#awn network

[b00knerd1o1]

Don't support Autism Speaks!!!!

[bookquotesfrombooks]

“As has been said over and over, by autistic people who have been advocating and educating for much longer than I have, there is no hating the autism and loving the child.”

Amethyst Schaber

“Unconventional” in Sincerely, Your Autistic Child

[allisonperryart]

In case you missed it: I talked with Animation World Network about Carol and the End of the World alongside showrunner Dan Guterman and fellow art director @ellemichalka leading up to the Emmy's - this is a great, comprehensive article for anyone wanting to get to know more about the spirit of the show! Thanks for spotlighting our show, Victoria Davis!

[vinyls-and-valentines]

Man, I have such a clear image of like. The map of where one of my stories takes place, but if i even tried to put it to paper I'd fuck it up so badly

[fizzyvitals]

Greetings, happy April which means happy autism awareness & acceptance month.

As we state every year, Autism Speaks isn’t the “autism advocacy” support group you think it is. Autism Speaks is full of ableism (and 🧩). Autism Speaks is primarily focused on autistic CHILDREN, they refuse to acknowledge that autistic children turn into autistic adults. So please, don’t go buying that AS (BS) merch at Walmart.

What’s wrong with 🧩?

Puzzle pieces say that there is something wrong with autistic people, therefore “there is a missing piece” or that we need a cure for our autism.

What can I use instead of 🧩?

The infinity symbol. ♾️ After all, the infinity symbol signifies unity.

What organizations can I support instead of Autism Speaks?

There’s organizations like Autistic Women & Non-binary Network (AWN) and Yellow Ladybugs who both support autistic women & gender diverse individuals.

And as always, we need acceptance AND awareness, not one or the other. Let’s also acknowledge the whole spectrum of autism, not just bits and pieces.

This is just a short piece I wanted to write up. Let’s also acknowledge that April is also for sexual assault awareness and deaf history.

Ciao,

Azhtynn E. Myllo 🏳️‍🌈

[awooghan]

[11:41 pm] ✧.* l.mh

➳ PAIRING: lee know x gn!reader

➳ GENRE: fluff, slice of life, silent/mutual pining, friends to (implied) lovers

➳ WARNINGS: none, just tooth-rotting fluff and simp!lino :]

➳ WORD COUNT: 1k exactly which is a bit long for a timestamp but are we surprised

➳ SUMMARY: you and minho are out with your friends one night. minho notices you won't leave his side.

➳ NOTES: wow i actually completed a fic and it wasn't for christmas LOL hope you enjoy <3 also i know the banner is lee know in a puffy coat but this is supposed to be a summer night timestamp and this was the closest photo i could find 😭 (and as always ty @ujimoo for helping me make a banner)

➳ SONG REC: headliner (seventeen)

network tags: @kflixnet @straykidsland-main @kwritersworld @k-labels

“Ah, Y/N…” Minho says, lightly nudging you. “When are you gonna get off me?”

His voice, flat but gentle, cuts through the air around you, making the crickets chirping nearby sound like a mere pin drop. He doesn’t mean to sound rude, though his tone alone would have raised the eyebrows of strangers passing by. Luckily, there aren’t many people around to spare him weird glances this late at night.

It’s a genuine question, though. Instead of stomping around on the playground down the slope with your friends, you have effectively trapped Minho next to you atop a nearby hill. Your legs are outstretched before you, your shoes innocently tapping against his as you rock your feet side to side. Your arm sits comfortably next to his, and your head rests on his shoulder. He’s all but stuck now, like sap on a maple tree in January, and if you don’t move soon, he’ll be doomed to spend the rest of the night here in the grass.

He feels you shrug next to him.

“Hmm?” Minho hums. His eyes widen just slightly as you scoot closer. Your hand brushes against his, and your fingers lazily drum a pattern into the warm earth below you. He tries to ignore this and pokes you repeatedly in the arm.

“Come onnnn…” he says. “When are you gonna get up?”

Your quiet “I dunno” in response fills his ears.

“What do you meeeaaann, ‘I dunno’?” He makes a show of rolling his eyes, then clicks his tongue. “Why don’t you wanna get up, hmm?”

A scream echoes through the park and makes Minho look up for a moment. Changbin’s short figure flies through the air, his arms flailing. The swing behind him rocks erratically as he falls onto the mulch with a thud. Wooyoung points and cackles loudly from the swing next to him, but quickly lets out a shriek of his own and grips onto the metal chains. Further right, Jungwoo and Chaeryeong’s silhouettes chase each other around on the main playground equipment. Lampposts at the edge of the playground cast a dim yellow glow across the space, like the ones in retro film recordings. Minho can imagine the little “PLAY” icon floating at the top left of the scene, blinking periodically several feet above the dark blue awning.

He feels a light tap against his shoe again.

“Owww!” Minho feigns a cry. He picks up his feet and swipes them away from you in one swift move, the corners of his lips pulling down in an exaggerated pout. “Y/N, that hurt~ how dare you…” 

Looking back at you, you’re mindlessly clicking your feet against each other, and you’re still all cuddled up on his shoulder. His heart thumps a little louder in his chest when you shove your head closer to him.

“Yah, Y/N…”

“Hmm...” Your soft hum comes out more as a statement than a reply.

You flutter your eyes closed, your lashes gently batting against your skin. He heaves out a sigh, and the warm breeze tickles his cheeks with a light blush. It seems to have more mercy on you, though, as it delicately brushes your stray hairs away from your forehead, framing your face perfectly. Almost too perfectly. The crickets blend into the quiet air as he takes in the sight.

“Hey…” Minho tries one more time. He tilts his head slightly as he gazes at you. “Why don’t you get up? Our friends are waiting.”

The breeze picks up for just a moment, making you scrunch up your nose. Minho gestures down the hill. It’s getting more difficult to look away from you. “See?” he continues. “Playground's right over there. ‘S loads more fun than I am.”

Another shriek rings out from the playground area. Chaeryeong lies in an awkward position at the bottom of the slide. The wind picks up again at the same time, whistling against Minho’s ears right as Chaeryeong yells something at Jungwoo. All he can make out is another scream as Jungwoo tumbles down the slide and knocks Chaeryeong onto the gravel.

But a light tap sings louder to Minho than all of it.

Looking back at you, his eyes trace down, stopping where your fingers meet his arm. As light as a hummingbird’s wing beat, your fingers tap across his forearm and leave a path of spreading warmth in their wake. They seem to float in the air as they skip further down. Your touch, so faint and gentle, nearly lulls him to sleep. He lets his eyes fall shut.

It’s like Minho is at the beach for a moment, and your fingers brushing against his skin are the ocean waves calmly swaying over his feet. Then, he feels a sudden blast as a tidal wave crashes over him, its currents pulling him under and leaving him unable to breathe. His eyes snap open and right toward the spot where your hand has come to a gentle rest over the top of his own.

