#what if i asked your owner very nicely to go full dog and rail you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

narutogwriting · 3 years

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Eat Your Words

Pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x Reader

CW: NSFW; creampie; dirty talk; cheating

Length: 2.6k+

Summary: Kiba is your jerk of an ex boyfriend. All you wanted was to get your stuff and never see him again. But Kiba has a special way of getting under your skin.

Inspired by me wanting Kiba to rail me into oblivion

Please don’t tag as NSFW!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

“Get out of my face, and just give me my shit!”

You felt like your head was going to explode. How could one person be so arrogant, so obnoxious, so infuriating!?

Kiba snickered at you, crossing his arms and leaning back against his doorway. He looked so cool like that, so calm and collected. Meanwhile you looked like a crazy person, screaming at his front door in the middle of the day. He always did know how to press your buttons just right.

“I’m not in your face.” Kiba pointed out, raising his eyebrows. “I’d say I’m an appropriate distance away, given the circumstances. But you and I both know we’ve been a lot closer.”

You wished you could slap that smug smirk off his face.

What you ever saw in Kiba Inuzuka was beyond you. It must have been temporary psychosis, a mental breakdown. Somehow you had spent an entire year dating him before you finally came to your senses and ran for the hills. You’d never met someone so full of themselves in your life.

Taking a deep breath, you rubbed your temples, trying to compose yourself. This is what he always did, said just the right thing to get you all worked up and then poked you until you burst. You had to stop falling for it. Feeling like the hot air was cartoonishly escaping from your ears, you straightened, eyeing the brunette in front of you.

It must have been purposeful, you thought, that Kiba answered the door shirtless. He must know how good he looked; anyone with eyes could see that Kiba was easily one of the hottest guys in the village. With his tan skin, those wild brunette locks, and the taunt muscles in his biceps--not to mention the washboard abs. Kiba belonged on the cover of a magazine.

Better seen and not heard.

“Listen, can I please just get my things? Then I’ll be out of your hair and we can part ways forever.” You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look through him rather than straight at him. He could be… distracting, and he knew it. This was just another part of his plan to drive you crazy. One last “fuck you” before you left.

“What’s the hurry?” Kiba asked you, yawning boredly. “You that ready to be done with me?” A faux pout painted itself on his lips as he did his best to look hurt, but you knew better. Kiba didn’t have a sensitive bone in his body.

With a sigh, you shook your head. “I have a boyfriend to get home to, actually.” You told him. It hadn’t been two weeks after your breakup that rumors began to fly about Kiba and Ino hooking up in the training grounds. Well two could play at that game, you’d decided. You had only cried for a day before you picked yourself up and found your rebound. The cute owner of the new gyoza shop in town was the perfect person to get your mind off your sleeze ball of an ex boyfriend. He was nice enough, didn’t hurt to look at, and most importantly, was the complete opposite of Kiba.

Kiba snickered in response, not looking impressed. “Right, dumpling boy. How is Prince Charming? Better run along, wouldn’t want to miss that sweet scent of meat and sweat.” He gave you a pointed, smug look.

“Better than smelling like dog and sweat.”

You could tell from the look on Kiba’s face that the insult had hit its mark. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw flexed, and you knew he was trying not to snap at you.

The Inuzuka clan was known for their closeness with their canine companions, but you knew for a fact that Kiba hated being compared to an animal. He’d heard the jokes one to many times in your genin days, and now it was a sore spot for him.

It was why you said it. Now it was your turn to smirk, pleased that you’d gained the upper hand.

“Seriously, nothing was a bigger turn off than having you on top of me and smelling Akamaru,” you taunt. “The smell was bad enough, but then you would paw at me like a dog, too.”

His eyebrow was twitching, the anger plain on his face though he was doing his best to play cool. “I don’t remember hearing any complaints before,” Kiba shot back. “Matter of fact, I remember you absolutely begging me not to stop, to go harder even.”

You could feel your cheeks start to burn, remembering that, yeah, you definitely used to beg him for more. Sex with Kiba was one of the things you missed the most. But you weren’t about to let him know that.

“Obviously I said those things,” you shrugged. “You were my boyfriend. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. What was I supposed to say? That I almost fell asleep everytime you were inside of me?”

“Fat chance!” Kiba shot back immediately, pushing off the door frame and stalking closer to you. “Can’t fake the way you would gush around my cock, sweetheart.”

If you weren’t blushing before, you certainly were now. Your lips parted instinctively, and it took everything in you to bite back a moan just thinking about it.

You straightened, trying to compose yourself. You weren’t going to let Kiba get the best of you this time.

“Whatever. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to sit here and argue with you about it when I could just go be with someone who can actually make me cum. In fact, I’m gonna go find him right now.”

You turned your back to Kiba, making a move to leave before you felt him grab your arm and spin you back around to face him. “Wanna run that by me again?” He hissed.

There was fire in his eyes, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him so angry before. You could practically feel it radiating off of him, and it made you smirk, knowing that you had gotten him so worked up.

“You heard me.” You told him slowly. “I said that ‘gyoza’ boy fucks me way better than you ever did.”

You weren’t sure what you were really expecting. Maybe for him to yell, punch a wall even. Anything other than what he ended up doing.

His grip on your arm tightened as he yanked you towards him. A small squeal left your mouth as you stumbled into his arms.

He leaned in close to you, so close your noses almost touched. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You’re gonna eat those words.”

In a moment, Kiba had you in his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you into his house.

“K-Kiba, wait!” You protested in surprise.

“Too late for apologies now, darling.” Kiba told you as he entered the bedroom, tossing you back on his bed. You landed with a squeak, looking up at him in shock. You’d never seen him like this before.

Kiba chuckled darkly as he stared down at you, hands moving to unbutton his pants, dropping them down his legs. You could see his erection straining under his boxers, a small wet spot where precum was forming at the tip. He palmed himself as he stared at you expectantly, an eyebrow raised.

“Don’t just lay there looking all helpless. You know what to do,”

God he was so arrogant, so presumptuous, so annoying! And so fucking hot. You found yourself crawling off the bed, moving down to your knees in front of him as you began to mouth at him over the fabric. Kiba snickered, feeling victorious. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered before winding his hands in your hair.

Using that hold, he moved your head back and forth, forcing your open mouth to rub over his entire length. There was a sane part of you somewhere that was livid you had given in so easily, but that part was buried away deep.

Kiba liked the power he had over you, the fact that you would drop to your knees in front of him so willingly. He licked his lips, looking very much like a predator sizing up its prey.

Finally, he released his grip in your hair, moving to sit on the bed. “Strip,” he commanded, and you found your fingers had a mind of their own, moving to pull your shirt over your head.

Kiba’s eyes were trained on you, watching as you pulled the clothes from your body. “You talk a lot of shit for a girl so willing to get naked for me,” Kiba taunted you. “Maybe I need to punish you, put you in your place for that?”

Standing in front of him nude as he teased you made you flush over. You wanted to protest, but he grabbed your hand, pulling you to him. His fingers ran over your folds, finding that you were already wet. He grinned at you. “Already, huh?” He let you go to pull his boxers off, exposing his hard cock completely. Your eyes were trained on his thick girth, your mouth watering. It’d been too long since you last had him inside of you.

Kiba reached out again, hands twisting in your hair. “Sit on it.” He commanded. You tore your eyes away from his cock to look him in the eye.

“But Kiba. I’m not—“ he cut you off with a yank on your hair.

“You’re wet enough already. I know you can take it.” A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips, making you drip in arousal even more.

Obediently, you crawled onto his lap, positioning yourself over his length, already shaking in anticipation. Kiba let go of your hair to run his thumb over your parted lips. Then, before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, and he was shoving you down onto his fat cock as his hips thrusted up to meet yours.

“Kiba!” You squealed, tossing your head back as he bottomed out inside of you, filling you up completely. The burn from him shoving himself into your unprepared arousal felt so good; the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take it.” He commanded, pressing your head down to his shoulder as his other hand gripped your hips tightly, enough to bruise. He held you in place, hovering over him as he began to thrust inside of you relentlessly, groaning in pleasure at the way you took his cock so well.

“Please, Kiba,” you whined, your fingers gripping into his shoulders as he pounded into your hole. It was simultaneously too much and not enough. Kiba only laughed cruelly in your ear.

The noise infuriated you, pulling you from your haze just enough. You pulled your head back from his shoulder, glaring at him. “Don’t get so cocky,” you spat at him, doing your best to keep your voice even as he continued pressing his dick inside of you. “I’m begging for you to do something that will actually make me feel good.”

The words had barely left your mouth before you were being lifted up. Kiba dropped you on his cock again, holding you against him as he carried you. Your back hit the wall roughly, causing a gasp to leave your mouth. Kiba’s hand trailed up your neck before his fingers gripped your throat. He leaned in close to you again, his lips brushing barely brushing against yours. “You want to act like a little slut? Fine, I’ll treat you like one.”

You could only cry out as he began to fuck himself into you with a renewed vigor, his hand still clasped around you throat. “God, this hole was just begging for my cock, wasn’t it?” He hissed. When you didn’t respond, he squeezed his fingers tighter. “I asked you a question!”

“Yes!” You gasped out, clawing at his back. You were drowning in pleasure as Kiba battered your gspot over and over again, your legs not even able to wrap themselves around him. “Yes, Kiba. Please fuck me! Give me what I deserve!” You begged.

You screamed out again when Kiba’s teeth sunk into your clavicle, his canines breaking the skin. The throbbing pain just made you squeeze tighter around him, causing him to groan out.

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” He asked as he pounded inside of you. “You love being fucked by my big cock while your little boyfriend sits at home waiting for you. You’re gonna go home to him dripping with my load.”

He grabbed one of your kicking legs, lifting it up over his shoulder, letting him reach into you deeper. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth open in a silent scream.

“I can feel the way your little cunt is fluttering around me,” He goaded. “I know what that means. You gonna squirt baby? You wanna gush around my cock for old times sake?”

You were practically sobbing now, overwhelmed by his dick and the dirty words tumbling from his mouth. “Kiba, kiba please…” You cried.

“Tears, huh?” Kiba reached up, wiping them from your cheek with his thumb and bringing it up to his tongue. “Is it that good baby?”

You nodded furiously, eyes screwed shut as your head pressed against his shoulder. “Do it then,” Kiba whispered in your ear, teething at the lobe. He pulled his hand from your throat to brace himself against the wall, thrusting harder and harder. “Cum around my cock. I want to feel it.”

You felt the pressure building up, your stomach coiling in pleasure. It only took a few more thrusts before you were screaming Kiba’s name, cumming violently around him. You squirted, liquid gushing from your pussy, causing an salacious squelching as he continued to press himself in and out of you.

“That’s it baby. Let it out,” Kiba breathed, keeping his pace. It was quickly all too much for you, overwhelming to the point of pain.

“K-kiba,” you hiccuped. “P-please, i can’t…”

“You can, baby. You’re gonna.”

And you’re crying, you’re overstimulated, and you’re pretty sure Kiba is saying something but you have no clue what. All you know is he’s still moving inside you insistently, and it feels like you’re still cuming.

You feel him pull you away from the wall, laying you back on the bed, and now both of your legs are over his shoulder. Kiba practically folds you in half as he fucks you on his cock, and now his finger is pinching your nipple. You think you hear him mutter something--“How’s this for pawing at you”--but you can barely hear past the blood rushing in your ears.

You feel your cunt tightening around Kiba again and he curses and then his lips are smashed against yours, swallowing your cries as you drown in the pleasure. You’re begging, you don’t know if you want him to stop or keep going, but it doesn’t matter because he’s telling you he’s not gonna stop, not yet. He’s gonna fuck you as long as it takes for you to remember who you belong to.

