#Salvage Cars for Sale

[sellmyhooptyfl]

Need to sell your junk car in Tampa and not sure where to go? Sell junk cars to us for cash – we buy all kinds of trucks and vehicles damaged beyond repair.

More info: Car junk yards in tampa florida

[shelbyvilleautoparts]

Buy Cars / Scrap 

At Shelbyville auto parts, we buy auto salvage, farm machinery, copper, brass, aluminum, steel, batteries, etc. Anything metal! To know more visit https://shelbyvilleautoparts.com/

[primeautoparts1]

Shop online used Acura parts from Mainland auto parts, we provides all kinds of used auto parts including used Acura transmissions, Acura engines, Acura OEM parts, and more Acura accessories!

[2bu]

my partner got into a car accident, and we need your help, please.

I know I make posts a lot, but this time, jesus christ, do I need your help now more than ever. My partner, @carltonsandwichbanks, got into a car accident last night. Thankfully, he is okay with minor injuries and a clean bill of health. As it stands, we do not know the status of the other driver's well-being, but the cars are completely and utterly wrecked.

However... we still need help, as my partner faces criminal charges over this (unsure of who the guilty party was at this point and will not know until cam footage is released). We are saving towards court and lawyer fees, medical costs, and the biggest costs of all, the car - if it can be salvaged at all and if the lender allows us to do so. We desperately need this car/a car, and my partner is a safe driver who takes care of himself and us both when on the road. He's been responsible, as this was his first vehicle that he obtained ever (and worked hard to make happen).

All that being said... I am selling majority of my characters on toyhou.se in order to start saving, and accepting donations on his behalf. if you would be so, so kind as to even grant us a reblog, we'd be eternally grateful.

thank you all so much for the endless support. once we have concrete numbers for everything, i will put together a proper gofundme to donate to. below are all the relevant links.

toyhouse bulletin with info and links

folder with characters for sale

paidpale link

vinedmoe link

cashedapp: $SalemV

gofundme link pending

[bonebrokebuddy]

@kodedgeekthings eyo you mentioned wanting a dpxdc prompt for Howard, Batman’s mechanic!

Harold misses fixing toys for kids and in his off hours has taken up the habit of answering questions on forums about machining, electrical, engineering, mechanics, and mechanical design that are often frequented by students.

One day, he comes across a request by a college student who is trying to assemble his own car out of scrap he bought from a local wrecking yard.

Ghostly_Boy states that he has previous experience in machining and can make replacements for broken or too-damaged parts if need be, but he doesn’t know where to start and what specific requirements he needs to reach to ensure it’s street legal.

Harold willing to help, he answers a few of Ghostly Boy’s clarifying questions:

- Great questions!

It’s good to note that if you’re not careful, fixing or making your own car from parts can be a moneysink and can cost you more than a brand new vehicle. - That being said, your first major step to ensuring you can drive the car is to get the title of the body/frame of the car you plan to build. It’ll have the VIN on a plate welded to the frame usually near the lower edge of the windshield wipers on the drivers side. It’s how the DMV identifies vehicles for licensing.

- Generally, you’ll at first get a “wreck out” title that shows the vehicle is listed as a total loss, but if you can assemble the parts for the car with that frame, the DMV can check if it’s properly running and road worthy & license for you to use it on public roads if you’ve done the proper paperwork.

- Once that is done, it’s largely a case of getting the right parts and assembling them. Depending on how much you have to repair, you could be taking on a task that could give a challenge to even a seasoned mechanic. There may be additional paperwork depending on what exactly you need to repair, like the breaks, lights, steering, etc.

- If you want to build the car entirely from scratch, chassis and all, that’s an entirely different story with a much more complicated list of requirements to make it street legal, so getting a frame from a junkyard is a great first step!

- Make sure to keep all bills of sale, junkyard receipts, invoices and manufacturers’ certificates on any major parts you used in building the vehicle to prove its road worthy to the DMV when it’s complete!

Harold doesn’t always answer first but over time he’s found the adventures of this kid amusing and keeps up with it.

Ghostly_Boy keeps the forum updated with his progress:

The kid spontaneously deciding to scrap the wiring system and make his own in a span of 3 days, leaving experienced mechanics on the forum practically screaming at the kid for his updates showing him using random wires he salvaged and pigtailing them together to get the length of wire he needed.

Mixing not only multiple types of wires but ones that didn’t have the protection needed for auto use. DIY-ing his own relay and fuses he didn’t have and connecting the wrong grounds and switches. And planning on leaving the wires unwrapped and loose.

Leaving Ghost to promptly redo the wiring, correctly this time, within 78 hours.

Making a repair of a massive rusted hole on the passenger side by the bumper and the front tire via cutting 1/2in past the rust, grinding it pretty and clean, tac & seam welding the vintage aluminum housing material of a toaster to cover the hole to the response of Harold and many others in the forum just going “… I guess that would work?”

Harold and many others telling the kid that this “ectoplasm” material wasn’t cleared through the EPA’s Clear Air Act and could be illegal to drive with it as it’s fuel source unless he got the emissions tested & the center of gravity of the car adjusted to have the center of gravity a gas car has, it wouldn’t pass Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards. Nor would the previously untested on material make it easy or quick to get an Emissions testing certificate. Best to just stick with gas.

Removing what he thought was a “skid plate” that turned out to be another rusted out section on the frame on the bottom of his car and repairing it with steel he salvaged from an old medical table he had laying around. (To the multiple slightly confused commenters asking how Ghost had a spare medical table, he replied, “eh, my folks visit every so often and they’ve been giving me things they’re clearing out of the house so they can move closer to my older sister. I just so happened to get the ye olde medical table. They’re an odd couple of folks but that’s why I love them.”)

People just crying at the kid to go to rockauto.com and just buy the damn parts he needs for his car. (A good resource btw)

The kid kept cutting corners to save cash but through the badgering of Harold and many others that he actually would have to spend money to make this car be safe to drive in, he finally got it completed.

Ghost’s post of him leaving DMV waving the updated title to the car in its envelope in the air, titled, “THE DMV FINALLY SAID IT WASN’T A FIRE HAZARD! ONLY TOOK 2 YEARS! THANKS EVERYONE!” Got the most amount of responses he’d ever had with congratulations from lurkers and previous commenters.

Over the course of those two years, Danny learned how to draw his own wiring diagrams, properly solder and weld, and learning to actually plan out his projects so he got it right at least the fifth time instead of the 20th. Not bad for a kid that went straight from graduating high school with a 1.5GPA to construction jobs.

But after finally getting the car approved, Ghostly_Boy returns to the forum with a new problem. Lamenting that his parents keep coming over and “modifying” his car to no longer make it street legal.

At this point, about half of the answers to the submission think it’s either a joke project taken very, very seriously with a good chunk of money behind it, or a kid with parents that have narrowly avoided falling completely down the mad scientist rogue rabbit hole.

After all, what sort of parent would think that the DMV would approve to “anti-ghost missiles” being attached to the outer body of the car? Either way, the submissions always had video attached showing a demonstration, proving that Ghost wasn’t just completely yanking their chain. And a good amount of money would have to be sunken in to not only pay for the fines Ghostly continued to get from the additions to his car, but to actually manufacture and make a unique working product for each plea for help request.

Harold is not only taking notes on some of these defense measures but also decides to bring up the boy to Alfred. Intrigued, they together keep an eye on Ghostly_Boy. Bruce may be their employer, but they can handle a case or two on their own.

- I wanted Danny to try to make smth for himself now that he doesn’t have access to his parent’s lab anymore but he also doesn’t have access to ectoplasm so he’s fairly unfamiliar how to wire things Not for ectoplasmic standards.

Also I wanted to make a prompt where Danny had a good relationship with his parents & went into a fairly realistic job after high school with his fairly bad GPA so he’s saving up for a technical school via construction jobs as he doesn’t like the idea of working fast food for understandable reasons.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1960 Edsel Deluxe Hardtop

This Day in Auto History

6.7.1954

The Ford Motor Company formed a styling team to take on the project of designing an entirely new car that would later be named the Edsel. The decision came as Ford enjoyed its greatest historical success in the 1950s. The 1955 Thunderbird had outsold its Chevy counterpart, the Corvette, and the consumer demand for automobiles, in all price brackets, was steadily increasing. The Ford Motor Company consisted of four brand names: Ford, Mercury, Lincoln, and Continental, listed from lowest to highest in price range. Ford executives believed that there was a gap in the marketplace between the Mercury and the Lincoln, where a new car would compete against GM's Oldsmobile and Buick lines. In the mid-1950s, Americans seemed to have an insatiable hunger for high horse-powered, heavily styled cars, with lots of chrome and many accessories. So Ford planned to fill the public's appetite with a suitable answer. The company spared no expense in the development of its new car, even going so far as to employ famous American poet Marianne Moore to supply possibilities for its name. After an extensive name search and no satisfactory result, somebody suggested that the car be named after Henry Ford II's father, Edsel. Ford balked at the suggestion initially and later relented, on the grounds that his father deserved a tribute; he urged the car's designers to live up to his father's name. Edsel had always had a knack for design, even if his business sense hadn't always lived up to his father's expectations. The Edsel project was launched with great fanfare and vigorous advertising. During the years between the car's conception and its production, the American economy took a downturn. By the time the Edsel was released in 1957, the high end of the car market had once again contracted. Public reaction to the car's exaggerated styling was tepid at best, with particular objections aimed at the Edsel's awkward-looking "horse collar" grill. Sales for the car started slowly and foundered. Newly appointed company Vice President Robert McNamara was charged with the task of salvaging the operation. Had McNamara held the position years earlier, historians point out, the Edsel project may never have been taken on, as McNamara strongly believed Ford should concentrate on the economy car market. McNamara attempted to improve the car's construction and appearance, but when the attempt failed, he was forced to halt production of the car at a disastrous loss of $250 million. To this day, the Edsel remains the biggest failure in American car history, "a monumental disaster created for tomorrow's markets created by yesterday's statistical inputs." History has treated the Edsel more kindly, as its looks are now considered to be an attractive example of 1950s flair. Like its namesake, Edsel Ford, the Edsel has come to be known as an unfair victim of circumstance.

This 1960 Edsel Deluxe Hardtop was photographed at Das Awkscht Fescht at Macungie Park in 2022.

[whiskyanndboots]

Brutal

Summary - "Dean, I care about our relationship way too much just to be your South Dakota good time while you're in town"

Pairing - DeanxReader - Platonic!BobbyxReader

Warnings -Angst, infodump for upcoming series, tension, no editing once again

Slight continuation of SNAP

Meeting Bobby Singer had changed your life entirely, he and Rufus had saved you and two co-workers from a vampire attack after several Friday night margaritas. Your co-workers were happy to forget it had ever happened, even denied it after awhile, you however couldn't let it go. You'd researched every single thing you could about vampires, your brief encounter helped you weed out the impossible from the highly probable. 

You call it some kind of early midlife crisis, you had regularly taken time off your job to track down victims of possible vampire attacks. You are well aware how unhinged that was, you even had the crazy person map on the wall with thread attached to markers detailing all the possible vampire attacks in the area you'd been able to find, colour coded and everything. 

You decided since you weren't actively looking to interact with any vampires, just gathering information tor curiosities sake that you were safe. 

The next 4 months you were practically obsessed and while on one of your solo road trips you found a lead in Colorado that lead you to another in New York. You had stopped in the small town of Sioux Falls for the day to rest before driving more. Seeing one of the men that had saved you in the aisle of a grocery store buying beer and hamburger helper was so unexpected you almost ran into a coca cola display. 

He had ducked his head when he'd recognised you, he had rushed the cashier when you'd gone to talk to him anyway and he'd started speed walking to his car when you dumped your things and followed him out. 

Bobby Singer was not happy when you told him what you'd been doing if the "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" was anything to go by. 

You'd told Bobby you weren't hunting, god no, you just wanted to know about this hidden world inside the one you thought you knew. You'd showed him the journal of vampire facts you'd written, which he immediately pointed out two wrong things you'd thought were correct.

He'd rubbed a hand down his face and stared for a moment. Then he asked how old you were, what you did and if you were married, children, basically everything about your life. He'd quickly realised you weren't going to be convinced into going home or letting this go so he begrudgingly told you his address. 

Right there in a Sioux Falls grocery store parking lot started your unlikely friendship.

You turned up at Bobby's the next morning and he grumpily educated you on vampires and let you have free rein of his extensive library so you'd go and leave him "the hell alone". Three weeks later, you'd quit your job and moved to Sioux Falls, you got a job at a tavern and rented a room nearby, you'd visit Bobby on weekends, sometimes even weekday afternoons. 

You'd never said you weren't impulsive or that you weren't escaping your old life. 

Around six weeks later you were living in Bobby's spare room, he'd said "Why are you wasting money on that shithole, I've got a room upstairs as along as you don't plan on annoyin' the crap outta me", you moved in and realised Singer Salvage was a mess on the business front. You'd spent your days researching monsters, trying to learn ancient languages which was as hard as it sounds, and organising Singer Salvage's inventory and sales. You'd quit your bar job when you'd started making Bobby money and he decided you were now his receptionist, both for hunters and the junk yard. It made it all more believable when you picked up and 'transferred' calls to your boss when cops called.

You'd later learn why Bobby was so willing to take you in. 

One night in late July, not long after you'd moved in, you'd both had a bit to drink and you built up the courage to finally ask Bobby about an old polaroid you'd found of himself and two young men. He'd told you about Dean and hell, how Sam's been of the grid ever since he died. Bobby had lost the two men he'd considered sons and you were filling some kind of void for him though he'd never admitted it, he wanted some companionship.

It was for the first time you really understood the sadness and loss that came with hunting, Bobby had many friends, not many close, but no family. 

The more time you spent with Bobby the soft spot you immediately had for him became ten times it's size. You learnt to cook more, he complained about the healthier things, but the guy had to watch his chloestrol. You cleaned when he was away and catlogued his never ending junk yard of parts and cars to sell. You still remembered the look on his face when you pulled out $2500 in cash you'd gotten on a day trip you'd taken to sell his stuff after he'd told you this 'junk wasn't worth that much". Problem was Bobby knew where every artififact, weapon, rare herbs and weird stuff was in his house, but he couldn't remember all the things he had buried out back amoungst the rusted out steel. 

Google had turned you into a parts expert, the only rule he had was to make sure he didn't need it and not to let any buyers here, public exchange only. 

It was an oddly simple life considering Bobby's profession. You became receptioinist for Singer Salvage by day and various FBI and Department of whatevers assistants in the shadows,he'd taught you how to answer phones while he was gone, what to say to keep the hunters out there covered and what kills what so you could help any hunter who called when he wasn't around. You were no Bobby, but you were getting better. 

Bobby had decided a beat up 1970 Chevy Chevelle was going to teach you all things cars, told you that you should know how to do things on your own, this one wasn't going so well, honestly Bobby had done most of it while you watched and admittedly zoned out for majority of it. 

The only thing Bobby wouldn't do was let you hunt. That was a hard, solid line and you did not mind in the slightest, you'd had to help on one salt and burn once when Bobby needed and that was enough. Monsters, ghosts and demons in theory were interesting, the reality of it you could miss. 

Bobby's drinking had you more worried than any supernatural creature did, you enjoyed the occasional alcoholic beverage, but the empty bottles you'd fine some mornings that weren't there when you went to bed worried you, but he would snap if you ever pushed. You were planning on a more subtle intervention.

You'd gone to a friends wedding in September and returned to absolute chaos of a resurection and an apocalypse. Bobby wanted you to pack your things and leave, you refused. You now wondered if that choice was a huge mistake. 

That was the first time you'd met Sam and Dean Winchester. 

It felt like a lifetime ago. 

