that moment because he is staring at Kaminari. A Kaminari that he can touch!

The gang by this point is also staring and watching this guy ramble on about being new in town and helping his grandmother with some errands exactly like how THEIR Kamianri would ramble without a breath in between.

Kirishima finally breaks the spell and helps the guy pick the stuff up and asks if he would like help caring the stuff to his grandmothers.

The guy agrees and then introduces himself as Denki.

Sero can't talk or function right now. He is so confused but also filled with so much happiness he thinks that he's going to burst.

"I know I just met you guys but, I feel like I known all of you from somewhere... maybe we were friends in our past lives!"

They all laugh off the comment as they come up to a familiar hole in the wall shop that started this entire journey.

Denki greets the old women with his 100 watt smile as he introduces everyone to his grandma.

The women just gives them all knowing smiles as she ask for Sero and Denki to put the boxes into the back room.

They quickly put the boxes away. Sero had to stand behind Denki to put his on the top shelf and he couldn't help but notice the blush spreading on the others face before joining the group back outside.

The old women informs Denki that these lovely people have volunteered to show him around town and even invited him to go bar hopping with them.

Denki agrees immediately and Sero can't help but be thankful that his boring life got interrupted by the ball of sunshine now walking next to him.

[jungcity]

hi, this is my very first time asking jsbdbs. can i request serial killer by lana del rey with jaemin? i really really love your writing by the way. i was really hooked with 'love, eternal'. love you, i hope you're safe always ♡

SERIAL KILLER

Sneak up on you, really quiet,

Whisper, "Am I what your heart desires?"

I could be your ingenue.

Keep you safe and inspired,

Baby, let your fantasies unwind.

We can do what you want to do, ooh, ooh

The students scurried off like ants towards their respective rooms as the bell rang. Couples bid their good byes by sucking off each other’s lips, while friends waved friends one last bright smile for whatever lies in the seclusion of their rooms.

At the farthest corner of the room, Jaemin sat with his chin propped up on his palms, watching as you laughed at some silly jokes the other boy, Jeno, told you.

Y/N. How could you be so pretty sitting there? The view must’ve been charming, if not for the way that your eyes twinkle because of another boy. Jaemin proceeded in watching you, unmindful of the world around him, until your eyes strayed towards his sitting frame. Almost immediately, your laugh died and your smile turned downwards when you caught him looking at you. Then you looked away.

It’s been years since Jaemin started to pine over you. And you have yet to notice him.

Was it his looks? He could pass more than an average-looking guy. Yes, he wasn’t good at sports like Jeno, but Jaemin would definitely wipe the floor with any other guys when it comes to art. In point of truth, he has written you a whole book of poems describing only your face.

Watching you and Jeno only irates the living shit out of Jaemin, but why couldn’t he get his eyes off of you? Does he need to pluck them out so they would stop searching for you in the crowd of students?

At last, his suffering came to an end when your teacher arrived. Jeno patted you lightly on the back before going back on his seat. What was that for? Why could someone touch you like that and Jaemin couldn’t?

“Alright, class, as I’ve said yesterday, I’m going to group you into two for the research. Please prepare a 1/16 paper, write your name on it, and put it in this bowl,” he said while placing a clear fishbowl on the top of his table.

The students started to ask for papers while Jaemin silently folded a scratch from his notebook to the given paper size.

When all has been settled, the teacher shook the bowl and told everyone that he would fish two papers at a time. Those names listed on the papers would be partners.

Jaemin watched as you turned your back to give Jeno a warm smile— reassuring him that you wanted to be partners. It took Jaemin all his patience not to break his pen clutched with his hand.

“Jeno and...” The teached faltered, furrowing his brows at the paper. Jaemin gripped the pen tighter, wishing that it wasn’t your name written on it. You seemed to be on edge on your seat, too. “Dong...” Jaemin cursed as a thank you. It wasn’t you. “Please fix your handwriting Mr. Donghyuck Lee,” the teacher sighed, “It’s Jeno and Donghyuck.”

The groupings proceeded until four students were left: you, Jaemin, and two other girls. Jaemin could feel his heart beating inside his chest as the teacher fished two papers from the bowl. It’s the last year of highschool, and this is the biggest project of the year, Jaemin needs this.

“Jaemin and...” He wanted to fly and see the name on the paper instead. He couldn’t simply wait— “Tzuyu.”

It wouldn’t have disappointed him that much. But as he saw your literal breath of relief upon realizing that he wasn’t your partner, Jaemin felt as of the world had turned its back against him.

“That leaves Lisa and Y/N,” the teacher announced, “Please sit with your partners so we could start the discussion.”

“Sir!” Tzuyu raised her hand. “I have a suggestion to make.”

“Go on,” the teacher said.

“Well... Lisa and I, we live close to each other. It would be convenient if we were partners. Since I won’t have to bother driving myself to Y/N’s house and vice versa.”

Jaemin leaned back on his seat, watching the event unfold with interest dancing in his irises. Then he raised his hand, too.

“Yes, Mr. Na?”

He took a glance at your frowning face, as if your eyes were telling him ‘don’t say it’. But this shot is important to him. Jaemin cleared his throat and talked, “I actually live a few blocks away from Y/N. So it would be convenient for the four of us to switch partners.”

“Is that so?” the professor hummed, “Does anyone disagrees with that?”

Jaemin anticipated for your dissent. But none came. You know it, too. It would be trouble-free for everyone.

“So, it’s settled then. Tzuyu and Lisa, Jaemin and Y/N,” he repeated, “Please sit beside your partners.”

As your classmates brainstorm in their seats, the both of you remained quiet until the bell rang. Jaemin was perspiring like a waterfall being seated next to you. And his dilemma didn’t stop there.

You had to go to the library after your morning classes to search for books. Jaemin spotted you walking around the bookshelves when he entered the library.

As he didn’t want to rattle you, so he sneaked really quiet behind the bookshelves you were trudging through.

Like the romance movies and romantic novels, you picked up a book, revealing Jaemin’s face as he stared right in your eyes. Because of the shock, you dropped the book with a thud. He hurriedly trekked towards you and picked up the book himself. But when your fingers touched, you flinched away.

Hurt was an understatement for what he felt. Are you that disgusted with him? The words bubbled up in his throat, and before he could think, Jaemin spoke, “Why do you hate me, Y/N?”

Anxiousness covered your heart. Then you gulped. “I don’t hate you. What makes you say that?”

“We’ve been classmates for years. But you have managed to ignore me. You always make a reason not to be paired with me whenever there’s a project. You frown when I try to talk to you but you laugh whenever Jeno has something to say. And now, you aren’t happy to be my research partner. You flinched away from me,” Jaemin breathed deeply, “Why?”

“Do I need to explain myself to you?” There was a tremble in your voice and sweats on your forehead.

“Yes? Because you’re only terrible when it comes to me,” Jaemin stated, not allowing your composure to deter him.

“I’m not—”

“Do you like me, Y/N?” Jaemin said. Your eyes widened, shocked of his blatant question. “That’s the only reason I could come up with. I’m sorry.”

You smoothed out your shirt with your nose flaring. “Why would I like you? I have a boyfriend Jaemin.”

The world collapsed on his feet. And there was no turning back on the heartache. “... who?”

“Jeno. Isn’t it obvious?”

It was. But because of his foolish affection towards you, he refused to see that. “No. He... he’s not your boyfriend.”

“Jaemin, this is pointless. Let’s just...” You sighed. “Start the research, shall we? Let’s forget this ever happened.” Then you turned your back against him.

Jaemin didn’t take the rejection well. Alcohol had become his nightly routine. He would come late to class— something he had never done before. Half moons under his eyes, lips parched, cheeks sunken.

Nobody has dared talk to him about his newly found lifestyle.

“Hey, Jeno!” You chuckled while tiptoeing to get something from Jeno. “Give that to me!”

Jaemin followed the both of you after the class had been dismissed. Jeno walks you home everyday. And it’s not sitting well to Jaemin at all.

When you laughed together with Jeno, smile with him, play with him— Jaemin felt as if he was truly going out of his mind. He trudged the distance between him and Jeno, grabbed the latter by the collar and shoved him to the ground.

“Jaemin! What the hell?” You tried to push him away, but Jaemin held taut.

He wasted no time to corner Jeno and rain punches to his face. Your screams didn’t register to his ear well, as if they were a buzz from a far away place. He was hurt, and no amount of blood from Jeno’s face could patch the wound up to his heart.

“Jaemin! Stop!”

The fabric of his shirt was ripped by the force of your pull. By that, Jaemin let Jeno’s face lolled back to the ground. He stood up with bloodied knuckles.

“Why did you do that?” you screamed to his face with tears running down your cheeks.

Jaemin blinked, astounded by the pain plastered on your face. “Y/N... I—”

“You’ll pay for this,” you spat before helping Jeno to his feet. “Don’t ever go near us again, Jaemin,” was your last warning before pivoting on your heels, letting your back face the broken boy once again.

[homosociallyyours]

a friend just posted a pic on fb of the coffee shop we used to hang out at, taken way back in the day. it’s just a shot of the place taken from inside, looking out the big glass windows and onto the street of downtown chattanooga. but one friend pointed out that she could see another friend’s van parked across the street, and one of the baristas came on and said he’d taken the photo and then proceeded to post a bunch more. 

anyway i’m feeling nostalgic so i’m posting about it. memories behind the cut. 

i started going there when i was maybe 15 years old. i don’t remember why, but it’s likely that the artsy nerd club i was a part of (we stayed after school to watch amadeus and monty python and we’d sometimes go to the local art museum) went there after a meeting one day. or maybe someone told me about it. anyway, it was my favorite place to go. i would drink pots of tea, always trying new things. 

on my 16th birthday my parents got me a teapot from there and a gift certificate to buy tea with. i had that teapot til it broke a year ago. 20+ years! it moved with me to and from college, to nyc, california, texas, and back to california. damn. 

anyway after i’d been going for a while i started talking with the owner. his name was ian, and he was pretty young. he loved tea and coffee and he had a roaster where they’d make their own coffee. it was loud and lovely, and for a long time it lived up front, right by a little elevated area with couches. when it was running you couldn’t hear anything and had no choice but to either shout or be quiet. 

ian encouraged my love of tea, and offered to keep track of everything i’d tried in a little notebook that was kept behind the counter. i got to make notes on every pot i drank, and i remember writing “terrible! grass!” after my first pot of green tea (it was oversteeped--my fault--and probably made with water that was too hot--their fault). i had my first pu-er there, and fell in love with its damp leaf flavor and that turned earth scent that it has. i drank multiple pots of jasmine pearls and wrote a caffeine fueled poem about it with a friend. i loved that little coffee shop. 

i don’t remember when i went from hanging out inside to hanging out outside, but i feel like i was 18 or so. the older people (they were probably barely 21-25, fucking babies) sat out there smoking and drinking coffee. i developed a crush one summer on a guy who made me think of arthur dent for some reason (don’t ask because i don’t know) and we went on one awkward date and didn’t kiss, and now i wonder what’s happened to him and if he, too, wasn’t straight. who knows? someone, i’m sure, but i can’t remember his last name anymore so is it even relevant? 

i’d never felt cool til i went off to college. it was like leveling up without trying, like when you’re playing a game and do one action and suddenly all your stats are refilled and you’re like...this is unexpected? but i’ll take it? i think that’s why i decided i could really sit with the outside tables. that and my bff, who was dating someone who was friends with a lot of those people, would show up sometimes and sit out there. 