You don’t know how many times you’ve cum by the time you hear him tell you he’s close. Kiba says he’s gonna fill you up, fuck his cum into you until you can taste it and he does, unloading inside your worn pussy as he bottoms out inside of you completey. You can feel his cock twitching as spurt after spurt of cum shoots inside of you.

He collapses on top of you then, almost as spent as you are, keeping his dick inside of your spent cunt as it softens. He’s placing light kisses over your neck as your breath finally comes back to you. You blink up at Kiba through blurry eyes as he props himself up, wiping the tears from your cheek. He gives you a wolfish grin, hands running gently down your body.

“You still want me to give you back your shit?’

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bostongirl13 · 3 years

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NEW DODGER PHOTO PART 10

A/N: It's been a while since my last post here. But I'm back, I think so and I will write more. I have one ff with Steve during my work, so maybe you will see something new. For now catch the new (late) part of the NEW DODGER PHOTO SERIES

Summary: One stranger is enough to challenge what should last forever and undermine the love written in the stars.

Words: 900+

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff

My masterlist

New Dodger Photo Series

This was Chris's first project he got involved in since you became a couple. Of course, you knew what you were writing for, however, the theory has nothing to do with reality.

The first night without Chris was a nightmare. You couldn't sleep, you woke up every now and then, and although the enormous royal bed was the most comfortable place on earth, now it felt like you were lying on a piece of wood with studded nails. Poor Dodger also had trouble finding a suitable place. You just didn't know if it was because its owner was gone or because you were restless. The following nights weren't any easier. You tried to sleep in the guest room, the living room, and even the office. Of course, you didn't mention it to Chris because he would get on the first plane and go home right away. After two weeks, you got your first night's sleep without getting up and looking next to your boyfriend's body. Dodger also clearly calmed down which made you very happy.

It was Chris's birthday and you wanted everything to be perfect. You came up with an idea to surprise Chris. So you bought a ticket to Paris, left Dodger in Lisa's care, and wrote to Scott what the plan was. Everything ran smoothly and without complications. You both ate a delicious dinner, but you didn't make it to dessert.

His cock was inside you hitting all the right places deeply. He wasn't gentle, his fingers digging into your body holding you in a position that was comfortable for him. And you barely stood on your feet and held on to the balcony railing, struggling not to moan like a cheap whore. But you had to admit that you were her to this man.

"Oh god. You're so good, ”he growls, feeling you clench around its length. You felt every vein on his big cock and how it pulsates telling you that he is close.

“Cum inside me, I want to be full of you, ”you gasped.

Chris snarled in response and began hitting your sweet spot harder.

It was the first of the few rounds of the evening. However, all good things come to an end, and after two days of plenty of sex, sleeping, and eating, each of you had to come back to your unwanted reality.

You picked up the Dodger from Lisa and went straight to your house. A black Mercedes was parked on the driveway. You have not remembered inviting any guests, and even more so, none of your mutual or separate friends drives such a car.

The door was open. You reached into your purse for pepper spray and squeezed the Dodger harder.

"Take it easy" you whispered to him or yourself, you didn't know who you want to calm down yourself.

"I'm in the kitchen!" you heard a woman's voice "Hey I thought you were in Par ... Who the hell are you?" the black-haired woman was standing in an apron and was baking a cake.

"I think I should ask this question"

Dodger was clearly not happy to see the intruder because he started to growl softly.

"I am Dien. I am Chris's wife and wife."

Did she just say ... What the fuck ?!

"Excuse me? I must have misheard," you shook your head.

"I do not understand?"

"Well, apparently," you said, "I don't know who you are and what you're doing here, but there is a door," you pointed "And if you have a problem with that, I'll be happy to call nice gentlemen in the police who will help you get out" you added.

The woman looked at you for a moment, unable to understand something.

"You're Dodger's babysitter right?" she said after a while, "Chris didn't tell you I was coming."

You opened your eyes wide. The blood started flowing faster through your veins and the pressure jumped up.

"I'm not Dodger's guardian, I'm Chris's fiancée. And you must have mixed up houses and men."

"I didn't think of anything, but you must have imagined something," she said and turned to the bowl full of dough. You wanted to grab her by the hair and force her out the door. But you were afraid that you might have a gun with you.

"Come on again. Get out of my house or I'll call the police."

"Listen to me girl. Whether you like it or not, I'm getting married to Chris" she started taking off her apron and reaching into her purse. You tightened your fingers on the gas bottle tighter but loosened the ones on the dog's leash.

"If you want, I'll call Chris and tell you himself", she raised her eyebrows, holding the phone in her hand.

"Get the fuck out of my house," you said firmly.

A smile appeared on the woman's face, "Maybe I expressed myself a little bad at the beginning, but you will not become his wife. Your name is Y / N, right? He told me about you."

The woman started walking slowly towards the door, but before she left she added. “Darling, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think about you at night. He doesn’t talk about you and about how bad he misses you. Sweetheart, he doesn’t care about you and he doesn’t love you, maybe he never did. And everything is and was a lie. I’m sorry” and she left. Leaving you with a thousand thoughts, confused and shocked. Who was this woman and what was she talking about?

Leaving you with a thousand thoughts, confused and shocked. Who was this woman and what was she talking about?

tags: @patzammit @ivettt @mostannoyingbillioner @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @ozarkthedog @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @sweetflowerdreams @worksby-d

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x reader fluff #chris evans x y/n #chris evans story #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans sex #my wriitng #new dodger photo #chris evans series #chrisevans #chrisevansedits

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #I've already got a room in Hell y'all welcome to book one nearby

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rachey899 · 3 years

Text

Moon (GT)

New characters, new story, don’t know if there will be more but please tell me what you think, maybe I will continue with it.

Short story of Moon and Emmerich here: That’s something you don’t see everyday

Word Count: 4305

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“You’re a waste of space”

“Why don’t you just run away freak”

“Did you honestly think you would make any friends”

The laughter echoed off the walls of the library at the latest school that my mother had enrolled me in. For the longest time I can remember we have bounced around school and towns, mum struggles to keep a job and I struggle to blend in and so we are constantly on the move.

Travelling to a new town was always my favorite part of our ritual, I would usually be sitting in my room crying after the latest torment of bullies from school and mum would burst in the door with a glint in her eye.

“Flowers give me the most wicked hay fever, how about we beat it?” her last job had been at a florist, she spoke for days about her wonderful flower arrangements she had come up with, usually they were very abstract and apparently the owner did not approve. It didn’t matter what the excuse was, the job didn’t fit, the school wasn’t right for me, so we beat it. On a continuous loop of fresh starts, yet they all seemed to play out the same.

Once in the car we would laugh and play a game called ‘drop the pin’ we laid out a map and let a pin drop onto it and wherever it landed was where we would go next, didn’t matter how far away it was or how outrageous it was, that’s where we would go. And then we spent hours singing loudly in the car just enjoying each other’s company. We would talk about everything and nothing or sit peacefully in silence.

And so when I came home from school today I sat in my room with my notebook and charcoal pencil and began to scribble the pain away. Mum had a new job as a beauty stylist for dogs, yes it’s as random and amazing as it sounds, and my new school was the same as it always was, the whispers and judgments, no one ever spoke to me, they would take one look at me and decide I was not normal, I didn’t fit in or I didn’t belong.

My choice in clothes was seen as ratty, I saw it as creative. I make all my own clothes from bits and pieces I find at secondhand shops, mum taught me how to sew and make clothing and it immediately become my creative release. Something I could make for myself that was so uniquely me.

“Your so very talented Moon” my mother would say.

My name was another reason people tended to think I was a freak, Moon wasn’t a very common name and maybe it seemed kind of witchy to people or just too out there. I loved my name, I was born during a full moon and my mother had said the moon spoke to her that night and told her that I was destined for magical things and so she couldn’t find a better suited name for me other then Moon. My mother always had a way of making the smallest things seem incredible and full of adventure.

I looked down at my notebook, I had drawn a troll with a large nose and covered in warts, this troll also had long curly hair and way too much lipstick, it reminded me of a particularly nasty girl at my new school. I titled it Natalie as the drawing definitely suited her and then I slapped the book closed as if giving her a slap in the face.

I huffed loudly and laid back on my bed staring at the ceiling and waiting impatiently for my mother to come home.

As if I on cue, the door swung open, and my mother popped her head in with a smile on her face. Her deep red hair curled and bounced around her face and shoulders, giving her the look of a mad scientist’s wife, but it suited her so well.

“I’ve discovered that dogs in this industry tend to be just as pompous as their owners” she stated and laid down beside me.

“Is that so” I said hiding the smile in my tone “groomed one too many poodles?” I asked her and giggled.

She rolled her eyes “Yep, let’s beat it kid” she sat up and left the room. I could hear her digging around in her suitcase, we had been here for about 3 weeks and hadn’t unpacked, we never did.

She came back into the room and laid out a large map on the carpet and sat cross legged in front of it.

“Care to do the honors?” she asked with a wink holding out a pink pin for me.

As was custom I sat beside her and we held hands and closed our eyes, with my free hand holding the pin in a fist, I silently prayed for a fresh start and acceptance, I dropped the pin. When we opened our eyes, we had a new destination set for us.

Jaeville was across the border into giant territory, we had once landed close to the border where more giants were frequent in the town, but we had never crossed the border before. Of course, giants and humans live all over the country nowadays, but the border still stands and its common knowledge that you will find more of a particular species on the appropriate side of the border. More humans on the human side and more giants on the giant side.

Of course, I had seen giants before, gone to school with them but just like everyone else even they tended to think I was weird and kept their distance from me

My mother smiled at me “Well this will be very interesting”, I laughed at her “What kind of work do you even think you’ll be able to get there? I can just picture you trying to serve a giant a cup of coffee”.

“Sounds like a challenge I’m willing to except, plus I kinda like the idea of being a tiny assistant for a big-time banker” she winked at me, and I rolled my eyes.

We packed the car that afternoon and were on the road almost immediately, we often stayed in cheap motels that mum would pay for day by day in case we wanted to leave with little notice. We stopped by a MacDonald’s and had a greasy dinner and then pumped Bon Jovi singing at the top of our lungs to ‘It’s my life’.

We drove through the night until morning, I stayed up with her, I always thought it was unfair that I got to sleep while she had to drive, so we often played number plate games or eye spy to keep each other entertained. This year I would get my license so that we could finally share the driving, or so I hoped.

It was 4:30 in the morning when we began to notice the change in the scenery, the trees became taller, the road became wider and instead of rows of human houses and a few scattered giant ones, there were rows of positively ginormous houses and only a few human sized ones. We noticed a patch of daffodils a way up the road and as we pulled up to them, they grew in size and towered over our car.

We stared at the magnificent plants for a while and then got out of the car, we walked up to the stalk of one daffodil and stared up in awe. Mum shook her head snapping out of the trance and smiled at me, without a word she grabbed my arms and began to spin and dance in and around the bases of the flowers.

When we grew out of puff, we collapsed beneath the flowers our crazy hair splayed around us, my multicolored rainbow hair mixing with her deep red and we just watched the sky grow lighter and lighter.

“Now we are ready for Jaeville” mum said still staring at the sky above us.

I only smiled in response, I definitely felt ready, the daffodil dance inspired me and made me feel like I belonged to the environment around me even if it was dramatically out of my proportions. Mum always had a way of making things particularly special.

We drove for another hour or so until we came across a large building with a sign high above us that read ‘Jaeville motel – Giant and Human accommodation available 24/7’. Mum pulled into the directed human car park, and we sat in the car in silence for a moment.

“Ready Moon?” she asked.

“Ready” I said.

We got out of the car and collected our suitcases from the boot and followed the white outlined human path into the motel, through the human entrance we took an elevator up to reception that came out on the front desk with some chairs and a bell line dup against the wall to wait for reception staff.

Mum rang the bell and a few seconds later we could feel the footfalls of a giant approaching the desk. A young giantess approached us with a gentle smile on her face, she looked to be only a few years older than me, maybe in her early twenties.

