#because why would Gerry call two random people he just met 'old friends'??

[deaderthandoubledead]

Can we talk about how Gerry broke the 4th wall to call the listeners "old friends"??

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 10 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: As always, thank you for your lovely likes, reblogs, tags, and messages on the last chapter.  

“Can you sit still.”

“Don’t get it on my face!”

“That’s why my other hand is on your face!  So it gets on my hand instead of your face!”

“Do I at least make a hot Eugene Levy?”

Bee couldn’t help but snort at Morgan’s question.  She stopped spraying the black hairspray and took her hand off his forehead to see the full picture.  She had turned his hair salt and pepper – a little more emphasis on the pepper – for his Halloween costume.  He was going as Johnny Rose, and she as Moira Rose, from Schitt’s Creek.  It was completely at her request.  Morgan had wanted to first go as Batman and Robin, and she said that was too cliché.  Then he suggested Wayne Gretzky and Jari Kurri, but Bee had no idea who Jari Kurri was, so she shot down that idea too.  She first suggested Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, but Morgan refused once he saw what he would have to wear.  It was only then when she suggested Johnny and Moira from Schitt’s Creek, the show that they would watch together on Netflix.  Morgan finally agreed.  He’d practiced his facial expressions for weeks.  Bee practiced Catherine O’Hara’s accent for just as long.

“At least I know you’d still look hot with dark hair,” she wiggled her eyebrows.  

“Oh, well, Briony,” Morgan’s voice was bashful.  He brought his hands up to the back of her thighs and ended up squeezing her ass quickly.  “Maybe I should follow in Dermott’s footsteps and get some purple cornrows.”

“Please don’t,” she said curtly, causing him to laugh.  “Let go of my butt.  I need to get hairspray and work on your eyebrows.”

“Can you get it if I don’t let go of your butt?”

Bee snorted.  “No.  Now hands off, Mr. Rielly.”

Briony and Morgan had two parties to go to that night.  First, they were stopping by Angie and Mason’s apartment, where they were throwing a small party with a bunch of their friends – mostly Mason’s PhD program friends and their significant others.  After Angie and Mason’s, they would head to the Platinum Club at Scotiabank Arena, where the boys from the Leafs had organized the team Halloween party.  

They walked hand in hand through the streets of the Annex until they got to 100 Spadina Road, Angie and Mason’s apartment building.  After getting buzzed in and taking the elevator up to the 10th floor, Bee helped herself into the apartment, the party already in full swing.  When Angie noticed them in the doorway, she screamed in the face of whomever she was speaking with and made her way over.

“You’re heeeeeeere!” Angie squealed as she hugged Bee tightly.  When she pulled away, she looked down at Bee’s outfit.  “And you are…?”

“Angela, stop acting like a disgruntled pelican,” Bee said in her best impression of Moira Rose she could muster.

“Oh my God Bee!” she exclaimed.  “It’s brilliant!  Brilliant!”  She focused her attention to Morgan, giving his costume a quick nod.  “You must be Johnny, then.”

“I am,” he nodded his head.  “But for the purposes of tonight, you can call me Morgan.”

“Well it’s nice to finally meet you, Morgan.  Bee’s only mentioned you once or twice in the past few months,” she said sarcastically.  “Come on, come in.  Keep your shoes on.  Let me introduce you to Mason.”

Angie dragged both of them through the apartment, bringing them to Mason, who was standing near the sliding door of the balcony talking with one of his friends.  They were introduced briefly, as Mason seemed to be in deep in a serious conversation.  Angie then brought them around to others, introducing them briefly.  Alex and his partner Steve, who was getting his PhD in the history of the Toronto Purchase of 1787; Stacy, who was getting a PhD in the colonial history of Upper Canada, and her boyfriend Connor; Claire, who was in residency at Toronto General Hospital for neurosurgery; Gerry, doing post-doctoral research in…something?  Sarah, who was getting his degree in…thermonuclear astrophysics?  God, he couldn’t keep up.  Morgan had never felt so inadequate in his life.  He tried to understand their fields of study and he tried to understand their thesis work, but it was all going over his head.  All he could do was offer a comment or two, or a quick nod of his head, and pretend to understand.  

And then there was Briony.  So engaged in their research, so informative and informed about what they were doing.  She knew the right questions to ask.  She knew how to keep the conversation going about research.  She knew exactly how to handle herself and there he was, standing there like a lump beside her.  All he could do was sip on his beer.  He didn’t contribute anything.  He didn’t have anything to contribute.  