(if you’ve actually been reading along so far, here’s where i’m gonna introduce you to a bunch of people i’ve never talked about before and will likely never mention again. just so you have fair warning.) 

the cast of characters shifted a lot, but there were always the constants. scott, the barista, who was much older than most of the people hanging out but looked young and seemed young. i look back with adult eyes and question the relationship we had, but at the time i just thought it was cool that someone so much older thought i was worth hanging out with. but he was 30 when i was 19, and man that’s a lotta years. he had a summer where he hit on my friend and i constantly, after his wife left him and he was kinda floundering a bit. but it never went past flirting and it never bothered me, though like i said it kinda does now. we were still hanging out when i was 21 and we’d go get beers after the coffee shop closed at ten or midnight. he’d turn up obnoxious music really loud and i’d sometimes help close. 

there was gabe and george, brother and sister in a family of people with names starting with the letter g. george was tiny and cute and either very drunk or very hyper from coffee at all times. gabe was a nerd who was usually quiet but loved to play scrabble, and we’d take the board inside sometimes and battle one another. he was much better than me, i won’t lie. liz and ever were both writers who would play with us sometimes. ever had changed her name at some point (to ever; any name she had before is irrelevant) and when we met she explained the meaning of her new name, which i won’t give because damn it’s very google-able. 

she was a so fascinating to me, always talking about some feminist theory or philosopher, and i always felt so smart when we’d hang out. like a Serious Thoughtful Adult and not a kid. and liz was less serious but no less smart. she played scrabble a lot more and for a while we got pretty close. she took me out after coffee sometimes to a shitty bar with pool tables and tried to teach me how to play pool. she had her own cue and even though she was like 5′2″ she could break like nobody’s business. i never figured out how to do that part. 

alex would come with us sometimes. he was tall and handsome and rode a motorcycle, and was the first openly bi guy i ever met. one time he invited me over to his house and we laid around listening to the smiths and talking. he burned me a copy of their greatest hits that i still have, all scratched up so it probably doesn’t play anymore. he crashed his bike more than once driving drunk. dumb fuckin kid. now he repairs coffee machines and sails, i think. life is funny. 

a few other people ran in groups. meg and waide and the aforementioned jason and ardyce. some people called meg “big megan” and another megan (her family was really wealthy, rich southern politicians who knew the clintons and have a mention in sweet home alabama--the song, not the movie) was “little megan” because she was still in high school. i joked that i was medium megan, but the whole thing was awkward because big megan was fat and i was small fat and little megan was skinny. i’m gonna blame it on thoughtless dudes, but who the fuck knows? we all pretended not to mind it anyway. 

waide ended up being a connection with other people who i met later. my hometown is weird in that it’s actually a pretty big part of the southern punk scene, so a lot of punks i meet have spent time there, and anyone over a certain age probably spent time at the bar waide worked at (the stone lion, and then maybe also the pickle barrel) so he’s one of those people who i’ll end up mentioning even though we haven’t spoken in years. 

at some point a kid named ory showed up. i think he was 16 when he started coming around, and i used to call him puppy because he was excitable and silly, full of energy one minute and then mopey crashing the next. like a lot of people there he drank a lot and would be fucked up sometimes and make dumb choices. i always wanted to protect him. when i was 22 (and he was 19, i think) we ended up sitting together at the second lotr movie and having some kind of weird chemistry. that summer i drove him home one night and we had a super heavy make out with lots of clothed grinding. honestly the furthest i’ve ever gone with a cis straight(ish, he hooked up with a couple dudes but idk if he’d say he’s bi) dude and it was awkward in that we never talked about it? and then he came to visit me a couple years later in new york because he was in the navy, and he got super drunk and passed out on my couch and was a mess because he literally never stopped being a puppy. 

he’s fucked up now, fully cancelled bc he said shit about girls rock camp (really dude?) and also probably cheated on his wife on their honeymoon? idk, it was fb rumors and then he deleted. but i’d believe it, honestly. 

and then there were all these absolutely random downtown characters: dirty mark (a crusty punk who was drunk or high most of the time) and shirtless dave (yeah he really didn’t wear a shirt that much) usually came as a pair. sometimes dave hung out with a guy my friends and i called blue hair. he once hit on my friend and she panicked and gave him my number instead of hers because her brain didn’t make up a fake number fast enough. 

there was sandy the flower man, who just passed away a couple weeks ago. he’d get flowers from local florists and go around on his bike, stopping into the coffee shop or to bars with roses and carnations and daisies. people gave him money usually, but sometimes he’d just hand you a flower because he wanted to. i saw a picture from a memorial and there was a portrait of him that was sat on top of his bicycle, all of it surrounded with flowers on flowers. so pretty. it’s what he deserved. 

things changed around 2005 or so, i think. by that time, all the old baristas had left and the kids who came in were all weirdly religious and went to the christian college on the mountain. they made shitty coffee and sometimes played xtian rock and most of the old regulars couldn’t take it anymore. ian got sick around that time, too, and ended up selling the place. they stopped carrying much tea, if any. 

but they finally sold the space and moved in like 2015. i remember the first time i drove by and didn’t see the lights on inside. it felt like seeing a friend from grade school all grown up, maybe the kid you had a crush on but they have a family now and you don’t think they’d recognize you at all so you just have to walk away. gone. 

fuck this post is long as shit, i’m sorry for anyone on mobile. but damn it was good to get my memories out. 

[petitloup]

need a loving hand (to help you fall asleep tonight)

July 20th, day 5 nurseydex week prompt: hurt/comfort

[SORRY THIS IS SO LATE GUYS it was a long day]

 “I’ll be back later,” Dex tells him, slinging his bag over his shoulder. No practice today, but Dex has an early class. Normally he doesn’t mind morning classes – years of working and living in Maine enforced an early to bed/early to rise mentality so fierce he can’t knock it even on off-season. Not even for Christmas. But he’s making a bit of an exception today and allowing himself to want to stay at the Haus, in bed with his boyfriend. Because it’s Nursey. And for Nursey, he’ll always make an exception.

And right now, for Nursey’s sake, there’s a niggling worry. By the time Dex had gotten out of the shower, Nurse was sitting at their shared desk, already staring into his computer screen, bedhead in full force, with one hand buried in his enormous copy of the Norton Anthology. Nurse is functional in the mornings, he’s responsible, but he doesn’t like mornings and more often than not if he has a day to sleep in, he’ll take it. Dex loves that because it means he can slip out early, pick up coffee from Annie’s and maybe a bagel too. He’s still not sure what Nursey’s deep love for them is, but it makes him light up, and as far as Dex is concerned if a bread product is what will make Nursey smile in the mornings, he’ll pick them up as often as he can.

Today is not one of those days, and while Dex throws his books in is bag and laces up his shoes, he realizes Nursey is unusually quiet.

“You all right?” he asks, letting one hand come down on Nursey’s shoulder and his thumb stroke gently over his pulse point.

“Yeah, chill,” Nursey says, sounding a little absentminded but otherwise okay. “Just got a lot to do today.”

“Your paper is due Friday, right?”

“Mm, yeah.” Nursey leans into his touch briefly, and continues scanning his screen – for what, Dex isn’t sure.

“Okay, well, I’m out. I’ll be back at 6.” He drops a quick kiss on Nursey’s temple.

“See you,” he mutters, and Dex leaves the door just slightly cracked open so that if Chowder’s around he knows at least one of them is there.

The day is long, and Dex does so much coding his eyes are going blurry – his program keeps stalling and he isn’t sure where in the code he went wrong, so he’s been reading line after line trying to figure out where his mistake is. It’s frustrating as hell, and after several hours at Founders he decides to call it quits. Going back to the Haus for dinner, relaxing for an hour and then getting in a little more work before bed sounds like the best course of action here. Maybe he’ll find the bug with a fresh pair of eyes.

He shoots Nursey a text to let him know, and starts to wind up what he’s doing – and he’s just saving his program when the little niggling worry comes back, because Nursey had no classes today, was just planning on spending time working on his paper, and he actually hasn’t responded to any of Dex’s texts today.

So he does the next best thing: he texts Chowder.

> Yo, C, have you seen Nursey today?

< Once! I poked my head in around noon and he was working on a paper.

> Is the door still open?

< Yeah, I think so. lemme check

< It’s open! He’s still sitting at your desk. I don’t think he’s left all day?

> Thanks, C.  

Dex changes course immediately.

If there’s anything Nursey will eat when he’s in a pit of studying hell, its vegetarian stir fry. Nursey says when he gets too stressed all he wants are small, bland things that are easy to eat, and stir fry is a little more exciting than that, but it’s also his favorite. So he places an order and picks it up first before heading home.

Dex takes the steps two at a time and waves to Bitty as he gets in. “Hey,” he says, grabbing a couple of 2-litre water bottles from the cupboard and filling them. “Nurse is in study mode, so we probably won’t be down for dinner.”

“That’s all right,” Bitty says, “I got so carried away earlier I hadn’t even thought of real food yet!”

“Midterms are the worst,” Dex agrees, hooking the bag of takeout around his wrist and heading up the stairs.

True to Chowder’s word, the door to their room is still cracked open the way he left it. He knocks on C’s door, hands off the stir fry he’d offered to pick him up, stuffs the ten in his back pocket and quietly opens the door to his own room.

“Derek?” He says, pitching his voice a little quieter than normal. Nursey doesn’t even look up, but Dex can see the frisson of tension in his shoulders, “Baby, hi,” he tries again, soft, and kneels next to Nursey’s chair. He catches his attention with a hand on his arm, and one of Nursey’s earbuds falls out when his head jerks around.

He looks awful.

That’s not true, Dex’s brain backtracks. Nursey never looks awful. He always looks good in a way Dex can’t fully describe, it’s usually warm and effortlessly handsome and he loves him for it, but he loves him like this too – with dark circles under his eyes, lips looking painfully bitten, tension all over and an expression so strung out Dex is automatically afraid.

“Hey, woah, what’s going on?” Dex always struggles to keep his voice soft in situations like this, defaults to angry-concerned more often than not. But he knows Nursey won’t respond to it well right now, he needs gentle, so he tries harder. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Dex, I can’t, this paper – it’s killing me, I don’t know what to do, and it’s too late to change poems, but I don’t know what to do.” Nurse’s voice is hoarse from disuse, and it comes out choked in a way Dex knows comes before panic. So he leans forward and pulls Nursey into his arms and lets him bury his face in his neck.

“It’s okay, Derek, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,”

“It’s not,” Nursey gasps, “it’s due on Friday and I don’t even have a thesis—”

“Shh, stop, just stop for a second, baby, okay? Just count with me first and then we can talk about it, all right?”

Nursey nods against his chest, and they go through the breathing exercises Dex knows Nursey likes using best when he’s early into a panic attack.

After his breathing evens out a little, Dex shifts. “Come on, let’s take this to the bed okay? Just for now.”

Dex lets Nursey curl up first and then crawls in next to him, puts his arms around him, holds him close.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, breathing slow and measured, until Nursey presses a tiny kiss to Dex’s bicep.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Dex asks, and he can feel Nursey nod.

“I’ve been working on this paper all day, I haven’t stopped once, and I’m not getting what I need to out of it. It’s not that it doesn’t fit with the theme, but Spenser just isn’t my thing. And I could work around that normally, but for some reason I just can’t right now and I don’t know why.”

Dex rubs a calming hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. “Have you eaten anything today?” he says, and frowns when Nursey makes a negative sound. “Water?”

“I had a couple of 5-hour energy shots.”

Dex sighs.

“Here’s the plan,” he says, “I brought veggie stir fry. We’re going to eat, and we’re going to drain those water bottles, and we’re going to watch Brooklyn 99 or something, and then we’re going to go to bed.”

“Will, I can’t, I have to work on this–”

“I know, baby, I know you do. And you will. Tomorrow. I’ve seen you write A-worthy essays at 3am on the bus with no wifi. You still have a couple days. Just leave it for tomorrow. You won’t be able to think if you keep hammering away at it right now, and if we go to bed early we can get a good night’s sleep. We both need it.”

Nursey is quiet for a moment, and then tilts his head to look up at him, touches one hand to his face. His expression is exhausted but tender. “Did you finish your coding?”

“Nah,” Dex says, shaking his head, “can’t find a bug. It was driving me crazy all afternoon.”

“You’ll work on it tomorrow, too?”

“Yeah. But no more tonight.”

Nursey looks at him for a long moment, and then nods. Dex smiles at him and leans up for a kiss, then rolls off Nursey’s bed and fetches the food. It’s a little cold, but after a few slow bites Nursey seems to realize he’s starving, and he finishes well before Dex does.

Then, true to word, they curl up together and put on Netflix, and Dex pulls Nursey between his legs, leaning back against his chest so that he can rub some of the tension out of his shoulders. Little by little, Nursey unwinds, until he’s boneless and soft and his eyes are dipping closed.

After the episode ends, Dex tips the laptop closed and nudges Nursey, pushing him so he’s curled up on his side. Dex gets up to remove his jeans, hits the light and climbs back into bed to where Nursey is reaching for him, sleepy and warm. “I’m turning both our alarms off,” Dex says, dropping his phone off the side of the bed, too lazy to reach for his charger.

“You got class,” Nurse mumbles, a weak protest. “I’m skipping it,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Nurse’s forehead.

“You never skip class.”

“I’m going to pick up coffee and bagels and we’re going to have a relaxing morning, and then we’re going to go to Founders and build ourselves an academic hovel out of library books and we’ll spend the day there. Sound okay?”

“But you never skip class. ‘s against the rules.”

Dex nuzzles closer, and he feels Nursey’s contented huff across his neck, their feet tangled together.

“You’re always the exception to my rules,” he murmurs, “and I love you for it.”