“Welcome to Jaeville, how can I help you?” she asked politely, she looked at us politely and paused on me for a moment too long “Oh my, your hair is…. Interesting” she said with a nervous laugh.

My hair was naturally a deep red like my mother’s, but when I was a child she noticed I would develop lighter and darker streaks, she said it made my hair look like a rainbow when the sun shone on it. So naturally I decided to make it that way, I dyed my hair all colours of the rainbow and worked really hard to maintain it. No one else but me and my mother appreciated it and I guess that’s why I kept it that way, even if I was judged for it by others, it was another special reminder of my relationship with my mother.

“We would like a room for two please, I’m not sure how long we will be staying, can I pay by the day?” mum skipped over her comment about my hair and was straight to business, I think she just wanted to get to the room, have a much-needed shower and sleep the day away. Me too.

“Of course,” said the giantess, she went over the details with my mother and handed her a key, we were directed to go up the elevator to the 2nd floor and follow the human path to room 39.

We discovered upon exiting the elevator that the human path was an elevated platform with railings that stretched above the doorways of the giants’ rooms with the human rooms located above the giant ones. I guess that avoids any unwanted accidents. Of course, looking down there was also the same white markings of a human path on the floor far below, I guess we could use it if we wanted to, but I would be nervous someone might not see me way down there.

“Well my sweet Moon, I’m going to get some shut eye for a few hours, then how about you and me explore the town a little and find a nice place for dinner, yeah?” mum had already claimed the twin bed closest to the window and dumped her suitcase beside it, she gave me a squeeze and twirled her finger through my curly crazy rainbow hair and then kissed me gently on the forehead before closing the bedroom door.

I thought about going to sleep but thinking about our dance with the daffodils made me feel energized, I wanted to explore, now. I left mum a note in case she woke up and took the key with me and headed back down the hall, my first plan was to explore the motel.

First, I wandered the human platform and found it to be pretty boring, it only led to more rooms that were seemingly empty beside a couple that were staying in a room two doors from us in number 41 who were arguing loudly. I retraced my steps to the elevator and went up floor by floor and found the elevator only ever took me to more human platforms that lead to more rooms. Very uninteresting.

Finally, I made it up to the top floor which opened up into a very large room where there were no human platforms, I was at floor level with any giants who may be wondering around. But there were none. There was a breeze that blew through my hair, and I noticed that the far end of the room was open, no window no doors just open into the air, the rest of the room was filled with small gardens, flowers, fruit, and vegetables scattered around the room with a few trees here and there and benches appropriately sized for humans as well as giants littered about as well.

This must have been the roof of the motel and they definitely took advantage of the space, it was quiet and still, open, and free and the scent and moisture in the air from the plants around me calmed me to my core. As I wondered around, I came across a lemon tree that was relatively skinny for a giant-sized tree and decided it was bendy and twisted enough for me to climb. And so, I did.

I made it to the top of the tree where it was covered in leaves and fresh lemons ripe enough to pick and found a groove in the branches that was comfortable enough to sit in. I pulled out a book from my colorful patchy shoulder bag and began to read quietly, embracing the peacefulness of the space.

I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep until a loud honk suddenly woke me up, I flinched and sat up too quickly and lost my footing, I began to fall.

The beautiful garden room rushed by me as I prepared myself for the harsh impact with the floor that would surely significantly injure me if I was lucky or kill me if I was not. But it never came, instead I fell on a kind of fabric that bounced slightly underneath me as I landed on it.

Carefully I got my knees trying to figure out exactly how I managed to survive, the surface beneath me was blue and rough but warm and gave a little as I pressed my hands and knees into it.

“Woah” a voice somewhere above me seemed to echo around me, immediately I stood up but lost balance on the weird surface and fell back on my butt looking up at a giant boy with striking green eyes and crazy ginger hair staring down at me with his mouth hung open in shock. He had both hands in the air almost in surrender, or surprise, one held a golden trumpet, the reason I suspected for my rude awakening and the other just hanging in the sky.

We stared at each other for a long time in shock, unsure of what to do or how to even get down from the boys jean clad lap I discovered I had landed on. Hey at least I was alive.

“I’m sorry!” he finally blurted, he quickly placed his trumpet down on the wooden bench beside him and then his hands descended on me. I backtracked, quickly sliding myself further and further away from his oncoming hands, it probably should have occurred to me that knees come to an end.

“Watch out!” he shouted as my hands touched air behind me and I fell backwards, plummeting yet again, this time a warm and very unfamiliar surface caught me and I was immediately halted in my descent and instead raised upwards closer to his face.

I rested in the center of his two cupped hands, it was warm and slightly humid, leathery, it was such an alien feeling. My heart started to pound the closer I got to his face, he watched me with the same kind of astonishment and fear perhaps, or maybe it was concern, I couldn’t be sure.

“L-let me go!” I stuttered, I had finally found my voice, there was nowhere I could go I was stranded in his hands held who knows how high off the ground.

“Right, right, I’m sorry” he said, he had an English accent I noticed.

His hand descended and I was lowered to the ground at his feet, maybe I didn’t think this through. He laid his hand out flat on the ground and I immediately jumped off, I wanted to kiss the ground but decided to hold off on that extreme gesture.

I looked back up at the giant, deciding to avoid staring at his black Van covered feet, his face was now so far away, and his body seemed to stretch for miles, I had seen giants before, even interacted with them from the safety of human railings, but I had never ever been this close before.

He seemed to sense my nervousness and stood up. Not helping giant! Though he then immediately sat down on the ground cross legged in front of me as if that might put me at ease if he wasn’t so obviously tall. I just stood there watching him cautiously, I shouldn’t be so scared, giants are people just like humans, but just much larger.

I fell on him, really, I should probably be the one apologizing.

He broke the staring contest by reaching for something on the wooden bench he had been sitting on, oh god not that trumpet again, but he didn’t pick up the trumpet, instead he held something positively miniscule between his thumb and forefinger, I realized what it was straight away.

“Um I believe this is yours” he said holding it out in front of me, I reached towards his fingers and plucked my book out of his grasp.

“Oh, um thank you…. Giant?” oh I’m so stupid, obviously his name is not giant, great job Moon, you’ve probably offended him.

He laughed, a low thundering sound that I could feel in my chest, it felt... strange.

“My name is Emmerich and it’s no problem, I’m sorry if I startled you, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here let alone hiding in a tree” he smiled softly at me, and I could see the freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks.

I blushed from embarrassment, why would I call him giant, maybe I really am a freak, no social etiquette whatsoever, he must think I’m so rude. Introduce yourself, that’s the next thing to do, or maybe that might make things worse, though Emmerich isn’t really a common name either.

“Moon” I blurted, oh inward face palm “My name is Moon” good start moron.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you, I must have drifted off in the tree, um I didn’t mean to fall on you…. twice” I laughed nervously and scratched the back of my neck, maybe I should leave him in peace now.

“Yeah we uh don’t get many human guests here and I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen any humans wonder in here before, I guess because this room has no safety railings, I didn’t even think to look around, I truly am sorry, I assumed I was alone” his eyebrows scrunched in concern and he leaned down closer to me “Are you alright, that must have been pretty frightening”.

Without thought I took a step back away from his face, the closeness overwhelming me, I nodded my head in acknowledgment of the seemingly empty room and at my wellbeing, I really was fine, just a bit shaken.

He pulled away again giving me space, his eyes scanned over me and his lips twitched up in a small smile “Moon is a very unique name kind of like your hair” he extended a finger towards my head and I took several steps back.

“Sorry” he said again and clasped his hands together in his lap as if to restrain his fingers from reaching for me.

“I’m not a very social person, forgive me for being so intrusive” he looked down at his lap, he resembled a shameful puppy.

“No your fine, I’m still a little jumpy I guess, I’m not particularly social either” I hesitated for a moment “Um well I can go if you wanted to continue playing your trumpet, sorry again for disrupting you” I turned to leave.

“You don’t have to go, I mean” he paused “Obviously you can go if you want to, but I um wouldn’t mind the company, we don’t generally get kids my age staying here, usually it’s just old, retired travelers” I turned to look at him, his striking green eyes seemed hopeful for companionship.

“I guess I could hang around for a while” I said making up my mind, perhaps I would make a friend for once, so far, he hasn’t been unkind or judgmental of me, he didn’t even seem that concerned about my name or hair colour, maybe this would be a good thing. Maybe I was putting in too much hope.

“Okay, brilliant” he says smiling, he places his hands on the ground either side of me “I’m just going to lay on my stomach, then you wont strain your neck” he explains.

I watch as he slowly lowers himself down and crosses his arms under his chin, he is a few feet away from me but still feels extremely close, or maybe he just looks magnified. I can see every freckle on his face, I can see the slight anxious blush in his cheeks and the light and dark hues of green in his eyes, his curly red hair hangs around his face in bouncy little spirals. Everything is just so…. Big.

To stop myself staring too much I sit down in the grass and cross my legs, I pick at a few strands of grass and fiddle with them in my lap.

“So how long have you lived here for?” I ask wanting to break the silence.

“Me and my Dad moved here when I was six, Dad’s dream was to run a bed and breakfast so he bought this motel, we have made some improvements but it’s still a long way from the cozy bed and breakfast he really wants” looking around this room in particular you can tell that a lot of love and time has already been put into making the place feel homey.

“What about you, what brings you to Jaeville?” he asks bringing my attention back to him.

“Mum and me kind of just bounce around the country, mum picks up jobs where she can but we are sort of just going wherever the wind takes us I guess, it’s nice” I fiddle with my long patch work skirt and busy myself with fraying the hem, I would fix it later, this skirt in particular was a favorite of mine and has been fixed and modified many times, its due for another touch up.

“That seems kind of lonely, do you keep in touch with friends?” he looked sort of sympathetic like he pitied the lifestyle my mother and me had chosen.

“Don’t really have any, my mother and I are really close, I don’t feel very lonely, at least not often I guess” I began to mumble, maybe I was lonely, I never seemed to fit in no matter where I went. And when mum was at work I would sit alone, drawing in my notebook and dwelling on the hurtful things people say about me every day. It does sound kind of lonely.

He seemed to pick up on my feelings, he looked so sad for me but there also shone an understanding in those eyes as well “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to upset you, I don’t have a lot of friends either. Perhaps we should change to a lighter subject, I did notice you were reading, what is it about?” he smiled reassuringly.

I pulled out my book and sat it in my lap “For the 3rd time I’m reading ‘Graceling by Kristin Cashore’” I said proudly, it really was a wonderful story and one of my favorites.

His eyes widened “I love that book, I’ve read it twice so far myself” he smiled again, he seems to do that a lot.

“Perhaps you could read it out loud? I didn’t bring my copy with me, but if that’s too we-“

“Emmerich! Room 26 needs fresh towels! Could you see if we have any clean pressed ones ready!?” a loud shout filled the room coming from the giants’ entrance to the roof, I couldn’t see the man who had spoken as we were a fair way into the room, but his deep voice shook the very foundations.

“Sorry Moon, I’ve got to go, perhaps another time and I’ll bring my book too, are you staying here long?” he lifted himself up into a crouch ready to go.

“At least a few weeks” I said quickly.

“Great I’ll see you around then” and just like that he stood and ran off shaking the ground beneath him.

I walked back towards the elevator with my head reeling, what a day. First, we arrive across the border into giant territory, dance around giant daffodils, I climb a humongous lemon tree only to fall into a giant’s lap, then fall off the giant’s lap, said giant saved my life twice and I may or may not have made my first ever friend. Definitely not a normal day for Moon.

#gt #gtfluff #sizedifference #giant #tiny

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13-timeslove · 5 years

Text

Thirteen Time Ch1: The Docks

“I can’t believe he made pushed up my deadline again!” You groaned loudly into your Akita plushie. “I told him that this part of the manuscript needed more time considering I had to do more research! And what does he do?! Pushed up another fucking week!”