Minho’s eyes meet your soft ones. Your head is still comfortably nestled on his shoulder, and your cheeks seem to glow in the dark when you smile at him. For a moment, perhaps a moment too long, time comes to a still as he takes you in, watching you slowly melt into his side. You look so at peace, and he dare not disturb you, despite his urge to spring up and run down the hill and scream at Changbin. Thankfully, he’s too engrossed in the feeling of your hand on top of his to even try. He thanks his lucky stars once more that you’re also looking down at your hands, so you can’t notice the blood rushing to the tips of his ears.

Slowly, he spreads his fingers and gently threads them with yours. He glances at you, then looks down at his lap, a shy smile finally forming on his lips.

“Ah…” he says softly. “ Our friends can wait a little.”

[henrykathman]

The Miraculous Horror of Stop Motion

From the same artform that brought you Coraline and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, comes three stories that evoke the existential fear of art.

Original Music by Molly Noise

Bibliography below

Atrocity Guide. “The Animators Who’ve Spent 40 Years on a Single Film.” YouTube, 9 Oct. 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=73hip3pz0Xs&pp=ygUMdGhlIG92ZXJjb2F0. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Brubaker, Charles. “The Japanese Studios of Rankin/Bass.” Cartoon Research, Jerry Beck, 14 Apr. 2014, cartoonresearch.com/index.php/the-japanese-studios-of-rankinbass/.

Bute, Paris. “Introduction to “a Rankin/Bass Retrospective from a New Perspective.”” Citizen Jane, Stephens College, 19 Nov. 2021, www.citizenjane.org/home/cwwicd2ucb2fvs64kgfaocfykjhaum. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Crome, Althea. “Coraline.” Althea Crome | Micro Knitter, 2012, www.altheacrome.com/coraline. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Harold Halibut. Directed by Onat Hekimoğlu, Slow Bros., 16 Apr. 2024.

Hekimoglu, Onat, and Gabriel Schmitz. “Unite Berlin 2018 - Harold Halibut and Making a Stop Motion Game.” Unity, YouTube, 6 Aug. 2018, youtu.be/9usssSQc0wQ. Accessed 6 May 2023.

Jon "Sikamikanico" Clarke. “The Making of Harold Halibut.” XboxEra, YouTube, 21 Mar. 2024, youtu.be/WMyxM9t3o7A. Accessed 19 June 2024.

LAIKA Studios. “Sweater and Gloves: Knitting Coraline by Hand.” YouTube, 11 July 2017, youtu.be/zUvkfcGR-7U. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Mad God Productions. “Phil Tippett’s “Mad God.”” Kickstarter, 17 May 2012, www.kickstarter.com/projects/madgod/phil-tippetts-mad-god/posts.

Olson, Mathew. “Report: Michel Ancel Accused of Abusive, Disruptive Practices on beyond Good & Evil 2.” VG247, 25 Sept. 2020, www.vg247.com/report-michel-ancel-accused-of-abusive-disruptive-practices-on-beyond-good-evil-2. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Ono, Kosei. “Tadahito Mochinaga: The Japanese Animator Who Lived in Two Worlds.” Animation World Network, AWN, Inc, 1 Dec. 1999, www.awn.com/animationworld/tadahito-mochinaga-japanese-animator-who-lived-two-worlds.

Orland, Kyle. “Claptrap Voice Actor Accuses Gearbox CEO of Assault, Underpayment.” Ars Technica, 7 May 2019, arstechnica.com/gaming/2019/05/claptrap-voice-actor-accuses-gearbox-ceo-of-assault-underpayment/. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Pilling, Jayne. A Reader In Animation Studies. Indiana University Press, 1998. Project MUSE muse.jhu.edu/book/40033.

Prehistoric Beast. Directed by Phil Tippett, Tippett Studios, 1984. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlaXIRTjNfo

Randles, Jonathan. “VFX Studio with Star Wars, Jurassic Park Credits Goes Bankrupt.” Bloomberg Law, 1 May 2024, news.bloomberglaw.com/bankruptcy-law/vfx-studio-with-star-wars-jurassic-park-credits-goes-bankrupt. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Shanley, Patrick. “Gearbox Software CEO Accused of Contempt in Latest Filing.” The Hollywood Reporter, 27 Aug. 2019, www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/digital/gearbox-software-ceo-accused-contempt-latest-filing-1235064/. Accessed 19 June 2024.

The Making of “Jurassic Park.” Directed by John Schultz, Amblin Entertainment, 1995. https://youtu.be/8r01mk6F_Pk

The Making of Mad God. Directed by Maya Tippett, Shudder, 2021. https://youtu.be/sfUOHh0xmwc

The Tale of the Fox. Directed by Irene Starewicz and Ladislas Starevich, UFA GmbH, 10 Apr. 1941. https://youtu.be/Us_Pn6Q1dBQ

Wikipedia contributors. "List of films with longest production time." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 12 Jun. 2024. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wikipedia contributors. "List of media notable for being in development hell." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 19 Jun. 2024. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wikipedia contributors. "List of Rankin/Bass Productions films." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 9 Jun. 2024. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wikipedia contributors. "Tadahito Mochinaga." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 28 Nov. 2023. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wilson, Josh. “Phil Tippett: 24 Frames per Second < the Fabulist Words & Art.” The Fabulist Words & Art, 5 Nov. 2021, fabulistmagazine.com/24-frames-per-second-the-phil-tippett-interview/.

Worse than the Demon. Directed by Maya Tippett, Shudder, 2013. https://youtu.be/ghKqvDNRe4c

[cameronspecial]

OMG I HAVE THIS REQUEST FOR RAFE AND I WOULD LOVE TO READ IT AHHH SO ITS BASED OFF THIS https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6FWFacvwzk/?igsh=MTBhNGhjbzA2M2w1Mg== and like maybe you can do it like there coming home from the beach cause it started raining like HEAVY and yk that happens in the video and Rafe grabs her and like protects right when they fall making sure your ok and everything THANKSSSS ID LOVE TO READ ITTT 💗💗🫶🏼🫶🏼

Until My Dying Breath

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Motorcycle Accident

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.4K

Masterlist

Although it is October and the weather is a little cold, Y/N still loves going to the beach. The cool breezes mean that it is rarely populated, making it the perfect place to have a picnic if the weather is good. The sand disperses with each of her steps and she comes to a stop once she finds the perfect spot for their picnic. She drops the cooler backpack onto the blanket Rafe set down and sheds the special motorcycle jacket he ordered for her to keep her safe while they ride. It matches the one he bought himself. He places their helmets beside the bad, his mouth forming a line as he spots the gray clouds rolling in. She doesn’t seem to notice, which he hopes will continue. The weather network said it was likely to rain and he kept it a secret because he was optimistic the experts were incorrect. He knows how much she looks forward to their beach trips. 

The universe seems to have a different idea. The drops first came sporadically. “It’s not that bad. If we keep the food in the cooler and only take out what we eat, we can still have our picnic,” he suggests, kneeling down to take out some food. The clouds seem to want to kick him in the ass because, at that moment, the rain begins its heavy fall. The couple gather their items and run to his bike. He can see her disappointment while they do so. 