[weirdbynorthwest]

Notes on Northern Exposure, S01E02: “Brains, Know-How and Native Intelligence”

We begin the episode with Chris Stevens delivering his first ever “Chris in the Morning” address on the show, in Cicely’s local radio station, KBHR, or “K-Bear”. Why “K-Bear”? Well, firstly, it’s customary for radio stations to be given easily pronounceable names inspired by their initials, for the sake of marketing. But there’s an additional fun fact regarding this particular station’s origins: both KBHR and its nick-name belong to a real-life local radio station in Big Bear City, California. Surrounded by the Alaskan wilderness, Cicely undoubtedly has more than its fair share of bears, so the nickname remains appropriate.

The subject of Chris’s speech, and a significant chunk of the episode, is the 19th century poet Walt Whitman, an American literary giant and one of Chris’s leading artistic inspirations. But not everyone approves of Whitman. Chris recalls being “blindsided by the raging fist of [his] incarcerator,” at the juvenile detention home where he spent his juvenile delinquent days. This stern authority figure told Chris, in no uncertain terms, “that Walt Whitman's homoerotic, unnatural, pornographic sentiments were unacceptable and would not be allowed in an institution dedicated to reforming the ill-formed.” Whitman’s sexuality has been the subject of endless debate, but it’s generally accepted that he was either homo- or bisexual. That Whitman, “that great bear of a man, enjoyed the pleasures of other men came as a great surprise” to Chris, leading him to “reconsider the queers [he] had previously kicked around.” Yes, Chris wasn’t always the open-minded liberal we otherwise see him as. He was, in his youth, capable of homophobic violence. This makes me, a confirmed homosexual (or “homo-romantic grey-sexual,” if we’re being particular), rather sad. It also makes me more inclined to be wary and critical of Chris in this episode.

Chris reads Whitman’s “When Lilacs in the Dooryard Bloom’d” (1865), a poem written following the end of the American Civil War (1861-1865), during a period of national mourning over the then recent assassination of former president Abraham Lincoln. The poem doesn’t explicitly identify Lincoln, but it’s generally thought that that’s who the poem was about. However, the final line of the first stanza – “And thought of him I love” – may have been presented in this scene in order to underline the topic of Whitman’s sexuality. For Whitman’s clearest expression of homosexual love in verse, one should really examine the “Calamus” sequence of poems written in or before 1859, included in the third edition of Leaves of Grass, originally published in 1855. (I nearly read some to an ex-boyfriend on his birthday once. I regret not doing that. But they were aware of the thought, and I got a lot of love for it, so it balanced out.)

We catch a glimpse of Maurice fishing whilst listening to Chris’s show. He clearly isn’t impressed by all this talk of Whitman enjoying “the pleasures of other men.” Maurice was established as being, at the very least, a sexist and racist bigot in the previous episode, so any homophobia on his part wouldn’t come as a surprise. This still doesn’t prepare the viewer for what Maurice will do next.

Meanwhile, in this week’s instalment of “Will They? Won’t They?’ Joel and Maggie are in the Brick, having a go at each other over plumbing. This argument at least feels as if it springs from a natural cause, compared to last week’s glaringly-contrived-in-order-to-establish-the-formula bickering. Joel is talking to Maggie as his landlord, about a faulty toilet. Maggie teases Joel over his lack of self-reliance: why not try fixing it himself, or go out and fertilise the scenery? She winds up calling him a “helplessness junkie”, an odd turn of phrase he’ll spend half the episode grumbling about and later delight in throwing back at her, when she visits him in his surgery over a self-inflicted knee injury.

Joel’s chauvinism is out in full force again, as he offers to treat any puncture wounds Rick may have received from Maggie walking all over him in her heels. Yecch. And then he comes on to her in a way that fictional characters in a “Will They? Won’t They?” comedy set-up routinely get away with, when he says “you’re clearly attracted to me.” Of course, the show will routinely remind us she is. But in real life, if you said something like that to someone, it would be widely and rightly considered inappropriate. Unlike the utterly irredeemable and thoroughly loathsome Ross Geller in Friends (NBC, 1994-2004), Joel is a genuinely likeable character under all the sexist asshattery the writers insist upon having him say. I hope the situation improves, and soon.

Joel remarks that he’s “not the Grizzly Adams type.” This is a reference to John “Grizzly” Adams, a nineteenth-century mountain man who hunted and trained wild animals (including, you guessed it, “grizzly” bears) for use in zoos, menageries and circuses, from New England to California. An outdoorsman and a showman (he partnered up at one point with another American icon, that jack-of-all-trades P.T. Barnum), “Grizzly” Adams became, in the popular cultural consciousness, an iteration of an American frontiersman archetype, akin to Davy Crockett. Joel does not resemble that archetype at all – but Brick proprietor Holling Vincoeur, according to Joel, does. We’ll see how that comparison bears out in the episodes and seasons to come.

Meanwhile, over at K-Bear, the “raging fist” of Maurice Minnifield comes raining down on Chris Stevens like the fist of that faceless authoritarian in Chris’s juvenile detention home. I find the violence Maurice inflicts on Chris in this episode jarring. We later learn from Joel that Maurice threw Chris through a plate-glass window. We see bruises and band-aids on Chris’s face, and his arm in a plaster cast. We learn, towards the end of the episode, that Chris snuck in a decent left-hook – but that still, to my mind, doesn’t make up for what might be one of the single most unpleasant things Maurice has done on the show.

And while we’re on the subject of violence, what about Ed’s response to Joel describing his current spat with Maggie? He asks “Did you hit her?” Where did that come from? A more uncharacteristic thing for Ed to say – even just two episodes into the show – is hard to imagine. Is it meant to suggest that Ed grew up in an environment where domestic violence was the norm? Or that Cicely’s foremost cinephile learnt everything he knows about human interaction from the movies? I don’t know. I just know that it’s a weird, discomfiting line.

Ed introduces the episode’s secondary plot, which is about Ed’s uncle Anku (Frank Sotonoma “Grey Wolf” Salsedo). Ed tells Joel that his uncle is a “witch doctor,” which briefly leads them into a variation on the famous “Who’s on First?” comedy routine.

Ed’s uncle is seriously unwell – as in, there’s blood in his urine. And blood in your urine is nothing to be sniffed at. 11 years ago I had a urinary tract infection thanks to the onset of type-one diabetes. The pain was unreal. Imagine passing red hot needles instead of water. TMI? Ah, DMY. My point is, it’s not something you can comfortably ignore. And as a doctor, Joel knows it’s not something you can afford to ignore. And so, at Ed’s behest, Joel spends a significant chunk of the episode befriending Anku and trying his best to persuade him to seek medical attention. But, unbeknownst to Anku’s family, Anku has already sought medical attention and learnt that he has prostate cancer. He just needs Joel to pressure him into swallowing his pride as a medicine man before seeking further treatment.

Joel will, in dealing with Anku, realise in an on-screen “eureka!” of an epiphany that pride is the theme binding all the episode’s narrative threads together. Anku’s pride, his own pride, Maggie’s pride, Maurice’s pride, are all wrapped up in a neat little package. Is it too neat, too tidy? Maybe, but I like it. It’s a reassuring sign that Joel’s character won’t remain static, that he’ll gain new insight into the town and its characters, learn new things and continue to develop over the course of the series.

“Keeping it in the family”: Mrs. Anku is played by Armenia Miles, the mother of Elaine Miles, who plays Joel’s secretary, Marilyn Whirlwind. In future episodes, she’ll play Marilyn’s mother.

Anku asks Joel if he’s ever seen the film Little Big Man (dir. Arthur Penn, 1970), in which Dustin Hoffman plays a man who, as a white child, was rescued and raised by a Cheyenne tribe. Is Anku drawing a connection between the Jewish actor and Jewish doctor, to whom he imparts some of his own “native intelligence”?

Joel, after explaining that he can’t keep chasing after Anku, pleads with Ed not to “do this northern brooding thing, I can’t stand Bergman films.” Is Joel intentionally using sophisticated cinema references he knows Ed will get? Because if so, that’s kinda cute. Couple that with Ed watching Joel as he sleeps, and I wonder if anyone, anywhere, at any time, has thought to ship these two characters?

As Maurice takes full control of radio K-Bear we learn he’s a huge fan of musical theatre, something that’s often been depicted as a stereotypical trait of gay men (less so these days, but very much so in the nineties). Is the episode replaying the old, unhelpful cliché that “all homophobes are repressed homosexuals”? I don’t think so. It certainly doesn’t underline or lean into that idea. As much as Maurice’s showtunes are driving the residents of Cicely crazy, he’s never mocked for the fact that he enjoys showtunes.

At a town meeting, angry Cicelians call for the reinstatement of Chris Stevens as radio presenter. Maurice isn’t having it. “One of our own, Chris Stevens, made a mistake,” he “did a bad thing” and “he had to pay for it.” What was that mistake? We get an answer, of sorts, when Maurice returns to the airwaves the next day and attempts to explain his recent behaviour. It’s a speech that causes the entire town to stop in its tracks, suggesting we should stop in our tracks too and take what Maurice is saying seriously.

Maurice recalls his devastation upon discovering, as a child, that his hero John Wayne didn’t do his own stunts. The gist of it is, Maurice doesn’t want his heroes to be humanized, to have their weaknesses exposed. “Sure, we’re all human,” but do we have to be reminded that our heroes are human too? Maurice is an advocate of the “Great Man” theory of history, the idea that the greatest achievements in human history were brought about by great men (and with his ego, he no doubt fancies himself one). Maurice wants his heroes to remain on their marble pedestals as untainted paragons of manly virtue. “We need our heroes. We need men we can look up to. Believe in. Men who walk tall.” Of course it doesn’t occur to Maurice, just as it doesn’t occur to most advocates of the “Great Man” conception of history, that those heroes could include women or minorities.

Maurice considers Walt Whitman a hero. Though “Walt Whitman was a pervert,” in Maurice’s bigoted view, “he was the best poet that America ever produced.” Maurice concedes that Whitman was, most likely, a homosexual. He’d just rather not know or be reminded of that. Because Maurice is a homophobic bigot who believes that homosexuality is a weakness, a character flaw that should be hidden from view, never to be acknowledged. But just because Maurice believes that “there are damn few of us who deserve to be called heroes” and that, despite his own bigotry, Whitman deserves the title of hero, doesn’t make Maurice less wrong or less of a bigot.

And yet, as the speech prompts Chris to go and apologise to Maurice, the episode seems to come down firmly on Maurice’s side of the argument. Not that there’s actually been an argument. No one in town has attempted to argue the opposite of Maurice’s position – that a knowledge of Whitman’s probable homosexuality does nothing to diminish him or his work. The implicit and unfortunate assumption in this episode is that it does diminish Whitman. That’s why we have Chris apologising to Maurice, saying that he also doesn’t want people reading Walt Whitman for “the wrong reasons.” What reasons are those, Chris? The only reason suggested in the episode comes from Ruth-Anne, when she tells Joel that all the Whitman has been taken out of the library as there’s “nothing like an interesting sex-life to get people reading.”

So, is Chris suggesting that he doesn’t want people reading Whitman because of his sexuality? Why not? Whitman’s “Calamus” poems meant a lot to me when I was younger, and I would never have discovered them had I not heard about Whitman’s sexuality and the poems’ reputation. I see in them a beautiful expression of the romantic feelings I then had for my ex-boyfriend, and I can’t read them now without getting misty-eyed. Like a lot of great poetry, the poems powerfully describe feelings of romantic/erotic longing, the distinction being that they clearly describe feelings of romantic/erotic longing between men. It isn’t “subtext.” You don’t have to “read between the lines.” It’s there, in the words on the page. Whitman’s sexuality informs his writing, even if his writing isn’t explicitly sexual.

Unfortunately, in the nineties there persisted this idea that homosexuality was something to be guarded against, lest it corrupt our children or our own imaginations when engaged in the intellectual enjoyment of nineteenth-century verse. Depending on where you are in the world, it’s an attitude that still persists or even prevails. And this episode of Northern Exposure appears to embody it.

For me, Whitman’s “Calamus” poems are a powerful reminder of a time in my life when I was young and happy and in love. But Chris appears to be suggesting that I’m reading Whitman wrong. Well… Fuck you Chris. There’s nothing wrong with highlighting the fact that Walt Whitman was likely gay or bi, or that a significant number of his poems appear to have been informed by his own homoerotic desire. It can do a lot of people – gay or bisexual people, for example – a lot of good to know that people who felt the way they do existed in the 19th century, and that they wrote beautiful verse you could share with a loved one.