Your roommate Alice sighed as you continued to roll in your bed. She placed her hot milk onto the side table before sitting by the edge and patting your head. You only groaned once more before rolling into her lap. “My editor is an ass”

“You could always get a new one”

“...but he’s a good editor” you sigh dramatically.

“Then don’t complain sweetie”. Alice began to stroke your (h/c) hair as you laid in her lap, a small habit that has formed between your friendship. “Besides, it’s only one week difference. How bad can it be?”

“It’s awful when you have writer’s block”

“Oof”

You turned your head around, looking up at the black haired girl. “Why couldn’t I be smart like you? I wish I had your brain” She started laughing.

“Bitch you don’t want my position! Medical school is such a pain in the ass. You’re the lucky one with your brilliant creative mind, and nagged a job right out of college”

“Shut uppp. You’re better than me”

“No I’m not. And make me” she said while slapping a pillow to your face.

You squealed and rolled off her lap in an attempt to escape her attacks, sitting on the floor giggling to yourself. Alice followed suit and sat next to you, giving you the chance to rest your head against her shoulder. “This is why you’re my best friend”

“This is why I’m your only friend”

“Ouch!”

“Kidding”, you both laughed together. This is what your life with her was like, sarcastic jokes and compliments that neither of you would truly accept.

Alice was there for your since the beginning of college, from the time you accidentally spilled ink on her white pants because of sleep deprivation, to your graduation last year, and even to your heartbreaks. She was always there.

“Hey, Alice”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“Bout 5:30, why?”

You got up from the ground, and grabbed your blue jacket from the floor. “I’m going to take a quick walk, maybe seeing the sunset will clear my writer’s block”. Alice leaned over your desk to toss a small box over to you.

“Don’t forget these”. You caught them, knowing very well that they were your candy cigarettes. “Still don’t understand why you like that stuff?”

“Because they are yummy” you replied happily. She only scoffed, shaking her head sighing. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back in half an hour”

“Be safe”

“Will do!”

You started to head out of your apartment complex, walking down the street. You pulled your iPod out of your pocket and continued to walk down the street. “High hopes” was blasting through your headphones, and you honestly didn’t care about the people staring at you head banging in the middle of the side walk. Hell, you even made eye contact with them and mouthed the lyrics hoping they would sing along somehow (some did fortunately).

Eventually, you felt the cold breeze of the shore biting at your open skin. You zipped up your jacket close. Pulling out the candy box, you took out a candy cigarette and placed it between your lips.

You found a spot close to the edge of the wooden rail and leaned against it. Chewing the end of the candy cigarette, you found that all stress in your body left. The sun was close to falling behind the waves, giving the sky a red and purple ombré (you couldn’t help but take a photo for instagram). This is nice, you thought.

....

“No, no girl. Leave her be”

You felt a nudge at the end of your leg, seeing a small dog bitting at your jeans. If you were a cartoon character, your head would’ve exploded at how cute this dog was.

“Hi baby!” You said in an overly high pitched voice. You knelt down to its level, letting the cutie jump in your lap and lick your hand.

A low chuckle echoed your ear, making you realize that there was still the owner on the other end of the leash. Whoops.

“Seems like she likes you” ooohhh he’s British.

“Heh, I’m glad” you tried to look up at him, but with the sun in your face you really couldn’t get a good look. You held your hand in front of your face, making an awkward smile. “Sorry I petted your dog without asking first. She’s just really cute”

You got up. “No no, I don’t mind. I’m just surprised. Frankie isn't really open to people on the streets. You’re the first”

“I have been chosen” you joked around. The sun started to set behind the sea, but when you tried to look back at the man in front, your eyes took longer to adjust. All you saw of him was his baseball cap.

“Do you mind if I have one?” You cocked your brow.

“I’m sorry?”

“A cigarette. Do you mind if I have one?” He was pointing at the white stick at your mouth, and you pulled it away realizing what he was referring to.

“Oh, um yeah you can. But they’re not cigarettes. They’re candy cigarettes”

“Those things exist?”

“Yeah actually” you laughed out. “But they’re made of sugar rather than tobacco. So sorry”

“No it’s fine. Um” he paused and started to rub his neck. A little embarrassed that he didn’t realize the damn thing wasn’t even glowing. “C-Could I have one still?”

“Sure” you smiled back. You opened the box again, giving the stranger a white sugar stick (author: why does that sound like a weird lingo for a drug...). He placed part of it in his mouth, chewing at the end.

“Oh god, its so plain”

“It’s unique taste” you laughed at him.

The two of you ended up leaning against the rail. Watching the waves crash over each other through the slightly dim sky. You didn’t like pure silence, so decided to try and make a conversation.

“Based on the accent, I assume you’re not from here? Or at the very least, new around here?”

You heard a chuckle escape his mouth, and honestly it was pretty soothing. “Yeah. I’m not from around here”

“Visiting or work, if you dont mind me asking?”

“Sorta for work. I um...I just finished a big project with my friends. We’re celebrating here, and have a um, contest coming up”

“Oh cool! What research did you guys do? Wait! Are you the guys who participated in the research regarding experimental drug for those who suffer from extreme GAD?”

Even though it was dark, you didn’t have to see his confused face as you threw all these questions at him. Well, that and the awkward laugh gave it away. “I’m sorry, but, wh-what?”

You brushed your hair behind your ear, embarrassed. “Sorry. I just realized that project can refer to multiple things, and my brain immediately went to medical research for some reason”

“Are you medical student by any chance?”

“Oh god no, that field is too advanced for me. I just like reading about medical discoveries”. He smiled at your response, a little astounded at how excited you got over it. “Sorry about that”

“It’s fine” he laughed, almost spitting out the candy cigarette. “Our project was actually a film we’ve been working on. It’s been a long process”

He looked off at the distance. His hat was shadowing his face, but if you focused, there were distinct bags under his eyes.

“It must have been exhausting”.

“Yeah it was” He smiled lightly. “There were a few bumps in the road, but...we all managed”

He pulled the candy cigarette from his mouth, looking at the chewed end. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have a real cigarette that made him look depressed, but you knew that it was something else. Being the cheesy person you were, you pulled a penny from your pocket and placed it on the rail near him. “What’s this?” He asked.

“Penny for your thoughts? It, seems like those bumps were a bit more exhausting that the whole project”

“Am I that obvious?” He sighed when he grabbed the shiny cent.

“No. I’m just that good at reading people”. You leaned on the rail, twirling the candy between your teeth. “When people experienced hardships, they either need to talk about it, or push it away. What kind are you?”

“...with people I know...I push it away”. You leaned forward to look at him, the back of his head facing you.

“Well...luckily you don’t know me”

And for the first time throughout this whole conversation, this guy that you’ve been talking to for the past fifteen minutes, finally faced you. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and you could see him.

He was handsome, no doubt about that. Young, but at the same time, has worn out features such as his eyes. He gave you a full on smile, averting his eyes to the side.

“What’s your name?”

“...(y/n). Whats yours?” You smirked.

“I am Nobody”

you laughed at him again. “Odysseus fan, who would’ve guessed”

“You wouldn’t” he smirked as well. You paused at the conversation, thinking about what he said earlier.

“You asked me my name so you would get to know me. And therefore, not tell me your hardships, didn’t you?”

“...god damn you really are good at reading people aren’t you?”

“Good is an understatement”

You felt your phone ring, and when you looked down, you saw that it was a text form Alice.

Girl get your butt home. I am about to call the cops to get you home safe.

“Boyfriend?” He asked you.

“No. Best friend. My cue to leave”. You squat down to pet Frankie before you left. “By girlie”. You got back up. “Nice talking to Nobody new”

“It’s a good name”

“Just don’t take it seriously”

“What do you mean?”

You started to walk off the boardwalk a little, but looked back at him one more time. “Nobody means someone who isnt worth something. But if you look at it as another way, Nobody always refers to somebody”

“...you’re an interesting character aren’t you (y/n)?” You smiled at him, before giving Nobody a quiet nod and walked off the boardwalk. Passing by more people as you left.

Nobody, that’s absolute BS.

“Hey, there you are! Gwil and I have been looking for you everywhere”

Their friend only looked down the boardwalk, and they waved his hand over his eyes. “Ben?”

“...Rami. I”

“You good dude?”

“I...I just met someone”

“And?” Gwil started. Ben pulled the candy cigarette out his mouth, staring at it.

“Guys, where can I get more candy cigarettes?”

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #series #benhardyxreader #thirteentimes #xreader

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sirrongirl · 5 years

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Road trip to Tahiti

Saturday, March 2, 2019

We decided last night that we will make the drive down to Monterey. The weather might not cooperate, we’ll make the best of it. Five of us, plus dog, pile into the car and head south from San Francisco. Our first stop is the Folktale Winery. There is a very light mist in the air. That doesn’t seem to bother the many people sitting outside enjoying their wine. As we approach the entrance we are welcomed with a glass of bubbly wine. We have a choice of doing a tasting of 5 kinds of wine, ordering by the glass or the bottle. Muzi, Mallory & Michelle opt for the tasting, Tom chooses a glass of full bodied red, and I stick with the bubbly. Just bring the bottle please. We ordered some cheese, meats, roasted nuts, and breads. Just then, then rain started to really come down. Quickly everyone picked up and moved indoors. We got a priority for seating since we were waiting for food. Having the dog could have been a problem. I grabbed my bucket of wine and headed inside. I found myself behind a huge great dane puppy. It was about 6 times taller than Dylan, so I guess dogs are allowed! We settled around a quant carved wood table and continued enjoying our wine, food, and conversation.

We continued on to Monterey, the Cannery Row area. We walked around the very cute town. There was a fish restaurant on the center of the plaza selling clam chowder, which we sampled. The rain started up again, so we left the sea otters and seals playing on the beach and had another glass of wine at Carmel Ridge wine shop. This time, we hid Dylan in her carrier, until we saw the German Shepard enjoying the wine shop company.

Our hotel was the Monterey peninsula hotel. Three beds were waiting for us. That last glass of wine didn’t agree with me. Too much acid, and I was feeling it. I decided to skip dinner and stay back at the hotel with Dylan. My request was to bring me back some Chocolate Milk. I took my acid reflux medication, put my feet up, and watched Rick Steves the rest of the night. We never did make it to the outdoor hot tub, not much fun in the rain.

Sunday, March 3, 2019 Our hotel offers a continental breakfast. Mallory was sure that meant dry cereal so she found a place for a proper brunch. When I went to check out, I found the selection of pastries looked fresh and tasty. There was fresh fruit, coffee, juice. It would have been enough for me. Instead we drove to Crema, who’s logo shirts all say “Find your happy place”. I remember seeing the same logo in Cuba. We left the dog in the car this time. We could hear her barking for us as we walked the 2 blocks to the restaurant. Returning, we found her sleeping on the front seat.

We head to the Monterey entrance of the 17 mile drive. There is a $10 charge per car full to drive the 17 winding miles through Pebble Beach Golf Resort to Carmel. We drove along the golf course which hugs the Pacific Ocean. We stopped often for pictures and to walk on the beach. Dylan has been to the beach before. We like to walk her at Metro Beach. She doesn’t mind the sand, but she doesn’t like the surf.

We enjoyed time at the Pebble Beach Visitors Center. The lodge, the gift shop, the hotels were very nice. Tom doesn’t have his golf clubs, but if he did… Mallory says we’ll make another trip here in the summer. Although it’s expensive, Pebble Beach is a public golf course. It’s not impossible to play here, especially for a single to walk on. Harry Ganas has played here. Tom says he’d love to play here sometime with Harry ( who is his favorite golf partner).