“Should we really be on the road while it’s raining this much?” she meekly asks. With his helmet already on his head, he looks up at the sky and calculates in his head the risks. If it were only him and this was before they started dating, Rafe absolutely would’ve still ridden; however, the addition of his precision cargo makes him remove the idea from his mind. “No, you’re right. That would be dangerous,” he concludes. His head swings from side to side in search of somewhere to lay low while they wait out the rain. He spots the awning of a closed coffee shop on the street. His fingers lace with hers and he drags her under it with him. “What should we do while we wait?” she questions. He grins at her from under his helmet, quickly removing it to bring his mouth near hers. “I can think of a few things.” 

———

As soon as the rain dwindled, the pair hopped on his bike and began to make their way home. Yet, it seems Mother Nature isn’t done with her storm because, during their ride, the heavy rain starts again. Rafe is about to pull to the side of the road when the tires lose traction, causing the vehicle to slip to its side. At that moment, the first time Rafe met Y/N’s parents flashes before his eyes. 

———

“I see you have a motorcycle,” Mr. Y/L/N noticed while they both stood at the open front door. They were waiting for Mrs. Y/L/N and Y/N to return from upstairs; Y/N was getting something from her mother. Rafe nodded, “Yes, Sir.” He wasn’t normally polite to adults, but he loved Y/N and he would do anything to make her parents like him. Mr. Y/L/N rubbed his chin with a small bob of his head. “And I’m guessing since you brought Y/N/N here that she tends to ride with you.” 

“Yes, she does, Sir.”

“Those things are pretty dangerous. If something happens, will you protect my daughter?” 

“Until my dying breath, Sir.”

———

Now, brought back to reality, Rafe searches for Y/N through the rain. Her skidding across the road matches his momentum and the only thing he can think of is how to protect her. She is just out of reach, so he extends his hand out, wraps it around her upper arm and pulls her into his chest. The slippery road eases this process. Her back is flushed against his front and he wedges his head under her helmet so it doesn’t scrap against the road. He tries his best to lessen her contact points against the floor, not stopping the movement of their fall. In his mind, he’d rather keep going with him protecting her body than possibly hurting her by halting. In an instant, the sound of leather and helmet grinding against the cement ends and is replaced by the patter of the water. He pants and moans. The lack of adrenaline makes him aware of the growing ache on his left side. He ignores it and immediately pulls his attention to Y/N. 

“I’m okay. Are you okay? Don’t move, Sunshine. Okay, wait until the ambulance gets here. Don’t move.” 

He is thankful they were thrown onto the side of the road, so they aren’t at risk of cars running them over. He goes against his own advice and reaches into his pocket for his phone. He gives his information to dispatch, leaving his phone on the side. He feels her trying to look back towards him and doesn’t let her. “Are you hurt, Rafe? I want to see you,” she worries. The worry in his voice kills him, except he knows it is important to stay still with their helmets on until medical professionals can assess their condition. He does the only thing he can think of to provide her more comfort. He pulls her as close to him as humanly possible. “I’m not hurt. It’s okay. Just stay still and keep your helmet on. Let the paramedics check us for brain or spinal injuries first. They’re on their way, Sunshine. I promise,” he reassures. He tries to hide his pain from his voice, especially when he hears her sniffles through her helmet. “I’m scared, Rafe. I’m scared,” she cries, her breath catching on her words. 

A hand claws at his heart and tears it to shreds. He shouldn’t do it, but her doesn’t care. He rests his helmet on hers. “I know, Sunshine. I’m here. Everything is going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” he mumbles to her. She can barely hear him through the rain and still, she can understand him. 

Minutes later, they can both hear the approaching sirens. Flashes of blue and red pierce through the gray scenery. “EMS, we are here to help,” the approaching figure informs. The female kneels behind Rafe and he can feel her trying to pry him away from Y/N to take a look at him. “No. No. Look at her first. Check her first,” he insists. The female shakes her head, “My colleague is just behind me and she is going to check on her. I promise. But right now, you seem to be the one, who took the brunt of the accident.” This has Y/N whipping around to face him. “Is he hurt? How serious is it?” she anguishes. The EMS person is by her side already and turns her back onto her side. “I’m sorry, Mrs. But I need you to stay still while I check on you. I promise that my colleague is the best at her job and she will do everything in her power to help him out,” the blonde consoles. 

The blonde and brunette assess the couple and once they are satisfied that they aren’t in critical condition, they get them on gurneys to be further evaluated at the hospital. Before they are loaded into the vehicle, Rafe stops the paramedic. “I need to see. Please, just to make sure she is okay. She was so scared,” he pleads. The paramedic nods and wheels him over to her. Her eyes fall on him and she spies the manner in which his left side is bandaged. His clothes on that side are cut open to reveal the material wrapped around his limbs that is tinted pink. Panic sparkles in her eyes. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?” He reaches for her and places his hand into hers. “Because it would’ve worried you. I’m alive though and the paramedics are sure it isn’t serious. What did they say about you? Is everything good? Do you want me to ride with you to the hospital?” Y/N has to giggle at the way he always shows concern for her, even when he is the one with cuts all over his left side. “I’m okay. They are taking me to the hospital to double-check. But as of right now, I’m not presenting any serious symptoms,” she informs him and thinks over the events that transpired. “You protected me from most of the impact. Why?” He looks at her in shock, “Because, Sunshine, I would give my last breath if I knew you would be safe. That’s how much I love you.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[autisticadvocacy]

CN: Slavery "Thus, the history of emancipation has been, in essence, a history of able-bodied freed slaves, as disabled slaves, along with some children and elderly people, often could not escape the plantation South."

[potatomountain]

"Case: It's You" - 1

Chapter One

📍pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective reader

📍Rating:

📍word count: 3.4k

📍network: @pirateeznet

📍Warnings: language and sexual innuendos

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 and @daesukiii

masterlist | Next

It was entirely too early, and too gloomy of a day, for your phone to be ringing for the near dozenth time in the last five minutes. After the hour trek, in the rain and a packed subway as well, you finally relented and picked up the call. “What is so important you have to call me twelve times, Ji?”

“Jeez it wasn’t that much-”

“No, that’s just the last five minutes. Heaven forbid I count the calls on the subway in the last thirty minutes. Spit it out.” Hissing, you held the phone closer, dodging one of the many men in suits rushing to their own places of work.

Jisung huffed on the other side, grumbling under his breath before speaking up. “I’m worried about how your first day is going to go.”

Rolling your eyes, you sidestepped a puddle, barely managing to miss the splash of a child rushing through it. “How are you more nervous for my first day than I am?”

“Because I’m sure you’re pretty angry right-”

“Of course I’m angry! Half the unit agreed to transfer me out! After three years Ji!”

“I know, I’m sorry. You’ll do great though! You’re really driven and have a strong moral compass, the organized crime unit is lucky to have you. Just… play nice? It’s not their fault you got transferred.”

You knew he had a point but you were loathed to admit it. With a sigh you approached the small detective precinct, the heavy rain finally slowing to a light drizzle. “No, but I doubt they’ll be too happy about the higher ups forcing a random transfer on them. Look Ji, I appreciate you worrying about me but don’t. I’m not supposed to have any contact with the S.K unit for a month after that last day, that includes outside of work. They already transferred me, I don’t want to give them a reason to fire me so soon.”

“Okay okay, hint taken. I’ll check up on you soon.” He hung up first, wishing you luck once more by name before doing so.