Hockey afforded him the luxury of travel; of lifelong friendships across Canada; of goals and hard work; of tenacity and determination to win; and much more.  It did not afford him the luxury of schooling.  It was just the way it was.  They went to school but nothing was serious.  He went to Notre Dame and excelled in math and science but he never thought once of pursuing it.  When he moved to Moose Jaw and was placed in the local Catholic school he prayed every morning before homeroom, still excelling at math and science, but his mind was always on hockey.  His homework was always done, and he always raised his hand in class to answer questions, but school wasn’t the priority.  Hockey always was.  Winning always was.  Getting drafted always was.  

Eventually Mason approached him and took him to get another beer.  From their spot standing near the fridge, Morgan could hear Briony laugh and giggle while she took pictures with Angie and did her Moira Rose accent.  He and Mason talked about a variety of random things, and despite Morgan knowing Mason was 150% smarter than him, he felt comfortable.  They talked mostly about sports – football, the coming of Kawhi Leonard to the Raptors, and the Jays.  The Leafs never came up.  Morgan was partly thankful.

“So I heard you guys made it official a few weeks back,” Mason mentioned as he cracked open his third beer.

“Y-Yeah…” Morgan nodded.  So they were going there.  “How do you know?”

“Listen, Bee tells Angie everything,” he said.  “Most things Angie then tells me, if they’re not too personal.  Bee would have probably told me eventually, though.”

“Of course,” Morgan nodded again.  He should have known.  Angie and Bee were like glue, and they spoke in some form everyday.  He should have figured Angie would be the first to know, and therefore Mason the second to know. 

“Do your teammates know?” Mason asked.

With that question, Morgan knew Mason knew who he was.  He appreciated that Mason wasn’t making a big deal out of it.  “Yeah, they’ve met her.  When she came to some of the games she met them, and then I had a few of them over for Thanksgiving,” he explained.  “I actually think Enzo’s already in love with her.”

“Yeah, that’s easy with Bee.  Especially if she cooked.”

“She did.”

“Well then,” Mason chuckled.  “There you go.”

Morgan took a deep breath in.  “So uh, what are you getting your PhD in?”

Mason gave him a look.  “The Easter Rising in Ireland,” Mason responded.  Morgan gave him a blank stare.  “I don’t expect you to know what that is.  Don’t worry.”

“Can you explain it to me?” Morgan asked.

“What?”

“Can you explain it?”

“It doesn’t exactly need to be common, everyday knowledge,” Mason countered.

Morgan sighed.  “I know.  But I feel like I’m the only one here who isn’t in grad school or getting a PhD,” he said, looking around awkwardly.  “And to be completely honest with you, I feel…” he paused again, looking to see Briony wasn’t anywhere near him, “I feel inadequate when I talk to Briony and she brings up all the things she’s learning.  I have no clue what she’s talking about but I just nod my head.  I’ve tried to do research but…”

“Well if you want the gist of it, Bee’s learning how to how to invest money in various economic conditions and how to tell people where to invest their money so--”

“No no, I know that,” Morgan said.  “I don’t get, like, the stuff she needs to learn before she gets there.  She had this massive assignment on behavioural economics and I saw her stress over it so much and it made me feel awful that I couldn’t help her.”

Mason couldn’t help but smile.  “Well, even if you could have helped her, Bee wouldn’t have asked for it…or wanted it,” he commented.  “You know her by now.  She’s all about independence.  She’s all about making it on her own.  If you had a book of all the answers, or a definitive path she could follow to get an A, she wouldn’t read it.  She’d just do it herself, her way.”

Morgan nodded his head.  Mason was right.  As someone who knew Bee for years, as opposed to Morgan’s few months, he knew the insight Mason had into Bee was much better than his.  “I know.  Still makes me feel like shit though.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Mason soothed him.  “Bee doesn’t expect that from you.  If she did she would have left you by now.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“Morgan, I’m being serious.  She doesn’t care about how smart a person is or what level of education they have.  Believe me.  Because we’ve met some pretty awful and disgusting people with Master’s and PhDs,” he said.  “She’s old school.  She cares about character.  What you value in life.  Hard work.  All that stuff.  If you have a PhD but you’re a dick, she’s gonna tell you off faster than if you have a high school diploma but a heart of gold.”

Morgan considered what Mason had to say seriously.  He knew Mason was right.  If Briony didn’t like him, if she thought he was inferior or not smart enough, she would have dumped or ghosted him by now.  The fact that she was still there meant something.  But the anxiety was still there.