It was February now and they'd missed both Christmas and New Years, you'd forced Bobby into swapping gifts on Christmas and by gifts you meant a bottle of scotch and some skincare gift pack Bobby must have grabbed at the grocery store, which strangely made you feel warm inside. 


You, Sam, Dean and Bobby were now sitting on Bobby's front porch and had been for the last few hours, just talking, it was nice considering how intense things had been for the last few months.


Sam and Dean had been through alot with the snippets Bobby had told you, despite how very much involved you were Bobby was still keeping it vague with what was going on out there. You'd heard them talking about a demon named Alistair, Lilith, Angels and Seals when you had turned on the shower and snuck out to listen to what they were talking about when they thought you couldn't hear.

Lilith. 

She hadn't come for you, it'd been months. Your rescue from her demon minions was miraculous and you'd been living on the edge ever since, Lilith had said she needed you for something, you have no idea what. 

You laughed loudly with everyone at Bobby's story about a hunt with Rufus, you were pleasantly buzzed after a few vodka limes on this particularly hot afternoon. You liked when Dean and Sam came, especially when you had moments like this, moments when you could pretend the apocalypse wasn't looming over you all. 

You stood up asking if anyone else wanted another drink with an all around yes. You said you'd get some snacks too.

Three days ago when Sam and Dean arrived was the first time you'd seen Dean since the motel room incident two months ago. Some nights you couldn't sleep thinking about that night, just rolling around unable to get comfortable or relaxed because you couldn't stop relieving the way Dean's hands felt on your skin, how his mouth felt against yours. 

Neither of you had brought it up again, just like you'd asked. 

You opened the refrigerator pulling out some cheese, dip and salami and crackers. The first time you'd made a glorified cheese platter for Bobby he'd scrunched his face up at 'this fancy crap' you'd stared at him incredulously, 'fancy? It's lazy dinner'

Now he's a cheese platter fiend, not that he'd admit it. You regularly drink beer on a Saturday afternoon eating too much cheese and breadsticks while watching football or reality TV.

"Want some help?" Dean's voice startled you, you turned around from cutting salami to see him leaning in the door way. 

"No, I'm nearly done, do you want your beer?" You asked grabbing a bottle from there fridge and holding it out towards him to quick not to be obviously nervous. 

Dean pushed off the doorway, his eyes moved down your body as he crossed the room, so brazenly, you were immediately off kilter. The tank top and denim shorts suddenly made you feel suddenly bare.

You wouldn't let him know, you wouldn't show him how much he rattled you. You were an adult for god sake, why did he make you so nervous and stupid? he never used to. 

You'd been lulled into a false sense of security, you weren't sure if it was going to be awkward when you watched the Impala roll up the driveway, but to your great relief Dean was completely normal, he was even back to his old self and wasn't treating you like you were cotton wool.

The blatant way he was checking you out caught you off guard, It had to be the alcohol you'd all consumed.


He took the bottle from your hand and you quickly turned back to the food you were getting ready, you took a swig of the vodka you'd made yourself to calm down.

You had to get a grip on yourself. 

"I'll be out soon" You said without turning around. You just had to get this ready and go back out and continue drinking, eating and laughing, no issues.

"You been doing ok, feel like we haven't talked?" Dean asked from behind, damnit he wasn't leaving.

He was right, you'd found yourself alone with him two days ago while you were making some tweaks to the Chevelle, you were about to get Bobby to check it over, you weren't an overly confident home mechanic without him yet. 

"She not running?" Dean's voice made you jump. 

"Jesus, Dean" You huffed holding your chest.

"Bit on edge there (Y/N)" He laughed "What's going on?" He peered under the hood beside you. 

"Making a weird noise, I think something is loose and vibrating on the engine, I'm pretty sure it's here" You pointed, looking at Dean for assurance.

“Can I have a look?" Dean questioned raising his eyebrows. 

"Sure" You smiled easily moving out of his way.

Dean leant under the hood and peered into your engine bay "Can you turn her on?" 

You moved to the front seat and turned the key until you heard Dean yell to stop. You jumped out and came back to stand beside him.

"Very close, looks like that one, but it's further back" He strained leaning further in and gestured "Over here" you peered over his shoulder. 

"We can get this apart and tighten it up this afternoon, won't take long" He smiled widely. 

So you did, well mostly Dean did while you watched.

"There' Dean grunted twisting the wrench into place. 

You were suddenly very distracted by Dean's arms, he was pulling on the wrench, tan skin bulging as he pulled it tighter, his grey t-shirt was straining against the size of his arm, Dean was talking and you realised you weren't listening when he raised his eyebrow. 

"Sorry, what?" Pull yourself together 

Dean repeated himself looking at you and the car to make sure you understood. He was so unaffected, ofcourse he was, Dean would've been with plenty of women on the road since you last seen him, you're such an idiot. You just needed to avoid direct eye contact and get through the next few days. 

"Should be good as new" Dean said as he finished putting everything back together "Start her up" 

You did as he said and naturally there was no more weird noise. 

'Thanks, Dean " You smiled genuinely "saved me alot of time and taught me something new"

"It's all good, I needed to get out of the house, there's only so much Sam and Bobby talkin' ancient languages and lore I can take" He wiped his hands off with a rag, once again the movement made his arms bulge, all that thick muscle not from a gym, from hunting because he was strong, you knew first hand how firm he was. 

You glanced up and see Dean looking straight at you, you felt your cheeks heat up from embarrassment and swallowed quickly moving to shut the hood of the car, Dean was still watching you with an unreadable look on his face. 

Suddenly that familiar feeling of being too close came over you, you could feel the warmth of his skin and you weren't even touching.

"Should get back inside" You said quickly.

"Yeah' He answered, his voice suddenly deeper. You looked back at him and you did not like the change in demeanour at all.

You really wish you never opened this can of worms. 

"Yeah there's been alot going on, I've been good, Bobby and i have had a couple of hunts, he wants to lay low for the most part" You answered. 

Dean leaned onto the counter beside you, his posture was relaxed, but his brow was pinched. You turned to look at him, you nervously licked your lips, Dean's eyes shot down to the movement, copying it himself. You knew if there was any shot of forgiveness with Jo, you could never ever do what you did again, you hadn't meant to the first time.

"You? Alot more going on out there than here, I'm sure" You tried to keep it light while you distracted yourself with placing cheese cubes.


"Nothing new so far, just your regular end of the world stuff" he'd answered with a tired sigh, a pained look flashed across his eyes which was gone just as quickly. 

You smiled weakly with the corner of your mouth and opened a pack of crackers. You were sure it was much more complicated.

"So tell me" He began fake casually after a short silence, your body tensed at his tone.

"You going to be weird around me all the time now?" He continued. 

"I'm not being weird" You replied quickly. 

"You're being weird right now" Dean's grin was teasing, definitely beer spearheading this conversation. He was also right, You and Dean had an easy connection that had been strained since that night in the motel. 

"I'm fine Dean, really" You answered, probably a little too reassuringly. 

"You won't even look at me anymore" 

You sighed deeply and tilted your head to meet his gaze raising your eyebrow. You had never let any man make you feel this jittery, you weren't going to start now. He's just Dean, a man.

You turned back to finish what you were doing, Dean chuckled, you could feel his eyes on you, this had to stop now.

if Dean wanted to talk then you'd talk.

"What are you doing, Dean?" You turned to face him fully trying to keep your voice casual.

"What are you doing, (Y/N)?" He countered grinning, like this was a game.


You frowned confused, you were ignoring this thing exactly like you were supposed to. Dean chuckled looking down for a second shaking his head.

"You tell me you want to forget what happened and then you keep looking at me like you want to jump my bones" He stared at you, you were making a huge bold mental note not to be alone with Dean when he's been drinking all day because apparently his already huge balls got even bigger.

"I do not" You whispered, eyes wide, looking at the door making sure no one was there "I meant what I said" you insisted.

"Why?" He asked suddenly serious. 

"Why?" You repeated incredulously 

"You want to" He stated. You could tell Dean Winchester didn't get rejected very often, you could see why too. That cocky grin, that handsome face and playfulness that you knew would show you a good time. 

"Really, cause it sounds like you're trying to convince me" You raised an eyebrow keeping your tone just as playful. He laughed sliding closer to you.

“Dean, we had a fight, that got out of control, thats all" You continued. 

"Sweetheart, I have fights with people all the time and they don't end like that, unless they started like that" Your heart was thumping in your chest, it hadn't started like that though, it really did catch you off guard. You and Jo were on shaky ground as it was, but almost back to normal after months of trying to fix what happened. 

"Look Dean we work together, we're friends, Jo is my best friend, there's a whole apocalypse, it's just messy" You finished making your snack platter intent on leaving this kitchen. 

"Jo?" He questioned, in your panic you'd slipped up. 

"Is that what this is about?" He leaned in closer towards you.

"No" You said quickly. 

"(Y/N), Jo is like a little sister to me, nothing's going on with us, nothing has even been going on" His face was full on reassurance, but you felt none of it. Your heart broke for Jo, little sister, ouch. 

You crossed your arms with a sigh and turned to face Dean, your face hard you needed a final blow. 

"You know Dean, I really didn't take you for a guy who needed to be told no twice" Even as it left your mouth your stomach was turning in knots. 

Dean's face feel and all playfulness and flirting was gone. 

"(Y/N) I didn't-" He looked so upset with himself.

"It's fine, really" you interupted "Dean, I care about our relationship way too much just to be your South Dakota good time while you're in town" You tried to make light of the situation.

"You're not just a good time" Dean looked insulted.

"Yeah, I'm a pain in the ass too, I know" You smiled trying desperately to get this conversation over.


"Right" He ran a hand over his mouth clearing his throat and looked away. A heavy silence fell over the kitchen.

You felt awful, but you were honest, you didn't want to be another notch in Dean Winchesters bed post. 

"You two good?" Bobby’s gruff voice startled the both of you. 

"Yeah" You both said unconvincingly at the same time. 

"Here, I'll take that for you" Dean grabbed the platter and his beer and disappeared through the doorway. 

"Should I be worried about that?" Bobby asked from behind you as you were gathering the beer for the rest of you from the fridge. 

"No" You scoffed, guilt still churning in your stomach.


"Dean's a good man, you know I love him like a son" Bobby continued.

"God, Bobby i'm not trying anything on Dean" You pleaded.

"Dean isn't the kind of guy for you (Y/N)" Bobby took his beer from your hand. 

You were surprised, that wasn't what you were expecting. 

"A hunter isn't the kind of man you should be going after" he clarified "It'll be nothing, but heartbreak or death at the end of that road"

"It's ok, Bobby. Don't worry, we're just friends" You patted his shoulder.

There was very little chance of Dean ever making a move on you again, so you weren't worried either.



[xxxdreamscapexxx]

I don’t want to hear thoughts... Unless they’re yours

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff / Reader Word count: 3k Summary: Wanda wanted to live the normal life she was never afforded, but something was always missing. Something she denied herself and buried deep inside. But watching you move next door, she quickly realizes that this may not be possible for much longer. Warning: Spoilers for MoM. This will be a multi-chapter fic and it’s only the beginning. Smut in future chapters. This is just fluffy, so i can set the story up. It will get far more heated as the story progresses.     Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6, Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10 Series materlist                                     Masterlist of all my works