He really was right, you shouldn’t be so angry at this predicament. Sure it wasn’t your decision to get transferred out to a new Precinct, but it was your decision to go to this one. Which, in hindsight, was stupid. You had just named the first Precinct that you knew was furthest from the S.K and the homes of your former colleagues, hurt by their betrayal. Good intentions or not, you didn’t want to leave the team.

You didn’t want them to be right though either but being a detective was your dream, and the higher-ups didn’t want to give you a second chance after this.

Pocketing your phone and stepping under the small black awning, you closed the umbrella and placed it in the holder next to the door. If it wasn’t for the plague on the door reading A.Z offices, you might mistake the inconspicuous building for one of the many other office buildings in this district. There were several detective units in the city that operated outside of the police stations, but none so secretive. 

It actually piqued your curiosity and excitement as you pulled the gray door open, greeted by a typical, but cluttered, receptionist desk and foyer. There was no one in sight, the pale blue gray of the walls the only color of otherwise bland decor. “Huh.”

There was a hall past the desk, some muffled voices carrying from an ajar door at the end. You were a few minutes early, but the door was open and they were expecting you- still you found yourself carefully moving down the hall, maybe to get an idea of who you were working with before introducing yourself.

As soon as you reached the door though, things went quiet. With nothing to eavesdrop on, you opted for knocking on the door, nudging it open before calling out. “Hello?”

Footsteps were heard before the entirety of your view was blocked by a vested chest, the door halting from opening further. “Who the fuck are you?”

Tilting your head back you blinked up at the towering figure, frown pulling at your lips. Out of all the welcome scenarios you had imagined, this hadn’t been one of them. Readjusting your bag your hands went to your hips and you jutted your chin out. “The new addition to your unit, detective.” You spat out with venom.

He seemed around your age, thick lips pulled into a scowl as he glared down the brim of his nose. “We don’t have a new addition.” He moved to slam the door in your face, but a new hand stopped it, slipping under the brute’s arm to stand between you. “Hwa?”

The ash-blonde detective had a professional smile on his face as he blocked the other one from staring you down. Before you could retort he spoke your name. “We’ve been expecting you. Detective Song here just forgot.”

“Forgot? I didn’t forget- hey!” The taller man was pulled away out of your sight, protesting the whole way. 

“What do you mean new addition?” Another voice spoke up from behind him somewhere, which irked your already growing discontent for these men even more.

“Pardon me but, I don’t think the rest of your unit is aware there was a transfer to your unit- and that I start today.” Lips pursed, you held eye contact.

He shrugged, taking a step back and holding the door open for you. “I might have forgotten to mention to some of them, the point is the Captain and I are very aware. I’m Detective Park, the vice-captain of the unit.”

“I see…” You trailed off, turning your attention from the vice-captain to the rest of the room. There were three more men around the room with five desks in the center. It was a typical detective office, one wall full of pins and strings connecting faces and names you didn’t recognize, papers strewn about, computers and cords connecting the five desks that were all facing each other. Some filing cabinets, a second hall, and a door. Nothing about the room itself told you anything about these men- but they were all clearly handsome.

All men.

You didn’t like where this was going.

Aside from the vice captain to your left, the tall brute was being held in a headlock by an equally tall, slightly more beefed-out man with black hair and softer features.  The other two were standing near the desk closest to the second hall, the stockier one with chestnut hair glaring over at you while sipping his coffee, the prettier one next to him watching you with more curiosity. 

Internally you wanted to groan, turn around and walk back out because nothing about this felt like it was going to go well. “Is there another female here or just me?”

“Well…” Detective Park next to you shrugged, motioning for the others. “There are eight of us, all men. Captain and Detective San, and Detective Jung are in the field right now, but allow me to introduce you.” He motioned to the two tall ones. “Detective Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho. And those two are detective Choi Jongho and our technical analyst Kang Yeosang. Team, this is our newest addition.”

You bowed at your introduction, forcing a relaxed smile despite feeling so out of place already. “I’m in your care.” Standing back up, you turned to the Vice again. “Where can I set my things and get to work?”

He blinked in surprise, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, the receptionist desk will be yours.”

“Pardon?”

“Right up front there-”

“No no, I heard you, I’m just confused. I’m a detective, not a receptionist.” Again, your discontent was growing as you stared him down.

But it was a new voice that spoke, turning your attention. “Well um, we have all our bases covered and really don’t have a need for another detective. This is sort of sudden.” Yunho was his name if you recall correctly, although now he was making himself busy at his desk.

Pinching the bridge of your nose you let out a heavy sigh. “The transfer was approved two weeks ago after nearly a week of consolidation. I don’t think the board would approve a transfer for a unit I’m not needed for.”

“A new detective on the books isn’t something we need.” Mingi snapped out again, once more showing his distaste for you.

You wanted to lash back, to curse them out for the blatant disrespect and unprofessionalism. They had two weeks to prepare, only some of them knew you were coming and yet none of them bothered to put any weight into that?

“We’ll talk to the Captain and put you to work then.” 

“Captain isn’t due back until the end of the week Hwa, maybe later if he and San don’t get what they need.” One of the others with a familiar voice spoke up. He must have been the one who spoke up earlier- Detective Jongho.

“That’s fine-”

“Fine?” Like a twig snapping, so did your patience. “I’ve been sitting on my ass for the last three weeks just to wait another? This is ridiculous!”

“Shouldn’t have transferred then, newbie.”

“You can take your attitude and shove it up your ass with your head, Detective Song, because the likelihood of me leaving any time soon is slim. Not unless you personally want to kiss and shine the Commissioners shoes!” You stepped forward, the man stepping up towards you in response.

“So this is why you got forcefully transferred? Can’t play nice?” The fifth voice startled you, just as deep and condescending as the man before you.

You swiveled on your heel to glare at the final man, sneering. “I play nice just fine- when I’m welcomed.”

“We never said you weren’t Detective-”

“You don’t have to!” You turned your glare on the Vice Captain. “Eight of you, with three offices and five desks- an empty receptionist, lack of communication on the arrival of a new Detective in your care- You have no means or intention of including me in this unit.”

As soon as the words were out there was a drastic change of tension in the atmosphere; the professional expression the Vice Captain wore was gone, replaced with a cold stare. One glance at the others and they all had similar expressions. “Truthfully, we do not, but until we can convince the Commissioner and board that you are not needed here, we have to put up with each other.”

“So buckle up buttercup, or get the hell out.” The smug smirk on Mingi’s face had you stiffening, but not from intimidation. 

No, you always rose to a challenge even if it clearly wasn’t in your favor.

Taking the time to stare each one of the men down with a similar cold stare, you bid your time before finally locking gazes with Detective Park. “You should be aware, Vice, that I bite when threatened.” Straightening your back, as if you could any more, and holding your head high you turned towards the door. “That receptionist desk will have to do then; plenty of space for me to do my work. I’m sure you won’t mind at all if I make myself at home.”

“If you have the time.”

You didn’t care which one of them said it, slamming the door behind you because you expected them to do the same. Marching down the hall, past the small bathroom you failed to notice before, you took in the receptionist desk with a huff. It was empty, probably never used and just full of trash and miscellaneous decor that never got pulled out of the box.