It should be clear by now that, unlike Maurice, I don’t believe it’s a mistake to humanize our heroes. Knowing Mark Twain loves cats humanizes him. In no way does it diminish my love of Mark Twain (but then I’m a cat person, so I’m biased). Other than the very worst literary critics, who really wants to see the likes of Twain and Whitman reduced to cold, lifeless marble statues in the Pantheon of the American Literary Canon? It does us no harm, either, to learn the personal and political beliefs of our heroes, especially if we don’t want people thinking we share certain of those beliefs. Hero worship is problematic in general, but it’s impossible for us not to admire people, to have our own personal heroes. But as we grow and change over the course of our lives, we shouldn’t be afraid to update that list.

In the course of its run, Northern Exposure introduced a gay male couple; confirmed that its founders, Cicely and Roslyn, were a lesbian couple; and was the second US TV show to feature a gay wedding (the first being Roc [Fox, 1994-1994]). Northern Exposure was not only on the right side of history, it was consistently ahead of its time. If I’ve been especially hard on this episode, it’s because I know how far it falls short of the show’s future accomplishments.

[grunge4losers]

We Met at Midnight: Chapter 1

Staten Island, filled with noises you'd never hear anywhere else, scents you'd never really get used to even after years of living here, and people you'd never forget even though you only met once. Ah, yes. Staten Island, the "B-Side" of New York. You would never suspect that it could ever be so peaceful and yet at the same time it's chaotic. I suppose you'll find a way to relate to that anywhere, really. But, here, it's special because this is where we start our journey as we follow 6 people along with a few random blokes around as they start to see that the Big City isn't all that great...for some. Numb. That's an appropriate word for how Alice was feeling at the moment. She had just finished off a half bottle of Jack Daniel's as she stared at her laptop screen trying to get inspired. Usually when she had writer's block the alcohol would help get the words out. Her old friend, Max, had once suggested she take some kind of drug like Adderall. While it did help her get a few full chapters down, it was all complete rubbish. Some nonsense about a boy who turns into a dog at the first of every month to find a rabbit that stole his hat. Alice had been trying for a good hour to write at least a couple sentences. Her dead hazel eyes were now red around the pupil from staring at the screen for so long and they burned. She rubbed a hand along her face as she groaned. "Come on, man," Alice said to herself. "You got this, you got this," she continued to reassure herself although she knew it was all a lie. If writing is her passion, then why was it so difficult in these moments? All she wanted was to be like her favorite author, J. R. R. Tolkien. His stories and poems gave her so much happiness growing up. Alice Robinson is not ashamed of being a huge geek nor should she be. Her favorite poem of Tolkien's is 'To The Bottle I Go' as it practically describes her now. Her brain felt like it was cramping. "Oh, god," she whined as she screwed her eyes closed. The story she was currently working on was about zombie apocalypse in the late 20's. She got the idea while she watched her friend Joe play some video game that she hadn't cared to get the name of. The main character was a stay at home mom of twins. Her name was Dot Bethany Smith, married to Archie Martin Smith. Their children were James Alexander and Jonathan, "5 years old and just the sweetest boys anyone had ever known". Currently Alice was stuck halfway through the 5 chapter, right where one of the twins goes outside at night and see a zombie coming towards him. The author just couldn't think of what happened to the boy; Does he live or does he die? Alice decided that it was time to take a break. She saved the work and then shut her laptop, placing it on the table next to the couch. The brunette laid her head back on the cushion, taking in the comforting feeling. Almost as if on cue, her brother and their friends came inside. "Oh, shit...It's Friday," Alice laughed to herself. Every Friday they all met up to hang out just anywhere. It was usually just the 6 of them, sometimes one person wouldn't show up or someone knew joined. But in the end, it was always them against the world. James (or Murr) hopped over the couch and landed next to the only woman in the room. "Hey, Ali. You doing alright?" he asked with his sweet smile. She peeked one eye open and looked at him. Alice sat up straight and looked at him with both eyes now. She forced a smile and tried to make her hoarse voice sound somewhat decent by clearing her throat. "Oh, I'm doing just fine. Thanks...And, uh, how are you?" Murray eyed her suspiciously. Something was definitely off about her. I mean, sure they all knew about every single one of each other's quirks and all that, but this was different. "I, uh, I-I-I've been great. Yeah, the show just got renewed for a third season," he answered with a subtle proudness. You see, James, Joe, Sal, and Brian were all on a show called "Impractical Jokers" together where they made each other do embarrassing, but hilarious challenges. They both stood up and walked to kitchen, having enough of the awkward silence. There they saw all the guys. Joe, the blue eyed man who would do anything to make his friends laugh. Brian/Q, the long haired geek with big ol' heart and a hard shell. Sal, the stand up comedian with eyes you could get lost in for days. Charlie, a huge music fanatic with dreams of traveling the world, as well as Alice's twin brother. Then, there was Alice and Murr walking into the group. "Hey, Alice," Sal and Q said almost in unison. Alice giggled at the greeting(s). "Hey, guys," she waved. Alice stood next to Charlie, showing just how average her height really was despite the nickname "Shorty" from Sal. "So," Charlie started. "What, uh, what are we going to do?" He looked across the kitchen at Joe, then his sister as they are basically the leaders. The two gave each other a lost look. "Well, what do you think, Ali?" Joey asked. She shrugged, "I don't care, honestly. Just as long as we can all hang out. I-I really need to get out...so," she nervously chuckled. The past few days had been partly tough oh her, due to her losing her job having cutbacks she was fired on Monday, someone broke into her car Tuesday (thankfully nothing was stolen), and now today her story was what was bothering her. Honestly, all Alice needed was to get outside of the apartment and be around those who brought her joy and comfort. "Well, we could just go out to Central Park and people watch," Joe suggested. Brian and Alice laughed together at the thought of how creepy it sounds. "What?" Joe asked, making a hilarious confused face. After Brian sobered up, he just explained it seemed a bit awkward. "Well, what do you suggest?" he asked. Sal bounced lightly on his toes, showing his excitement. "Guys," he said in a whispered shout. They all looked at him- clearly he was stoned. "What is it, Ja'Crispy?" Murray asked him, giggling like a child. "Guys, we should go to the ice skating rink," he finished with child like glee. They all looked at each other in disbelief and astonishment. "NONE OF US KNOW HOW TO ICE SKATE!!" Joe shouted. They all laughed, and went on their way to the ice rink after all. They took Charlie's mint green Volkswagen Van that was (of course) covered in stickers. Technically, it was Alice's but she had her own small black 2012 Acura. As Charlie drove them, he nudged Murray who sat in the passenger seat with his elbow to get his attention. "What's up?" James asked. "Can you.. Can you pull out my gloves from the box by your feet, please?" "Sure." He handed him the gloves as Charlie parked van. "Thank you so much." He took the black fingerless gloves and slipped them on. The six friends exited the van, walking to the door that Brian held open for everyone. "Thank you, Q," Alice said with a sweet smile. He returned the smile. The group got their own skates, then made way to the ice rink. All of them had a difficult time- except for Murr. Sal grabbed on to Joe's whole arm, taking them both down. Q and Alice were holding on each other's arms for dear life, but eventually getting it. Charlie wasn't having a very difficult time, he just felt awkward because he noticed his ex girlfriend across the ice; with another man. Which was weird to him because they just broke up a day ago. Charlie shook his head to get out of his feeling and thoughts. Alice noticed her brother almost sulking about the outlines of the ice. "Hey, Q, I'm gonna go check on Charlie," she whispering in his ear. She moved away to leave. "O.K. Catch up with you later, then," he replied, touching her shoulder. Alice slowly skidded to a stop with a nervous look on her face since she was scared of falling down. "Char-Charlie," she gasped, out of breath. When she held on to his arm, Charlie snapped out of it. "What?" "What's wrong?" Alice asked concerned. Charlie looked over his twin's shoulder. That's when Alice followed suit. Suddenly, she knew. She turned back to Charlie. "Dude," she started, pulling him into a hug. "Do you want to leave?" "No," he answered. Charlie cleared his throat. "Yeah? Well, why don't you stay with me, then." The two agreed on it and went to catch up with the others. Brian was the first to notice the twins behind them. "Hey," he said, leaning down to Alice. She smiled up at him. "How is he?" Brian asked. "He's okay. Just saw an old ex here." At that, Brian lifted his eyebrows. "Wow." They all continued gliding across the slick ice, pushing each other around and laughing. Sal and Murr had challenged one another to see who could do the coolest tricks, while the others "judged" them. In the end, Murr won. The group returned the skates and left. Charlie drove again, James switched with Joe in the passenger seat. Q, Sal, and Alice sat in the second row, James in the very back. "You guys want to stop by Ronnie's?" Sal asked. Ronnie's is the dive bar that Charlie and Alice met Sal and Q together. After that Sal had invited the twins to a party in the hopes of hooking up with Alice. Instead, they ended up meeting the rest of the gang. That was college, now they just laugh about it. "I don't know, man," Joe started. "I'm not feeling it." "We could always just go to a drive through or something instead," Q suggested. Pretty much everyone agreed. Alice was the only one who hadn't answered, as she was lost in her thoughts. Sal nudged her with his elbow. "Hmm?" she mumbled. "White Castle sound alright?" he asked. The long haired brunette looked around at the guys. "Oh, uh, yeah. I'm not really hungry so it is all you guys." She smiled, but it was a dim smile. Charlie didn't need to see her eyes, he just needed to hear her voice to know something was wrong. Q noticed too.

[definitelynotalibrary]

This is my Nightwish (long, under the cut)

It started with four songs.

Over the Hills and Far Away, Wanderlust, Nemo, and Sleeping Sun, mistakenly titled “Eclipse” on the file I had.

I cannot tell you exactly when I received them, or the name of the person who gave them to me. All I remember is that it was 2005 (possibly 2004), and it was a friend of a friend I met on Neopets.

Wanderlust especially intrigued me because I was deeply into Dragonlance and it reminded me of kender. Over the Hills and Far Away was cool. I have always wanted to write a short story about the plot of that song. I want to say my version of Sleeping Sun was the 2005 version, but I am not sure. Either way, I adored it. I still think of it as “Eclipse” sometimes because for the longest time, that is what I thought it was called.

But of course, Nemo is what won my heart. How many of us say the same? There is just something about that song that draws you in. You get lost in it, enfolded in its haunting beauty. It is easily Tarja’s best song and one that each of the subsequent singers has rocked in their own unique style. There are many excellent and gorgeous songs in Nightwish’s repertoire, but Nemo is the most famous and it is the song I am sure many of us use to get our friends into the band.

So the reason I know that I was introduced to the band in 2005 is because it is the year my uncle got married to his second wife. They were married in Vegas, and this was before I had an MP3 device, so I was still rocking the CD player. I burned all four of those songs onto a CD and played it on repeat. During the plane ride, while we walked around the Strip…I was solidly hooked. (Fun side fact: The real reason I know it was 2005 is because I got sick on that trip and had to stay in the hotel while my family went and saw the fourth Harry Potter movie. That was the only one I never saw in theaters, which was fine by me. I got to hang out by myself in a hotel room and watch The Mummy for the first time.)

“Woah. He looks EVIL!” <- My mother’s first reaction to Marco in the MV for Wish I Had an Angel. Again, my memory is bad, so I do not know when I started looking up music videos. But I remember that one moment very clearly. I mean…she’s not wrong.

My parents never disapproved of Nightwish though, despite their rather quiet fourteen year old anime and fantasy nerd suddenly obsessing over heavy metal. Sorry; symphonic power metal. Actually, the more I listened, the more it grew on them to the point where they were willing to drive six hours from Raleigh to Atlanta to see their show in 2007. But that is getting ahead of myself.

Learning about Tarja leaving was devastating. During the interim though, I was able to get deeper and deeper into the band. Once was my first album, and the others very quickly followed. It didn’t take me long to realize exactly why I loved this band so much.

Tuomas.

Tuomas was, and is, the heart of the band to me. The more I read about him, the more I loved him. He has such an obvious passion for his work. I love the music of the band, but it was the lyrics that sold me. I have always been a voracious reader of fantasy novels, and here he was creating these stories in song. English was my favorite subject in school (I now have a BA in Creative Writing), and I often had fun trying to decipher the symbolic and hidden meaning of his work. The songs are so full of literary allusions and metaphors…I still want to sit down and create an in-depth analysis of Song of Myself just for giggles. In fact, I DID use The Escapist in lieu of a poem in a college freshman English class. That was awesome.

As was everyone, I was apprehensive at the idea of a new singer. They announced Anette and she seemed fine. If I remember correctly, they released small previews of some of the songs and they were different, but not bad. I bought Dark Passion Play the moment it came out. I was so excited. I immediately played it when my mom and I got to the car.