                                                 Chapter 1 Wanda Maximoff watched from a distance as you moved in to the house next door. It used to belong to a family, an ordinary one, with two kids and a yappy dog that she disliked, but the kids adored, including her own two boys. Closing the Darkhold was hard. Even harder to choose to survive it. She certainly didn’t plan on it. But the human spirit is a hard thing to kill, she knew that. She had been broken so many times, in so many ways, she had lost so much… Too much. Yet here she stood. The universe presenting yet another chance for her. A chance she had no intention of wasting. It took her a long time to build the life she had now. Years. After she closed the Darkhold, governments of multiple nations tried to get to that place, excavate what was left. They were looking for the Darkhold, for a way to still salvage it. They were looking for her too. So she made the only smart move she had. She found them first. She used all her leverage, all her power and all her will, but she made a deal. She would help… When the world was ending and when Earth needed its heroes, she will be there, and she will fight. But until that day comes, she will be left alone. To live a life of her choosing, a calm, normal life. The one she was never afforded. Hands were shaken, secret deals were made, records were deleted and a well-placed cyber-attack destroyed all images and videos of Wanda Maximoff. It was good to still have friends. Tony Stark never supported her publicly, never spoke on her behalf, but when her battle was won, he hired all the right people, took all the necessary measures and made sure that the world would forget who Wanda Maximoff was, or what she had done. He also gave her the keys to a nice new car, his final words to her a whisper. ‘’You deserve to be happy.’’ She didn’t think that was possible, but she knew exactly what she wanted to do with her new life, so as soon as she made sure that there was nothing but dust on that mountain, that there would be no Darkhold to open, she moved with nothing but the clothes on her back. She found a house for sale. A quaint, welcoming house in the city of Eastview. Yes, she knew… A little on the nose. But she liked the place, liked the calm life she saw a glimpse of, before it all went to hell. She also liked the reference to a life not quite real, a life meant to be hers, but forever stolen. But this time Wanda had learned her lesson. She used her magic subtly, never to solve her problems and never to hurt others. She also kept her mind closed to all the thoughts that constantly threatened to drown out her own. She was never quite used to it before, always feeling just a little schizophrenic for hearing voices in her head. And the voices only grew louder, the stronger she became. But she also became much better at blocking them out. Her mind a fortress and her resolve to stay away from all the old habits that ruined her life in the past, a constant reminder that her powers were better left buried. After she settled, money never being an issue, since being an Avenger landed her more money than she ever thought possible, Wanda decided to follow the dreams she never had a chance to indulge. She immersed herself in hobbies, painting and cooking always being her favorite. But something was missing. Something big! A family. And though she never thought anyone could replace Vision, the idea of children never stopped haunting her. She didn’t just want them. She knew she had them. She had met them… Refusing to use her magic again, realizing how easy it was to destroy something gained from magic, she did something far more permanent. Wanda Maximoff decided that she didn’t need a man to be a mother. She just needed their seed and artificial insemination soon presented itself as the best option. When the treatment was successful, Wanda was beside herself. She was pregnant. The right way this time. The slow way. And despite all her resistance to her powers, she did something. Something that perhaps broke the deal she made, while gaining her new life, but she didn’t care. She made sure that she will have twin boys. Boys that would look just like the ones she had in Westview. The boys she had always had in every other universe. When they were born, she named them Billy and Tommy. In her mind they were her boys. The same ones. And she was going to live the life she was owed. People in Eastview were as boring as they come. She had read all her neighbors minds, found all their dirty and not so dirty secrets, all in the name of keeping her family safe. Of keeping her boys safe. And when the next door neighbors proved to be an ordinary couple, she made sure that their children and hers were fast friends. She organized sleepovers, they hosted pool parties, the kids played together in the yard… Life was boring and absolutely as perfect as it could be. Her twins were 4, when the family next door moved out, deciding to move after Phil got a great new job offer in a new city. Their house had been empty ever since. Five months had passed and her boys missed their friends dearly and though she tried to organize other play dates for them, it never quite worked out the same way. So she reluctantly signed them up for day care. Not for her sake. Never. Wanda didn’t want the boys to leave her side even for a moment. But they needed friends their own age, needed to spend time with people, other than their mother. So Wanda did the only logical thing. Dove into days of research and scoped out all the daycares, read the mind of each teacher, until she was satisfied and signed them up. A month later, you showed up. You had been offered a nice promotion in your company and a hefty pay increase, if you would agree to move to middle of nowhere - Eastview and be part of the new office they intended to start there, heading a project for one of your big clients. You hesitated. Of course, you did! It was a great opportunity, but it was also … Well… Middle of nowhere - Eastview. But you saw a wonderful house, Greek revival style, with beautiful columns and a pool at the back and you thought… Why not! The rent cost just a little more than your shitty apartment in the big city and the town looked nice. You had little friends and your girlfriend had left you seven months ago, telling you that you’re clingy and too unsocial and that she needed someone who would match her energy… Meaning, someone, who partied and had an endless circle of friends, snorted happy pills and just so happens to be her new ‘’friend’’ Jess. You didn’t mind that she left. It wasn’t going to work out between you anyway. You were never real in front of her. You never showed her who you really are. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like who she was either. So when the offer came you called your mom and talked about it for hours on end… In the morning, you marched into the office and said ‘’Yes’’. You signed all the paperwork and made sure that that house would be your new home. A new beginning. You filled up your car, watched the moving company load all your furniture in a huge truck and left. Now you were finally here. The house looked even more beautiful up-close. The second-floor bedroom had huge windows and access to the balcony, which stood proudly over the heavy columns and you already made plans of placing a nice table and a couple of chairs there, so you can have your morning coffee. The kitchen was big and bright, the second-floor bathroom had a huge tub. The iron fence was painted black and was ornately decorated with abstract flower motives that you thought suited it perfectly. And the second-floor room that overlooked the pool looked perfect for a library. You already saw yourself fill it with shelves from floor to ceiling and your desk would look just perfect near the window. You took a week off, so you could organize your house and move. You watched with delight as the house filled with all your things and became home. You woke up happy and relaxed in the new environment, wondering why you felt so anxious to move in the first place. It was perfect. The house was perfect, the people seemed nice and friendly. The whole place seemed so serene, you thought you could stay here forever. Wanda had watched you from afar ever since you arrived, gently probing your mind. She thought of it as research and she always kept in mind the excuse that she was doing it all for the safety of her children, as she got to know more and more about you. She told herself that every time she invaded your privacy. But the truth was that the longer she spent time surrounding herself with your voice, the more she found your mind captivating. You enjoyed architecture, so she watched through your minds eye the small details of the house next door that she never noticed before. The idea of your dreamhouse was often at the front of your mind when you were outside, admiring the structure, noticing the details that you would have changed, should you have owned the house and Wanda couldn’t help but fall in love with the idea of your dream home. She listened silently as you made plans and watched them come to life soon after. When you weren’t working on your home, you were cooking, or reading. Your mind always drifted to beautiful daydreams and quotes that you found inspirational or simply touching. She found so many books there that you held fondly in your mind and the connections you made with them. She discovered so many movies and TV shows, some of which her own favorites too. She found your favorite songs and that you couldn’t listen to them every day, because they made you feel too much, so you liked to turn to more generic music, that helped your mind drift. As the week passed, Wanda kept her mind open more often, perhaps for the first time in years. When she wasn’t with the boys, or devoted to her own chores or activities, she always let her psychic power drift to you. She took the ideas from your head and after putting the boys to sleep, she watched the movies you enjoyed, waiting at the edge of her seat for your favorite part to come, the quote already on her tongue. She went to the book store too and bought some of your favorite books, delighted to discover the words you had engraved on your memory and feeling them for herself. She felt like she was getting to know you, despite the fact that she hadn’t introduced herself and her boys yet. And the longer she immersed herself in your private little world, the more she wanted to meet you. After days of hearing your thoughts and slowly surrounding herself in everything that made your heart sing, Wanda could delay no longer. She needed to meet you. Needed to finally see the face of the woman, who had filled her with so much poetry. So she did the one thing she could. Baked an apple pie, knowing how much you loved it, from finding it in your thoughts and she marched over. It was a Saturday afternoon, the sky beautiful and cloudless and so wonderfully blue, as she made her way to your house, knowing that you were in the living room, organizing. You were playing some music, which she knew was either a distraction from the times your thoughts got too loud, or a way for you to fight boredom. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this interaction, wasn’t quite sure what she wanted… She just knew she liked you and that she wanted you to like her too. When she rang the doorbell, Wanda discovered with surprise that she was nervous, perhaps for the first time in years and she braced herself for the moment she would see your face up-close for the very first time. She had seen you from a distance, watching intently through her window, but she never got a chance to really study your features. She heard your steps approaching, your mind still singing along the lyrics of a song she didn’t know and keeping any thoughts from surfacing. The quietness of your mind only unnerved her more. But she had no time to think about that as your front door opened and your face reviled itself. A genuine, kind smile was the first thing Wanda saw. Followed by the features of your face, that immediately studied her, perhaps just as attentively as she studied yours. She found you beautiful to look at and she immediately decided that she’ll make an effort to see more of you. - Hi, I’m Wanda! – She introduced herself, her right hand extended as she was balancing the pie in her left. – Wanda Maximoff. I live next door with my sons. I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood. ‘’Beauty is not caused. It is.’’ – Wanda’s eyes sparkled, recognizing the words, as you took her hand in yours and shook it briefly. It was from Emily Dickinson and the words shone in your mind so clearly, she felt herself blush and she pulled herself away from your thoughts, in order to keep herself calm and collected. She had heard so much of the author’s poetry from your mind that she ended up reading it for herself, only to discover that it sounded so much sweeter when it came from you. - Oh, thank you! It’s so kind of you to come by! I would invite you in, but I’m only just settling and the house is such a mess, I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself… I’m Y/N, by the way. Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you, Wanda. - Oh, don’t be silly, I wouldn’t want to intrude! Especially on such short notice. I just thought I should be neighborly and say ‘’Hi’’, bring you a pie and make sure you feel welcome. I’m sure I’m not the first. - You’re very much the first. – You say shyly, still studying her features. Her eyes were stunning and the intense gaze that accompanied them, made you feel like she could see into your soul. – But I’m happy to meet the neighbors. Have you lived here long with your family? – You asked, trying to distract yourself from her obvious beauty. - About five years. – She replies with a nod of hear head, as if confirming the number to herself. – I know it looks quaint, but trust me, it grows on you! I had my reservations too, but everyone is so nice and friendly, you’ll feel at home in no time. - Yeah? - Absolutely! – Wanda assures you as she reaches her hand and squeezes one of yours. – The family that lived here before you gave me the same welcome when I first got here and we became such good friends! My boys used to come over every Saturday to swim with their children. I sometimes think they like staying here more than they like staying at our house! – Wanda ranted with a smile, embracing her best personification of a suburban housewife and watched you smile at her excitedly. - Well, you guys can still come over. The pool is great and I really don’t mind. - Nonsense! We wouldn’t dream of bothering you! – Wanda deflects, secretly hoping you’ll extend the invitation again. - No bother at all. I’ll be working most of the week. It would be nice to know that at least someone is enjoying the place. – You say warmly. You weren’t sure why you were offering up so much of your space to this stranger, but the woman was just so charming, you couldn’t resist. - You’re too kind to offer, Y/N! – Wanda could barely contain herself. Despite being in Eastview for so long, she didn’t have many friends. The ability to read minds and hear thoughts was unsurprisingly repelling, especially when people couldn’t filter thoughts the way they did words. She often felt it was a burden and rarely enjoyed this side of her gifts. But she liked your thoughts and hoped she would be allowed to spend more time around you, so this offer came as a welcome relief. – What do you do? - The company I work for is opening a new branch here and I was offered to head a project for one of our customers. – You say, stepping out of the doorway and onto your porch. - That’s exciting! – Wanda gives you a smile, already knowing all this. Now that she was talking with you, she wanted to extend this interaction. Her train of thought is interrupted when Billy and Tommy step out of her house and call out to her. - That’s my cue. – She tells you. – Look at me… I came here to give you a pie and I almost left with it! Here, I hope you enjoy it, Y/N. You take it hesitantly, barely able to say thank you, before she leaves and you watch her hurriedly approach her house and herding her children inside. You’re still at your front door as she disappears inside, a little stunned, but generally uplifted by the woman and the positivity that seemed to ooze out of her. Eastview really was wonderful, as far as you were concerned and as you were walking inside your new home, pie in hand, the apple aroma filling your nostrils, you genuinely felt excited about what would your next day bring. ________________________________________________________ Ok, so... I rarely write milty-chapter stories and this is only chapter one, so please let me know if you want to know where this goes. Your general thoughts are always appreciated too!

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross - Chapter 7

Bentley Comes Through

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See you met me at an interesting time And if my past is any sign of your future You should be warned before I let you inside

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The pit stop turned out to be a tiny store in Nebraska an eight-hour car drive away, sandwiched between a tattoo parlor and a private attorney's office on a quiet street in a quiet town. “Wiseturtle Tech” was emblazoned over the front. Sly stared up at the blocky, faded lettering and was thoroughly unimpressed.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just ask your boss for a new weapon,” he said for the hundredth time since they’d started the impromptu detour. “Seems a lot easier than going out of your way to a podunk place like this.”

“Shock pistols aren’t manufactured en-masse,” the cop admitted. “They’re custom weaponry that only higher ranks like inspectors can have. I didn’t want to ask Barkley for a new one right after he gave me so much expensive equipment already, and it would have taken a while for them to ship a new one, anyway.”

“What about a regular gun, then? Doesn’t Interpol have those?”

“They do…” Her lips thinned. “I just don’t like using them.”

“...Right.” He gave the storefront another once-over, then turned to look at her holster where her broken pistol was tucked safely away. “So, what makes you think some random tech guy can salvage a mess like that?”

“You'll see.”

Inspector Fox pushed open the door to let them both inside. A little bell overhead chimed in response, but no one was actually at the desk to greet them. The counters behind the desk were covered in dismantled machinery – phones, laptops, kitchen appliances, and a million other things Sly couldn’t identify. The one intact computer sitting on the desk had a screensaver of a little green turtle head bouncing aimlessly off the edges of the screen.

There was a wall offering various tech and accessories, so the raccoon wandered over that way. “Great customer service. Really selling me on this place.”

“Oh, shush.” She stepped up to the counter and rang the service bell. “Hello? Anyone home?”

A large pink hippo in a gray uniform shirt poked his head out of one of the back doorways. His eyes widened and a big goofy grin grew on his face as he recognized the person who had called for him.

“Hi Miss Fox!”

“Hi, Murray,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “Is Bentley here? I could really use his help.”

The hippo nodded emphatically. “Yeah! I’ll go get him right now for you!”

He disappeared from sight again, and she gave Sly a smug look, who only shrugged and went back to studying the wall of stuff. It was a bizarre mix, really – half of what was on sale looked brand new, state of the art and built for the latest tech trends, while the other half looked like it had been lifted from a RadioShack in the eighties. Even if the single camera he’d noted in one ceiling corner was just for show, nothing here was really worth taking. Not for his needs, anyway.

There was a clatter as Murray bounded back out from his hiding place, followed by a tiny turtle with giant spectacles and a little red bowtie over his shirt that matched his coworker’s. He climbed onto the chair across the desk from where the cop stood and only gave Sly a brief glance.

“Hello, Inspector Fox. It’s been a while,” he said in the most nasally voice the raccoon had ever heard. “Is your computer having issues again?”

“No. I’m here for something else today.” She lifted her ruined shock pistol and placed it carefully onto the counter.

Bentley’s mouth fell open. “What did you do to it?”

“Work-related. It was overloaded with electricity, but I can’t really share any more details than that,” she hurriedly dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“I can…certainly try.” The turtle picked it up by the handle between two fingers, as if afraid it might explode. “You know, every time I think I’ve seen every way someone can destroy their tech, you always manage to surprise me.”

“I will take that as a compliment!” She shot a glare at Sly when he snorted. “So, how long will you need?”

“A few hours at least. And that’s if I already have all the parts to replace anything damaged beyond repair. Otherwise, it could be anywhere between a few days to a few weeks.”

The inspector grimaced and shook her head. “If you can’t fix it within the day, don’t bother. It would be faster to get a new one.”

“Alright.” His gaze flickered over to the raccoon, who stared back impassively. “I’ll, uh, give you a call when I know for sure what the time estimate will be.”

“Thanks, Bentley.”

As they left the store together, Sly met Murray’s curious gaze. The hippo gave him a smile as wide as he had Inspector Fox, and Sly couldn’t help but give an awkward attempt at one back.

“Well, it looks like we have some time to kill,” he said the moment the doors swung closed behind them. “What’s the plan while we wait?”

She chewed her lip. “I need to figure out which member of the Five to go after first. And you still haven’t given me that evidence yet, Ringtail.”

“I will, don’t worry. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t high-tail it out of that apartment and leave me stranded.”

The two of them got back in her car, and the fox gave him a long, searching stare. “You’re really going through with this, huh.”

It wasn’t entirely a question. He’d let his emotions slip a little more than he’d wanted the other night, and she had seen his conviction because of it. Even so, he’d had a day and a half since then to think over his decision to rub shoulders with a cop – one from Interpol, no less – and although he had plenty of misgivings, Sly still believed it was his best option for now.

He might know where most of the Five were holed up these days, but that would only get him so far on his own. She had resources, and a seemingly genuine interest in seeing justice served, and it would be so much easier to let her blaze through their hideouts and move stealthily in the chaos she created than trying to break in by himself – especially once they realized he hadn’t been arrested like the rest of Muggshot’s goons. The last place they would ever expect to find him was at the side of the cop who was out to bust them all.

And, after seeing how she had miraculously won a one-on-one battle against the bulldog, he almost dared to believe that he’d be safe with her even if they did find him.

“Yeah, I am,” he answered, honest for once in his life, before pulling out the precious information she so desperately wanted. “Here. For your peace of mind.”

The cop grabbed them and began reading immediately. Her lips moved without sound as she did so; it was a small, almost endearing detail that made his mouth twitch just a little bit upwards.

“These are emails,” she finally said in hushed excitement. “Emails between some of the Five. Muggshot, Sir Raleigh, and Mz. Ruby. But…why would he print them out?”

Because they always wipe their communications but Muggshot has the memory of a gnat, he didn’t say out loud. “Probably because he doesn’t know how to tell the difference between print’ and ‘delete’. You’ve met the guy.”

Inspector Fox hummed, only half listening. Her nose was buried in papers. Sly had already read them while waiting on the roof of her motel, and he knew what she was going to find. He pulled the car seat back until it was nearly horizontal, flipped his hood up over his eyes, and laid his linked hands behind his head like he was going to take a nap.

“The most recent communications are between Muggshot and Mz. Ruby,” she mumbled to herself, “from the same day that I busted him. And the ones between him and Sir Raleigh are from two weeks ago. That’s interesting.”

“Mhm.”

“They all seem to be talking about the same thing,” the fox continued, in a slow, thoughtful tone. “Some kind of special package they’d been ferrying back and forth. Raleigh to Muggshot, and then Muggshot to Mz. Ruby.”

Sly stared at the tiny threadbare stitching of the inside of his hood.

“But…” She tapped a line on the page. “It looks like the latter two settled on a transfer date that’s still another week away. Whatever they were smuggling between them, it never made it to the alligator before Muggshot was arrested.”

He was so still he was barely breathing. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I wonder what that package was. These emails are so vague, all I can really tell is that it was probably fragile and priceless, and with all the stolen stuff we found in his penthouse, almost anything could fall under those categories.”

“Well, no use getting our tails in a twist over something they’re never going to get their hands on again,” Sly said, a little curter than he meant to.

She shifted next to him, obviously surprised by his blunt brush off, but then went back to reading without saying anything about it. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the cop straightened in her seat.

“We’ve got locations!” She exclaimed. “The last transfer point was in Wales, and the next scheduled one is supposed to be in Haiti. That must be where Raleigh and Mz. Ruby are hiding out right now. I wonder what kind of awful schemes they’re involved in. Everyone had been speculating that the Five had gone into hiding in some kind of criminal retirement, but these clearly indicate otherwise.”

“I dunno a single thing about any of that, but between Wales and Haiti, I vote we go to Haiti first.”

“Why Haiti?”