“These fucking dicks think they’re just going to get their way? Over my dead body. Play nice Ji said, well he can go fuck himself too because ain’t no nice here.” Mumbling under your breath you immediately began organizing the desk, making use of the trash can under the desk. There was no stool, no electronics, not even a phone- but you could fix that.

There were other boxes in the foyer you hadn’t noticed, tucked away and out of sight. This room was probably a front for any bystanders that walked in, something to discourage anyone who wasn’t supposed to be here from snooping around.

At least it gave you plenty to do over the next week, knowing that until the Captain did show up, some things you would just have to deal without.

— 

Your spiteful rage motivated you for several hours, suit jacket tossed aside and sleeves rolled up to your elbows as you cleaned up the now clutter-free desk. You had found some decent decor in the junk, using it to spice up the desk. It was waist high, with a ledge to hide the desk from the other side. A fake little plant and metal bowls of varying sizes now sat on that ledge, the desk devoid of anything but your work bag. 

You hadn’t heard the door open or any sounds from the back, further indicating the distance they were trying to put between you and them. It just fueled your determination to stay.

Despite what happened with your last unit, you were a damned good detective, you knew that even without Chan reminding you often. While the S.K unit revolved around cases about runaways and crimes committed by minors, it was still a police force. This was no different, even if the unit operated differently, you could handle it.

Glancing around the space, you did feel a bit proud with how it was coming along. There was a pile of boxes and garbage by the hall, which you felt ready to take care of now. Picking it up, you headed down the hall, heels clicking on the wooden floor. The door was indeed shut, but not locked, and you swung it open with a loud thud. You heard something clatter on the other side of the room, but you ignored it as you dropped the boxes of garbage on the floor.

“What the he-”

“Take care of this will you.” Dusting off your hands you looked towards the nearest one, which happened to be Mingi and Yunho at their desks, but Mingi was half out of his chair. “Since this is your unit, you can handle the trash.” Turning on your heel you made your way down the hall. 

“She didn’t leave?”

“Apparently not Min.”

You could hear them as you shut the door harshly, a smirk on your lips as you made your way back to your new work area. They really had no idea just how hard you were going to make this for them, and it brought a sense of pride.

You could easily be the biggest pain in their ass, all too happy to oblige. One week? You could make them regret it by then. Maybe you could make them regret it by the end of the day, it was only lunch time.

—

Having set out to get your lunch from a deli down the street, you were a bit annoyed to come back to your newly cleaned office once more full of the trash that you had tossed back at them. Setting your sandwich down, and with all the calm you could muster, you cleaned up the trash once more. Plastering a fake grin on your features you carried it to the back, only to find the door locked this time. 

Frowning, you set the garbage down, took a deep breath, and then pounded on the wooden door. “Hello detective’s? I think you forgot something!”

No answer.

You just pounded harder and called out louder. “Hellooo?”

No answer again. 

Grumbling, you gave the door a kick with your heel, leaving the garbage there and instead going back to your desk. Grabbing your phone you brought it back to the door, recording once more as you banged and called out, then sighed. “See what I mean Sir? I really think there was a mix up- I can’t even access the office. How am I a part of this unit?”

Just as you had been hoping for, the door swung open and the pile of garbage you had set against it went tumbling against the unsuspecting Vice Captain. You smiled up at him innocently, pointing to the recording camera and then saving it. “Your poker face is impeccable Vice, but do you really think it’s wise to lock me out?”

“We’re in a meeting.” He deadpanned, kicking some of the garbage to the side into the office. “You were being disruptive.”

“Me? Disruptive? I have no idea what you mean, I just needed to throw away this garbage for a second time, since apparently it can walk on two legs right back to my beautiful desk you so graciously assigned me.” Thick with sarcasm you added a bit of a pout to your tone, pointing to the boxes between you two. “I had asked Detective Song and Jeong to handle it since no one bothered to show me where it goes. You do have a proper place for garbage, right? This isn’t the only place is it?”

His features darkened as he leaned forward. “You should really watch your insults Detective- You don’t want to disrespect this unit any more than you have.”

“Oh so I’m disrespecting the unit? Hardly anything to respect when you haven’t earned it.” You sneered out.

“Okay okay- calm down you two.” Yunho came barreling forward, putting space between the Vice and you while looking a bit panicked. “We can’t get anything done if we are tearing each other’s heads off.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest. “I have nothing better to do for a week, so I don’t see why not.”

“For fuck’s sake woman- you really are so mouthy.”

You glared past the two in front of you to Jongho who had a fresh coffee in his hands, sitting at the desk from before. “Give me a reason to shut up then.”

“I can give you several off the clock.” Mingi countered from his desk, leaning his palms against the surface.

You rolled your eyes. “I like dick, but not the personality type.”

“Enough!” The room froze with that one raised word, Yunho staring each of you down with a tick in his jaw. “We can all agree that none of us are happy with this situation… but for fucks sake we do have a job to do. Can you sit pretty until the Captain gets back and just hash it out with him? And can we all at least agree to try to be civil until then?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from retorting without thinking. This had been what you wanted right? But you weren’t about to be the first to agree.

Yunho glanced at each of you once more, lingering on the Vice Captain last. “Seonghwa? We can’t afford to have an ongoing battle with another detective right now, can we make some arrangements?”

He relented with a sigh, shoulders relaxing. “Fine. You three handle this garbage… and you and I will talk.” He breezed past you down to your desk which you hesitated to follow at first. You could hear Mingi’s grumbles towards Yunho but you didn’t care.

“We’ll supply you with wifi, a seat, and a phone. As for work for the week it will be menial or trivial things. When Captain Kim returns, you can discuss with him your role.” He said as soon as you stepped up to the desk.

“And the offhand comments? The intentional sabotage?”

“Will stop.” Seonghwa relented once more with a sigh, seemingly tired of this whole ordeal. “Will this work?”

Now it was your turn to relinquish a sigh. “Yes, I came here to work not to fight over petty bullshit. As long as you follow those terms I’ll behave until your Captain returns.”

“Good. Write down anything you need for this space and I’ll have it picked up by tomorrow-”

“No need I can do so. I still have my things from my last unit, it’ll be fine.” Leaning against the wall you glanced up at him, holding out your hand. “So truce?”

He stared at your outstretched palm, reluctantly accepting. “Truce. Finish up here and come find me when you’re done. I’ll give you the wifi and a key to the front door.”

Just like that he left you alone, the click of the back office door heard a second later. Something still didn’t sit right with you, something still so inherently wrong about this whole situation, but there was nothing you could do.

Not yet at least. This was one battle won, you had a week to prepare for the boss fight.

Taglist (form): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse | @philijack | @lelaleleb | @idfkeddieishot | @isiloiale | @candypop1611 | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  | @cloudysannie | @fire-and-flame | @sugarnspice630 | @hongjoongswifefr | @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu | @auroreen | @sousydive |

[bookquotesfrombooks]

“First the world says not to let autism ‘define you.’ Now, all of [a] sudden, when I need help, I have to prove to people that I am autistic.”