Capitola was the next stop. I loved this town. I could spend some time here right along the ocean. Muzi found a dog friendly restaurant. Usually dog friendly means seating outside. Not possible today with the rain. We put Dylan back inside the carrier and went to Margaritaville hoping for some fresh fish. I ordered garlic prawns, which came with the heads on, and lots of spice. Not what my acid sensitive system likes. I had to bail on the margaritas and stick with water. Once again. I was surprised to see dogs inside the restaurant. Highway 1 is the picturesque winding road that mostly hugs the Pacific Coast. Today with the clouds, the rain, and the fog, the view was not at its best. Mallory, Michelle and Dylan all fell asleep while I sat in the center back singing. We drove H1 all the way back, with our last stop in Half Moon Bay. We stopped in the dog friendly brewery. Again, outside not possible. As we approached the door — a sign told us “NO PETS INSIDE” so quickly into the carrier she goes. We found a table, put the carrier on the floor and ordered beers all around. No problem! As we have been driving the last two days, I’m making notes of areas to check out for rentals next winter. I’d like to stay here about a month, but I’d like my own place. I don’t think we could afford anything in the city, but within an hour would be possible. Close to the BART or CAL Rail would be even better. If not, we’d borrow the car we are leaving here for the month.

Monday, March 4, 2019 I have a meeting with Dr. Alicia Knee, DPM today. I found her online. Reading all the reviews, there wasn’t a single bad one for her. I’m not looking forward to a cortisone shot in my foot. My DPM at home has wanted to inject my foot since my first appointment. I keep putting it off, but my foot hurts so much I’m ready for the shot. I’ve been wearing custom orthotics and a toe spacer. They do help, but when I walk it feels like I’m walking with a large bolt under the ball of my foot. My second toe has been fixed in a curved position for a week now. The pain feels like my toes are on fire. It hasn’t stopped me from walking, which is the only exercise I actually get. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other refusing to give in to the pain.

Did I mention the doctor was a professional dancer? She is also gorgeous, with the posture of a ballerina. She examined my foot and said I need surgery to correct whats going on. She says my big toe needs a fusion to stop the progression of the deformity the is changing the shape of my foot. The second toe needs a “shortening” procedure in order for it to lay flat again. Dr. Knee tells me she is not going to inject anything into my foot, and adds, if any surgeon suggests that, find another doctor. If she injects cortisone into my foot, it could cause the ligaments to collapse meaning immediate surgery would be necessary. This means a non weight barring recovery time of 6 weeks. That means crutches. I have a frayed rotator cuff and advanced arthritis in my left shoulder that requires a shoulder replacement. Not just any kind of replacement, a posterior placement which is a specialty procedure. No, Donna can’t just have any run of the mill replacements…they need to be “special”. I just saw a specialist at University of Florida in January that delivered that news. Dr. Knee doesn’t think foot surgery is a good idea until I can use crutches. She asked me to consider which procedure I feel needs to be done first. In the meantime, she is sending me to a fit specialist to get new shoes. The sketchers I love need to be replaced with something that has a 4” rocker plate in the front and a built up metacarpal pad.. I think that means “ugly shoe”.

I need to call this entry “All my shoes are black," because that is my new shoe wardrobe This shoe shopping was nothing like my last excursion. When I was given the orthotics and toe spacer I was on my way to stay with Mallory in New York. The new Canadian owners of Lord and Taylor decided to close the flagship store on fifth avenue. They sold the beautiful building to WEWorks. No more beautiful Christmas Windows at Lord and Taylor. They had a huge closing sale and I spent an entire day there looking for shoes that would fit the new insoles and the toe spacer, and still look good. I thought I was buying my last new shoe wardrobe. The prices were good, I bought quite a few pairs and had to borrow a suitcase to get them all home. Little did I know that I would be doing that again, today, at “On The Run”. I need a shoe that has a stiff sole from the ball of the foot to the toe. Unfortunately, all the shoes I own, especially all the ones in my suitcase here in California, bend. I wasn’t given much choice of colors or styles. Mark and Tim., the fit specialists, spent almost two hours with me. I walked out owning 2 pairs of the ugliest shoes I have ever owned, and one that isn’t so bad. Definitely the most expensive shoes I have ever worn. Mark tells me I may find the shoes so comfortable my foot won’t hurt and thus avoid surgery. I’m thinking, I’ll bet you say that to all the girls Mark! Trouble is, the cutest pair is on a higher platform than I usually wear. That may bother my hip, so I have to walk around in them inside to decide. If they work out, they do come in red, so that might be a plus.

Mallory runs a “shoes off” house. She’ll have to make an exception for me. I was told I can NEVER walk barefoot. I plan to wear a pair of the uglies only inside, like slippers, so Mallory won’t mind. I wonder if I needed to get a doctors note to be allowed to wear my shoes indoors? I’m not sure I can give up the feeling of sand between my toes. Walks on the beach are not a daily event, yet anyway. I’m sure once in a while it will be okay?

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teejaydeetrip · 7 years

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A Bandaged Left Hand

I had an extremely vivid dream last night in which I gave myself a vasectomy with a pair of scissors and some extremely small plastic pegs. I remember the skin of my ball sack felt like plastic or polyester and there was no blood. At some point the stitching came undone and I had not taken the pegs out and I ran around the house trying to find some kind of tool to fix it. I was worried mostly about infection. I can’t remember how it started and I don’t think it ended on any proper note on account of a loud truck rumbling past my window and waking me up. The first thing I did was check my balls. The second thing I did was breathe a sigh of releif, and the third thing I did was fall asleep again, because it was only 11.30am and I had been up late the night before.

Being awake at night in Australia is tormenting. Nobody is awake after 1am and nobody is really up for chatting after 12. I don’t think anybody was in Japan either, but at least I had drive there. On the rare night that I wasn’t singing karaoke, or trading stories with other travellers, I was driven. I had things to write. I had things to say. I learned Japanese or sketched ideas. I watched movies in little booths on futons in internet cafes and drank ramen and lay back, contented that the moment I wanted to, I could walk outside into the bright shining lights of 3am in Osaka. Are there many places that bright at 3am in other parts of the world? I hear New York is pretty lively.

Here, even in the trendy parts of Sydney, I’d be lucky to find a service station. Here, I watch Netflix on autopilot. I just watched the second season of The Man In The High Castle, on complete autopilot. I barely registered it at all. It’s a good show, but not at the same time. It’s intensely boring, yet utterly compelling at the same time. TV shows take up too much time. I need to learn to write more. To use this diary.

I haven’t written in days. What have I missed? I don’t think I’ve written yet about The Dove and Olive. This bar hired me as a bartender. I applied for a bartender position, and trialled as a bartender, yet when I started, they put me on the floor. My job is not to pour beers, but to deliver schnitzels and steaks to baby boomers for 5 hours a night, then clean the shitty gross plates up and gather their shitty gross napkins and bin their shitty gross leftovers. I made it known to some of my co-workers. They told me that is just the way it is here when you start. Then others added that that is just the way it is for guys in general. Floor staff have to change the kegs over and girls are too weak for that, apparently.

There are like 7 or 8 girls tending bar here, meaning most nights will have me on the floor. I was not happy with this and I made it known. I didn’t say to the managers what I wanted to say; that any place with an initiation process is not the kind of place that I work at, or that I came here to be a bartender, not a fucking waiter. But I made I certainly didn’t have a smile on me when I had to do these. Every day I started I would walk behind the bar and start pouring beers until someone said “Hey aren’t you on the floor today?” to which I would respond, “I don’t know, am I?”. On Friday, the Manager On Duty didn’t know how to answer me, and just let me pour beers. I don’t know if I was supposed to be on the floor or if he was just shy, It was St Paddy’s day. Pouring Guiness is a bitch. I dropped a pint glass while trying to hang it up and tried to catch it but ended up just slamming it down even harder onto a bench. It shattered and the shards cut my pointer and index finger.

The licensee emailed me on Saturday, after working 3 shifts. She had gotten the hint. It had been passed up the chain of command from the MOD to the DM to the licensee. She asked me if I was comfortable and I checked the Sydney Bartender Exchange group on Facebook and found an ad for a cocktail bartender in Redfern and messaged him asking for the position.

He messaged back 3 hours later to ask if I wanted to come in for a trial shift on that evening.

I emailed the licensee back at the Dove and Olive telling her I wasn’t happy with the way things were at the ol’ Dolive and that I would be happy to finish the shifts I had been rostered on for next week, but that was it. It was all very amicable. She thanked me for my time and I thanked her for hers and we agreed I’d finish next week, then I went and got drunk with Nigel, my old lecturer from uni.

I haven’t seen Nigel in 5 years. Kat and I, both students of his, had emailed him from Japan, when we met up and had a drink over there. He spent some time living and working in Japan and constantly joked about how hot Japanese girls are. He was the perfect sleazy old man charming rogue stereotype, only with real experience in the music industry and genuinely funny things to say. I told Kat and Nigel to meet me at Goro’s.

I drank a lot the night before, and was early. My eyes were pounding in the back of my head and I had a sharp fuzzy feeling scratching at the back of my head. A slight pounding headache. Goro’s was shut. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything except smoke and wait. Nigel and Kat arrive eventually, and we decide to walk to El Loco, a Mexican themed place that used to be The Excelsior. It’s only a few minutes around the corner. You can’t smoke in the outside tables because they serve food there but nobody is eating, so we do anyway.

Kat tells us about her time in London and I tell them about my time in Japan and Germany and Nigel tells us about his time at the uni, where his employment is tenuous at best, and he tells us about how he hates Germany because he got into lots of trouble there and spent some time in German prison. His story was the kind of thing you can see in your head as a movie. Nigel in a leather jacket in the 80′s, careening across Europe like a flaming satellite crashing back down to earth, bringing with it information gleaned from the void. 3 day benders without leaving the same bar in Spain, dangerous meetings with dangerous men in dangerous alleys in Germany, snuff film screenings in warehouses in Amsterdam.

Before it’s all over, we have had 4 or 5 jugs of beer and a full packet of cigarettes in the space of 2 and a half hours and my spiky hangover has been replaced by a groggy hair-of-the-dog hangover and I need to go pretend to be a cocktail bartender in Redfern. I hug the both of them goodbye and we promise to do this again sometime soon.

Moya’s Juniper Lounge. That’s the name of the place. It’s a small bar in Redfern specialising in gin and gin cocktails. On the way, I swing by Henry and Amanda’s place to borrow a black button up shirt. Henry only has two black button up shirts. One has a floral print and the other is a tuxedo shirt. I go with the tuxedo shirt.

The owner, Charlie, sits me down the moment I get in. I apologise for the tuxedo shirt, it was the only one I could get at late notice. He says that’s fine. He gives me the run down. The place sticks to gin classics and sours. He has like 200 different kinds of gin and a handful of whiskeys. Charlie asks about my experience. I answer. He asks me what my availabilities are like and what kind of work I am looking for. I answer. I pretty much have the job interview before the trial, which is a good sign. He introduces me to Nick, the other bartender, here from The Wild Rover, a whiskey bar in Surry Hills. A gangly kid that doesn’t look a day over 17. Nice kid, but a bit standoff-ish.

I fumble my way through conversation with the two of them whilst nobody comes in at all for an hour. A small group come in and I make my second ever Martini. The guy likes it so much that all his friends ask for one two.