That first time was breathtaking. Poet and the Pendulum regularly is cited as my favorite song of theirs. My mom immediately fell in love with 7 Days to the Wolves and Jukka’s drumming. She’s always had a thing for percussion. To this day, when we are in the car together and playing DPP, we will belt out most of the songs together in perfect time. My mom doesn’t often blast music, but Nightwish is an exception.

The concert in 2007 was a revelation. I had only ever been to one concert before, and it was an Aerosmith outdoors concert that I kind of appreciated, but we were all the way in the last row of an outdoor stadium, so it was difficult to get into it.

This one though…it was held in a small club that someone said was just waiting to fall down because the owner’s didn’t really repair it much. We were two or three rows from the front standing to the left in front of Tuomas’ pianos. Yes, I said "we." My mother stood right next to me the whole time. My dad, who it turned out was a bit of an introvert (and also was 6’6” tall), stayed in the back.

Y’all, nothing prepared me for this experience. The opening act was Paradise Lost, whom I honestly cannot remember. The sound was loud and the mics were fuzzy. Nightwish shined. The floor shook, the crowd surged behind me, I almost got kicked in the face by an attempted crowd surfer, my mom was a trooper, and I got to shake Marco’s hand. Poet and the Pendulum brought me to tears and gave me chills all over. We went home the next day with shirts and (to my surprise at Christmas), hoodies. That hoodie became my favorite article of clothing. I still have it. I wore it almost daily when it was cool enough.

The years went on. I learned to never read YouTube comments on Nightwish videos, I gained a deeper appreciation for the more “classic” albums (Century Child is my jam), and I phased in and out of my obsession.

Imaginaerum came out when I was in college. The preorder slip was one of my Christmas gifts in December 2011. I strong-armed a couple of my friends into agreeing to go to the concert in Salt Lake City with me on Sepetember 29th, 2012. Our college was in Idaho, and we did not have (reliable) cars to drive down, or the money for a hotel, but we made it. Found a ride on a rideshare board, stayed with my friend’s aunt(?), and begged a ride from a local friend two and from the concert. It was an unpleasant trip filled with too much junk food (I still cannot eat Cadbury eggs. Don’t ask; it was a bad idea).

As before, the concert was great. Kamelot was their opening act, and though I had heard some of their stuff before, I definitely fell in love with Tommy that night. I did notice Anette wasn’t quite as engaged with the audience and their whole show felt a little muted, but I attributed that to her having just been ill in Denver a day or so before.

My friends had a fun time, too. One of my friends is rather small, and we were concerned she would get swallowed by the crowd, but she was a champ. Pushed people who pushed her back. She was great. There was this annoying teenage girl in a corset or something that pushed her boobs into everyone’s faces and she was trying to brag about how her daddy paid for her ticket. We just deadpanned her and talked about how we three grown-ass college students paid for our own tickets and drove 4+ hours to get here.

The highlight of that concert was that the people behind us, more Kamelot fans than Nightwish, proved to be really cool people. We talked a bit and I expressed my love for Tuomas and later the girl caught a towel he threw into the audience. And she gave it to me. I was over the moon.

Once again, shock when it was announced Anette was leaving not TWO DAYS LATER. I was at her last concert and had no idea.

I’d grown very attached to Anette, so I was slow to warm up to Floor. She was this tall, Amazonian woman with a nose ring who headbanged like I had never seen before. I wasn’t totally sold on Elan when the music video came out.

To be honest, I didn’t WANT to like her. There was too much change. First Troy was added and I was like “OK, not surprising, he has been touring with them,” and THEN my mother’s dear Jukka announced he was stepping back and someone else was replacing him. It was all just too much change! I almost tentatively purchased Endless Forms Most Beautiful, hesitant and almost afraid. And I learned how wrong I was.

Floor was perfect. She combined what I loved about the other two singers and added her own flair on top of it. The songs were as epic and grand as any of the others, and above all, it just felt like Nightwish. I still loved Tarja and Anette, but I found that I had room in my heart for Floor, too.

So when I found out they were going to be in my town (which was now Kansas City), I of course had to go. My mom came too, though my dad passed. Standing in line, people went through and asked if anyone wanted to upgrade to VIP. I worked up my nerve and did it! I figured, why not. Third time’s the charm.

I was nervous as anything and shyer than I have ever been. And, of course, woefully unprepared. I had them sign my ticket and my phone case. Over a year later and they are mostly faded, but I had put a little clear nail polish over them, so some of them really aren’t TOO bad. I met everyone except Marco, who was bizarrely absent.

The concert started, and for the third time I was almost front row, but off to the left. Delain and Sonata Arctica were fantastic. Nightwish came on and Marco looked PISSED. He ended up throwing his guitar and walking off stage midway through the first song. He reappeared with another guitar, but still looked angry. I guess there was something wrong with his sound. After another song, he apologized and everything was alright again. They shone, the energy was intoxicating, and they left everyone wanting more.

I do not think I can adequately describe what Nightwish means to me honestly. They were my first band, really. I had liked some music before them, but not quite the same. They elevated my taste and changed me forever. I taught myself to sing by listening to Tarja (was devastated to learn I am not an actual soprano ahah), and their music has consistently helped me write when blocked. I fall asleep like a baby when listening to their music, it pumps me up when I am excited, it helps me vent when I am angry, and it calms me down when I am depressed. It helped me when we moved across states after my freshman year in high school. It was there during the worst roommates of my college time. It’s helped me get through my dad’s death. Any time I need to, I can sink into their sound, letting it envelop me once more and carry me off to a peaceful place. In so many ways, it feels like this band was MEANT for me.

[screamingtofu]

guess what buddy??? do all of them. from the one you reblogged from me

I should’veexpected that, but I’m a weenie. I’d already answered a couple of them but Ican’t think of a better use of my afternoon at work so let’s do this thing.

1.Do youwant a boyfriend or girlfriend?

I dunno, I’mstill getting used to the whole being asexual thing and am just not a fan oftouching in general. I would love the shit out of new friends though. Neverturn down the opportunity to make friends.

2.When didyour last hug take place?

Maybe amonth or two ago, housemate was going through a tough time with his most recentex and I think it was just like a floodgate had broken in him and it physicallyhurt me to not comfort him and I knew there wasn’t anything I could say to makehim feel better … So I hugged the shit out of him.

3.Are you ajealous person?

A coupleyears ago, yeah I was pretty bad. Then I started figuring shit out about myselfand I’m a lot more chill now.

4.Are youtired right now?

Combinationof poor sleeping habits and a near constant level of stress has left me lookinglike I have two black eyes. We had some corporate pictures taken last year andI looked fucking alien after they’d photoshopped them out.

6.Have youever been called a tease?

I don’tthink so, at least not in the way I think this question is supposed to betaken.

7.Have youever been awake for 48 hours straight?

I have. A coupleof years ago I wrecked my back and ended up not being able to move for maybe aweek or two without excruciating pain and because I tend to wriggle around inmy sleep you can bet your arse that didn’t happen. I ended up watching a lot ofvery bad movies on Netflix and shaving my head due to delirium.

8.Do you cryeasily?

No. I am anemotional fortress except when it’s someone elses pain. Then I’ll cry myfucking eyes out.

9.Whatshould you be doing right now?

I’mliterally at work, surrounded by developers and one very annoying sales personfrom interstate. There are so many things I should be doing right not. But I’malso here for 2 hours after everyone leaves so I get a chance to rocket througheverything without distraction.

10.Are you aheavy sleeper?

If I amtired enough, satan himself cannot awaken me.

11.Do youthink you can last in a relationship for 6 months?

I amentirely unsure. It would depend on what the other person wanted out of therelationship. If it was a completely non sexual relationship than hell yeah. Superfriendship, technically I’ve been doing that for the past 5 years since I movedto Melbourne.

12.Are youmad at someone right now?

Nah, I neverreally get mad at people. I got better things to waste my very tiny well ofemotions on.

13.Do youbelieve in love?

Hell yeah.Love is super rad and I’m glad I’m finally getting to express that for people.

15.Who wasthe last person you talked to?

IT Managerat work. We’re trying to figure out why the mail server is not sendingautomated emails anymore. Also he’s bugging me to bring some of my xbone gamesin for the console they’re hooking up in the office.

16.Do youget butterflies around the person you like?

No? But thenI’ve never really experienced the whole thing where you see someone and feelnervous. Either I’m hanging out with people I’m already comfortable with or I’mmeeting new possible friends. There is no in between.

17.Will youget married?

Unless itwas for some kind of tax benefit … eh probably not.

19.Doesanyone like you?

I have noidea. Sometimes when I go out with friends, they’ll say something afterwardsabout how so and so was trying to flirt with me and I have to really thinkbecause fuck I thought they just really wanted some nachos or something.

20.Do yousecretly like someone?

Not in theway this question is thinking.

21.Who wasthe first person you talked to today?

My Manager,big bearded Englishman named Rob who likes to shitstir almost as much as I do.He’d called me over to try and look into why something was duplicating and alsoto confirm if we could charge a client $10,000 for something.

22.Who doyou feel most comfortable talking to about anything?

Housemate,but I’m always open for conversation.

23.What areyou NOT looking forward to?

Trying toget in shape so I don’t die in the next 5 years.

24.What AREyou looking forward to?

Getting asweet robot body because I lived that far. Also when people start talking aboutsomething they’re really passionate about, I live for those moments.

25.Hassomeone of the opposite sex ever told you they loved you, and meant it?

Probably?All my partners were great people and there was always a connection there. So I’dassume it was genuine.

26.Supposeyou see your ex kissing another person what would you do?

Think “goodfor you” and then keep going unless they wanted to catch up.

27.Do youplan on moving out within the next year?

Nah, myhouse is awesome. Needs some repairs, but it’s great.

28.Are you aforgiving person?

I try to be.I used to be really angry and confused about a lot of stuff, but as I’ve gottenolder I’ve realised that holding onto grudges is just draining and you getnothing out of it.

29.How manyTRUE friends do you have?

How the crapdo I qualify a true friend? Like, do I know they physically exist and have seenthem with my own eyes? I dunno 10?

30.Do youfall for people easily?

I genuinelyhave no idea how to answer this.

31.Have youever fallen for your ex’s best friend?

Here’s apoem I wrote after people were getting defensive because I didn’t want to fuckany of the characters from Mass Effect.

I will notfuck them out in space, I will not fuck them based on race.

I will notfuck them here or there, I will not fuck them anywhere.

I will notfuck them in a bed, I will not fuck them like I said.

It’s nothingpersonal for you see, my dude = asexuality

32.What’sthe last thing you put in your mouth?

Waterbottle, gotta love me some o that delicious h20

33.Who wasthe last person you drove with?

Last personI was in a car with was an Uber driver. I was her 4th ever pick up.She was cool, we basically talked about Orange is the New black the whole wayhome and other stuff to watch on Netflix.

34.How latedid you stay up last night and why?

Like 1AM.Was chatting with a friend about the latest episode of critical role they’dfinished and they were feeling things.

35.If youcould move somewhere else, would you?

Nah, I’mgood where I am.

36.Who wasthe last person you took a picture of?

Besides thestupid selfies I occasionally take, I think it was a cricket player on abillboard who I thought looked like someone made a wax version of Ryan Reynoldsand left him out in the sun

37.Can youlive a day without TV?

Yeah sure,that’s one of the reasons I took up knitting.

38.When wasthe last time you were extremely disappointed?

Mid Novemberlast year, Paul Dini, the dude who helped create the animated batman series wasgiving a talk in the city and I completely spaced on getting a ticket. Would’vebeen great to meet him and hear him talk about writing.

41.What isyour all-time favorite romance movie?

I dunno.Maybe Porco Rosso. Helps you learn that sometimes you just need to say nobecause people are shit.

42.Do youbelieve that everyone has a soul-mate?

Yeah, Iguess. I think there’s someone out there who you just click with. Sometimes there’smore than one, you just need to keep looking.

43.What’syour current problem?

The clutchon my bike will occasionally not come in all the way when I’m trying to go fromfirst to second and gets stuck in neutral so I need to completely let it go andthen reengage. Drives me nuts.

44.Have youever had your heart broken?

Nah, I’m toomuch of a weenie and try to reconcile all my relationships.

45.Yourthoughts of long distance relationships?

I think they’relessened with the internet and social media because you can still talk soeasily and while I don’t have the whole “I miss being physically around you”thing I can understand it would be hard to continue with the shade of someonethat comes from a long distance relationship because there’s so much you wouldmiss.

46.How manykids do you want to have?