Kayla Smith

“I Wish I Wasn’t So Hard On Myself Back Then”

Published in Sincerly, Your Autistic Child

[sisilou]

Store Front

Mesh credits go to Simmerberlin

convertion 4to3 of Martassimsbook

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Recolors by My

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Term Of Use By downloading my content, you are agreeing to my TOU. You can’t claim my content as your own, reupload it somewhere else, link it behind a paywall or adfly or similar. If you want to share it, credit me and send the link to my download post only.

@pis3update, @wanderingsimsfinds, @gifappels-stuff, @redpixels,

@mels-ts3ccfinds, @simfluencer-network

[violant-apologia]

the current state of the kiss-meta:

some stats:

the most prolific kisser (so far) is elias leroux, with eleven kisses (all with different people!)

the pair that have the most kisses between them is harper faraday and jamie awnings, with three individual kisses

the total number of kissers is 34, and the total number of kisses is 45 (when you consider that each kiss requires two kissers, that's almost three kisses per kisser on average!)

there are four pairs of orphans who haven't been brought into the greater network (someone should get on those!)

if you notice an oc who's been up to some kissing and isn't on here, shoot me a dm or an ask and i'll make sure they get added!

[unicyclehippo]

New Year's prompt: glitter!

eat and be eaten is the way of the world. laudna knows that better than most. there is nothing that escapes it; if there is something that she believes in, it is that.

every person, every creature, good and bad, is meat sinew blood bone. death will lick her way into sweet marrow and she, giantess, will grind bone to bonemeal, to dust, to the finest vanishing filaments in the blowing wind. she will do that for everyone—pauper and puppet and queen. she kills moles in their molehills and boulders dreams of mountaindom. drags her pale hands through the farmlands and rots seeds in their bed, then farmers, then towns. she drapes a dark cloak across all faces, her shroud, takes their breath and leaves only memory behind, that small and tarnished token. hers is the dominion of death everlasting and it is steady and voracious in its generosity.

when the last of the aliens have landed in the desert, the bridge brightens to a burning red. it pierces into the rubble moon until it finds glass, crystal, that throws the red in a hundred thousand beams, each line a knife to the net, the cage.

glass melts, rock melts. the prison door cracks—and death sighs. she is free. she unhinges her jaw and opens wide her hands and reaches for the gods. it is the easiest thing to pass through the weave; she grabs the magic by the fistful and gorges herself on it, finally, licks every shred of magic from the chains and swallows it down link after link and when she is done with it she takes the first domain, the closest, and sinks her teeth into it rotsoft and sweet, an overripe plum, the frantic beating of a heart. it bursts in her mouth. holy! red! she drinks it down, licks her lips clean, licks her hands, until there is no trace left of the paltry god and its domain its stagnant cup. she is so hungry still. she reaches for the next.

far below, light spills like blood across the sky of exandria. divinity flares, fights, dies and is devoured; it glitters as it goes, explosions like all the rest of the far and distant stars, dead and dying.

the feast—the sky full of fire—lasts a year. there are no gods remaining when it is done; death has eaten them all, and herself too, in a great slow writhe, a snake and its tail, death and its endless end.

//

bells hells waits a year. stationed at the edge of the world, a red column of light drifting up into the distance of the astral sea. there is no ruidus anymore. only a line of red dust and rock smeared across the sky.

laudna has taken to travelling between the towers. there are twenty-five of them, so far, in groups of two or three. each new cluster rises up a little further from the bridge as the builders grow more daring, more hopeful. the red-stone roads creep between each settlement like a network of roots or splintering canyons. a reminder of ruidus, she thinks.

there is something to it that makes her heart ache—their world and city had been so full of dreams of exandria and, now that they were here, it was dreams of ruidus that guided their hands.

‘copper for your thoughts?’ miraani asks, sharp teeth grinding over the words.

laudna is resting, which is still strange to her. the sun is high and blisteringly hot and her caravan has stopped at one of the nexus; everywhere where the splintering roads met, the builders had fashioned great domes. way points of water and shade in the desert, wind tunnels whistling as the heat is dragged up and out, flags and awnings stirring in a lazy breeze. she is searching the interior—carved and painted with directions (and some amusing graffiti) for the way to the seventeenth cluster. stood in the archway, laudna eyes the next waypoint—a little lump in the distance—and the cluster beyond it. the twenty-sixth tower nearly complete.

‘do you miss kreveris, miraani?’

they step up beside her. tall, the sloping crest of their head nearly brushing the seven-foot curve of the arch. for a time, they are silent.

‘it was a place of great misery for many.’ miraani touched two fingers to the spot at the base of their neck where the flesh was warped, lumpy with a long-healed scar. a pink membrane closed over their black eyes—a sign, laudna had come to learn, of discomfort. emotional or physical. no one liked getting sand in their eyes. ‘we were corralled and leashed, our will lashed to that of the weave mind. there was never enough and it spurred cruelty in all. our city was a hollow thing built in honour of your world.’ miraani tilted their head upwards. beneath the membrane, their eyes swivelled. searching for that red trail across the sky. ‘and even so… yes, my guide. my mind overflows with thoughts of it.’

‘i am sorry. that we could not save it.’

miraani shook her head. ‘you saved us. and soon, i will be your guide through new kreveris.’

‘is that what has been settled on?’

‘i do not know what the Chorus intends but yes, many among us are calling it this.’

laudna nods. rubs at the line of her sternum. ‘i look forward to seeing it,’ she murmurs.

miraani waits. when laudna says nothing else, they clear their throat. ‘if we leave now, my guide, we will make it to the cluster before night.’

‘what? oh, yes. yes, of course.’

the caravan is ready to move, wuukor watered and drivers back from a road-rough lunch and stretching their legs. miraani swings up into the first caravan and pulls laudna up with them; together, they lead the six-cart caravan forward into the desert.

‘why are you thinking of kreveris?’ miraani asks later, voice lifting over the creak of wood and leather, the clatter of hooves and wheels on the road.

laudna shakes her head. ‘i was not. i was thinking of…death, i suppose. and what it leaves behind.‘

‘bodies,’ miraani nods.

it is not what laudna had in mind but she nods. thinks of her own body. creaking joints. scars. hollow burned out rooms in her mind that she cannot tread, cannot recall what they once held.

there was once a city on the moon; now, pieces of a city and pieces of a moon. it will take decades to rebuild and the work is at hand but it is painful and slow and sand fills every pair of boots she has.

there was once a woman in her mind; now, no woman and, it feels, only pieces of a mind. it is frightening and terribly lonely to hear only herself; it is more frightening, when she hears her thoughts echo, that old remembered whisper a sigh through the corridors of her mind. but the emptiness, the splintered roads and canyons, make it so very easy to tell when the red weight of a beloved mind brushes into hers and sinks deep.

hello, my love, laudna sings, and hears the redoubled echo. my love, my love, my love.

they are in range of the cluster and laudna lifts her eyes to the glinting cap of the twenty-sixth tower. it takes a moment, and a teasing brush of a mind to coax her close, but finally she spots a figure floating near the peak. massive bricks of stone rising effortlessly into place around her as teams of builders set them into beds of beam and mortar.

you are incandescent, my love, laudna whispers to her.

you are still too far away, imogen says. her mind bristles—irritation and exhaustion and that needling anxiety. you’re not allowed to sweet talk me until i can kiss you about it.

then come and kiss me, laudna tells her simply. her love, her wife, her life wavers in the air. the blocks shiver and, one by one, lower to the ground. then like a comet, imogen burns across the sky, closing the distance until she is here. with laudna once more. she hovers by the side of the caravan. it has been a year since she had to touch the ground and she rarely does; her eyes crackle with lightning, forks of red and purple leaping from her hands, her feet, the frizzing ends of her hair. she is the most beautiful creature laudna has ever seen.

she is frowning.