So my conversation skills aren’t so great while I feel this whacked out, but I have made the best martini this group has ever had, so at least my martini game is strong. They make them vintage style here. Charlie says he wants his bar to look and feel like it came straight out of the 1950′s. All the stuff you usually have in speed rails is on a table behind the bar, the furniture are all antiques or rescued from Charlies grandparents farm, music from the 30′s, 40′s and 50′s plays through the PA. and the martini’s are made with: -60ml Tanqueray gin -20ml Dry vermouth -2 Dashes orange bitters -1 Olive

We have no other customers until 9.30pm, when about 6 groups of people all mill in seemingly at once. We are chocked. I pump out Negroni’s and Martini’s and Aviation’s and Charlie Chaplin’s with relative ease. I get stuck on the Clover Club. It’s a sour whose ingrediants have escaped my mind, so I’ll have to list next time. The important thing to note here is that I have never worked a cocktail bar that didn’t have it’s egg white’s kept in a squeeze bottle, pre-cracked by whoever does that. I drop the egg yellow into the first mix by accident and ditch the whole mix. On the second attempt, I put the ice in the wrong side of the shaker, and attempt to put the other side, with is mix on top of the one with the ice, spilling the whole mix all over the prep station. On the third attempt, we have run out of squeezed lemons. so I begin to cut up a lemon and slice my thumb open and start bleeding everywhere. I have to ask Nick to finish it, and Charlie finds me a band-aid and opens it up while I keep the bleeding at bay with a tissue.

After I’ve been patched up, I make a couple more negroni’s and aviations (aviators?) and when it hits 10, I check Facebook and realise that I’m shifted on at the club at 10, not 11. I’m about to tell Charlie this, and as I do, he tells me that’s good for tonight and if I need to get off to the club, I’m free to do so.

I’m concerned, but he handshakes hard and strong and smiles many thank you’s He tells me that another lady is finishing up here, but he would be happy to split the time up between us if I have enjoyed myself. To top it all off, he pays me for the trial. It’s a sign of a decent man, if not heavenly entity to pay for a trial shift in Sydney.

I change out of my tuxedo shirt and into a black T and thank Charlie again on the way out. I wave goodbye and walk right next door, into a hip hop bar called Hustle & Flow. I order a shot of tequila, tip the change and grab a cab from outside. I message Marina, letting her know I will be late, and it ends up costing me 20 dollars to get one suburb over. Fucking cabs, man.

I can’t remember the name of the girl who is promoting the party, but she is turnt as fuck. She used to work here, and keeps letting herself in behind the bar to make Margarita’s for herself. I try to tempt her with the offer of a margarita-ish drink but she never takes me up on it, so I offer one to Marina and make her a Whisky-rita. (-60ml Bourbon -30ml Drambuie -30ml Lime)

I try to make Matty a St Croix Sour, but it turns out Creme De Ginger is way different to the ginger liqueur I am accustomed to using.

I drink heaps of tequila on shift. And a beer or three. It’s all good fun. I clean up the bar fine and learn how to use the bottle crusher (Step 1-turn it on. Step 2-put empty bottles into it) and a broken bottle inside it makes a small cut on my finger, but only a tiny drop of blood emerges. It’s on the same hand as the other two.

I walk to The Strawberry Hills Hotel in Surry Hills with Matty and drink a red wine and run into Steve, an old uni friend, and the bar shuts nearly immediately. I take a cab home and stumble into bed at 5.30am on Sunday morning. My weekend has barely even begun.

#depression #bipolar #sadness #sad #writing #journal #tequila #gin #bourbon #tanqueray #bartender #cocktails #cocktail #bars #redfern #sydney #osaka #japan #nightmare #weekend #martini #negroni

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familyvisionis2020 · 4 years

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Day 2 - Knoxville

Somehow the post I made about Knoxville got deleted so this is me trying to remember some of it but this is deficient and I am mad and sad I lost that writing because it was good and heartfelt.

Before we went to bed in Asheville we heard birdsong in the trees at like 1am and I said ‘nightbirds?’ and Jeremy laughed a little. Jeremy and John and me remarked in the morning in Asheville how nice it would be live here. The cool mountain breeze was nice. We left the house we were staying at and headed into town. We went to the mechanic first to try to find out what the problem with the van was. The mechanic looked at it and explained it was our pittman arm and the steering box was shot which was causing the play, and that it could be repaired for about $280, and we confirmed with the van owner from whom we are borrowing the van that they would reimburse us for the repair, so we left the van with them, put on sunglasses, walked past the moog factory and down thes street to the Five Points diner. It was a greasy spoon where they served typical Denny’s fare plus a bonus section of greek and italian entrees in the back. I got a big omelet of spinach and feta, hash browns and grits. It felt so warm and full and substantial to eat those things. Later John would remark that “when your needs are met on tour, they’re met so much more intensely,’ which I agree with. Sleep is precious even thought it’s usually cramped and smelly and uncomfortable, the water bottle and coffee cup and meal feel like real ballast and fuel. I had said this more poetically before I lost the post but whatever. We eat our breakfast and then stroll around town for a bit, visit the bookstore Malaprops downtown where I see more muppet-looking people busking and spanging, flying signs, nodding out, sleeping on benches, the nexus of muppet and homeless is an unclear one for me and I try not to be too judgy. We meet Kabir’s friend Alex Brown at Malaprops, Kabir buys a book called 1491 which is a precolonial history of the US I think, we walk down town past one plaza and to a park with a bandshell and a stage and a lawn cordoned off because two men are testing the sprinkler system. The soil near the bench where we sit is aerated and I confirm the squat columns of earth littering the ground are soil and not goose shit. We all four sit on a long bench and all cross our legs together and read each of our individual books in this way that was kind of comically synchronized, so much so that Kabir just bent over so we wouldnt look exactly the same. Me and John were on Ursula K Leguin and Kabir on Kingdom Cons by Yuri Herera, a novella, and Jeremy on Capitalist Realism on his kindle. A townie ambles by, he has a deeply asymmetrical hircut with a shock of purple dyed hair on a mostly shaved head, a loud Pittsburh steelers hat, a cane, and that familiar mix of affability and psychosis that seems to characterize a lot of home bums. He sees us all reading and remarks: “I like Shakespeare myself.” Mercifully, he walks on, goes to another group of tourists down the sidewalk and does something that’s not quite heckling and not quite visiting with them.

We leave, the drive is short, we have had the steering box/pittman arm/linkage repaired and so the play is gone out of the steering but the wheel itself is permanently at 10 o clock and evidently it wants to drift left. Jeremy is driving and negotiating the misalignment expertly, we agree to find a place to get this fixed in Knoxville. On the drive we listen to Blue Smiley, The Durutti Column, Andy Shauf, Frank Zappa, Toro y Moi, Toshifumi Hinata, and best of all we listen to a track called “Style and City’ by Stand High Patrol, which is just an upbeat litany of naming music genres and then naming the city that genre originated, a genius idea, Jeremy said it came on in a club in Brooklyn and the crowd got incredibly loud and everybody loved it. This time around on tour rather than despairing at the poverty of my music knowledge as compared to the expansive encyclopedic aural erudity of the boys in the band, instead I just ask what song is on when I like a song and like it on my Spotify. The other day my friend was asking me where I find out about new music from and I said without thinking ‘I just borrow my music taste from my friends’ which like yes, of course I do. I had this issue for a long time like I must be the originator of my taste, that I must dig in the crates and find the rarest music that no one has ever heard of before, and that I must never be influenced by anyone. Which is dogshit egotism, I’m pleased and relaxed to learn that I can just ask and my bandmates will happily give me a track ID and not think twice of it, and I can take these new songs home with me to enjoy and share.

We get into Knoxville and there’s a giant JFG sign that looks about a century old and a bizarre system of concrete staircases snaking and zigzagging and carved into a steep hill and I want to go visit them but we end up not visiting them. We get to the house we’re staying at, the people who live there are Royal and Kayla, ‘betrothed’ is how Royal describes his Kayla, they are married. Royal is an architect, exceedingly kind and jubilant and gregarious and gets close to you and involves you in jokes and has a laugh that comes so easy and his jaw kind of jerks in time with his jaw and palate when he laughs, the same sort of motion you see in an opera singer or like Mariah Carey when they are modulating vibrato on big belting sung notes. We hang at the house, Kabir breaks out his big thing of homemade chipotle hummus, we start to feast but Kayla brings out a homemade loaf of sourdough she has and then warms up four thick slices in the cast iron and puts a gentle golden crust on it and serves it to us with a big stick of butter on one of those covered narrow butter plates, and also she brings out sweet bell peppers and cuts them into sections we can dip into the hummus, and she pulls out the drum throne from royal’s kit for me to sit on. She’s a nurse, she’s southern in this special way that treats hospitality like breathing, makes it not hard to accept kindnesses and graces. She gets up after eating to work on her pottery, she has a throwing wheel outside in the garage area and she has lined their stone retaining wall with cups and pots she’s made, I learn later that the plates she served us bread off of were all made by her as well. The life she and Royal have in Knoxville seem so breezy and solid and supported and full and healthy.

Royal is an architect, the home has a couple little miniature homes and buildings made out of what look like high-grade matchsticks. John recognizes a poster on the wall of a friend’s band. Their dog, Willow, approaches me, I get annoyed and think it’s going to be mean or bark or smell bad or be annoying, but then I’m petting it for an hour, she jumps on the couch beside me and I put her in this kind of hug-headlock and fall asleep with her on the couch, Jeremy, I learn later, has taken a picture of this, I feel really happy he did that, and I ask for the picture from him and I send it to a girl I like in an effort to confirm my putative cuteness and genteel nature. When Royal is home we watch funny videos on youtube on his projector, weird interviews with furries and flat-earthers and then of a guy screaming about something while in the middle of traffic outside Universal Studios in L.A., I try to explain to the guys how there was a meme I saw wherein there is a picture of a cat who is reciting the lyrics of a Kanye song but in a cute speech impediment style where it can’t say Rs: “Pwease Baby No Mo Pawties in Ew Ay” and it is basically impossible to explain and gets no laughs and that’s fine and we move on. Jeremy puts on a Vimeo of this incredible short film he made with the title “Guided Meditation for Increased Kill/Death Ratio,” which is exactly what it sounds like, it’s built in Unity, which is like a framework to design video games in, it looks like a generic FPS with a character holding an assault rifle moving down a long spacy looking corridor lined with metal, and with a very calm amniotic ambient track Jeremy comissioned his friend to make, and Jeremy is doing the voiceover, and the conceit is it’s like a guided mindfulness meditation except instead of reducing anxiety or avoiding panic or grappling with trauma or mending depression or whatever the usual purpose of these meditations are (meditations I do daily, using the app Headspace, btw, which no one here knows as far as i know), instead of that, the purpose is to like reassure the video game player that they are a perfect efficient killing machine. Stuff like ‘focus on the feeling in your HUD, now the feeling in your body armor, now the feeling in your M4A1 carbine, now visualize your next spawn, you are not your avatar, you are pure death’ something along those lines, and it hits hard home for me being a former competitive Counter Strike player and casual Halo and Call of Duty player and now being like mentally ill to whatever extent I am such that I believe I require these meditations. ITs really well executed, the player glides through corridors, clips through the ceiling, encounters nebulas and NPCs and aliens and eventually spirals into space. Jeremy shows the original video that inspired him, same basic thing but in a virtual Costco rather than in a FPS. We move slow, Royal screen prints tee shirts for his band, Tired Frontier, on his living room table as we watch the videos. The plan is to spend tonight and the next three tour dates wth Tired Frontier. We eventually go to the show.