“I’m afraid she’s going to wake up one day and realize she’s too good for me,” Morgan couldn’t stop talking.  He had known Mason for all of an hour and was already revealing these insecurities to him.  At this point he couldn’t stop himself.  He couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“She won’t do that,” Mason shook his head.  “You guys seem to be in this weird sort of relationship where you think she’s too good for you, but she thinks you’re too good for her, and somehow you’re in perfect harmony.”

She thought he was too good for her?  What in the world was she thinking?!  Had she lost her damn mind?  “She thinks what?”

Mason smiled mischievously.  “You heard me.  Must mean something.”

As if on cue, Morgan could feel her hand scratch up his back lightly to get his attention.  He spun around to see her smiling, her cheeks flushed not by the ample amount of blush she had put on, but by the red wine she’d been drinking.  “You ready to go?  Ashley already texted me.”

“Yeah, of course.  Let me get an Uber,” he nodded, even though what he really wanted to do was sit down over more beers with Mason and get to the bottom of what exactly Briony had told him about their relationship, or what Briony had told Angie who had then told Mason, or what Mason could have possibly overheard from a conversation between Angie and Briony about – 

“Let me walk you to the door.  I can’t believe you have to leave,” Angie’s voice, slightly drunk, interrupted his thoughts as she wrapped her arm around Briony’s shoulders.  They walked to the apartment door together, coinciding with another couple that were just walking in.  

Mason and Morgan had stayed back briefly so they were a few steps behind the girls.  Mason nudged Morgan to get his attention.  “Hey, is there a reason why you call her Briony all the time?”

Morgan shrugged his shoulders as he began to walk.  “I just like the sound of Briony.  It’s a beautiful name.”

“You’re the only one, you know.  If we did that she’d smack us upside the head.  Must mean something.”

Morgan chuckled.  “I’ll see you soon, bud.”

When Morgan and Briony arrived at the Platinum Club, Tyler, dressed in a cowboy costume, greeted them enthusiastically.  He was so excited and already drunk, and he picked up Briony and swung her around.  His cheeks were flushed just as much as hers, and Morgan wondered how much alcohol everyone had already consumed.  He was getting there, but not quite there yet.  

“How’re you doing princess?” he asked.  

“Pretty good, cowboy,” she giggled as she was set down.  “What’s with the costume?”

“I’m from Edmonton, duh.”

“Aren’t all the cowboys in Calgary?  You should have been an oil rig.”

Tyler rolled his eyes.  “You’re too smart, you know that?  Everyone else just believed me.”

As they made their way further into the room, Morgan could see the rest of the team and their significant others.  The girls practically swarmed around Briony, and Briony – seemingly a little bit too tipsy to care about all the attention – greeted them with open arms.  Soon enough, she started posing in selfies and group photos with them, and kept doing Moira’s accent.  “I had just had my eyelashes dyed.  Everything was cloudy!”; “A heavy salad might as well be a casserole.”; “The last time I felt this emotionally encumbered, I was playing Lady Macbeth on a Crystal Skies cruise ship during Shakespeare at Sea Week!"  The girls were howling their heads off.  Steph kept commenting how Briony sounded exactly like Moira.  Christina Marleau had tears in her eyes.  Morgan couldn’t help but look on admiringly.  

“Hey!  How come nobody is asking me to do my Eugene Levy impression?” Morgan joked, approaching the group of women.  “I practiced for days!”

“I think we’re all a little freaked out by your eyebrows,” Steph laughed.  “You sure did a number on them, Bee.”

“Besides, we all know Moira is the real star of the show,” Christina winked at him.  

Morgan shrugged his shoulders.  “Eh, you’re right.  I’m gonna go get a beer,” he said, leaving the girls alone to find where Auston got his drink.

As Morgan hung out with Auston, Jake, and Fred, the alcohol kept flowing and the jokes kept coming.  After leaving Briony with the other girls, he heard her accent every now and then, and he knew it meant she was having fun.  She came back briefly so they could record a video on Steph’s phone to “commemorate” the night, but beyond that, she seemed to be having the time of her life with the girls.  Morgan appreciated how they were so warm and welcoming, especially Ashley and Lucy, and he knew Briony appreciated it too.  As an introvert, he knew the energy it must have been taking for Briony to socialize; but at the same time, he knew the alcohol was helping.  Briony could have made the executive decision to stay the entire night at Angie and Mason’s party, but the fact that she agreed to come to this one too, with his friends, meant a lot.  He’d have to thank her later.