Not a fan ofthe whole baby making thing, wouldn’t mind adopting 1 or 2 if I ever had thechance though.

47.Have youever found it hard to tell someone you like them?

Nah, Ialways went for friend level first and then because of things I never reallyunderstood at the time just ended up going on dates that I thought were justlike friends hanging out and then things happen and I end up going out on moredates and then things happen. *shrugs*

[mikewhatthehellareyoudoing-blog]

I made a “top 25 favorite albums of the decade” list, Part Three

Moving right along

15. Parquet Courts - Sunbathing Animal / Content Nausea 2014

Like a lot of music geeks, I started paying attention to Parquet Courts /Parkay Quarts when they released Light Up Gold in 2012. That album was pretty good, and it seems like anything this band puts out will have its moments. Content Nausea was released the same year, and you can get these as a two CD set, so I’m cheating a little & putting them together because of that. Forcing myself to pick one, since I doubt they were conceived as one long album, I would go with Sunbathing Animal, because it's Sunbathing Animal that made the biggest impression on me. I remember driving home from work and hearing "Instant Disassembly" for the first time, its simple repeated guitar line had its hooks in me from get go, and the way the vocals start in beat poetry territory and end in a gd sing along… Parquet Courts do a lot with a little on that song, as they do elsewhere on this album (& others). Content Nausea also has a great long track, “Uncast Shadow of a Southern Myth,” so check that out if you like “Instant Disassembly” as much as I do. I don’t want to give the impression that long=automatically good, but they do a good job slowly building up to something great while it can at first feel like they are just milking the same riff for a while. They have stand-out shorter songs too, like “Dear Ramona” and “Pretty Machines.”

14. Laura Stevenson - Cocksure 2015

Laura Stevenson (Her backing band is usually called the Cans but that's not what the album cover says) started her singer-songwriter career out strong in 2008, and has experimented and grown with each album since (I haven't heard her 2019 album yet, so for all I know this trend continued after this one). Cocksure has gotten more plays out of me than any of her previous work. The lyrics are personal but relatable, and there is a good amount of variety in song styles (this is something that struck me about her first album, too, but some of her work in between has been more homogenous). Stevenson uses dynamic range like the Pixies did, a skill that was in danger of becoming a casualty of the loudness wars of the late 90s and early 00s.

13. The Mountain Goats - Beat the Champ 2015

Honestly, I am having a difficult time picking among All Eternals Deck (2011), Beat the Champ (2015) or Goths (2017). I don't want to have more than one album from the same artist on the list, so I picked the one I think I replayed the most times, but really I think they are of pretty equally high quality: Darnielle has for decades been a consistently good lyricist. Beat the Champ is a wrestling themed album. I'm not even a big wrestling fan, but JD uses it more as a setting in which he explores other topics: the album is far from one-note.

12. Myriam Gendron/ Dorothy Parker - Not So Deep As A Well 2014

It's surprising to me that this sort of approach to music is not more common: Myriam Gendron took classic poems by Dorothy Parker and used them as lyrics for her acoustic guitar-based folk songs. Most of these tracks involve some pretty intricate fingerpicking, too, so it’s not like she just strummed open chords while reciting poetry. The range of poems chosen showcase both Parker’s wistful and sad side and her more witty and acerbic side. If you are interested in hearing the results after my description, then chances are you will like this album. The CD has a couple extra songs that aren’t on the mp3 version. I guess they wanted to add an incentive for people to buy a physical copy, but that last track on the CD is a better one to end on than the one the mp3 version ends on, so it’s a bit unfortunate.

11. Mount Eerie - Sauna 2015 I expect A Crow Looked at Me to be the Mount Eerie album that makes people's end of the decade lists, and while that album deserves its accolades, I find it to be a difficult listen. I don't know how else to say it, but while I can and do appreciate depressing art, Crow made me sadder than I want to volunteer to feel. Like, I couldn't keep it in a library with my other music because I don't want it coming up on shuffle when I'm not ready for it. So, let's talk about Sauna instead. At the time, Sauna felt like the culmination of years of Phil Elvrum's musical exploration. The waves of distortion layered on top of sustained keys which open this album even recall the sounds that opened the album Mount Eerie. Sauna's name is fitting, as the more ambient sections seem to envelop the listener in a thick, comfy cloud of sound. Short bursts of higher-tempo music flash in like a new burst of steam. While his more recent lyrical work tends to revolve around anecdotes highly specific to Elvrum’s own life, Sauna might be some of his most universal stuff.

And with this post, we have passed the halfway point! Onwards and upwards to part four!

[socialattractionuk]

A woman fell in love with a homeless man, picked him off the streets and changed his life

Jonathan met Katie while he was homeless (Picture: Chris Frear/Triangle News)

A couple have fallen in love despite the unusual circumstances they met in.

38-year-old Katie Nicol met her now-partner Jon Haynes while he was homeless.

Katie says there was ‘instant chemistry’ between them despite Jon sleeping on the streets.

She used to go and sit with him by his usual spot on the seafront, near an ice cream stand, every single day. And, before long, they were swapping love notes. He even used to write her poems and she would invite him over for homemade roast dinners.

Within three months the pair were officially dating and Jon, 31, is now off the streets, has his own place and has a job.

Deeply in love, they have now been together for eight months.

‘We hit it off and clicked straight away, he seemed so genuine,’ divorcee mum-of-two Katie, of Grimsby, said.

‘Our relationship has got a lot, lot stronger.

‘Every day we laugh, we just laugh all the time.’

Jonathan was a drug addict and had been in prison before living on the streets (Picture: Chris Frear/Triangle News)

The pair met on Cleethorpes Beach, Lincs, last June.

Jon – who had been hooked on heroin and the hallucinogenic Spice – had been homeless for 18 months.

But Katie has turned his life around and he has even met his long-lost dad Gary, who he had not seen since he was six years old.

‘She’s helped me a lot, in so many different ways,’ Jon said.

He said life was tough living in a tent near the beach.

‘I got booted in the head a few times, chased and spat at,’ Jon said.

‘But a bloke that owns a couple of ice cream shops down there used to look after me,’ he explained.

Support teacher Katie said: ‘I’d seen him from driving past, and I went to sit with him and said “What’s your story?”

‘We just got on. From then on I went and sat with him every day.

‘He said he wanted to change his life so we decided we would work towards that together.’

The couple would leave notes for each other in Jon’s shoes – which he left among his worldly possessions if he went for a walk.

The first note was from Katie to Jon asking his favourite food, however they quickly developed into love letters.

Jon would also write poems about sleeping rough and his romance with Katie, which she has kept.

One of the poems read: ‘I met Kate a few weeks ago.

‘Where it’ll end up I don’t know.

Katie and Jonathan are happily in love (Picture: Chris Frear/Triangle News)

‘I started to give up on myself.

‘This lovely woman stopped and gave me some help.’

Another read: ‘She’s amazing, prettier than any flower.

‘Beautiful on the inside as well as the out.’

It was then that Jon thought the relationship might develop into something more.

‘It was when she was sending me those notes, I thought there was something different here,’ he said.

‘I really liked coming back to them.’

Jon had started sleeping rough after spending more than two-and-a-half years in prison.

He was convicted of GBH after assaulting a man he caught in bed with his former girlfriend, Katie said.

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Jon had a cardboard sign, when he was begging, that said: ‘Her lawyer was better than mine.’

However this did not put off Katie, who invited Jon round for a shower, a haircut and roast chicken two months after meeting him.

‘I wasn’t worried when he first came to my house, I felt like I could trust him straight away,’ the support teacher at a behaviour unit explained.

‘I asked him what’s your favourite food, and he said a roast dinner.

‘He hates sausage rolls because he got given them all the time.

‘He said I don’t want to ever eat chips again.’

Jon asked Katie out shortly afterwards, and romance blossomed between the pair and she helped him kick the drugs.

While Katie’s mum Annabel was very supportive of the loved-up pair, not all Katie’s friends shared that view.

‘We’ve had a mixture of reactions,’ Katie said.

‘The majority of my friends have been really supportive, however one has really had a major issue with it.

‘People meet on Tinder which I think is more dangerous than sitting and talking to someone for four months,’ defiant Katie blasted.

Mum-of-two Katie is recently divorced, but said she still gets on well with her ex-husband and would never put her two grown-up children in danger.

‘He’s been really supportive,’ Katie said.

She also set up a reunion between Jon and long-lost dad Gary for the first time in 25 years.

With the help of Jon’s probation officer and the prison warden, they tracked him down and arranged a meeting in Grimsby.

Jon said: ‘My mum would move us around loads when we were kids, to keep us away from my dad.

‘Katie helped me find him. I was a bit overwhelmed when I first met him.’

‘It sent Jon slightly funny at first but recently their relationship has got much stronger,’ Katie explained.

Jon and Gary are now making up for lost time – he even lived with Gary at his home in Burton, Derbs, for several months.

The couple now often go and stay with the family in the Midlands, and regularly meet up for barbecues.

Jon says he will be forever grateful to Katie for everything she’s done for him.

‘I used to think about this when I was sleeping on the beach, that I won’t be here forever,’ he said.

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[fazeupmag-blog]

New Post has been published on Fazeup

New Post has been published on https://www.fazeup.tk/2019/05/google-assistant-at-three-years-previous-one-of-the-best-is-but-to-come-back/

Google Assistant at three years previous: One of the best is but to come back

“Hey Google, tell me a story.”

While you utter these phrases to your Google House speaker or smartphone, the Google Assistant will cheerily launch into a brief story most frequently meant to assist younger children with bedtime. At this time, the story was about Ray, a drained alien, who has antennae and speaks 62 languages. Ray was sleepy and wished to go to mattress, in contrast to my daughter, who’d favor to remain up till midnight each evening.

This wasn’t fairly the story Google Assistant was telling when it launched Might 18, 2016, throughout Google’s annual developer convention. Google CEO Sundar Pichai launched Google Assistant on stage in the course of the Google I/O keynote in entrance of 1000’s of builders and press. Assistant was Google’s reply to Apple’s Siri (2011), Amazon’s Alexa (2014), and Microsoft’s Cortana (2014).

A digital serving to hand

Assistant was initially meant to assist a (now-defunct) messaging utility known as Allo and the Google House, Google’s first in-home speaker. Utter the (gawky) catchphrase and a question, and Google will reply or take motion. Because of hooks into your Gmail, contacts, and calendar, Assistant has had a reasonably good view of who you might be and what you do since Day One. Assistant is aware of when your subsequent appointment is, is aware of when visitors goes to impede your commute, and might play you a track after you take heed to the most recent climate forecast.

Assistant can deal with a couple of million duties

At first, Google Assistant was restricted to simply the Google House, although it rapidly expanded to Google’s Pixel smartphones as a standalone app and, finally, most Android smartphones. Now, Assistant is the bedrock of every little thing Google. It’s baked into smartphones and tablets, audio system and sensible shows, and even smartwatches and wi-fi headphones. Extra importantly, Google opened up Assistant’s core to builders, permitting app writers, machine makers, and repair suppliers so as to add Assistant to their very own merchandise. Google Assistant can work together with sensible thermometers, residence lighting techniques, and your automotive.

Assistant has grow to be ubiquitous.

Taking motion

Conversational in nature, Assistant has a unusual character even when its humor is a bit of dry. At this time, Assistant can deal with a couple of million duties that fall below six main classes.

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Have duties and to-dos? Assistant can set timers, add gadgets to your procuring record, set alarms, and allow you to bear in mind the place you parked your automotive. On the communications entrance, Assistant will help you name mother, textual content your brother, and e mail your boss. Want the thin on what’s occurring round you? Assistant can let you know when it is going to begin raining, warn you if there’s visitors on the best way to the airport, discover the closest ATM, and allow you to know when the put up workplace closes. Then there are the details. Google Assistant is aware of what time it’s in Tokyo, when the native tides will roll in, easy methods to say good day in German, and what number of kilos are in a kilogram. (Dad and mom corresponding to myself will let you know that Google Assistant may be too good at serving to the children with their homework.)

The place these queries search laborious, useful data, Assistant additionally is aware of easy methods to have enjoyable.

After a protracted day at work (or college), you possibly can have Assistant play your favourite playlist, atone for ESPN SportsCenter, or discover a recent podcast. Want to elucidate to your toddler what a cow appears like? Assistant can do this. Want one thing that will help you keep in key as you sing Comfortable Birthday to Aunt Tilly? Assistant can do this. Wish to hear a poem? Assistant is aware of all of the verses of Robert Frost, Edgar Allen Poe, and Emily Dickinson. Assistant can let you know a joke, play a sport, and, sure, let you know a narrative.