‘you’re two days late.’

‘hello,’ laudna says, pointedly. ‘there was a sandstorm.’

imogen scowls—up at the sky, as if in reprimand for keeping them apart—and then darts forward. ducks her head beneath the top of the caravan to alight within. purple lights flare and fill the space; purple paints the distance between them, and laudna’s hands and skin and when imogen kisses her, she closes her eyes and sees no black, no green, only purple.

[bettyfrommars]

Stop the World and Melt with You//Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

✨One minute, you're bawling your eyes out in 2023, and the next thing you know--you're at a gas station with guy named Eddie, in a town that feels stuck in the 80's. The thought of traveling back in time hasn't occurred to you yet; maybe because it's way more than that.

Series Masterlist

✨Based in an alternative universe, I think the only triggers are that reader is terribly sad in the beginning and is having a hard time remembering things. Slow build. Mention of dad passing away. Word count: 2.9k

A/N: I'm not sure if I will turn this into a series, or if it will stay as a little weird piece floating in the ether 💕 (update: link to part 2 above)

----------

So, there you are, crying in your truck. Not that pretty kind of sniffling where a single tear runs down your cheek and your eyes glisten, but massive, snotty, choking sobs. Gasping, wailing, shoulders bouncing, wringing your hands on the steering wheel. You were crying so hard, you missed your exit. At least, you must have, because the exit numbers jumped from 12 to 14 in the time it took for you to wipe your eyes, mascara stinging, your throat raw. The song playing is full of hopeful love (Melt with You by Modern English) and you scream at the radio like a banshee, scrambling to turn it off.

You slow down and get over to the furthest lane, hands at 10 and 2, eyes squinting, ready to take that exit 15 to Empress Landing Road that your GPS keeps squawking about. The rain is coming down in sheets now, mirroring the tears that have run down your neck and soaked the collar of your gray sweatshirt. You approach the bend and take the exit, winding your way around to a two-way stop sign, and that’s when you lose all of the bars on your phone and a flat message cross the screen says: NO SIGNAL.

“What the hell,” you mutter to yourself, making sure no one is behind you before you reach over to grab your phone and bring it to your face for a closer look. No cell service and no wifi; perfect. Just what you were hoping for on this day of our lord, the worst day of your life. Not the actual worst, but close: when you lost your dad six months ago to cancer, that was the worst. It would all be a walk in the park from there for the rest of your life as far as bad days went.

You keep waiting for your phone to find it’s way back to the network, but you drive a couple miles and still nothing. The windshield wipers are flapping, and your head is throbbing to the beat. It doesn’t make you feel any better to look down and realize you’re almost out of gas and are about two minutes from coasting on Empty. You’ve got seven dollars in your wallet, but then there’s a couple hundred in your checking, and also the emergency credit card with an impressive $500 limit. All of that needs to be stretched out for another week until next payday.

Coming up on your left, you see a sign for “Gary’s Garage” right next to a double garage mechanics shop and a two pump gas station. You’re not sure if you have the luxury of pricing gallons of gas right now, with the way you’re about to be stuck on the side of the road, but out of habit, you check the prices on the sign anyway.

Wait...you try to focus your eyes, thinking maybe you’re seeing things, or perhaps one of the numbers on the sign had fallen off. There is no way gas is 5.7 cents a gallon, that’s insane. You figure maybe someone just put and extra zero in the front, so you hit your blinker and pull over your old truck bouncing down through a large puddle.

The rain shower lets up, thankfully, because there is no awning over where you need to pump your gas. You get out and pause at how old the gas tanks are. Nothing digital, all black and white flip numbers like on those old alarm clocks, and no where to pay outside. After looking at both of the tanks and scratching your head for a good minute or so, you turn to go inside when you see someone walking over from the garage.

He’s about your age, wearing dark gray coveralls that match the color of the overcast sky, long, curly dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and a blue banana on his head. He’s wiping is hands on a rag as his eyes widen at you, getting closer, close enough for you to see that his lips are soft and full, and his eyes are dark but kind.

“This way, follow me,” He tells you, motioning with a twitch of his head, cleaning down between the webs of his fingers as he goes.

You do as he says, in through the glass doors to a small space with two vending machines and a desk with an old fashioned cash register. You notice that the soda machine offers the drink TAB, which is a diet drink you haven’t seen around since you were just a kid. On the window sill behind him, there is a tiny black and white TV the size of a toaster with a vintage daytime soap opera on.

He reaches into a brown lunch sack on the window sill and puts a pretzel into his mouth. “How much do you want?” He asks, the pretzel drying up his mouth so he can’t enunciate as well. He grabs for an open can of Pepsi sitting near the TV to wash it down, and you can see that the creases on the skin of his hands seem to be stained with grease and dirt. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I forgot to eat today.”

“It’s alright,” you see that the name on his coveralls reads: Eddie. “I just realized that I forgot to eat today, too,” you say, putting a hand on your stomach.

His tongue slips along his teeth under his lips to make sure there is no pretzel goo stuck behind as he looks at you, waiting for an answer to his question, but then he pulls a box of tissues out from under the counter and passes it to you.

“You’ve got…” he points to his eyes and makes a circle around one of them, and then points to you. “...from the rain probably but…”

Oh god, no. You realize that you never took a look at your face in the rear view before you got out of the truck. You’re so used to paying at the pump and getting the hell out of there without having to talk to anyone, you weren’t prepared to meet a cute guy in overalls.

“Um, thank you,” you say, self-consciously, sticking the tip of your tongue out to moisten the tissue so that you can wipe under your eyes. You look around and don’t see any type of reflective service to check and see if you got it all, but Eddie assures you:

“You got it,” he says with a wink. And then he stands there waiting, and you forgot what he asked you again, but finally…

“Gas! Right,” you look out at your truck, knowing what a gas guzzler she is. “Do you take debit cards?”

His forehead tightens, not sure he heard you correctly. “We take credit cards, sure.”

He reaches down to the same shelf where the tissue box had been and pulls out an archaic credit card machine that presses the credit card numbers onto the receipt with carbon paper. They haven’t been around in...20 years? Maybe more?

You wonder how this mom and pop, completely analogue service station, has been able to stay in business by keeping everything so simple. He sees that your hand trembles as you look through your wallet, realizing you don’t have the cash you thought you had, and then touching the credit card, trying to do the math in your head.

“We also take trade,” he tells you, matter-of-fact, tapping his finger on the wood table top, as if that’s another world wide form of modern currency.