The raccoon finally lifted the fabric from his eyes to look sideways at her. “Two reasons. Number one is that Haiti is way closer to the States than Wales is, and if Mz. Ruby hasn’t heard about Muggshot’s arrest by next week, then you have a chance to catch her at the exact time and place she’s planning to make that exchange with him.”

An exact time and place he was going to avoid like the plague if he could help it.

“Number two is that Mz. Ruby has premonition. The longer you leave her out there, the more likely she’ll look into the future, see her own arrest and disappear, or see her partners’ arrests and warn them to disappear. Then you’re screwed either way.”

“That’s true, but –” she paused suddenly, and narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Wait. How do you know about Mz. Ruby’s powers?”

“Are you kidding? It’s one of the things she’s most famous for besides literally summoning the undead. Just because Interpol has its special top-secret info doesn’t mean some stuff doesn’t reach public knowledge.”

Sly held her gaze without blinking until she backed down with an acknowledging nod. Her wariness was frustrating but understandable, especially because of how she wasn’t wrong to have it.

Just for all the wrong reasons.

“Okay. Haiti, then.” Inspector Fox pulled out a tiny notebook from her jacket’s front pocket and began scribbling down notes as she scanned the printed emails again. “That’s going to be about a long flight, so I need to book plane tickets for the earliest possible flight I can find for two people.”

He must have let something show on his face about that, because she huffed and gave him an impatient look.

“What now?”

“Nothing. I just – I didn’t think we’d be flying.” As soon as it left his mouth, he regretted it. She stared at him like he was an idiot.

“How else are we supposed to get there, Ringtail?” She asked sarcastically. “By car?”

“No. I just…I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t have to be crappy about it.”

The cop began to open her mouth again, and he just knew she was going to pry into things she had no business knowing. With an irritated sigh, Sly readjusted his seat into something actually vertical again so he could be level with her in more ways than one.

“I’m just not the biggest fan of flying, alright?”

The sharp retort prepared on her tongue vanished in the wake of confusion. “You’re not? How come?”

“Consider it a phobia. It paralyzes me.”

She squinted at him. He met her eyes without hiding anything. The truth was the truth, and he could see her defensiveness easing away as she realized it.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can get you something to help. Over the counter anxiety meds, maybe.”

The raccoon let out an audible snort. “Nothing short of Klonopin is going to help me with that. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Before the inspector could respond to that, her cell phone suddenly went off. She answered it immediately albeit with a sharp glance his way, as if to say their conversation was far from over.

“Hello? Oh! Bentley, thanks for calling back, I – okay. Okay. But you – you can? Great! Thank you so much! Yes, we’ll come back later.”

Sly picked at the seams of his gloves, waiting patiently until the fox ended the call.

“He says most of the damage was in the charge port, and he has the spare parts for it,” she told him the moment she hung up. “But it’s going to take the rest of the day even if he skips the other projects that were in line before mine.”

“All day, huh? Pretty sure we’ll have figured out a route to Haiti way before then. That’s a lot of time to kill.”

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Not for me. I have to check in with my superiors about my plan to go after Mz. Ruby first, and get an update on the evidence they’ve been sorting through from the bust on Muggshot. If there’s any new information about his cohorts, I need to know as soon as possible.”

“Sounds…fun.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The cop gave him a particular look that he decidedly didn’t like. “But it’s all confidential, and I can’t risk you eavesdropping on my phone calls again.”

“I thought we’d already established that it wasn’t actually eavesdropping if your boss was yelling so loud I could hear him across the room.”

“Regardless,” she continued, irritation seeping into her voice, “you can’t be around me for that. I’m not risking it happening again.”

Sly sat up straighter in his seat, not liking at all where this was going. “What, so you’re just going to kick me out of the car for the next six, seven hours ‘til you’re done? What am I supposed to do – sit on the curb with my chin in my hands all day?”

Inspector Fox began working her jaw; a tic he was starting to notice meant she was deep in thought instead of merely frustrated. Her eyes drifted up and down his hoodie.

“How prepared are you for a long-term trip?”

And that was how Sly found himself standing in front of a general merchandise store, watching his cop companion drive away, with the two-hundred US dollars she’d handed him in his pocket and explicit instructions to buy everything he needed for travel.

It didn’t bother him that she could tell he didn’t have many belongings to his name – the fact that he was still wearing the same clothes nearly two days after they’d first met had probably clued her in – but it did bother him that she seemed to think he didn’t have any money. It made sense, because to her he was just a civilian who’d probably been robbed and then captured by Muggshot’s men, but it still smarted his ego as a thief.

With a huff, the raccoon entered the store, grabbed a shopping cart, and made a beeline for the aisle with portable suitcases. Then he made a beeline for the clothing section.

It had been a long time since he’d been able to pick out things for himself. Clothes were always a necessity provided for him by the Five, and only when his previous stuff was starting to get threadbare. A few new shirts, and pants, and a pair of shoes if they were feeling generous. The hoodie he was wearing was courtesy of being stuck in stormy Wales for nearly a month before he’d come to Mesa, because as much as Raleigh hated spending money on the “orphan waif”, he hated having to deal with a sick orphan waif even more.

Even with his newfound freedom, Sly found himself following the same patterns he’d been forced to follow for over half his life; three shirts, three pairs of pants, and a single new pair of shoes were all he put in his cart. He only realized what he was doing when he compared the amount of clothes to the size of the suitcase he’d chosen. There was still far too much space left even if he added his backpack and what he was wearing.

That realization prickled his fur and made his cheeks burn, and so he doubled back and forced himself to pick another two of each despite the voice in his head screaming that he was being greedy for it.

Next up were toiletries.

The raccoon’s toothbrush was already safely tucked away in a side pocket on his backpack, something he’d always done just in case there was ever a chance for him to make a break for it, but everything else had been left behind when he’d been unexpectedly forced out of his room. He began pulling things off the shelves at random as he saw them – toothpaste, shampoo, a fur brush, nail clippers, a pack of razors, and so on and so forth. At one point he passed a jumbo first aid kit and added that to the growing pile as well, knowing that if he got hurt, he would have to rely on himself instead of the cop. She probably didn’t even know how to properly pack a stab wound; much less reset a broken bone or build a makeshift splint.

After that…Sly wasn’t really sure what came after that.

Inspector Fox had promised to be back to pick him up in a few hours, but he still had quite a lot of time to kill. He’d already gotten all the essentials he needed, and there was really nothing else to get that wasn’t wasting space and money.

For a brief minute he toyed with the idea of swinging by the pharmacy and swiping someone’s anxiety prescription meds if he could find something strong enough to last him the upcoming plane ride he was already dreading, but quickly nixed the thought. That was a particularly scummy thing to do even with his skewed ideals. He’d just have to suck it up.

He ended up wandering store aisles, looking at things that held no interest or use to him. So many frivolous, stupid things that people bought. Why buy a toaster and a toaster oven? Why get more than one bed spread unless you absolutely needed a new one? Why spend money on three different kinds of the same food?

Muggshot and Raleigh both loved to do things like that. Sly had lost count of how many times he’d watched the frog import wine worth thousands of Pounds a bottle, or the bulldog order glitzy chandeliers to hang from the ceiling of every room he spent more than an hour in. As a kid who had lived middle class until the night his world was shattered, it had confused him. As an adult who had spent the last eleven years surviving off what little he could get, it infuriated him.

At least Inspector Fox didn’t seem to be like that. Her accommodations were cramped, and a little dingy, but he would take it over glittering fakeness any day of the week. Well, except for maybe that shiny red convertible. That thing stuck out like a sore thumb and he very much hoped she’d ditch it before getting any further in this case.

Something caught his eye in the electronics section.

It was a digital camera, small enough to fit in his hoodie’s front pocket, advertised for taking quality pictures for scrapbooking needs and family vacations. SD card and charger port sold separately but at a bargain, it claimed, and the raccoon didn’t realize how long he’d been looking at it until he noticed an employee approaching him from the corner of his eye.

“That’s a really nice camera,” the deer said, giving him a smile perfected for customer service. “Are you interested? I can take it out of the case for you.”

Sly looked at them, then at the price tag. Two-hundred dollars with all the added accessories. He had nearly four-thousand from what he’d swiped from Muggshot. This would barely put a dent in that. But it still made him hesitate.

Greedy little thing, hissed the voice in his head, a familiar croak with a British accent. Always asking for more than you deserve.

“Yeah, actually, I am interested,” he said louder than necessary, ignoring the weird look the employee gave him as a result. “I’d love to buy it.”

What was he even going to use a camera for? No idea. But it shut up the stupid voice in his head for the time being and that was all that mattered.

When Inspector Fox pulled up to the sidewalk twenty minutes later in her dumb fancy car, Sly was waiting for her with a mostly-full suitcase, turning the camera over and over in his hands. She helped him load his luggage into the trunk alongside her own and all the strange cop stuff she had – was that a jetpack? – and appeared to be distracted by something that she didn't share.

“Why don’t we get something to eat?” She suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

They ordered takeout and ate in her car instead of inside, at her request. It was quiet for a few minutes as she seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

“How’d your check-in go?” He asked after a while, surprising them both that he was the one to break the silence first.

“Good. It was good.” She hesitated. “They haven’t found anything useful for my case, though. Just stuff to help put Muggshot away for a very long time. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

“’S fine. I’m not really interested in all that cop mumbo-jumbo, anyway.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be.” There was another heavy pause as she studied him.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Sly…” The use of his first name made him tense. “Did you…”

The inspector stopped, took a deep breath, and steepled her fingers together. The look on her face was pinched and intense.

“I think we need to clear the air before this goes any further.”

Sly slowly brought his fork down from his mouth and eyed her cautiously. There were only a few things that would warrant a statement like that, and all of them made him nervous. “Uh, okay. You have something specific in mind?”

“A few questions.”

“Ask away,” he said, leaning back in his seat as nonchalantly as he could manage. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay. First question, then – you said you didn’t live in Mesa. Where do you live?” Before he could open his mouth, she gave him a sharp look. “Honest answer, Sly. I want to know.”

The raccoon tapped one finger against his thigh, thinking for a moment. “Honest answer? I don’t have a place.”

Her brows furrowed together in an expression he couldn’t read. “You’re homeless?”

“I mean, I’d personally describe it as ‘between homes’ right now, but…yeah. Essentially.”

The strange look morphed into something that he definitely recognized as pity. He would have challenged it if not for wanting very much to keep his cool as she worked through…whatever it was on her mind.

“But you don’t live in Mesa.”

“Nope. Was just passing through. Really unlucky timing on my part, I guess.”

“Fair enough. Second question – do you have any family you could go back to?”

Sly blinked. “No. I don’t.”

“Any living relatives at all?” She pressed. “People who will worry about where you are or what happens to you?”

“Does it look like I do?” He snapped, tail curling around his ankle. “What’s with the twenty questions all of a sudden, huh? Having second thoughts about this whole thing?”

The cop held up her hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean to dredge up anything! I just wanted to make sure this is really something you want to do.”

“I’ve already told you twice that it was.”

“You did,” she conceded. “You’re right, you did.”

“What’s this really about, Inspector? You were just fine this morning and now it sounds more like you’re trying to come up with an excuse to get me off your back. Did –”

A thought occurred to him.

“…Did you tell your boss about this deal of ours? Did he tell you to ditch me, or persuade me to quit?”

She shifted uncomfortably, clearly called out, and a spike of icy fear shot straight through Sly’s heart.

“What did you say?” He demanded. “What did you say about me?”

“Nothing specific,” she was quick to say, watching him in that very peculiar way again. “I told Bar – my superior that I had found a civilian consultant who could help me get to my next target faster than expected. I didn’t tell him your name, or your species, or anything else. But I had to tell him I was traveling with someone, Sly!”

“Why? Is he your dad? Got a curfew you gotta follow, too?”

“He’s my boss, Ringtail. I have to be transparent in this profession or else no one would trust me. I know you have a weird – thing about the police, but I promise you I didn’t share anything that you didn’t consent to.”

He had most certainly not consented to being put on Interpol’s radar, but he kept that rebuke clamped down under an angry locked jaw. He should have expected this from someone like her; of course she would be as by-the-book as possible. The raccoon folded his arms and pointedly stared out the front windshield.

“What did he have to say about your little escort?”

“To do a background check on you and make sure you knew the danger you were getting into,” she told him. “So here I am, trying to do both before dragging you out of the country on a wild goose chase.”

He wondered if she’d tried to do a formal search on any raccoons named Sly. If she had, he knew without a single doubt that she would not have found anything.

“You want a background check? I’ll give you a background check.”

“That’s not –” she started to say, but he cut her off hard.

“I have no living relatives. My parents died when I was young and I’ve been on my own ever since.” He pulled his forged passport out of his backpack and flashed it just enough so she could see what it was but not the full name on it. “I can travel globally anywhere I want. You can do a search on me but you won’t find anything because I don’t have a criminal record. I don’t have any ties to any family, or friends, or anything in this country, so you don’t have to feel bad about ‘dragging’ me along.”

“Sly –”

“And since you’re wondering how I got those emails – because I know you’re wondering – I got them well before you saved me. I went snooping around in Muggshot’s casino while he was clearing out the locals and stumbled onto them right before those mutts you met came across me. They decided that I needed a full tour of their handiwork of the city since I obviously wasn’t scared enough of them and they were too fucking stupid to actually search my backpack because I gave them all the money I had on me when they demanded it.”

Inspector Fox was staring at him with wide eyes. He kept his chin held high.

“Well?” The raccoon challenged. “What do you have to say to that, Inspector?”

Her body seemed to catch up to her brain, because she suddenly leaned forward and locked her gaze with his, searching for deception. He didn’t even flinch.

“…Okay,” she finally conceded, backing down both physically and mentally. “Okay. Thank you, Sly. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, but I appreciate the honesty. Honesty is important if we’re going to work together for the foreseeable future.”

It was a foreseeable future he was already starting to regret, but he wasn’t ever going to let her know that.

“Yeah, well…I’m just glad you’re satisfied. It’s not every day I spill my guts like that, especially to –”

“To cops. I know.” She finished for him, and there wasn’t as much annoyance over the barb as he would have expected. “You’re starting to get predictable, Ringtail.”

“Am not,” he grumbled, without quite as much bite in his voice. The confrontation had drained all his energy and left him tired more than anything else. “So did you get a flight planned out, or were you too busy gossiping about me?”

“Yes and no. I was mostly setting up hotel accommodations and making contact with the local Haitian police so we could jump right into work once we get there.” She checked her phone. “We’ve still got another hour to kill before Bentley estimated he’d be done, so there’s plenty of time to look at flights.”

“Great. I can’t think of anything more fun than that.”

---------------------------------  

At 5 PM on the dot, with a route established and a flight to catch the next day – which Sly was pointedly not going to think about until he absolutely had to – the two of them reentered Wiseturtle Tech to see Bentley putting the finishing touches on the now-fixed shock pistol. Murray was sitting on a stool nearby to watch him work, idly swinging his legs and making the seat rotate back and forth.

Both employees looked up at the jingle of the doorbell, and both waved. Inspector Fox returned the greeting while Sly just nodded his head.

“I’m almost done, I swear,” the turtle mumbled as he went right back to crossing wires. “I just want to be sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Take your time,” she replied. “I’d rather you triple-check everything than rush a job.”

Her eyes trailed over to the wall of tech, then to Sly, then back. She grabbed his hand very suddenly, startling him.

“Come over here,” the fox said, leading him towards a row of simple flip phones. When he looked between them and her with a raised eyebrow, she sighed as if greatly inconvenienced. “Pick out a burner phone.”

“Why?”

“Since it’s clear we’re doing this together, we’ll need a way to communicate in case we ever get separated, and something tells me you don’t already have one of these.”