Generational leap

Google Assistant is way from good. It has a tough time understanding some accents. Its smarts are typically restricted to third-party sources corresponding to Wikipedia. It’s nonetheless not out there in each language, nor in each nation (although it’s getting shut!). Assistant could be sluggish, and the cadence of interacting with the voice-based software could be awkward. This is the reason what Google revealed throughout I/O 2019 is so revolutionary.

The subsequent-gen model of Google Assistant can be quicker, smarter, and extra highly effective than ever.

To begin, pace. Google claims it has primarily eradicated latency in detecting voice-based queries and it could possibly maintain longer, multi-part dialog threads in a single go. Not solely is the brand new model of Google Assistant 10 occasions quicker than earlier than, it permits customers to skip the “Hey Google” catchphrase in between requests. This permits folks to ask various questions in collection with out stopping to permit Assistant to catch up.

Assistant has grow to be ubiquitous

Google says Assistant will grow to be much more private. Specifically, it is going to have a clearer understanding of your relationship with choose folks, locations, and issues. For instance, Assistant will have the ability to deal with a request corresponding to, “Hey Google, what’s the closest ATM to my daughter’s school.” Extra actions are on deck, too, offering folks with the flexibility to set reminders or alarms for others of their household group. Talking of alarms, the brand new Google Assistant will now stop alarms if you merely say “stop” — relatively than forcing you to make use of the catchphrase first.

Different enhancements will grace sensible shows (extra contextualized outcomes) and a Driving Mode dashboard for safer in-car use.

These superior options aren’t because of arrive till later this yr, doubtless on the Pixel four collection of gadgets with Android Q.

Google Assistant has come a great distance in simply three years. Regardless of the lead loved by Siri, Alexa, and Cortana, Assistant is by far essentially the most highly effective and helpful. Given Google’s deep hooks into every little thing we do on-line, Assistant is primed to be the lead voice-based assistant for a while.

Supply

[blog-palette]

A Cab Ride

   Nico would have liked to walk. It was a cool May night, it had rained for a couple of hours, and now as the clouds began to somewhat clear, the air had a translucent crispness. Prism-like, it diffused and it sharpened whimsically the lights reflecting off the wet streets, slapped great even chunks of light onto damp, hanging walls. The air was saturated to tipsiness with light, zipping in and out of the narrow streets. The passing cars sizzled. Despite the motley crowds – the drunk young men following with their eyes the bare, whimsical legs of girls, and other girls, more self-possessed and discreet, walking besides potential lovers, and the weak and ugly – the rejects like a pile of defective dolls filtered out of a production line and piled in a corner – lounging passively on the sides, or practising some quaint art, juggling, balancing, playing drums with sticks and plastic buckets, or just composing their quaint thoughts, writing loose-ended poems in their minds – there was serenity in the aftermath of the sudden, heavy rain. The many, many ads of Dundas Square jostled for room in the calm, distracted minds of pedestrians. Nico smiled sarcastically at the bikini clad Beyoncé in the H&M ad. “Female empowerment,” she uttered in a voice of sarcastic solidarity, loudly enough to turn the heads of some bystanders, who were waiting, like her, for the streetcar. The image tapped like cold drops of rain on the mirror of her vanity, tap, tap, with the beat, beat, beat of the sticks on the buckets. Brushing her hair behind her shoulders with her fingers, Nico dove into her huge handbag, looking for her cell-phone. There was no time, she had to get to work. The bar manager had called her, asking her to cover for Sophia’s shift. Sophia had long, golden hair that reached down in vine-like coils; it was her own. Nico didn’t mind the work: she could use the money.

   She hailed the next cab, it’s headlights – as it swerved dangerously toward her; so that it took a leap of faith just to stand her ground, convince herself that the laws of civilization and machinery colluded to make a collision near impossible – revealing the gentle spray (for surprisingly there were still light clouds overhead – it was difficult to be sure in the starless city sky – and some spray) that she didn’t even feel touch her skin. In the cab, she took off her flip-flops, shoved them in her bag, and pulled out a pair of heels. They clicked onto her feet, one by one, like the shackle of a padlock locking into the groove; a timer began in her mind. A maple leaf idly hung, gently swung from the rear-view mirror, glazing the air with prickly, synthetic perfume. “Isn’t tonight to die for?” she asked Zulu, the driver, as she put on her heels. He watched her eyes in the rear-view mirror, as they scanned the street. “It’s a nice night.” “I would have walked, but luckily for you, I’m running late for work,” Zulu smiled at the familiarity of her tone, at how unalarmed, how discreetly confident her eyes were when they met his in the mirror. Her phone buzzed from a text message.

   “And a moment ago you were ready to pay a far greater price for this night,” Zulu poked at her casually. He always knew, with good confidence, how far he could take a conversation with his passengers. It was easy to tell, of course, which ones not to engage with, or simply nod his head to. But there were many who welcomed conversation. To the shy ones who would readily confide to a stranger who was unlikely to ever see them again, he would offer a sincere, acquiescent confessional; some even welcomed forthright opinions. Some were friendly because they found silence awkward, whose words always seemed insincere, contrived, even condescending. Then there were the fun, happy-go-lucky, or hammered, stoned, tripping passengers, the ones he could take around on a longer route, or sell, if he measured them correctly, MJ or some powders, or even – something that happened very rarely indeed  - even join their party.  This much Zulu considered his vocational requisite.  But it was a game Zulu had begun to enjoy, whittling away the time while he drove mechanically, gaining finesse in the act as he quite unconsciously expanded the scope of his personality – like chameleons evolving over thousands of years the range of their skins’ colours – selecting with great subtlety those pieces of his past that accentuated his present, momentary personality. To say that he resorted to lies would be straying very far from the exercise – to call it an exercise is perhaps too misleading.

   Driving home from the airport, only the previous weekend, a lawyer returning from the capital after throwing a case, Zulu sensed beneath the man’s restless, self-pitying gaze a streak of recrimination. This was neither unfamiliar nor unnerving: Zulu recognized this gaze as the somewhat sadistic, unhatched racism of a high powered man. The lawyer spoke now and then in short, sharp sentences, in a voice that invited no reply – he might have been speaking to himself, even as he stared at the back of Zulu’s head from the back seat. “Defeat, it makes me so hungry,” he confessed with a hand pressed on his stomach. And he didn’t need to: it hovered over his taut lips – the hunger. But what would you know about that, his eyes seemed to follow up as they turned away to watch the passing cars. Like following a thread to a ball of yarn Zulu began to trace the lawyer’s pulse closer and closer to his heart. “As a child I was a great swimmer. Very competitive. I remember each victory, and each defeat, they stay with me,” he spoke with the proud, playful solemnity of an energetic boy displaying new scars to a friend. Was that the truth? He wasn’t a hundred percent. He recalled swimming; he recalled winning – the heaviness of water, the feeling. He saw murky, brackish waves receding over a hole in the sand, through his windshield. “Swimming, it also makes me hungry, but never makes me feel defeated,” the lawyer’s gasping head emerged from the water left over in the hole. Zulu let him breath, for a while, in the crest of the silence between them. “So Zimmerman was acquitted,” he said, to help him emerge fully. It was nonsense, the whole thing, of course, but the lawyer explained to Zulu – happy to show off his liberal leanings in a condescending tone – the historical momentum behind the defence. “Any judge would have seen it coming,” he hypothesised, “and thought, ‘necessary evil,’ before his nightcap.” “Or not. Perhaps a judge is a judge not for his moral knowledge and authority, but for his moral neutrality, the exercise and… exhibition, of which has brought him where he stands.” “Are you saying that to be a judge a man has to be corrupt!” the lawyer snapped unthinkingly, unprepared, unwilling to take time with the cab driver’s meaning. But he knew what the cabbie had meant; they both did in all probability inhabit vastly different moral worlds – so where would any judge be expected to stand between them? “And where does God stand, you think?” he voiced his next thought very naturally, openly, and it was soothing; to say that, so say the word God in front of a stranger in a serious context, almost as if he believed in God.

   “I’m sorry, I have to… we have to change directions, I need to go somewhere else,” Nico’s urgent, earthy voice trilled in Zulu’s ear, and his hands clasped more tightly around the steering wheel. Still looking at her cell phone, she gave him the new directions. As he turned the car he resented the change in destination, the fickleness of youth – the metre didn’t matter – but it was a momentary lapse. It was the most natural thing, to change direction; on the savannahs there used to be no directions, so perhaps it can be said one was always changing; one shifted one’s head, here, this way and that, in hope to sense the world behind the thousand bars that exhausted the once wild gaze. But now and then, it’s also said, the curtain of the pupils soundlessly slides open, and an image enters – be it the sun narrowly framed between whimsical, pale yellow buildings, just ahead at the end of the street as if waiting, waiting with a promise; be it the unreasonable chiaroscuro of excitement suffused whimsically through a pretty woman’s cheek. “Yet more proof that there are things far more important than this… beautiful, night,” what was it that was so sad – nostalgia? – in his voice? But how could that be! Nico was touched. “I will not waste it, I promise you,” she said laughingly, sincerely, “I will stay alert, and, like Napoleon, I will make my fatal move in the depth of the night, when the city is unhinged,” she felt a little madness stir inside her, a little poetry. It was as if a mist passed through her body, and impregnated a thousand abstractions; crisscrossing through her limbs, they pulled her erect: life then was magic. Was there anything more enchanting than to wait, than apprehension? The world so full of calls and seductions, the air with her fragrant messengers, the streets with their pointing fingers, the homey buildings that seemed to gaze wistfully at her as she passed swiftly on her way. “Can you drive slower, please?” she demanded. Zulu obliged gratefully, braking gently; the next passenger could be anybody – an asshole, very likely. He liked being who he was at the moment. And the world: it was a slightly different place at each speed. “I know nothing about Napoleon, but now I know that we had one thing in common.” “What’s that?” “Being nocturnal. Or never sleeping, I should say.”

   The words descended upon Zulu from around him, crystallized upon his consciousness, and echoed, only faintly, without much of their meaning, into Nico’s. They were like a hand releasing him from the hook of Nico’s presence; disengaged, he fluttered. He felt old, centuries old; how long, like Charon, had he been carrying people between lives? Bringing home sailors, delivering businessmen to their families, mothers to their mothers, daughters to their lovers, and the darker transactions that usually, if revealed to him, held their individual identity for longer. They pooled like the pale, reflected moonlight on the swaying surface of a lake, all those faces, those snippets of strangers’ lives – submerging and re-emerging from the waves, scattering, interchanging, and unifying tirelessly. And every time Zulu grew weary of following the indecipherable dance something would sparkle brilliantly, begging Zulu to make the effort to explore. Detached, enlarged, harrowed: the face of a homeless man, who after braving a chilly, snowy day outside for dedication to his calling of begging strangers for assistance and change (loonies and toonies, not socio-political revolution); he got in for a ride to a shelter when his exhausted body refused to even shiver to get warm. Zulu remembered warmly, patting himself on the back, how the two had argued over money: him refusing to accept any, and the homeless man refusing to not pay – out of respect for each other’s poverty. Would he still – unlikely… So much had changed. A homeless man could no longer, in these times, be even trusted to be non-violent. Zulu brushed the memory aside as it began to prod too deeply into the present. But the faces kept rising. Cold and ashen: a girl with whom he had once had a special agreement. What had become of her? Carmen; that was her name, but likely not her real name. Glittering, high-heeled, she emerged out of her apartment building – he always pictured her so – walking with bent knees that struggled to stabilise her body. How had he known? There were signs. “51 Wils– ,” she said tentatively; her destination was no more than an address to her, but that was not uncommon. Her eyes rested on nothing: but it was not shyness, it was not panic – what was it that made them so painfully mobile? She met his eyes in the rear-view mirror now and then, mid-sentence, and always paused her speech, as if the effort required making that contact left her too breathless to speak. Then abruptly she would look away, abruptly continue talking. Getting out of the taxi, she boldly touched his shoulder: “Will you wait for me an hour? I can give you twenty for that, and the fare back,” she proposed, her eyes looked straight out the windshield, blank, straining under the pressure of sensations to maintain a vacuum. He couldn’t say no. From that day she would always call him when she went to see her clients. As their relationship matured, instead of the twenty, she gave him blowjobs, sometimes right in the taxi, sometimes inviting him over to her apartment. They had been close, in a way.