The boys eventually moved on to some shots before going for what seemed like their tenth round of whisky.  Auston was giggly, as he always got when he was drunk, and kept fiddling around with his costume.  Jake, for his credit, seemed completely sober, but Morgan knew he was completely shit-faced.  The boy couldn’t hold his liquor.  Enzo had joined them, and he was just like Jake – completely shitfaced, but somehow able to keep it together.  It was team bonding experiences like this that truly brought the boys together – seeing them at their most creative, but also, if drunk, at their absolute worst.

Late into the night Lucy approached Jake.  “I’m just going to go to the washroom, but we should call a taxi soon,” she told her husband.

“Yeah, cool,” he said, maintaining composure.  He was swaying side to side in beat with the music that was playing out of Mitch’s phone at this point, and watched as his wife walked to the washrooms in the back of the Platinum Club.  He saw Bee across the room, talking with Aryne Tavares.  He tapped Morgan on the chest.  “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” Morgan was confused.

“Briony.  Time for Briony.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Morgan should have known better – he really should have.  Jake started to move to the music more than before.  Morgan knew he liked to dance, especially with Lucy, but this was a different kind of dancing, with a different kind of beat.  A song Morgan couldn’t recognize was playing in the background, and Jake couldn’t help but move his hips in tune to the music.  As he did so, he moved closer and closer to Briony, who ended up being backed onto one of the plush chairs scattered about the room.  She was laughing until she fell into the chair – then she knew what was coming next.  She was going to die mortified.  A drunken Jake Gardiner was going to give her a lap dance.  

Jake took a few steps back before waltzing back towards her, blowing her a quick kiss.  His hips continued to move with the beat of the music before turning around, placing his hands on the armrests, and practically sitting on her lap.  From where she was sitting, she could hear Auston cackling loudly as he watched.  Morgan was so red from laughing so hard she thought he was going to collapse right then and there.  She assumed Jake had done this to others, and that his actions weren’t what they were laughing about – what they were laughing about was the horrified look on her face.  

Jake continued his movements, turning to face her before he gyrated his hips once more.  He untucked his shirt from his dress pants to move better, and unbuttoned the first three buttons, leaning over to shove his chest in Bee’s face.  He reached out his hand and twisted some of her wig hair around his finger before giving her a kissy face.  From out of the corner of her eye, Bee saw Auston approach Jake from behind and slip a fifty-dollar bill into the waistband of his pants.  Tyler followed suit, slipping a twenty.

“I’m available for hire at parties,” Jake winked at her.  “You just call me.”

“I’ll be sure to do that Jake.”

“Jake?  Ja…GET AWAY FROM HER!” Lucy shrieked at her husband as she saw what he was doing.  She ran over to them and pulled him away from the chair, an equally as horrified look on her face as there had been on Bee’s.  Everybody was still losing their minds, even more so now at Lucy’s reaction.  “Ohmigodbeeiamsosorry,” she rushed to apologize before slapping her husband on the arm.  “How dare you!  That poor girl!”

“She was enjoying herself!  Who wouldn’t?” he motioned down to his body.  “It’s Magic Mike!  Everybody likes Magic Mike!”

“Jake William Gardiner you are drunk!” she screamed at him as she tugged him away.  “I’m sorry again, Bee!”

“It’s alright!” she giggled out, waving goodbye to Jake as he was dragged away to the washrooms.  

Bee watched as Morgan and Auston wiped the tears from their eyes.  She collected her thoughts and her breath, a smile appearing on her face eventually after fully realizing what had just transpired. 

Steph approached her first with tears in her eyes.  “Getting a lap dance from Jake is like a rite of passage,” she snickered.  “We’ve all gotten one at one point.  You’re one of us now.  This is like your welcoming party.”

Bee couldn’t help but laugh out loud.  If a drunken lap dance from her boyfriend’s best friend was what inaugurated her into a group, then so be it.

[cole-winchester]

Pieces

SPN FIC

John Winchester x Female OC Aiden Gallagher

Welcome to denial land! This Fic is set in pretty much present day. (Present day Jeffrey Dean Morgan) No one died! Everyone is alive…well, except Mary and Jess.. But Bobby, Ellen, Jo. The whole crew is alive.

Song inspiration - ’Pieces’ - by Red

Aiden is a 26 year old girl who has psychic visions and the ability to heal mortal wounds. Her visions plague her, taunting her because she never arrives in time to save the vitcim..until one vision haunts her for days, giving her time to track him down.

Will she be able to save this man?