He gave her a flat stare, but she carefully avoided looking at him or any aspect of his appearance by gesturing to the electronics instead.

“Go on. It’d make me feel a lot better if I’m going to take you with me.”

Rolling his eyes without any heat behind it, the raccoon picked the cheapest one he could find. The thought of picking a more expensive one since she was paying for it popped up for about half a second, but he squashed it right away. There wasn’t any point in taking advantage of her generosity and potentially making her resent him.

Greedy, hissed Raleigh.

Sly gritted his teeth and practically slammed the phone onto the counter, making Bentley jump and Inspector Fox give him a disapproving look.

“I’ll take this one, please,” he said to the hippo, who had scampered back to his post as an actual employee so he could ring them up for their charges.

“Is this your first ever phone?” Murray asked, sounding strangely excited about the concept.

“Maybe,” he answered warily, watching out of the corner of his eye as Inspector Fox pulled her wallet out while Bentley handed her the fixed shock pistol. “Why?”

“Can I be your first phone number?”

Sly swiveled to look at him, confused. “Uh…why? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Well, sure, but – I mean, the first number in your phone should be someone you can rely on, right? And you can always rely on us to help, no matter the problem!” The hippo started playing with his hands, gaze dropping to the ground. “And – and it’s just…you seem like a really cool guy, too.”

That was…not anything he’d expected to hear at all. Sly blinked, completely caught off guard by the compliment and its sincerity, and didn’t immediately respond.

“...Sure,” he finally said, if only because Murray was starting to wilt like a dying flower as the seconds ticked by without an answer. “I don’t see why not.”

He doubted he’d ever call the guy, or even remember he had his number, but there really wasn’t any harm in letting him plug it in, was there?

The hippo beamed at him, wasting no time in doing so, and then passed the phone along to Inspector Fox, who deftly did the same thing with her own number.

“There.” She handed it to him with a smile. “Now we’re both all set.”

Sly watched her set her fixed weapon back into its holster, and thumbed the new device that was now hiding in his hoodie pocket right next to the camera. “Guess we are.”

“Thanks again, Bentley! And you too, Murray.” The fox waved goodbye to them, and this time the raccoon did the same.

“Bye! Don’t be a stranger!” Murray called after them enthusiastically. His turtle coworker watched them go with a pinched, pensive brow.

The moment they were outside, Inspector Fox pulled her pistol out to weigh it in her hands. She seemed satisfied by whatever she felt, because it went right back where it was supposed to without any further fanfare.

Sly watched her, still feeling the weight of the phone on his person. He’d never had a phone before. He’d never needed one before.

“Okay,” she said, turning to him, and all the levity she’d shown in the tech shop disappeared under determination and anticipation. “Next stop: Haiti.”

“Right.” He could do this. He was ready for this.

“Right after a six-hour flight.”

“.......Right.”

Or maybe not.

---------------------------------   

---------------------------------  

A/N: Transitional chapter is important but still a transition. Hopefully a cameo by our favorite boys makes up for it!

A few notes on this one: 1) I did not mean for Sly to get so hostile near the end there. It was just supposed to be Carmelita questioning him to put her many misgivings to rest, but he apparently decided to take it personally and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise lol.

2) I've always had the headcanon that Sly enjoys photography either because of or separately from doing so much recon. It's such a neat hobby and I feel like it fits his introverted nature. We'll just have to see whether he uses the camera in this verse.

3) It was very fun (and kinda sad) to think up what life might have been like for Bentley and Murray if they had never crossed paths with Sly. While I do think he's the glue that pushed them all together, it's still very likely that the more "mundane" versions of them may have still built lives working with each other. Here specifically, Bentley is the tech guy and Murray helps him with deliveries and heavy lifting. Even so, they've both always felt like something was still missing...

Once again, thank you for reading!

[matchagator]

Blind Tiger - Kim Taehyung One Shot

Blind Tiger Pt. 1 | Blind Tiger Pt. 2

{Main Pairings:} Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Angst

{Summary:} Constant late hours in the office leads to turmoil in your relationship and growing suspicions of infidelity. How does it play out when confrontations lead to a night out in a hidden speakeasy?

{Warnings:} Alcohol, Themes of Infidelity, Grinding, Kissing Strangers, Heartbreak, Angst, Language

The distant hum of the living room television echoes through your ear drums as you focus your attention onto your grandma’s vintage grandfather clock. Your mind momentarily wanders back to the day you saved it from getting sold at the estate sale your family held after her passing. You are thankful to still have something of hers to comfort you during the lonely evenings in your apartment. You notice it’s almost a quarter past eight, the dinner you prepared is slowly cooling as the unoccupied dining room table haunts you with the reality of another meal gone bad. 

A long drawn out sigh escapes your lips as the slow rhythmic ticking of the clock gears 

 remind you that your boyfriend should’ve been back from work hours ago, leaving your anxieties to plummet into suspicions of his whereabouts. Your fingers gently tap against the LED display of your cell phone, the screen illuminating the atmosphere as you maneuver through the apps to find your voicemail.

The name on the screen causes a wave of sorrow to crash into you as Taehyung’s name reminds you of his delays. You hesitate as your fingers hover over his contact, wondering if you should click on the message once again to analyze the intention behind his voice. 

Click. 

“Hey, I'm gonna be a little late today. I got held up in a meeting again. I’ll be home for dinner.” 

The inexpressive tone of Taehyung’s voice serves as a reminder of just how often these types of voicemails end up flooding your inbox. I’ll be home for dinner, he said. You huff in annoyance as you glance towards the plates of untouched pasta gracing your dining room table. “So much for dinner.” 

A sickening feeling plagues the pit of your stomach as you swallow back the harsh reality of his possible whereabouts. Was he cheating on you? Was this his not-so subtle way of letting you know that he moved onto someone else? For a moment, the fear of him being injured in a car accident flashes through your mind, only for you to toss the notion aside given Taehyung made a nasty habit of arriving late. 

Pushing your insecurities aside, you gently stand from the soft comfort of your lounge chair, moving to retrieve the plates off the table in your best effort to reheat tonight’s meal. Your feet glide against the vinyl floors of your apartment, manipulating the dials on the oven in an attempt to salvage the effort you put into Taehyung’s favorite concoction. 

You let your worries fade as you turn your attention back on the television screen, glancing across the open concept design of your living space to focus on the latest news. Your hands work meticulously to scrape the wooden spoon against the plates, letting the remnants plop into the casserole dish as you swiftly place it back into the oven to reheat. You end up spotting a few dirty dishes peeking from the sink, knowing it would be the perfect task to preoccupy your racing thoughts. 

The warm water and suds aid in soothing your body as you become hyper focused on making sure all of the cups and silverware sparkled clean. Luckily, your tiresome worries end when a click of the door and the shuffling of clothes breaks you from your daze. 

“Taehyung?” Your voice is hushed as you process the manner in which you want to address him. Should you be concerned? Angry? Surely, he needs to explain himself for having such disregard towards you. 

He finally emerges from around the corner, still dressed in his work attire with his dark hair slicked back to aid in his professional appearance. His dress slacks hang deliciously on his hips as he adjusts the tie that was constricting around his neck. He tugs the fabric gently, shifting it from side to side as it loosens from his frame, allowing him more comfort. He turns his attention to the cuffs of his button-down shirt, undoing the fastener before rolling up his sleeves to expose the majority of his forearm. 

You couldn’t fight off your exasperation any longer, pressing your palms against your hips as your eyes narrowed in his direction. “Care to explain yourself?” You huff, your patience running thin after seeing his casual strides as if he wasn’t close to four hours late. 

“I left you a message.” He spoke plainly, no hint of emotion as he walks directly past you to retrieve a beer from inside the fridge. Was he actually serious right now? 

“Yeah, I got it. What happened to being home for dinner?” You protest, refusing to stand down from the bubbling irritation threatening to overflow. 

You hear a soft groan escape his lips, watching as he rolls his head back with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. The frustration was vividly plastered over his features as he shut the fridge with a loud thump. You could tell he was desperately trying to avoid another argument, something the pair of you had become way too familiar with in the past weeks. He was holding back from speaking his mind, moving to place his beer down on the counter beside him. 

“You’re right.” You couldn’t believe the words that cascade from his lips as he swiftly moves to wrap his arm around your torso, his fingers sprawled against your back as you felt your body crash against his. “I should’ve called again.” His voice is a seductive whisper as he leans in to ghost his breath against the shell of your ear, leaving a chill to crawl up your spine at his electrifying touch. “Let me make it up to you.” 

His palm slides down the fabric of your clothing as you feel it approach the small of your back, flirting dangerously low as his sights become hyper focused on squeezing the plump cheeks of your ass between his large hands. While your body relishes the heat of his touch, your mind couldn’t get past the worries of his previous whereabouts. 

Despite your desires to fall into his embrace, you step back, pressing your palms against his firm chest as you shoot him an unforgiving stare. “Are you serious? I wasted four hours waiting on you.” Your voice is harsher than you expect, watching his arousal shrink before you as he turns his attention back to his beer. “I had other shit to do.”

The sudden pop of the beer cap causes you to flinch slightly as you watch Taehyung lift the bottle to his lips. You pretend not to be mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as the cooled alcohol trickles down his throat, his satisfied gasp draws your attention back from your lustful daze as he breaks free from his chug. 

You can feel the tension in his body as he presses forward, invading any sense of personal space you have remaining as his narrow stare pins you against a metaphorical wall. The intensity behind his gaze reminds you just how intimidating he was underneath his undeniably handsome features. “Don’t let me get in your way.” His dominant tone only fuels the fire blazing in your heart as you chew the flesh on the inside of your cheek to withhold from retaliating. 

Taehyung made his way towards the living room, facing the reality of another night spent with himself instead of with the woman he chose to come home to every night. The past few weeks caused turmoil as his late shifts sparked doubts in your subconscious about your relationship. While you felt untrusting of the man that inhabited your bed, he felt distant, lacking the sexual gratification he desired from his partner. His busy shifts and your anxieties only cause more hostility, leaving you both pondering another night in the absence of each other’s company. 

You watch as Taehyung sinks comfortably into the armchair, kicking his legs up to enjoy some television as you venture towards the bathroom . This night was just as disastrous as the last, leaving you with no other choice but to wash away your building sorrows in the comfort of a warm shower. 

—

The rich nutty scent of coffee wafts through the small cafe on the opposite side of the street from your apartment. The familiar smooth jazz music creates a relaxing familiar ambience as you glance over the overhead menu. The gentle chatter of voices surrounds the environment as you glance through the selections, debating on attempting something new or settling for your usual order. 

“Hey, Y/N. Good to see you.” A familiar barista waves you down with a warm smile as the customer ahead of you stepped to the side after completing their order. Your lips pull into a friendly smile as you step forward, eager for your fill of daily caffeine. “A small Iced Americano, right?” The perky blonde practically bounced with each step as she shifts to her side to grab a small cup from the display beside her. 

“Yup, you got it.” You admit, knowing that you ultimately end up ordering your typical drink selection; something this barista seemed to pick up on. Your eyes glance over the gloss enamel of her nametag, figuring that if she put in the effort to remember your name, you might as well return the favor. “Thanks, Brittney.” 

“My pleasure. That’ll be $2.46.” Her voice was friendly and welcoming, a clear indication that she enjoyed her early shifts at the cafe, eager to serve guests and provide excellent service. It was a nice change from the usual bland greetings of the other baristas. A few taps on your phone screen allow you to pull up your apple wallet, tapping your device against the payment terminal as a low chime indicates a successful transaction. 

“Have a good day!” You return a nod alongside similar well wishes as you move towards the pickup counter in the back of the establishment, your eyes dropping back to your phone screen as you eagerly seek out the possibility of a text from Taehyung. The lack of notifications causes your smile to fade, thoughts of the turmoil in your relationship resurfacing as you tuck the device into the back pocket of your jeans. 

Your gaze returns to the employees behind the counter manipulating a variety of espresso machines, coffee grinders, and milk frothers as you watch them work diligently to fulfill the orders of each awaiting customer. Their movements seem delayed as your mind wanders back to the previous evening, recalling the animosity that filled your bed as yourself and Taehyung slept on opposite ends of your king sized bed, turned away from one another as if you were both trying to make a point to the other. 

You end up dwelling on the fact that he didn’t even kiss you goodbye before embarking on his daily commute to work, leaving you with an empty feeling of abandonment that just didn’t sit right. You want nothing more than to call him and get him to come home, eager for a night tucked into the comfort of his embrace. However, the chilling reality of his late nights and vague explanations for his whereabouts only spark fears of infidelity. 

The sudden jolt of hands gripping your shoulders causes a squeak of surprise to escape your lips as you spin against your heel to locate the cause of the disturbance. You sigh as your eyes settle upon the familiar smile of your best friend, Jimin, thankful for the radiant smile beaming back at you. 

A playful chuckle escapes his lips from the success of spooking you once again, something he often attempted as he moves to wrap his arms around your torso, hugging you to his chest. You roll your eyes, gently slapping him against the arm as you turn your attention back to the baristas. “Seriously, Jimin?” You groan, unable to help the giggle that bubbles in your throat. 

“Hey, It’s not my fault you’re such a scaredy cat.” Jimin teases, gently bumping his shoulder against yours to throw you off balance. 

“I’m not a scaredy cat.” You begin to protest, seeing him give you a questioning glare before you decide to give up on your task of defending your honor. 

He chuckles once again before an iced americano was placed against the pick up counter. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

“Iced Americano for Y/N.” You gently lean forward to grab your coffee, making quick work to grab a straw before turning to face Jimin. 

You start making your way towards a booth nestled towards the back wall of the cafe, sliding into the cushioned seat as the dim lighting fixture above you provides a tranquil glow to match the relaxing soundscape of the location. Jimin smoothly slides into the seat across from you, lacing his fingers together and placing his palms on the counter as if awaiting important news. “So? You said you needed to talk. What’s up?” 

The joy you felt from Jimin’s presence seemed to drift away as a wave of all of your anxieties crash against you, your facial expressions pulling into a subconscious pout that was vividly displayed for your best friend to witness. 

“Hey, Y/N? What is it?” He could see the rosy tint of your cheeks become a pale complexion of worry, his muscles tensing up in discomfort at the sight of you so visibly upset. 

You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth, gently gnawing at the flesh as you nervously decide whether to share the recent developments of your relationship, fearing that if you were to speak your worries, they would somehow become true. “Taehyung.” It was the only word you managed to speak as the reality of your thoughts sent a chill down your spine. “I think Taehyung’s…I think he’s sleeping around.” 

Silence falls across your booth as Jimin stares at you with wide eyes. “What? Like cheating?” He gapes, stunned to hear the words leave your lips. You and Taehyung had been together for over a year and this was the first he ever heard of any complications in your relationship. 

Over the past few months, your time together significantly decreased given that you had accepted a new position at your job, requiring you to work on the days you typically had off together. Meanwhile, Taehyung received a promotion, which in turn suspiciously turned into multiple recurring late night delays, and sudden business trips on the weekends. The changes in your careers caused your quality time to diminish, leaving you both hungry for the other’s attention and affection. 

Recently Taehyung spent most of his time at the office, leaving for his commute early in the morning and returning late at night only to relax for an hour or so before going to sleep to start it all over again the next day. Where was he spending all of his time when he wasn’t home or at work? Why was he always being so suspicious and shady about his whereabouts?

“He’s been supposedly working late almost every night these past two weeks.” You finally mutter out, sighing as you brush your palms against your face to settle the unease festering in your stomach. “He’s vague when I ask him about it and it’s just been very tense between us.” You blurt out, brushing your fingers through your hair as the relief of finally admitting it settles your stiff limbs. 