It’s a house show, the name of the place is CBD Castle, above the front door they have a huge cardboard sign that says CBDB’s in the style of CBGB’s and there’s a big porch with a huge couch on it and a guard rail thing that you can sit on or prop your feet on perfectly if you’re slouched way down on the couch. We mingle a little, the show gets started, the opening act is Kind Magic, which it becomes evident is something of a joke band, perfectly suited to a house show, they don’t take themselves too seriously, they mostly have just mustaches, 80s style, one guy has wraparound oakleys, he’s the lead singer, he climbs up on his bass amp at one point. Royal comes in, and people start moshing, gently, just like running into each other, Jeremy does a silly dance and I watch it happen and I want to do it and I have to wait a few songs to get up the courage but eventually I give it up and start spinning around and let myself get bounced around and I am 32 years old and feel just right and not self conscious and silly and afraid how I used to always feel at the metalcore concerts when I was 16 in Ace’s Basement in Greensboro and the moshing was this awful violent masculine chauvanist bullshit thing. This is the opposite. One song, the lead singer, it becomes evident, is chanting “Pogo! Pogo! POGO!” and I think this means pogo mosh but it does not, it means the drummer gets up off his throne and picks up a big pogo stick he has secreted in the corner and starts jumping up and down on it WHILE playing a complex drum pattern on the drums, it is unreal the level of dexterity and coordination this guy has, I learn later that he spends half the year touring with a professional pogo troupe whose gigs are mostly basketball halftime shows, and include a guy named Danger Rus, aka Russel The Muscle. This band rips and is so fun and loosens everybody up and people are drinking and getting kind of sloppy and I plan to be mad and indignant about this but instead I just don’t care and it’s lovely. Next up is us.

We set up, I get to use the backline kit so load in is minimal, just setting up breakables again. We get locked in, Kabir revs us up, we get started, and right from the jump either I pushed the tempo with my count-off or the guys pushed the tempo or we all did most likely, but we are playing louder and faster than last night and I am going in all the way hard on the drums, playing with my whole body, i come down with my right hand on the floor tom so hard my butt bounces up off the throne, I’m surprised but I like that so I keep letting that happen, I head bang as hard as possible, my neck is immediately sore and hurting but the crowd is crazy live, everyone is dancing after a few songs. I manage to thrash the wingnute off the hihat clutch which and try to repair it, flounder, and give up, which all that means is I can’t modulate the hi hat and so our set is just louder and more raw which matches the room anyways. By the last two songs the people are dancing so hard that I give up my usual veneer of grimacing and lasering my eyes to the side or corner to avoid the crowd, instead of grimacing what I do is watch what is happening in the crowd, which is the crowd smiling dancing moshing grooving with us, with me, and I get a huge smile on my face which I can’t hide and I’m so incredibly happy just playing and being heard by these people. We end and Royal rallies the crowd and they chant ONE MORE SONG ONE MORE SONG for like 3 minutes but we just don’t know another one, and so there’s no encore, but how special and lovely to be asked to do one.

Tired Frontier plays and they rock and they have keys by Paul who has a master’s in music theory and currently pursuing a second music masters in production or something. Royal has 10 pedals I think, and a super weird tuning, and they make a big wall of ambient noise between the keys from Paul and the feedback from Royal’s “stack,” which is his guitar running through a Fender guitar combo for an amp and with a Fender bass combo for effects. Their set is a little longer and the vocals don’t come through that clear and they don’t give super clear definitions to the start and end of their songs so the set may have been 4 or 7 songs. They finish, and I am so starving hungry I get the keys from Kabir and go to the van and eat about a half a jar of peanut butter and an apple and then go lay on the big white couch outside and just doze, super tired. It starts raining sheets and we learn from somebody that Knoxville’s adjacency to the mountains makes it a temperate rain forest and it rains almost every day. It’s warm and breezy and perfect. Me Kabir and John go get taco bell, the best taco bell in town, I just order the same thing as Kabir rather than taking a million years to choose and that works out great, two spicy potato soft tacos, and we just sit in the parking lot and wolf and chomp. The parking lot is sparkling, spotless, a big street sweeper truck is skrrting around finishing the job, someone who I imagine is on opiates walks very very slowly up to our van and then walks away. Someone is asleep outside near a building in the strip mall. Some car drives up and maybe drops off food or clothes. We go back to CBDB’s Jeremy is involved in a dance party there, Paul is choosing tunes based off what he calls ‘forgotten hits from the 80s.’ We eventually go back to Royal’s I fall asleep almost immediately on the couch.

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storiesfromsupernomad-blog · 5 years

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At first glance

I’m biking through Vondelpark, tired, cause I barely slept last night. I’m nervous yes. It has been a while since I came out of my door to set course into uncharted water. Nevertheless, the park is gorgeous. Curved old trees, green grass, small lakes and ponds. Winding bike trails, and pot-smoking tourists chilling around. It all makes me proud and feel like a true Dutchy. We accomplished a lot in the Netherlands. We are as free as a society should be allowed to, we can choose our own thoughts and speak our honest minds, yet respecting the macro direction a society needs so painfully. We are not necessarily smart or wise people. That makes we wonder how we established such prosperity. Like the freedom to travel to many countries, proper healthcare, welfare for all who don’t want to, or can’t work, elderly care, state pensions and so on. Every time I come back home after travels I’m in awe with the cleanliness and efficiency this nation enjoys. I’ve contemplated a lot why it is like it is. It can’t be thanks to our intelligence, cause frankly; most of us are far from it. Neither do we have a lot of natural recourses, just some sophisticated agriculture, natural gas, trading and a big merchant fleet. Maybe I’m not fully educated on the subject but I think it has more to do with the systems we have in place. I mean, this country has very little corruption, high tax, and a big government to guarantee our needs. And talking about taxes, nobody really complains about it. We pay a minimum of 34 and maximum of 56 percent income tax, not to even start about the many others, all the way up to tax we pay for having dogs. That’s just the way it is, people think, but we all realize how much we get back for it. I personally don’t care if people would rather live on welfare than work; it’s their decision to be whom they want to be using the options provided by the state. In the end, they are still consumers, keeping our economic motor running smoothly. If there wouldn’t be welfare, some of these people will just be homeless non-working liabilities, and the small businessman would be off worse.

Anyway, I’m biking through the park, during a workweek evening. It’s a foggy, dark, but rather warm night. With a beam of illuminated mist underneath them, the streetlights shine jazzy. One after another, looking surreal and peaceful, marking the trail in which I drive my squeaking bike to someone new. My legs are propelling the paddles without much effort over the smooth surfaced road with a slight zooming of the wind in my ears. As I bike around a corner, where a massive pristine Dutch oak is chilling out, I see a manlike-silhouette standing on top of a quaint bridge. With two hands on the wheel of my grandma’s old retractor brake bike I approach this silhouette, not fully understanding what this is all about. He’s standing there, by himself, but why? What is he doing? What is the weirdness of tonight going to offer me now? I think sometimes we all feel a bit odd about the world don’t we? Like a mix between a feeling of weirdness and freakiness, and we wonder whether phenomena are evolving for us personally or because it’s just the way it is. So as I approach I see above him one of these jazzy lights spotlighting his body, making him stand out in the mist. It’s obvious he wants passing strangers to peek, he likes the attention, but for what? I hear no music, no instruments, just the sound of his shoes sliding over the deck. He’s wearing a fedora hat, black suit and lacquer shoes. Closing in I finally see - that’s it, he’s a Michael Jackson impersonator. Dancing on his own, in Amsterdam, where he obviously belongs. Performing all his heroes’ classic, tight poses, which are burned in every man’s soul. There he is, dancing the night away, being a delight for the unexpected eye. Man do I love this city, she never tells what to find behind the next corner, offering us daily surprises which can be weird, inspiring, or amusing.

Of course she is late. Very expectable to the realist, not to me, the dreamer. It’s not really helping me stay calm though. I’m nervous, like I said before. I tried getting some sleep after work, so at least I would be slightly more rested now, but of course it was just staring at the sealing. Finding irregularities in the paintwork for a while, an hour or so, while contemplating conversations and questions of which the answer I couldn’t care about. Okay, I have to be honest, I’m very nervous. My stomach is a bit upset and my conscious mind rather stays at home, where it comfortable. It nevertheless has been a long while since I last stepped out of the door, took a leap of faith and aimed for the unexplored. I have been turned into ice; numb with little color left. I’m in the middle of one of my darkest episodes.

My job sucks and everything else kind of as well, dramatic, yes. I’m doing one of these boring operational jobs in the shipping industry in a way too efficient office building. Rows of desks interrupted with hip hangout areas that would make the die-hard office guru go wild, but not me. It has numbed me down to a point of absolute futility. I feel stuck in my paychecks and financial obligations towards my landlord, the state and commercial pleasure. Barely making it through each month, I’ve entered a vicious circle that, as long as I do nothing, will keep on spinning till the end of my time. “What am I doing this for?” or “What's the point of living if all we’re doing is staying alive?” are questions I asked myself frequently. On a beautiful winter morning, with sunset just an hour away I would bike to the train station, where I, together with other depressed iPhone junkies, would be expecting the arrival of a train. Waiting for my deportation to Amsterdam airport. ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’, I just need to keep working hard enough so that one day I would be free from the misery. Waiting for the day on which my bank account will be overflowing with digits, but this off course never happens to a simple guy like me, and deep down I know. It's silent in the train; necks are curved downwards, thumbs swiping past hot trends, food hacks and tag-a-friend bullshit. As long as we don't have to look at each other, talk to each other, or even worse, smile, we'll be fine. I get out of the train; I'm at Schiphol airport now, a state of the art, super cool and immensely efficient human trafficking hub. I'm being sarcastic yes. Walking to my office, together with nicely suited loners, I wonder if anyone could be truly happy with a life like this. Their leather laptop bag bouncing off their skinny underfed butt, their dark brown Mickey Mouse socks peaking underneath their, just too short, pantaloons and their hair smooth like the 90s. I think by myself 'what am I doing here? It’s obvious I don’t fit in'. Their objective: Capitalizing low hanging fruit, utilizing assets, decreasing liability and being a full-time douchebag. My objective: Making it through the day, hoping my ticket out will soon cross path. Without having many friends at work, most underpaid employees are constantly expanding their network, keeping me of course, a nobody-gives-a-fuck executional Ship Operator out of their ambitions. People are not people at the office, they are anticipated business partners or even worse the handshake they need in between the person they truly want to meet. Anyway, to cut things short, on a beautiful sunny day I would travel to work and return home in darkness, reflecting the emotional state I’m in.

Nevertheless, I’m in Amsterdam city centre now. Which beauty cannot be suppressed by the negativity of a single man. And for a moment, for one night, I’m not there; I’m here, being remarkably alert of my surroundings and conscious of the peace and tranquility underlying the hustle and bustle in this epicentre of diversity. I would ask you to close your eyes as I describe what I see but I figure this is a bit hard with a written story. I gaze around the streets that are dominated with 18th century Dutch architecture. A time wherein the design of houses exceed their function as ‘just a place where humans live’. The houses were simply made pretty, just because it was possible. Tall, skinny, with high ceilings and massive flamboyantly shaped windows. The façade on most houses would be graced with a single stone piece revealing the profession or occupation of the owner. A marble staircase, safeguarded by a railing which reinforcing inside structure would be an artwork of steel, leads up to the entrance. A massive three-meter tall wooden door, spiced up with stained glass and a cast iron ring, would shine its authority in your face. ‘You better be damn important!’ the door would say, if it could, but doors can’t speak, so….. it wouldn’t say that. Anyway.

One house after another, some crooked due to the swampy river soil they’re build on, some narrow, some enormously wide. But all as tall as its neighbor. Dimmed ambient light lusters out of most windows giving me the opportunity to glance, and drool, at the paneled ceilings and shimmering chandeliers. God she’s pretty, the city, I mean, in totality. As I, strained, walk a bit up and down the street I see bikers pass by. They’re obviously all heading out for something that’s about to happen, with somebody or without. Taxis, the grinding of trams through their tracks, and the famous bell to warn oblivious tourist of their presence, are filling up the background noises.