“Trade?” Your mouth drops open a bit, your eyes shifting around, hoping he doesn’t mean sexual favors. But for him in particular, though, you might consider it.

“If...if you don’t have cash, I mean. You can just give me something in trade for the gas.”

You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “I’m sure your boss wouldn’t like that.”

“How do you know I’m not the boss?” He asks, squaring his shoulders, crossing his arms at his chest, but then a little smirk pulls up one side of his mouth. Slowly, his smile widens, disarmingly, and it helps you to drop your guard.

“God, I’m having the worst day,” you confess to him on an exhale, your shoulders sinking, angry at yourself for feeling tears building in your eyes again. “You ever have one of those days when everything feels off and everything goes wrong?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I’d say that’s pretty much every other day for me,” he gestures around with his free hand, and then he steadies his eyes on you and nibbles at his lip.

You choke back a sob that is lingering in your throat.

“Listen, what about this,” he is making a little circle on the table with his finger as he talks. “What if I get your gas for you, and then you let me take you to dinner?”

Your head snaps up, your bloodshot eyes meeting his. “Like...a date?”

He shrugs. “Or, just two people eating together. Whichever sounds better to you, princess.”

You inadvertently make a sloshing sound in your throat, jerking back a small spasm of tears. “I have to...I have get back home.”

Eddie’s eyes look momentarily set with sadness, but then he blinks, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Where...where is home?” He asks you

You tilt your head as you try to remember, and it feels like trying to recall the colors of a marble lost down a dark well, never to be seen again. Was it red and green or blue and yellow? Did it have sparkles or was it clear with yellow speckles? You know there are so many possibilities in your brain somewhere, but you can’t find it.

“I..I don’t remember,” you cringe as you say it, placing your hand on your forehead to see if you have a temperature.

You snap your eyes up to his. “Hold on, just a second,” and then you pop open the snap on your wallet, your eyebrows knitting together as you turn it horizontally to grab your driver’s license.

“Wait, it should be right here,” you realize that that your ID isn’t in your wallet, neither are your credit cards or your cash. You spread the folds of your wallet open and shake it out on top of the counter, waiting for things to fall out.

Something yellow softly trembles from one of the slits in your wallet folds, and then flutters to the desk, landing between you and Eddie:

It’s the flattened flower from a daffodil; its the only thing in your wallet.

You and Eddie both stare at the flattened flower, and then Eddie picks it up, bringing it to his nose:

“This,” he raises his eyebrow, pinching it delicately, presenting it out like a prize. “This we can trade for. Daffodils don’t grow here this time of the year. This will get you a full tank.”

***

When you open the door to return to your truck, there are little kids scampering away, and one has your license plates clutched to their chest. All of them have long hair and over sized clothes that don’t fit, and the one with the dirty Hawkins basketball jersey seems to growl at you as they scamper across the road.

“Hey!” You scream. “Give that back!”

You start to head after them, but they are already disappearing into the corn fields and Eddie puts his hand on your arm. “Foreigner plates are always the first to go, sweetheart,” he tells you, as if it should be obvious. “They are worth a lot in trade. I thought I would have time to warn you.”

As your brain is trying to assess the situation, you come back to something he said. “Um...foreigner? Is that what you call someone who lives one state away?”

Eddie opens your gas cap and sticks the nozzle into your tank, and then he gives you a smile that you can’t read. “Which state are you in now, princess?”

“Well,” you rest your thigh against the bumper, forehead creased in thought, reaching one finger up to press thoughtfully against your mouth. There is a huge chunk of your memory, of the past 24 years of your life that you simply cannot recall.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie reaches out and squeezes your arm. He ducks his head down to try and get you to meet his eyes. “I’m sure it will all come back to you.”

“I feel like…” you search his face; it’s familiar in a way that makes you feel comforted, even though he is a stranger. “...like I was upset about something, but now I can’t remember what it was.”

He releases your arm, lifting his chin with a grin. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? You just need some food and some rest.”

“Sure, if you say so.” you are bothered, but you also like the feeling of not having anything weigh on your mind. You’re just in this moment, here with Eddie, in this strange place, without any plates on your vehicle.

Eddie pumps your gas for you while you sit with your legs dangling out of the passenger seat to talk to him.

“When you check in at the motel, let Claudia know that you’re a friend of mine, hopefully she’ll give you a deal,” Eddie tells you. But, then he squints, “Mmmmh, or she also might charge you more, depends on her mood.”

“Motel?” You cock you head, confused.

“Oh, well,” Eddie sticks his free hand in his pocket. “I figured you’d be staying at The Grove because it’s the only motel in town.”

You remember a motel, that rings a bell. “Yeah,” you tell him, feeling a little better, like maybe things were coming back to you. “I am staying at a motel. I just forgot the name.”

You reach over to grab your phone so that you can put The Grove Motel into your GPS when you realize it’s not on the dash mount, and you can’t find it anywhere. With a curse, you realize that those kids must’ve taken it. Next to you on the seat is your suitcase, and your overnight back with toiletries and snacks is on the floorboard, and you are grateful they didn’t have time to take those. Your phone was insured for theft, and so you figured you’d just deal with that back at the motel.

“Okay, well, thank you,” you say to Eddie as you shut the heavy metal door to your truck, manually rolling your window down to continue talking with him. “I guess I’ll...see you later? You said that the diner is next door to the motel?”

Eddie nods, wiping his hands again. “It’s just a block away, connected to the bowling alley with the big, neon sign. You can’t miss it.”

He also said he would keep an eye out for your phone (in his head, he’s picturing a handheld landline with a cord, and doesn’t know why you had one in your truck) and your plates, in case anyone tries to trade them for gas or garage services; this happens a lot, apparently. Eddie gave you directions to the motel, which was basically a straight shot a couple miles down the road, and then you waved goodbye out the window as you pulled back onto the highway. You swore you turned the radio off earlier, but the same song Melt with You by Modern English is playing again, and you give it a curious look before turning the dial to find another station. Static and then...Master of Puppets by Metallica...a news story quoting Chief Jim Hopper...strange electric buzzing...the song Running up that hill (make a deal with god) by Kate Bush….more static...and then what sounds like two young kids talking back and forth on their walkie-talkies.

You snap the radio off just in time to make room to pass by 4 young kids hurrying along on their bikes. Ahead of you on the horizon, the sunset glows pink, purple, and orange, and a strange certainty washes over you, assuring you that you’ve been here before.

Eddie stands in the same place, watching you go, excitement and fear gripping his heart. He stuffs the rag into his back pocket and goes to twirl one of the rings on his hand like he normally does, but then he remembers they are all in a dish inside the shop.

A tall, scruffy, older man with a full head of gray hair and a mustache walks over from the garage to stand next to him. He’s in a pair of jeans with a dark blue, button-down shirt that has “Gary” embroidered on the pocket.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Another one,” Gary says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eddie nods his head, silently, squinting as tiny flecks of raindrops hit his face, watching your brake lights tap as you pass a group of kids.

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Eddie says, biting his cheek in thought. “Just like the others.”

“She will,” Gary assures him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “When the time is right, it will all come back to her. Poor thing.”