Jimin sits silently, processing the information as he imagines what could logically explain Taehyung’s absences and late evenings. “Have you talked to him about it? Maybe it’s a misunderstanding?” While Jimin was fully prepared to become the protective best friend, he also knew jumping to conclusions was one of your weaknesses. He knew your relationship with Taehyung was one that you both put in a lot of effort into, and he would hate to see it crumble based on worries and false suspicions. 

You simply shrug your shoulders, not even knowing where you would begin to address this topic with Taehyung. You felt like you knew each other better than anyone else in the world, yet somehow, he suddenly feels like a stranger with a possible dark secret looming over him. 

Jimin reaches his hand out across the table, taking your hand into his as he gently squeezes it reassuringly. “Y/N, just ask to talk to him when he gets home.” He offers a weak smile as he notices your eyes dropping to the dull lacquer of the tabletop. “If he is, I’ll kick his ass for it.” He adds, his smile fading to a more serious expression. “See what he has to say for himself first.” 

Jimin was right. Your worries caused you to jump to the worse case scenario without even giving him the benefit of the doubt. You owe him at least that, right? Maybe he was really stuck at meetings. That settles it, this evening, you were going to pull him aside and talk about what was going on. Before letting your anxiety cause your relationship to go up in flames, you figure it is best you allow Taehyung the opportunity to explain himself. “You’re right, I’m just being paranoid.” You nod, offering your own weak smile before turning your attention back to your beverage, leaning forward to take a sip of the bitter liquid before glancing back up at Jimin with a thankful expression. 

—

Don’t wait up for me. Caught up at work again. See you when I get home. 

You find yourself staring at your phone screen longer than you should be as you slowly digest the harsh reality of yet another delayed return home. Your eyes glance over to the infamous clock adorning your living room hallway, noticing it was slightly past six and Taehyung should’ve been home around five thirty. You let out a sarcastic chuckle, finding it almost amusing how predictable his absences have become. You run your tongue against the top row of your teeth, fighting off the anger that threatens to manifest itself as you pace the vinyl flooring of your apartment. 

One hour.

You desperately maintain your composure as you take the time to unwind from your day at work, pouring yourself a glass of red wine to help ease away the stress of the day.

Two hours.

It was becoming infuriating. The clock hands now display a quarter past eight as you try to fight with the darkest parts of your mind that desperately try to convince you that he was out cheating on you with some bimbo he stumbled across at work. 

That's when you recall the find my app on your iphone. You remembered how Taehyung asked for you to share your location one evening when you found yourself needing to stop for gas in a sketchy area of town. Ever since, you’ve both been able to check each other’s location using the app. You never had to, nor did either of you find it necessary since you always had amazing communication with each other. Suddenly, you are finding yourself doubting his whereabouts and the temptation of knowing his exact location was suffocating under any sense of privacy you are attempting to uphold. 

The thin wine glass balanced between the pads of your fingers as you gently swirl the remnants of the cup, sniffing the potent aroma of alcohol and grapes as you brought the nectar up to your lips to down your second glass. Your free hand taps against the screen of your phone as your hues hover over the application that would either ease your worries or confirm your fears. 

You teeter totter between the two alternatives, finishing the last drops of your wine as you bravely press the face of the application, watching as the screen loads your contacts and their current locations. Fear shot through your limbs as you sat up, placing the empty glass against the coffee table, hesitating in moving your eyes back to your phone screen. Surely, you would see his contact location downtown at the office. 

Taking a deep breath to coax any ounce of courage you have remaining, you lift your phone to examine the evidence displayed across the screen. Your irises focus on Taehyung’s contact image hovering over a suburban part of town that you aren’t very familiar with in the slightest. Your mind quickly scans through a variety of addresses of your close friends and family, coming up empty with anyone who would possibly reside in that specific part of town. 

Are you serious? Your fingers sprawl against the display, pinching at the screen as you zoom in on his contact for a closer look. You notice the formation of a neighborhood display on google maps, your worst fears are confirmed as his contact remains dormant on top of the specific house in question. 

You feel gutted. Completely betrayed. Taehyung was many things but never a cheater. You feel your vision turn red, your mind shutting down as your hand flings the device across the livingroom to land with a thud against the plush carpet dressing the vinyl floor. 

“Fucking asshole!” You curse out, letting yourself slide from the edge of the couch until you're tucked in between the sofa and the coffee table. Your arms instantly reach out to hug your knees close to your body, your face burying itself against your thighs as loud sobs reverberate deep inside your chest. Your vision hazes, blurring by the excessive amounts of tears pooling against your irises as the weight of your mentality spirals. 

You feel nauseous, completely sick to your stomach as the reality of his whereabouts haunts you. Flashes of your relationship plague your mind, recalling all of the sweet sunday morning cuddles that would morph into shameless sex; the countless date nights that would end in heartfelt discussions and promises of a future together. Those memories taunt you as you desperately gasp for air from the pressure weighing down on your chest. You are devastated, unaware of what to do or even what to say next. 

It takes awhile for your disbelief to settle, your emotions refusing to get hold of themselves until you’ve properly digested the betrayal. The only sound filling your apartment was the soft sniffles of your sorrow and the hum of the television in front of you. 

You gently push yourself up off of the floor, determined to have the last word in the fucked up situation that was suddenly presenting itself to you. You quickly stomp off towards the master bedroom, seeking out your suitcase from your closet, tossing it atop the bed with the impulsive intention of stuffing as many necessities as possible into the confinement of the bag with every intention of staying with Jimin. Why would you stay in the same apartment with someone who didn’t even have the decency to break things off with you instead of fucking with your feelings?

Your sorrows quickly morph into frustrations as you aggressively open your top drawer, preparing to pack your bags with t-shirts, toiletries, your laptop, and anything else you need for the week ahead. 

You freeze the moment your palms clutch the first shirt you pluck from the drawer, realizing that this apartment was leased under both of your names. If anyone deserved to leave, it was Taehyung.

You make eye contact with yourself on the vanity mirror of your dresser, seeing the enraged delusion behind your swollen eyes, realizing that you are letting the pain he caused get the best of you once again. You stop, forcing yourself to take a deep breath before cleaning up the compulsive mess you created, tucking your suitcase back in its rightful place deep within the walk-in closet. In that moment, you decide that you are going to confront him and show him how his actions wouldn’t break you and that you’d be able to handle this situation like any other person would. 

You took another calming breath, wiping away any traces of mascara from your eyes and cheeks before returning to the living room to await his return. 

As if perfectly on cue, the rumble of the lock clattering within Taehyung’s grip pulls your attention, watching as he enters the apartment with his suit jacket draped across his right arm. As he walks through the banister, his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of you with your arms crossed against your chest, awaiting his long overdue arrival. 

“Hey.” Taehyung scrunches his brow, surprise invading his dark irises as he peers in your direction. “Didn’t you get my text? I told you not to wait for me.” His voice was surprisingly soft, almost as if he felt remorse in his delayed return home. 

You feel your tongue instinctually rub against the outside of your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as you bite back the urge to tear into him with your pent up frustrations. “Oh, I got your message.” You hiss back, his eyes widening even more at the sour tone laced through your words. “Care to explain where you were?”

There was a clear look of agitation casting over his features as he turns to set his belongings down on the hall tree adoring the entryway. He drapes his jacket against one of the vacant hooks, passing both of his hands through his slicked-back hair atop his handsome physique. 

“Y/N…I already told you.” He groans, wishing he could simply sink into the sofa with you clawing at the opportunity to be by his side. All he wants is to come home and feel like you are the least bit happy for his return. Instead, he is forced to face constant nagging about his situation at work. He sighs as he moves in your direction, eager to pull your body close to his and melt away from the stress of the outside world. 

You blink as he approaches you, wanting to give into your desires and rush into his embrace. Luckily, your anxiety was the perfect reminder of the lies he spun, recalling how his location didn’t match the story he laid out for you about his absences. 

“You said you were at work.” You begin, refusing to lower your arms from shielding yourself from falling into his charm. “Please, do tell me Taehyung, why were you in Kingshill?” Your voice spits out a little more venom than you originally intended as you watch his features morph into complete bewilderment. You lean back on your left leg, propping out your hip as your eyes pierce into his hooded stare. “Last I checked, you work at Frostpoint, not Kingshill.” 

Taehyung's flabbergasted expression distorts into one of anger, his stare narrowing as you feel the intensity of his presence seeping from his pores. He presses his lips together, his palm balling into a fist around his phone as he takes a few steps in your direction. 

“Oh, so what? You’re checking my location now?” Taehyung’s deep tone sent a chill down your spine, leaving no room for you to doubt the vexation behind his words as he makes a point to step directly into your personal space. His nose practically brushes against yours as your proximity diminishes, causing you to break the sturdy stance you managed to maintain as you took a few steps back from his invasion. 

Despite the falter of your stance, you decide to stand your ground. “Who the fuck lives in Kingshill?” You’ve had it with the waiting games. At this point you already braved yourself for the worst and simply want him to admit his infidelities. 

“Is that it? You think I’m hooking up with someone?” Taehyung let a sarcastic chuckle escape his lips as he throws his hands up in exasperation. “Namjoon.” 

The trembling sensation causes by your sympathetic nervous system's natural reaction to run away or fight diminish as you process the name that resonates from your boyfriend's mouth. You become pale, suddenly fearing that maybe you did overreact. Why would he be so secretive otherwise? 

“What?” Your voice trembles as your eyes flicker to the floor from the elevated tone of his voice. 

 “That’s who lives in fucking Kinghills. Namjoon.” He was livid, completely shocked that you would accuse him of being a cheater of all things. He never imagined he would have to explain his whereabouts, especially not because you decided to stalk his location and jump to such outlandish conclusions. “We were going over a contract for a possible investor. He left it at home, hence why I stopped by after work.”

Taehyung pushes past you, tugging at the tie around his neck aggressively as he yanks the fabric off, tossing it onto the bed as he attempts to change out of his constricting business attire. “I’m picking up the slack at work and have to come home to your fucking nonstop nagging…” He grit his teeth as he recalled just how short staffed the office currently was, continuing to yank at the buttons of his dress shirt as he slowly exposes his toned abdomen. “We don’t even have sex anymore!” 

The tips of your fingernails dig into your skin as you desperately try to calm your body, his words only rippling your annoyance. “Don’t go there. That has everything to do with your shady ass behavior.” How dare he raise his voice at you when he’s the one that was caught in his infidelities. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

As Taehyung reaches his last button, he lets his shirt hang open as he runs his fingers through his slicked back locks wishing he could put you in your place. “Bullshit. We don’t have sex because you’ve got a stick up your ass.” Your jaw drops, completely stunned that he’d go so far to blame this argument on you. “You’re always nagging about the shit I don’t do or stressing out about the dumbest crap.” 

You feel speechless, coming up blank with anything that you could possibly say to refute his attacks. The conversation that should’ve been about him and his whereabouts quickly turned into an endless banter of all of your pent up frustrations. While you were furious about his sketchy behavior, he was livid about the constant pestering and lack of physical contact between you two. All you want is his honesty while in turn, all he wants is your affection and respect. You desperately search your mind for the words to speak, watching as Taehyung turns to storm his way into the master bathroom. “I’m done with this shit!”

—

It’s been nearly a month now since your relationship with Taehyung came to a bitter end, leaving you both with a sour taste in your mouth after what seemed like the fight of the century. You found yourself living with Jimin, your best friend kindly offering up his spare guest room as solace from your ongoing lease with Taehyung. 

The past few weeks were filled with countless hours of overtime to try and drown out the bubbling emotions caused by your separation, hating the reality of both having the final word. You never did find out the truth, only listening to Taehyung’s ridiculous excuses as he continued his late hours at work. Your relationship turned into a battlefield, blaming each other for every little situation that arose which left you both vexed and frustrated. 

Since you moved out, your anxiety plateaued as you refocused your energy on your career and hung out with your friends to get away from the hurt and emotional trauma of Taehyung’s secrets and unfaithfulness. Till the moment you left he refused to admit his faults, causing you to leave without having the last word in the matter. It drives you mad that he couldn’t just be honest with you, livid that he couldn’t admit his faults even after he was caught. 

A long drawn out sigh escapes your lips as you press the pads of your fingers against your temples, attempting to soothe the headache caused by hours of staring at your work computer screen.

 You are finally home for the weekend, a glass of wine already poured and nestled between your digits as you slowly sip the sweet toxic liquid with hopes of relaxing your overworked mind. The flavor invades your taste buds as the door to Jimin’s apartment swings open to reveal your best friend holding up a garment bag. 

“It’s Friday night…we’re going out!” His voice is enthusiastic, eager to approach you in order to display his latest acquisition. A mischievous grin stretches across his lips as he holds up the casing of the garment bag, peeling down the zipper as he searches your features for any kind of reaction. 

You push yourself up from the couch, placing your wine glass against the side table as your hues focus on the slightest hint of shimmer from inside the bag. “What the hell did you buy now?” You complain, loving how spontaneous Jimin could be, however knowing this was most likely another ploy to convince you to move on from your heated breakup. 

Jimin simply plucks the article of clothing from the confinements of the bag, making a grand gesture as he holds up a beautifully detailed 1920s inspired flapper dress. It was devilishly short, the bottom frilled with thin black tassels whilst the bodice was adorned with black and gold sequin detailing. Your eyes practically lit up in awe as Jimin shows it off, thrilled to see your surprise and interest in the piece. 

“It’s for you. Now get dressed.” He commands, acting as if you didn’t have any say in the matter. 

A sarcastic huff escapes your lips. “There’s no way in hell I’m wearing that.” You retaliate while reaching forward to retrieve your wine glass. 

Jimin was one step ahead of you, sprinting across the living room to snatch up your glass before you could even reach for it. “Yes, you are. We both aren’t working tomorrow and  we’re going out.” He quickly took a swig of your remaining wine, his facial features barely altering as the sting of the alcohol hit his throat. He smacks his lips in satisfaction, only turning to notice the unamused expression plastered over your visage. 

A groan rumbles in your chest as you smack your palms down against the sofa, mimicking a child mid-tantrum. “Jimin, I just got home from work. I just want to stay home and watch Netflix.” You let your body fall back into the cushions, only for Jimin to stand towering atop of you. 

“Y/N, I love you but get your ass off the couch and get dressed.” Jimin grins as he tosses the dress down beside you, moving towards his room. “I’m taking a shower and getting dressed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes!” He calls back over his shoulder as the click of his bedroom door signals for you to cut your losses and give in to his request. 

You let out another groan, picking yourself up before retrieving the skimpy dress Jimin is expecting you to wear. “Fuck you, Jimin.” You mumble under your breath as you make your way towards the guest bathroom, stopping momentarily to admire the shimmering fabric. 

A part of you is excited about a night out with Jimin. Maybe it’s what you need to help you get out of the funk you’d fallen into since your breakup. Despite your previous protest, you prepare to take a shower and get yourself dolled up for whatever evening Jimin has in store. 

Not too long after, you hesitantly open the bathroom door. “Jimin, I look ridiculous.” Your lips are pulled into a pout as you escape the confinements of the guest bathroom, your appearance completely altered from your usual facade. Your hair iss tucked back behind a long curled wig that completely camouflages the natural coloration of your strands while a featured headband keeps the article snug atop your head. You have a little bit of wig glue aiding the reliability of its hold, your lips painted bright red in contrast to your black and gold dress. 

The frill of the tassels hang just above your mid thighs, concealing just enough to hide your indecency as a pair of black heels add a few inches to your height. You nervously tug at the bottom of the dress, cautious not to pull any of the tassel strings as you uncomfortably reveal yourself to Jimin. 

You watch your best friend's jaw unhinge as it hangs in shock, a mischievous smirk making an appearance against his lips. “Damn, Y/N.” He hollers as his eyes rake over your figure. “You look hot.” He grins proudly, twirling his pointer finger as you quickly obey, spinning to show off the completed look. 