It’s 19:30 now, and she’s officially 10 minutes late. Excruciating difficult for a Dutch guy in general, extra excruciating to the tense state I’m in already. We said 19:20, it’s a well calculated time cause the concert starts at 20:30. We want to get to know each other first before jumping into a crowd of fans. The bar I told her to come to is closed; of course, it would all have been too easy. Nevertheless I’m waiting here, at the location we’re suppose to meet, not really knowing who will show up and what the fuck I’m getting myself into. Minutes, which more feel like quarters of an hour, pass by. I feel present though, exceptionally present, as in something is being lined up for me. I think we’ve all felt like that, a moment in time in which we feel something coming, either good or bad. We know it and we feel it. The colors, boosted by streetlights are rarely intense, my body feels well oiled, and sounds are experienced inside, rather than out. As my thoughts start to wonder away in stories I won’t remember creaking brakes caught my attention, “I’m so sorry I’m late” I hear, in a high pitched, slightly annoying Northern American accent. So I turn around and there she is.

#amsterdam #love #butterflies #passion #bliss

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itsworn · 6 years

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Dodge Demon Unboxing: A First-Hand Customer Experience

In the music world, Kenny Wayne Shepherd is known as one of the most dynamic recording and performance artists in the blues rock arena. You’ve likely heard his music (even if you can’t place the name), and you may even count yourself as a fan. What you may not know is that Shepherd is also a bona fide gearhead and a hardcore Mopar nut who spends all his free waking hours (when not performing!) working on and driving his Dodge and Plymouth machinery. We were lucky to tag along with Shepherd as he navigated the special-order procedure and took delivery of his personalized 2018 Dodge Demon. What follows is his account of that very special experience—a process that was the clever vision of Dodge’s Tim Kuniskis (previously president and CEO of the Dodge and SRT brands), and which has had the very intended effect of creating a legion of dedicated über fanatics. Down the line, we hope to bring you more from Kenny as he gears up to hit the drag strip later this year! – Johnny Hunkins

Three hundred and eighty days. That’s how long the journey was from the first viral video of the Dodge Demon to having one in my garage. It’s been a fascinating experience and the wait has been more than worth it. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know the highlights of the new Dodge Demon: 840 HP, the quickest production car ever made, 0-60 in 2.3 seconds, a quarter-mile of 9.65, and banned by the NHRA.

Over a year after jumping in line for a 2018 Dodge Demon, it arrived at Dependable Dodge on a Reliable Carrier truck. The dealership thoughtfully stored it in the showroom for two days before we could pick it up.

After watching every video Dodge spoon fed us leading up to the unveiling of the Demon at the 2017 New York International Auto Show, I became more convinced this car was for me. The day after the debut, I secured an allocation for an SRT Demon—number “18” in the sequence, and significant for denoting the 2018 model year. When order banks opened on June 21, 2017, many placed their orders at that very moment, hoping that being an early submitter would help them be one of the first to take delivery, but that’s not exactly how the process works. The build sequence considers many factors when deciding which Demons get built in what order. I don’t claim to know the secrets of how that all works out, so my resolve was to be as patient as possible and my car would get here when it gets here.

Passenger-side ac vent is serialized and matches the VIN as car number “18.” The number is significant as the model year is 2018. Once the “Demon crate” arrives, the surround will be replaced with the updated one with Kenny’s name.

Once I was 100-percent sure of the options, I formally placed the order on what would be Demon number 18:

White Knuckle paint: Some will slam me for not choosing a high-impact color for a car like this. One of my best friends was dogging me as soon as he found out I was considering it. I love a Challenger in white. It reminds me of the movie Vanishing Point. I’ve had a couple of black Challengers and the struggle to keep them clean is real. Half of my driveway is dirt and gravel, so just imagine what that’s like if you keep your car clean like I do. White just looks cleaner longer. All the available colors look great on the Demon, but my short list was White Knuckle, Octane Red, F8 Green, and B5 Blue. White won out for both looks and practicality.

Comfort Audio group ($2,495): This includes the passenger seat, adds leather instead of the base cloth material, an 18-speaker Harmon Kardon stereo system (as opposed to the standard two-speaker system), heated and cooled front seats, heated steering wheel, power tilt column, floor mats, and bright pedals.

Rear seat ($1): This is the practical thing to do since one can always remove the passenger and rear seats, but buying them after the fact would most certainly cost more than a dollar.

Demonic Red Laguna Leather interior ($295): This provides a rich two-toned red and black interior that gives the car a splash of color, which looks perfect.

Power Sunroof: Some refer to it as the “golden sunroof.” Dodge priced it at $4,995 to discourage people from buying it. All my previous Challengers had sunroofs and I used them frequently on nice days. That extra 35 pounds isn’t going to slow the car down enough for anyone to notice.

Trunk carpet ($1): This can easily be removed in a matter of moments. Why wouldn’t you get it for a buck?

Demon Storage Package: Includes a custom Demon car cover and Mopar-branded battery tender for $495.

Mopar-branded battery tender was part of the Demon Storage Package, which also included a custom Demon car cover.

The only three options I didn’t opt for were the Satin Black hood ($1,995), full graphics package ($3,495), and the engine block heater ($95). Once I placed my order, the real waiting began. I passed the next few months by joining www.hellcat.org, which has a Demon section full of other soon-to-be Demon owners sharing excitement, knowledge about the car, order details, and the constant refreshing of the Demon Concierge page to get updates on production status—which is a whole lingo unto itself. There’s even an anonymous insider who gave everyone loads more detailed information as the factory got things moving. As production slowly ramped up, we all watched a saga unfold via the forum.

Only time will tell what all these scribbles and initials mean on the Demon’s UPC-code windshield sticker, but we’re documenting this one for posterity.

There were lots of people who wanted their cars yesterday and seemed to have little patience for the process. Many compared notes as to what date and exactly what time their orders were placed to try and make sense of why someone else’s car is moving along the queue before theirs. Once the cars are built, they have to go to an up-fitter for the 18×11 wheels (with drag radials) to be installed. The wheels and tires are too big for the factory assembly line to accommodate. Also, if you choose the full graphics package (satin black hood, roof, and trunk lid) an up-fitter does that paint work as well. At some point there’s a secondary QC inspection that takes place and the car is cleared for shipment. Reliable Carriers then has to schedule an empty truck to come pick up five or six Demons at a time that are being delivered along a route that makes logistical sense.

Kenny points out this clear blue plastic protective sheet placed over the Demon’s supercharger, presumably to protect the engine while it was being installed at the factory. It was tagged with a white marker: “30 OKF.”

There are many steps in the process of making a Demon that are new to the SRT program. Tim Kuniskis (now head of Maserati and Alfa Romeo) stated that production would be a slow ramp-up, most likely to ensure they figure out the best way to get these cars built right and to a high standard. Finally, on Halloween of 2017, we caught wind that the first truckload of Demons was making its way down the road when tragedy struck. Three of the cars caught fire and were reported a total loss.

We don’t have an exact report as to the cause, but it’s been clearly stated that the cars were not the culprit. An unfortunate event? Yes, but in my opinion this only adds to the mystique and urban legend for what could be a once-in-a-lifetime vehicle. (Demons experiencing spontaneous combustion on Halloween?! You just can’t make that up.) Day after day, it was exciting watching the reports of VONs (vehicle order numbers) being turned into VINs as the cars rolled through various stages of production.

All Dodge Demons arrive at dealerships in enclosed Reliable Carrier trucks. This paper floor mat was left by the Reliable crew to safeguard the carpet while being moved.

It turns out there’s a whole new alphabet of secret code to decipher. If you want to know what’s happening to your Demon build, you can translate the order status code into real information. Here’s a list of those posted on the Hellcat.org message forum:

Demon Order Status Codes

BA new order that hasn’t been checked BB review by fleet department BD special equipment processing BE edit error BG passed edit n/a for schedule BGL edit ok, parts unavailable BX passed edit, available for schedule C sub firm, tentative schedule D firm schedule, dealer has allocation and all parts available D1 gateline schedule, scheduled to be built E frame F paint G trim I built not ok’d J built ok’d JB shipped to upfit center (for stripe) JE emission check JS shipped to storage KZ released by plant, invoiced KZL released, not shipped KZM first rail departure KZN first rail arrival KZO delayed/received KZOA plant holds KZOB zone/distribution holds KZOC carrier delays KZOD carrier holds KZOE mis-shipped vehicle KZOF show/test vehicle KZOG damaged vehicle KZOH all other reasons KZT second rail departure KZU second rail arrival KZX delivered to dealer ZA canceled

As the weeks went by, we saw production begin to ramp up, just as Tim K said it would. Once the factory really got into their groove, my car hit the queue. The condensed timeline of events for my car unfolded like this:

August 12, 2017 order submitted October 26, 2017 VIN assigned December 6, 2017 car enters the build process December 11, 2017 detailed inspection January 25, 2018 Demon arrives at the dealership via enclosed carrier January 27, 2018 I take delivery

Once the car hit the line, it didn’t take long for it to be built. Considering it had to go to the up-fitter for wheel installation, it needed to be inspected, it had been stored for shipment, and the plant was closed from December 23 to January 15 for holidays and an inventory adjustment, it was built and delivered in a reasonable amount of time, especially for the quality of the product.

A technician at Dependable Dodge in Canoga Park, CA performs the pre-delivery check while we look on. We asked the dealership to wait on this until we could be there, and they happily obliged us.

Having waited for this moment just over a year, we wanted to document every detail of the car in its as-delivered condition. I asked the dealer not to do any prep work and keep the car “as is” so we could see the little details of what a car looks like fresh off the truck. There were a number of interesting little signatures, decals, and protective plastics on various parts of the car that we documented and saved. Aware of the new secondary QC inspection process Dodge was implementing, I crawled over the car searching for a flaw and couldn’t find one. I’m impressed, and would say the hard-working people at the Brampton assembly plant should be proud of the product they’re turning out.

What will certainly be a sought-after piece years down the road is this protective yellow spoiler guard. It’s different than the Hellcat’s protective corner pieces (which are already collectibles). It’s used only during shipping, but it’s actually pretty attractive.

Ordering a Demon has been an unforgettable experience. The passion and talent that come together to make a car like this could be a once-in-a-lifetime event. Thanks to everyone at Dodge who made this car a reality for all of us enthusiasts. Now another wait begins for me: the Demon Performance Crate. It’s time to go drag racing!

Standard Demon trunk goodies include floor mats, license plate bracket (we’ll bet these never get used!), and a pair of Demon supplemental booklets.

Besides the standard stuff, Kenny got the Demon Storage Package (car cover and battery tender) which are the two white boxes. The brown box is the pedal kit, which is a customer-installed item.

The happy new owner sits behind the wheel of his new Dodge Demon for the first time. Note the “caution” hang tag warning delivery personnel of the scraping hazard from the front spoiler.

Ahh! That new-Demon interior smell will be long remembered.

The Dodge Demon pedal kit is an owner-installed item, and strangely does not come with parking brake and dead-pedal covers as similar aftermarket kits do.

Demon pre-delivery inspection at Dependable Dodge’s service department, Canoga Park, CA

Heat-shrink wrapped Dodge Demon owner’s manual supplement.

Dodge Demon number 18 awaits its new owner in Dependable Dodge’s showroom.

Hieroglyphics on the plastic sheet protecting the Demon’s supercharger read “30 OKF.”

Part of the Demon Storage Package is this boxed car cover, labeled as Mopar part number 82215727.

Also located in the trunk was the 2018 Dodge Demon Driver Supplement booklet.

Dodge Demon fender flares house extra-wide 315/40R18 NT05R Nitto Drag Radials. Kenny says those will be replaced for street driving by a set of 20-inch Widebody Hellcat wheels and tires for better tread life.

Window sticker claims 22 mpg on the highway. Who has that kind of self control? According to the graph on the window sticker, the Demon does NOT have the worst fuel economy in its class.

This box in the trunk contained the stainless steel accelerator and brake pedal covers, and was labeled with part number 05181565AB. They appear to have been sourced from Sequoia Tool in Clinton Township, MI.

This pick ticket was found in the trunk, and is a list of items to put in the Demon’s trunk prior to leaving the Brampton, Ontario assembly plant.

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