   “I doubt, at least I hope, you’re not as mad as him,” Nico replied smilingly, her smile more than her words pulling Zulu back into the cab, “otherwise, let me out right now!” she said with a light tap on his shoulder. Her eyes were steady, abundant, when they fell upon his, in sharp contrast to the mysterious chasm of Carmen’s eyes; her touch was light and tentative. What were his thoughts doing roaming the wasteland of his memories with such a charming girl as a passenger? They needed to be present, sharp. “I doubt Napoleon was mad at all. He was probably simple, like a… like a lion, or a dog. Direct, confident, at least a little blood-thirsty; a man of action. Madness is a weakness, a frustration, of the will, because of too much thinking,” he paraphrased Dostoyevsky, tapping his forefinger on his temple for effect: they often did that in the movies, the men of action, as if even the little thinking that did happen in those brains needed to be translated to mechanical gestures to be meaningful. He hardly noticed Nico shift uneasily in her place, look away and outside her window, as one turns one’s eyes from the TV during a gruesome scene – what cutting words! how they seemed to approach her heart. “Take yourself as an example,” he continued, and her heart froze with sadistic pleasure, “how fluently you made up your mind just now, changed your mind, to do what your heart wanted. If you were mad we would still be circling around Dundas Square…”

   How silly she had been to. Of course he didn’t know her – how could he know anything of her heart, her madness. How wrecked her heart still was with indecision. Because who was it, after all, that she was on the way to see? He was beautiful, tall, powerful, and spoke softly; and her love – for perhaps it was love – was a great distraction, as if she had jumped off a cliff so she wouldn’t have to think about the hike down. They had met online (great story that would make for their grandkids!) as at the time they had met that was the only thing she had courage left for: putting a few of her pictures on a page and waiting, waiting, waiting. Her parents had met at university. “Well at least you got something out of it,” she used to tease her mother, who had not worked a day since Nico had been conceived. “If by something you mean a wonderful husband, and a daughter that, well, function as well as the microwave.” There used to be a serenity to her family’s home life that was breath-taking – like a Mozart largo, some breathtakingly slow violin sonata that pulls the nerves full length in sheer effort to capture its graceful development – and which she always found difficult to re-adjust to whenever she lost the tempo in her youthful verve. Her father would often stroll home from the University, where he was a professor of art history, for lunch, often stay, often make love to her mother in the sun-struck afternoons; the dog, too big and too furry for the heat, would laze outside their bedroom door, waiting. Nico would sit lonelily reading romances in the garden, watching squirrels glide from branch to branch, birds chase each other from tree to tree to tree. Her father would wake her up near evening as it cooled, gliding his hand across her arm coated with goose bumps: “You’re cold.” “So I’ll shiver myself warm,” she was never surprised by that touch in her sleep, but once awake, she would stream fluidly away like an amoeba. “My darling you are no old, stubborn fisherman preparing for the immoral sea. You are my daughter, and a princess. Just look at your arm!” he was a charming, eloquent man, who read the poets as if they had been his lovers in each of his many previous lives. And that was one world, her home, like a dream now, but even then: somewhat surreal, a mystical place where she had to enter with her shoes off from life outside, from school or from a gathering of friends.

   And there was another world: earthier and more addictive; simple, forceful; sensually opening like a primrose against a dark, intoxicating evening, which she stretched longer and longer to touch. This was the world of her lover. It was a world of immediacy, where she could drop a pebble and watch the ripples flow out; rather than her mysterious, cavernous family life, where the echoes of her own voice mingled with delicate, genteel murmurs somewhere in the invisible distance. It was a world full of artistic youths working odd jobs to scrounge for food and alcohol while they read their books, practised their arts, and made love to distract themselves from their fates; a world her father had only glimpsed the crests of through the lens of history, but which she was approaching in its murky entirety. She too, could press into her lover’s organs and watch the immediate pleasure in his face; it was so simple that it seemed enough, so simple that it seemed precarious. She had found him online, by waiting, which was not easy, nor painless. Before she found him she played the princess in her self-imposed captivity in a high tower. Nevertheless, she felt lucky; and sometimes when they argued she was reminded of that tower, the damp, stony room in her mind where she paced back and forth, alone, till her legs gave way: she would go his way. Compulsively, nervously, she checked the text again, as if there was a risk this time it would say something different. Her breath, her skin relaxed at reading the same message: “Meet me tonight…” it said.

   “Can you please speed up a bit, it feels like we have been circling the block,” she said irritably, raising herself in her seat, only to guiltily slink back. But there was no point explaining anything to the driver. But his silence was so cuttingly judgemental… “It is easy to start something; to make up… one’s mind about starting something,” she added to explain herself, “look at the whole picture. We started for a different destination –“ “And then you changed your mind,” Zulu finished her sentence. “You say the glass is half empty.” The cab stuttered through the traffic lights in Chinatown. Even late in the evening, with the street clear of the throbbing crowds, there was a scrappiness, a sense of disorder here. Perhaps it was the cheap signboards on the store fronts which cluttered the space due to their sheer individuality. Perhaps it was only the language, the script, which – because it was utterly meaningless to Nico – promulgated only a scripted confusion. They were fast approaching her destination, and with every moment, with every word out of Zulu’s mouth, Nico felt more misunderstood. “I don’t think it’s a matter of perspective. That is an oversimplification,” she said carefully, deliberately, stressing the syllables which seemed to leave their meaning in her mouth as they flew away. ”What you saw… see, as a simple decision was not that simple. And probably the same applies to Napoleon,” their meaning fizzled on her tongue, as she scrambled to wrap it in new, different words. “Do you not wish to be here?” Zulu said flippantly as he stopped next to the bar she pointed to, ”you still have one wish remaining out of three.” Nico leaned forward to hand him his fare. “I wish I were nowhere,” Zulu’s heart squirmed under the weight of her melancholy smile, “can you manage that for me?” He could only manage a joke, as he handed her change: “And here I thought you were going to grant me my freedom.”

[ozzygonza]

EXCHANGE

Chapter 1.1

Despite dad basically being a complete shut-in and only wanting to stay home all day working on his next novel, he actually wanted to drive me to school; most likely to avoid emails from his agent regarding the next installment of his Blackened Rooks series. He even woke up earlier than pop, which kind of surprised me. The drive to school seemed like any other drive to school: quiet and only should last for fifteen minutes-ish. I kept my attention outside my car side window, We stopped at a light on the main street behind a white sedan and then I could hear my dad’s thoughts clamoring all at once to a halt as well.

“How are you feeling…?” he asked aloud, which already sounded like the wrong question that beat the other ones in his overactive head. He cleared his throat and exhaled. “It’s going to be a new year of high school. Obviously this past summer was not the best, what with that mess happening, but this will be a new year for you to start again with the knowledge from the year before.”

What he lacked in being social, he excelled in being eloquent and very well-spoken. He would have been valedictorian in high school if it hadn’t been for Clara Vaughn basically beating him and writing a just as good speech; he was never bitter about it since the two remained best friends even after high school.

I frowned, recalling for a moment what happened last summer. Only one photo remained saved in a folder of my current phone of me and her being happy. A small wave of sadness returned from the incident of the end of the school year. I didn’t want to remember.

“Thanks Dad, I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him, noticing him smiling a little and a hint of fatherly pride. “Now, I’m gonna go, so that I can get some education.”

“Huh? Y-yes, s-sure sure,” he stammered, not realizing he had already pulled in the student drop-off.

I gave him a shadow of a smile and headed into the campus. I stepped into the high school building, already catching sight of friends hugging each other and a couple or two saying hello for the first time after a long summer. After I grabbed my school schedule from the line in the cafeteria, I sat down near the entrance to give my legs a rest and to read the list of classes, with the first being English Literature with Mr. Perez. The rest of the school day seemed pretty steady ending with Geometry class with Ms. Fields.

“There he is.”

I looked up to see Keisha, my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were twelve, having met during a joint musical recital; she used to play the violin and I had played in a piano duet with my friend Nico. We had shared a moment of pumping the other up backstage. We remained inseparable since that day. She opened her arms out and gave me a “C’meeeere” look. I returned with a smirk and gave her a big hug, returning her embrace, despite feeling extremely despondent.

“You have been in radio silence this whole summer,” she muttered in my ear, squeezing me tighter. “You could have texted me at least once while I was at my nana’s.”

“You have my dads’ numbers, so I knew you checked with them,” I responded as we pulled away from each other. “As you can see, I’m okay. Kickin’, sorta.”

“Well, your epic of Summer of Mope is over, and it’s now time to enjoy a new year of fun, excitement, and emotional instability that comes with being in high school.” She pushed me to the stairs and held up her schedule, most likely getting the schedule ahead of time from her mother, who worked in the school. “Let’s go upstairs to Mr. Perez’s room and have our first boring class together.”

I gave her a little smile and went up the stairs. We talked about our summer, rather she talked and I listened to her. Her time with her nana had been an uneventful one. Most of it spent doing with her brother and nana doing minor chores and going to the beach every other day. She tried to make it sound terrible but I knew better than that. It sounded way better than mine, which was spent in my room with the curtains drawn, listening to some depressing and melancholy music during the time of only showering when I smelled a little rank for my liking.

I didn’t want to give her insight of that, even though she had a hint of that earlier from my parents. When we reached the classroom, a few familiar faces regarded us for a moment, one of them Colton, a guy who just hated me for the sake of it. We took our seats at the back of the classroom to see who else joined our class this first period.

When we started our talk about a TV show we showed an interest in, Mr. Perez stepped in classroom, greeting everyone in an enthusiastic Good Morning. He gave everyone a heart-warming smile and placed his materials on top of the desk. He scanned the room for a moment with his gray eyes and raised a brow.

“I know you guys would rather have stayed home today, rather than be here today, but I will try to make this as painless as possible,” he said and wrote his name “MR PEREZ” on the board. “I am Mr. Perez your English Lit teacher. I hope you guys read the pieces from the collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s work and the select works from Walt Whitman.”

A few collection of groans arose from a select students, except for myself and Keisha; I had first editions of the books from both works what with my dad having a small library of these already in his collection.

“However, today, we’re going to meet each other and get to know your peers. I am Mr. Ricardo Perez, and my parents are from a small town just north of Mexico City. They, including my brother Carlos, immigrated here.” He took a brief pause when he heard the back door of the room open.

A young man with bluish hair and horn-rimmed glasses walked in the room. Just as we all did, he also scanned the room. For a moment, our eyes met. A chill ran down my spine and the hairs on my arms stood on end. The feeling was eerie and didn’t know what to make of it. He broke our gaze first and walked to the front of the classroom, handing the teacher a piece of paper.

He scanned through the paper and muttered something to himself. “Okay, class! This is a transfer student from our exchange program,” he responded and motioned to the young man. “I believe you will be the first one to introduce themself to the class.”

The boy grinned. “Alright, my name is Trent St. John, please to meet you all,” he said, a faint accent heard in certain syllables, projecting his voice to the back of the room. His gaze fell upon me, our eyes meeting again. “I cannot wait to be acquainted with you all.”

“You can take a seat, looks like we have one in the back next to the young man in the green t-shirt,” Mr. Perez stated, clearly indicating me.

“We should be nosy and say hello,” Keisha whispered in my ear. As soon as Mr. Perez turned his back to the class to write on the board, Keisha gave me a little wink and I couldn’t help but grin as she quickly went to Trent’s desk. She took a seat right next to Trent and nudged him with her elbow in his ribs. “I’m Keisha and that’s Abram, “she motioned to me with a slight nod. “You are definitely new around here and I think you should hang with us.”

Keisha didn’t know the definition of subtle or even hearing no as an answer to one of her demands. She propped her chin on the heel of her palm and smiled. “Everyone else isn’t as cool as us.”

Now you are being crazy, I thought to myself.

Trent nodded regardless. “I actually wouldn’t mind hanging with you guys,” he said to her. He turned his head to me. “What about you? Do you think we will get on? Or am I awkward?”

His words sounded strange but I couldn’t place them anywhere. I returned a smile. “Awkward or not, it shouldn’t matter.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Trent stared ahead and smiled.

Mr. Perez had spent the rest of the hour having us introduce ourselves. It was dumb and elementary school-ish. We practically spent most of our time on our phones; Pop had sent me a reminder to do chest workouts, either at home or the gym, via text. He should have been working in whatever warehouse or secret mission.

Once hour had ended, Mr. Perez reminded everyone to review the select poems by Poe for tomorrow’s lesson, but clearly his direction had fallen on deaf ears. Keisha snatched Trent’s schedule from his hands and scanned the page. She counted two with her fingers and then four.

“So we have second period photography as well,” she stated and looked at me, “but you guys have Geometry, American History, and free period.”

Trent raised a brow. “Sounds like we’re going to be seeing more of each other,” he stated and chuckled.

Keisha hooked her arm around his elbow and started tugging him towards their next class.

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