“You think?” You subconsciously glance down at your torso, seeing the amount of skin exposed below your waist. 

“Yeah, your ass looks great. Every man’s gonna want to jump your bones” He teases as you step forward to smack him across the arm. You finally realize that Jimin is also sporting a 1920s inspired ensemble, a black vest admiring his chest with a white  button up neatly pressed beneath it. He had on a stylish fedora to complete the appearance, his blonde hair slicked back to match the style of the era. 

You click past him as your heels resonate against the tile floor, seeking out your purse and cell phone. “Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

He chuckles softly as he moves towards the front door. “Nope, that’s a surprise.” He explains as you grab your favorite fall trench coat and follow him out into the dimly lit hallway. He refuses to look at you while he fiddles with the lock and key, “Plus if I told you, you wouldn’t come.”

—

The warm glow of the city street lights lit up the alley of businesses alongside 54th street as you and Jimin approach a stretch of bars and nightclubs, fully expecting to take a turn into one of the establishments. To your surprise, Jimin continues on past the business fronts, seeking out a small bookshop nestled towards the back of the alleyway leading to the next street corner. 

You raise an eyebrow, thinking Jimin must have gone completely mad if he caused you to dress up in such a manner to simply spend the evening in a simple bookshop. Were you a fan of a good book? Absolutely. However, it wasn’t your ideal night out to distract yourself from the ever present thoughts of Taehyung that seemed to plague your mind. 

You keep your mouth shut, following behind your dapper friend as he tilts his hat to gesture towards the bookkeeper and business owner. You follow behind him as he approaches the back of the bookshop, passing by various couches and lounge areas nestled throughout the towering vintage bookcases. You finally notice Jimin stop at the checkout counter, a smug smirk stretching across his lips. 

“The blind tiger can see everything.” Jimin speaks, his voice hushed as he exchanges glances with the attendant behind the counter. What in the world? He has gone completely mad. Why is he bringing her here in such a short promiscuous dress instead of a club or bar? And why is he even talking about a blind tiger?

Before you can pull Jimin away to question his state of sanity, the bookkeeper gestures towards a large bookcase beside him, the slight click of a latch swinging the fixture open on hinges to reveal a staircase leading downstairs. Your jaw practically unhinges as Jimin glances over in your direction, a little too thrilled by the shock plastered on your features. 

“Told you it was a surprise.” He beams as he begins descending the steps, disappearing into the dimmed ambiance of the downstairs section. You hesitate, your eyes shifting to find the gaze of the bookkeeper who seems to be rushing you to follow so he could conceal the hidden entrance once again. Despite your better judgment, you sneak past him into the confinement of the small tunnel, taking quick steps to catch up to Jimin as the low hum of music echoes through the passageway. 

Once you reach the bottom, the narrow space widens into a grand lavish space filled with crowds dressed in similar attire to your own. A small quartet of musicians inhabit a small circular stage tucked away in the back of the spacious lounge as dancers drape themselves across the stage in a display of their femininity. Velvet golden rolled-arm sofas decorate the space surrounding a wooden industrial bar with Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The dim glow illuminates the space as guests conceal behind a variety of face masks and enjoy the air of mystery as they mingle and socialize. 

“Where are we?” You finally find your will to speak as the shock of surprise begins to wear off. 

Jimin glances back in your direction, his brows tugging beneath his mask to match his mischievous grin. “The Bling Tiger.” His usually charming features are camouflaged behind a plain black mask that runs across the length of his eyes, watching as he runs his tongue against the bottom of his teeth as he locates a bachelorette party nestled in one of the private booths. “Hottest speakeasy in town.”

Speakeasy. Jimin dragged you out to a speakeasy of all places. Now it all made sense. The bookshop, the attire, the odd phrase to gain access to the property. 

“Jimin, don’t you think this is too much?” You can’t help but feel the pull of your nerves tighten in your stomach as Jimin proudly struts through the space as if he owns it, calling back to you over his shoulder. 

He flashes you his familiar devilish grin, “Don’t worry about it. Just have fun.” 

You watch as he completely ignores your concerns, eager to approach a group of women sitting across the velvet sofas of a private booth. “Don’t be a hoe!” You call after him, watching as he nonchalantly waves his hand back to disregard your accusations, fully intending on persuading any woman that catches his eye despite your opinions of his tactics. 

You let a long drawn out sigh escape your lips as you spot an open stool alongside the bar, gladly slipping over to claim the space as yours in an attempt to distract yourself with a couple of rounds. You gently brush her hands alongside your thighs as you push down the fabric of your promiscuous ensemble, shuffling onto the stool as you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror tiles behind the bar. You focus on the wig that adorns your head, brushing your fingers through the tousles as you contemplate your drastically different appearance. Your eyes shift to the black lace mask concealing your identity, hardly recognizing yourself as the bartender approaches you with his own identity masked. 

“What can I get ya?” You watch as he grabs a napkin from a metal tray behind him, spinning back around and laying it flat against the bar top in front of you. 

“Whiskey please, on the rocks.” Your voice is quite soft compared to the chatter of the jazzy atmosphere surrounding you, enough for only you and the people directly beside you to hear. 

You suddenly feel a presence behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck rising in attention as a gruff deep voice echoes from over your shoulder. “Make that two, on me.”

Your gaze flickers back as you swivel in your stool, finding an undoubtedly handsome man towering above you. He’s wearing a crisp white button up with a textured vest adorning his chest, a matching mask to camouflage what you can only assume is his physique. His hair was slicked back, styled perfectly in a fitting era as he took the vacant stool that remains beside you. 

There’s something off about this guy, something unnerving that seems to scream at you despite the way his body radiates allure, every ounce of him enticing you as you catch sight of his dark hues piercing through you. It feels as if the wind is knocked out of you, the hint of mystery in his eyes all too familiar as you search your mind for any hints of a connection to the intense yet alluring stranger. 

“That was bold.” You should be thankful for the free booze, however something about this man causes a defensive reaction to spur from your subconscious, clicking your tongue as the bartender prepares the glasses inches away from you. 

“Can’t a man buy a woman a drink?” He counters, arching his brow in curiosity as you feel his glare dissecting every minuscule detail of your appearance. “I believe the words you’re looking for are, thank you.” The intensity behind his stare is suffocating, a cocky smirk tugging at his boxy grin before swiftly taking the whiskey and downing the entirety of his glass in one go. His face scrunches from the stink of alcohol meets his lungs, sighing in relief after the sting morphs into a comforting heat. 

You feel your throat run dry, your eyes devouring the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing as he throws  his head back to consume the bitter liquid, instinctually tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as his lips draw all of your attention. What the hell was wrong with you? This was a complete stranger yet you were ogling him as if he is a delicious piece of meat for the taking. 

You turn your attention to your own glass, taking a gulp before equally cringing from the strong punch of alcohol. “Thank you.” You choke back, hating how bothered your mind and body are becoming over a complete stranger. Apparently it had been way too long since your last sexual encounter and your body was reminding you of it. 

“Who do I have the pleasure of buying a drink for?” You hear him speak, the silent sirens in your mind sounding as you thought of revealing yourself and allowing yourself to get close to someone else. 

A sarcastic chuckle escapes your lips as you bring the rim of your glass up to touch your bottom lip. “Oh no, names are dangerous.” You shake your head slightly before chugging back another gulp of whiskey, slamming the glass down on the bar top. You avoid making eye contact with him, knowing his appeal only entices you more with each seductive glance he throws your way. 

“Then, I’ll just call you sweetheart.” 

Fuck. What the hell was his deal? You couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey already hazing your judgment or if your mind was so desperate to get over Taehyung it latched onto the first handsome man that paid you any attention. With a single wave of his hand, he motions for the bartender to replenish both of your drinks, leaving you with another round of booze kindly sponsored by the mysterious lust trap beside you. You let a sigh escape your lips as you accept another drink, promising yourself that it would be the last one before you sought out Jimin to head home. 

—-

Your body swelters as large hands grope the curves of your body, thick digits squeezing at your flesh as you swallow back your moans laced with a whiskey flavored kiss. This wasn’t how you envisioned your night, straddled atop a stranger's lap as you devour each other’s taste. If your body wasn’t in such a euphoric state, you’d probably scold yourself for acting so foolishly, allowing yourself to be swept up in the emotions of the evening. You were ensnared in a heated make out enhanced by the pure allure of the unknown with a man you barely just met.

One drink led to another, your simple conversations turned to flirtatious banter as the assistance of alcohol gave you the necessary courage to pursue something new and exciting. All you knew was that whoever this man was, he was able to play your body like an instrument, igniting your limbs with each manipulation he skillfully executed. 

You feel his lips trail down your neck as the warmth of his breath ghosts across your skin, causing a wave of chills to crash into you. Your skin crawls with pleasure as you grind your hips forward, feeling his firm member awaken beneath you as you continue to cherish your throne against his thighs. 

You are tucked in a private booth in the far corner of the lounge, your bodies intertwined against the velvet fabric of the lavish sofas as you shamelessly indulge in a much needed sexual encounter. The sense of mystery surrounding the masked dress code of the Blind Tiger only aided in amping up your confidence, hiding behind the persona Jimin had flawlessly executed for you. 

All of your pent up frustrations of your break up with Taehyung are on full display as you take them out on the prey trapped beneath you, ruthlessly grinding your hips into him as your fingers dig into the gelled back strands of his hair. You grip your fingers within them, tugging aggressively enough to extract moans of pleasure from the man as he kindly returns your intensity with his own ministrations. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He groans against your collarbone, unable to maintain his composure as his own lust stirs from the smooth rotation of your heat rubbing against his crotch through the layers of your clothing. God why was his voice so deliciously arousing? Why did you feel so comfortable with such a complete stranger? 

You feel powerful, thrilled to see a man so defenseless beneath you as your mind whirls from your shameful thoughts and the mixture of alcohol in your system. 

A high pitched squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you feel the sharp sting of his palm against your rear end, the love tap sends a ravenous wave of desire through your body as you feel a tingle pulse between your legs. “Shit.” You breathe out, pulling his face into your breast as you helplessly cling your fingers through his hair. 

The rumble that festers in his throat reverberates against your breast, unable to prevent your hips from buckling forward as you seek out any stimulation against your core. 

It’s in that moment that the man of your twisted fantasies pulls away from his endless kisses, seeking to trap you into his sinful gaze. 

Your lips are swollen in his affection, panting as you desperately try to catch your breath to calm the rapid pitter pattering of your heart ramming against your rib cage. Who was this man? Why was he able to entrance you so easily with his eerie familiarity? That’s when you notice the hanging light fixture drowning the man beneath you in a beam of clarity as you focus on the details of his face that weren’t camouflaged by his mask. The dark ambiance of the speakeasy had done wonders in keeping his identity a secret, the now brighter lighting exposing a single freckle placed just on the tip of his nose. 

Your body ran cold, all of the lust and desire coursing through it dissipating as his familiarity suddenly clicks in your mind. No wonder his voice was eerily familiar, why his touch felt like your own personal kryptonite. From the moment his presence loomed over you, something was off and the horror of his identity causes your face to go white as your jaw hangs in exasperation. 

“Taehyung?” You choke out, your voice barely escaping as a whisper as you watch his eyes widen behind the disguise of his mask, his hands dropping from your body as you visually watch the gears churn behind his irises. 

“Y/N?”

______________________________________________________________

Part 2??? Let me know what you guys think. Interested in seeing what happens next?

[ahedderick]

Being Frank 2

This post would be TOO long, so I’m breaking it up into two parts. Frank continues:

   “The next project was to get timber for the floor joists. Where I got most of it for the subfloor and the joists was from the power line that was put through. The trees were cut down and left lay. I didn’t have a truck to haul these logs, but there was a 1952 Chevy two ton with the motor shot. I went to Saccos salvage and got a motor out of a Chevy that was wrecked. It fit in the truck and I used that to haul the logs to the sawmill in Palo Alto. It was twenty dollars a thousand board feet to have them sawed. I worked by myself logging. I drug the logs down and backed the truck into a ditch. I played out cables across the bed and used the tractor to winch the logs up in the bed; that was how I loaded them by myself. I had excess lumber after milling. Mike C. approached me to take down a silo and he put it up at his house. It was forty feet high. I had to take all the excess lumber and build a wooden scaffolding inside the silo. I got paid 500 dollars and I hired two guys who were tree trimmers to help. They were used to working high in the air. It took me two days to master myself to go all the way to the top of it. In those days I was afraid of heights! Everything had to go in those manholes and they’re not big! You put a round of scaffolding around every six feet. That’s how I got more seed money to build the house. I had no deadline and that was key. You can eat an elephant one bite at a time. It was a labor of love. 

   Now I began my hunt for other materials, wherever I could get them. After the trees from the farm, I bought a stone ranch house up on Brown Ave that was going to be demolished for Interstate 68. It was on a concrete slab and all stone exterior. I paid 100 dollars for it. All I wanted was the stone, rafters, paneling, 2x4 studding, and  bathroom fixtures. I sold the windows, doors, and roof to a friend of mine who was building on Oliver Belt Rd for $100. So I got my money back on that deal. I hauled all that stone and material out here on that old truck, loading and unloading by hand. The basement of this house was studded out with the 2x4s and the paneling from that house. The bathtub was square and had two seats in it. The fireplace insert came from that house. I did have an old man, Elsy C., help me haul the stone. The stone for the planter came from Costello Construction, which was located on Valley Street, and I purchased other building material for the meat shop at the same time. The planter here, Max, laid that for me. He was a mason.

    I was deer hunting over at the Gordon farm, now Hemmis, and found that big stone out front to the left. The one downstairs over the fireplace came from Cosgrove’s farm when I was plowing. There are some fossil stones on the patio that came from Wills Mountain. All the stone windowsills and lintels came from a building on Bedford street that was a tombstone company. When they were being demolished, I was able to get all the windowsills. I saved a pile of money on that! The stone slabs approaching the porch came from the parklet next to Times News when they were renovating. I bought all the cement I needed to lay the block and stone for 15 dollars from the B&O railroad damaged freight depot. Their freight agent was Tom R. One corner of the freight car got damp and I removed all the cement and cleaned the car out. When I was using the cement I had to take a window screen and put it over a 50 gallon drum. I had to screen all the cement so there wouldn’t be lumps in it.

   The steel beam needed to run the entire 48 foot length of the house. Moore farm was having a sale where the current AC College is. I bought a two steel beams there that would cover the length and hauled them on the old Chevy. I also bought a stack of pine 2x10s. The beams were over the top of the truck and 5 or 10 feet out in front. I put a flag on the longer piece and hauled it on Sunday morning when there was no traffic. I put the beam on a wagon and brought it around to the back of the house with the tractor. I had pipes on the wall and slid the ends on one at a time. I worked each end over to the center and set it by myself. Next thing was to set the floor joists. I used sidecut boards on a diagonal for the subfloor. All oak! The diagonal boards add to the strength.

   Over to the garage: the garage door came from a house in the Dingle where I was able to salvage many items. The structural steel supporting the roof/patio I set by myself with an old Dodge truck with a telephone pole on it. The header was steel, and came out of the B&O freight station on George Street. The other major steel beams came from the demolished Sears building that stood where the Holiday Inn parking lot now is. The next steel was 30ft long coal mine rails that came from Abe Feldstein’s salvage yard in LaVale. The corrugated metal decking that the concrete was poured on came from a B&O derailment at Swanton. Some of the same corrugated metal was used on the barn roof. 

Interviewer: Well, Frank, did you get anything from West Virginia?

Frank: Hell no, they didn’t have anything to throw away!

   The posts on the patio were originally pipes that I welded plates on the end of. The 6 inch steel beam that goes across the center was also salvage from a building. In later years when the Bowman’s addition flood program began, I salvaged some ornamental aluminum posts from a house behind Hartman’s Store. They weren’t long enough, so I cut the short ones and spliced them into the long ones. The ceiling joists for the patio were the 2x8s from the stone house I tore down on the I68 right-of-way. The patio step stringers were two pieces of timber from the B&O freight station. The two posts that are on the stairway came from the old German Brewery and the handrail, redwood, came from the farmhouse (Old George’s porch). All the rafters and ceiling joists for the house portion were salvaged from the loading dock at the B&O freight. All the plywood on the roof was from a ‘fire sale.’ The rail car overheated and the floor caught fire; the smoke damage to the plywood was severe enough that they couldn’t sell it. I paid 75 cents a sheet. 

   Downstairs there’s one room I didn’t finish. All the ceiling was salvaged drywall that had been damaged by forklifts at Valley Lumber. I had an Amish man swirl the ceiling down there. On the other side downstairs the ceiling was finished by tile that came out of the Woodmen of the World building, along with that maple cover over the planter. It was previously a banister at Woodmen of the World. The bedroom downstairs was finished with mismatched paneling from Valley Lumber. The interior of the closet was lined with leather-type paneling that came out of B&O. 

   My uncle Charles built these cabinets in the kitchen out of birch plywood. He was a finish carpenter. He also trimmed out all the oak trim doorways and baseboard in the house. The front doorway was custom built by Slim (Cecil), neighbors down the road here, and Don, from my sketch. The two birch doors, front and basement, solid core, I bought from the B&O freight claim agent Tom for 15$. The sidelights on the front door I bought from Bernie G. in Frostburg. The outside hanging light was from a yard sale for $5. It had a sidearm on it, but I figured I could adapt it to hang on a chain. The inside light there on the steps came from Westons department store. 

   There were many people who helped me build. We traded labor. Floyd, a carpenter, helped me frame; we traded labor. The stonework was crafted by Hayes Albert Northcraft, a WWI veteran. Elsy was the mudmixer. I was at this time working 7 days a week at the Kelly. Hayes laid all the stonework and this fireplace for $1,400 with no time in it for job completion. I had a dump truck with scaffolding I’d drive around the house and we’d throw the stone in the bed of the truck, then hoist it up on the scaffolding for him to pick out what he wanted. I was to move the scaffolding every day after he was finished. One time I missed it and he was laying the stone under the bay window. He left a divot in the stonework because I didn’t move the heavy timbers for him. That’s a forever reminder that I didn’t do my duty. Hank P., whom I worked with at the Kelly, was a part-time cement finisher. He’s the one who placed the penny in the front stoop. 

  Well, that was a long story. It seemed like I had all the time in the world in those days, and lots of energy. You might ask when I finally finished the house. I don’t think I ever have! In fact, this year (2016) I reclaimed the large plate glass windows from the solarium at Roy Roger’s restaurant when they tore it down and I’m using them to put a sun room on the back of the house. It’ll have a hot tub when I’m finished, and also the washer and dryer. So, you see, it remains a work in progress to this day.

  My note: Frank, like my parents, was born slightly before WWII and lived in this area all his life. Members of the “Silent Generation” are getting fewer these days. I had my doubts about committing to this project, but now I’m very glad I did.

[shelbyvilleautoparts]

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[unitedbydevils]

A dressing room leakier than Old Trafford's roof: why fans must ignore the nonsense

Another day of drama for Manchester United. Another day of ridiculous media coverage because guess which club has the biggest news pull.. that's right, it's the (temporarily not so) mighty reds.

Unity is needed to fix our poor form, but I think an inquisition is needed to root out the leakers because it's boring. Years of shit being passed out from Carrington like it's a paper note in a classroom. Grow up.

Does Erik Ten Hag have favourites? Perhaps. Does this mean you should down tools? Absolutely not. The attitude here forgets several things:

You are an asset in of yourself. If you give up, other teams notice. This will lessen your value for a sale.

It also reduces your personal growth as a player. 6 months of not trying might have been the period where you level up your skill set and playstyle.

Football is a game of small margins. Anything less than your best could be the difference between a salvaged point and a painful defeat.

The rumoured leakers are obvious: Sancho, Maguire, McTominay, and maybe Donny Van de Beek (I doubt this last one). Henderson was also rumoured to be leaking before, as was Eric Bailly. Disgruntled players are the obvious suspects, and normally it's correct.

Roy Keane, seen here on Sky Sports, has the right take: players are failing to take responsibility for their poor performances, and are giving up too easily. Could ETH make better subs or quicker tactical changes? Sure. But it's his second season, having finished 3rd, won the League Cup, and reached the FA Cup final, all with Weghorst up front for crying out loud. Give the man a chance, believe in his plans. We can't keep cycling through managers. United will just be a graveyard for talent and a money pit.

The latest 'leak' or drama is about David De Gea's departure. People have short memories. He was a good goalkeeper, and kept United alive for many shitty seasons, but his last few years saw his shot stopping - the star attribute - fall off in terms of stats and success. This is an issue. Onana is a solid replacement for the keeping metrics, but with great feet to help play out from the back.

Our current form isn't derived from Onana playing badly. It's derived from an injured Varane showing the gulf of skill between him and Lindelof, and how important Varane is to getting the best out of Lissandro Martinez. Hence the need for Kim Min Jae in the summer.

Beyond that, Eriksen starting games at 31 with a heart condition. What the fuck. Casemiro looks overweight and slow and needs to be eased in to the season. Last year he played more games in the season than he EVER did at Madrid. Ever. They're playing though because Mount, Amrabat, Mainoo are all injured. All three would be playing if they were fit. They might all feature tomorrow versus Burnley, and they'll make a huge difference going forward.

The media is to blame as much as the players though. The Daily Mail published an article about Onana dropping his car keys. How is that journalism? The same goes for Samuel Luckhurst, seen above. There's a lot of stirring the pot to cause drama, to generate clicks.

The reality is that people shouldn't be taking the Manchester Evening News (M.E.N) seriously because they're clickbait these days. The death of local/regional news; clamouring for clicks and views rather than offering actual substance and building loyalty and respect.

United are in a rough spot, and perhaps this poor start means we fail to make the top 4 this season, but if - in the grand scheme of things - Ten Hag gets United playing the way he wants to then so be it. I want us fixed, and I'm willing to back this manager to get it done. If everyone was pulling the same way, trying, and it just wasn't working then fair dos, Erik might not be the man, but no. He hasn't had his preferred first XI. He hasn't had players properly trying. He's had issues with leaks, player insubordination, scandals off the field, and the takeover farse.

There are better managers, but I guarantee they cannot be arsed with United and the Glazers. Lets get behind Ten Hag, back his authority, lose the dregs and crybabies, and see what we can achieve with a committed squad of battlers and ballers. Up the reds.

[desayjames1]

Exploring the Fascinating World of Salvage History Checks in the UK

Salvage history checks have emerged as an indispensable step in the process of acquiring a used vehicle in the United Kingdom. These checks offer valuable insights into a vehicle's past, enabling potential buyers to make well-informed choices and sidestep potential pitfalls. In this article, we will delve into the significance of salvage history checks, the information they unveil, and their role in fostering a safer and more transparent used car market in the UK.

Understanding Salvage History Checks

A salvage history check, also known as a reg check, stands as an all-encompassing scrutiny of a vehicle's history, with a particular focus on its repair and damage records. The primary goal of this examination is to unearth whether a vehicle has been categorized as a total loss by an insurance company. This categorization occurs due to extensive damage resulting from accidents, theft, or other factors jeopardizing the vehicle's safety and integrity. By procuring a salvage history report, potential buyers can attain profound insights into the vehicle's true condition, enabling them to make informed decisions about their impending purchase.

Information Revealed by Salvage History Checks

1. Total Loss Status: A salvage history check divulges whether a vehicle has previously received the designation of a total loss from an insurance company. This designation signifies that the vehicle endured damage beyond a certain threshold, rendering repairs economically unfeasible or potentially compromising its structural soundness.

2. Accident History: The report may encompass details about any accidents the vehicle has been involved in, offering information about the scale of damage and subsequent repairs undertaken. This data empowers buyers to assess potential risks linked with the vehicle.

3. Category Designation: In the UK, salvage vehicles are categorized under distinct codes based on the extent and nature of their damage. These categories, spanning from A to N, indicate varying levels of damage and repair. The report specifies the category code, enabling buyers to comprehend the severity of the vehicle's historical issues.

4. Previous Owners: Salvage history checks frequently incorporate details about the vehicle's previous owners. This information can shed light on the vehicle's maintenance history and whether it has undergone frequent changes in ownership.

5. Mileage Verification: The report might also include mileage information, a crucial aspect in validating the accuracy of the stated mileage on the vehicle. Odometer tampering poses a concern in the used car market, and a salvage history check aids buyers in recognizing potential discrepancies.

Importance for Buyers and the Used Car Market

Salvage history checks play a pivotal role in promoting transparency and safeguarding consumers within the UK's used car market. Here is why they are essential:

1. Informed Decisions: Armed with salvage history reports, buyers can wield the power of informed decision-making. They can evaluate the associated risks of a specific vehicle, align it with their budget and safety criteria, and make a well-judged choice.

2. Avoiding Scams: Dishonest sellers might endeavour to obscure a vehicle's actual history to facilitate a sale. Salvage history checks empower buyers to uncover potential frauds and extricate themselves from transactions that might lead to costly repairs and safety concerns.

3. Market Integrity: The availability of salvage history checks encourages sellers to be upfront about a vehicle's history. This fosters a climate of trust within the used car market and propels fair transactions.

Salvage history checks have seamlessly woven themselves into the fabric of the UK's used vehicle purchasing landscape. By furnishing crucial insights into a vehicle's past, they empower buyers to make informed choices and navigate the intricate terrain of the used car market. Through illuminating a vehicle's repair history, total loss status, and potential risks, salvage history checks contribute to a more secure, transparent, and reliable environment that benefits both buyers and sellers alike.

[queer-jew-writes]

When I moved out of my parents house and into my grandparents house at 17, one of the first things that I did was buy these two massive boxes of puzzles from this elderly couple on facebook marketplace. I saw the listing and couldn't believe the price, 5$ for hundreds of puzzles. When my grandpa, Pepper, drove me to go pick them up, in the middle of a thunderstorm, the boxes were so big and so heavy that they barely fit in our car. We were soaked head to toe from the rain by the time that we actually got them to fit.  He had to help me carry them in the house, and I spent hours just going through the boxes. 

A lot of the puzzles were in bad shape. They'd clearly been loved for decades and then stored somewhere where they accidentally got water damage, and that's why the couple was selling them. They looked like they were carefully collected through a lifetime of garage sales and flea markets, and there were puzzles from as far back as the 60's in these boxes. 

I'd bought them because I've always loved puzzles. They've always been a special interest of mine, and even before buying those boxes I had quite a collection, with dozens of puzzles in all different styles. Me and my grandma, Sedra, used to put them together when I was a kid and I've loved them ever since. So I bought them with the hope that at least a few were salvageable to be put together despite the water damage and mold, but going through those boxes was unlike what I had ever expected. Most of the puzzles had little hand written notes on the boxes. There were two distinctive handwritings on the boxes, and two names that kept showing up over and over again. There's one note I remember in particular that really helped me to see the beautiful story that I was witnessing. I've forgotten the names, so I'll use place holders. 

In the first handwriting it said, "Chris 2hr 24min- Beat That!" and right below, in the second handwriting it said, "Eleanor 1hr 58min- Love you anyways <3" and the boxes were covered in little notes like that. Some had just the times it had taken them to finish it, some had both of their names and a single time because they'd done the puzzle together, some had the date or year that they bought and finished it, some puzzles had the number of times that they had put it together. Going through these boxes felt like I was putting together the story of their lives, and having to get rid of some of them due to mold and severe water damage was devastating. 

When I finally got to the second massive box, towards the bottom, there were tons of kids puzzles for a bunch of different ages and interests. I started crying when I saw the first box that had the woman's name beside a kids messy scrawled handwriting of their own name, and I've cried dozens of times from these boxes, their story, and how much they've grown to mean to me too in the years since buying them. I actually called my partner crying  as I was going through these boxes to tell them about how tangible the love and joy was. I felt like I was watching the couple fall in love through these puzzles, and then watching them share that joy with their kids, or maybe their grandkids. Sedra never enjoyed puzzles very much and she's never been very good at them, but seeing the kid puzzles reminded me of how much love and joy we shared when we did used to do kid puzzles together. I quickly outgrew her skill level and went on to do more challenging ones by myself, but I'll never forget that she's the reason I have this love of puzzles in the first place. 

One of my all time favorite puzzles was in that box, and I've put it together a few times over the past 4 years since getting it. It's a thousand piece puzzle that shows a collage of old mismatched buttons sitting on a table. It took my days to finish, and when I finally did I wrote my own little note on it. "Bought from Chris and Eleanor 2019 - Cayden 6 days" I hope that one day people feel the joy and love in these puzzles from my part of their story too, and I've started writing little notes on all of my puzzles when I finish them now. 

A lot of the puzzles, of course, were missing so many pieces that it would have been impossible to put them together. There was one that I'd counted that had 95 pieces when it was supposed to be a 1500 piece puzzle, and several more just like that. I got rid of a few of those that were in worse condition, and kept a few of them to make some art out of because I couldn't stand the thought of just getting rid of them. I haven't gotten around to making the art out of them yet because I'm not feeling too inspired living with my grandparents right now, but I will get to it at some point. 

A few weeks back I tried to make a timeline of my life and all I could think about was those puzzles that were missing so many pieces I couldn't make sense of them. I saw a tiktok that was talking about the difference between childhood trauma that causes memory loss and normal childhood memory loss, and the woman had said that people without childhood trauma can make a cohesive narrative of their childhood, with a few details from each year. Stuff like what they were learning in school, what friends they had, where they lived. I know that I have memory loss from childhood trauma and I knew before I even started that I wouldn't be able to make a cohesive timeline, but when I started trying to it was even harder and worse than I thought it would be. This is what that timeline looked like, exactly. 

[Image ID: A piece of notebook paper in a spiral notebook. The piece of paper is turned horizontally with the spiral and holes at the top of the page. The timeline typed below is written in messy handwriting alone the page. End ID]

My handwriting is bad at the best of times, let alone when I'm heavily dissociating and upset, so I'll go ahead and type that timeline too. 

1-4: pre-k?

5?: Maybe Travis [my half brother] moved in?

6:

7:

8: cheersport?

9:

10:

11: Living in Thomson house; self harming; relationship with Travis; alcoholism; anxiety

12: Living in Burke County?; gay; self harming; eating disorder; thinking of running away

13: Living with Sedra? [my grandma]

14:

15: Moved to Pelion; highschool; gore; abuse

16:

I actually tried to put together what was left of the pieces in one of those puzzles that was missing hundreds one time. I was an exhausting and frustrating endeavor that I have never even thought about trying again since. I spent hours looking at the pieces and back at the box and back at the pieces, just trying to see if any of the ones I had even looked like they might go together. In the end, I think I ended up with four pieces put together total. I couldn't tell where in the picture they belonged, and if I hadn't had the box, I wouldn't have known what it was even supposed to be. 

When I tried to make this cohesive timeline of my childhood, it felt exactly the same. All I could think about while I was trying to make it was that one time when I tried to put the puzzle together. I keep looking and looking for pieces that just weren't there. I tried going through my journals, I tried going through the pictures of me and my family in my phone, but nothing came of it. I started crying because it was so upsetting to not know practically anything that's happened in my own life except for trauma. Of course, I have more memories than just the ones that I put in the timeline, but I couldn't put them in chronological order, or any kind or order, and they're far and inbetween. Just like that puzzle, I have a lot of pieces but not nearly enough to make a picture.