Tag List:  @haleyea

Chapter One

I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator, forcing my wrangler faster down the rundown highway.  The streetlights flashing, briefly illuminating the dark road as I sped past them.  My mind was spinning faster than my wheels, digging through the different scenarios of how this would go down.  Would I get there in time?  Had I misread something?  My green eyes flicked between the scattered buildings on either side of the highway, searching and scanning each vehicle and sign before locking onto the truck in the lot to my right.  I slammed my foot on the brakes, screeching to a halt on the highway.  Car horns sounded as vehicles swerved around me.  I spun the wheel to the right and jammed my jeep into first, gunning it into the parking lot.  I cut the engine and jerked the e-brake handle as I came to a stop in the space next to the old black GMC pickup.  The cab of my jeep falling silent as I glanced around.  His truck was empty and there was a light on behind the shades of the motel room directly in front of it.  

My breaths came out in short pants as a slight ache began to stir behind my right eye.  

“Ah, shit."  I scrunched my eyes shut and leaned forward, resting my forehead on the steering wheel as the wave washed over me.

The vision hit me like a freight train, slamming through my mind.  The black truck sitting in the parking lot, the street lights reflecting off of the glossy black hood…a close up of the motel room door…number 23…the door opens and a dark haired man of about 50 steps out…he checks his phone…the date and time brightly illuminated on the screen….today’s date, 9:20pm…he pockets his phone and steps off towards the bar at the other end of the parking lot…‘Gerry’s’ painted on the sign above the door…there’s a flash and the man is being thrown out of the door of the bar…three men on his heels…he falls to the ground…they kick him repeatedly and his head snaps back, blood and bruises cover his face…he manages to stumble to his feet, his fists up to swing at the men…the lead attacker lunges forward, a large hunting knife glinting as he drives it into the man’s abdomen…the man crumbles over as blood begins to drip from his mouth…the attacker rips the crimson knife from him and the three men move off, laughing….the man drops to his knees before falling to his side, coughing and gasping on the blood as it seeps into his short salt and pepper beard…

And just like that I’m back in my jeep.  The ache behind my eyes pulsing as it begins to fade.  I pinch the bridge of my nose to help clear my eyesight as I try to regain control of my breathing.  This was the third time this vision had played in my mind.  The first one came two days ago as a dream.  After seeing the date and time on his cell phone I knew I had to act.  This had been the first vision to ever give me anymore than a few hours heads up.  I hadn’t been given this much detail or information in any of my previous ones.  This man was different.  I had to save him.  I spent the next day online searching the country for any bar named Gerry’s that I could find.  After locating it I realized it was a two day drive from the motel I was staying at.  I hopped in my jeep and gunned it, never looking back.  

I glanced at the clock on my dash… 8:00pm.  I was cutting it close.  I didn’t have much time to come up with a game plan.  

My phone vibrated in my pocket, jarring me from my thoughts causing me to jump.

"Hello?"  I said quickly, answering it without looking at the caller ID.  

"Aiden?"  

"Missouri?  Hey…I didn’t look at who was calling.  What’s-”

“Sweetheart, where are you right now?"  Her tone set alarms off in my head.  

"I’m in some run down town off of old highway 40 just into Oklahoma.”

“The motel lot next to Gerry’s?"  She asked. 

My heart dropped.  

"Wait…you had a vision about this guy too?!  How?!”

“Aiden…its complicated.”

“No shit!  This is the first time any of my visions gave me any type of forewarning.  I just got here.  He should be leaving his room in-" 

"An hour.  Yes.  Aiden listen to me carefully."  She dropped her voice and spoke slowly.  "He is not just some random man.  This is different.  You had this vision in enough time so you can save him."  

"I don’t understand.  Who is this guy?”

She paused.

“Missouri….who is he?"  My heart was in my throat as my pulse pounded in my ears.

"Aiden…he’s John Winchester.”

I about dropped the phone as the air left my lungs.  

Missouri heard my gasp.  “Girl you better keep it together."  

I cleared my throat.  "Holy shit."  

"Aiden, listen.  Don’t try and change anything of what you saw in the vision.  Let it play out as you saw it, otherwise you might not see something else coming.  You hear me?  You have your powers, sweetheart.  You can heal him.  You know what to do.”

My hand holding the phone began to shake.

“Aiden.  Take a breath.  You can do this.”

I forced my throat to swallow.  “Yeah.  Ok."  I sighed.  "I’ll call you after.”

“Ok."  

I hung up, dropping the phone into my lap as I ran my hands through my red hair.  I took a deep breath and sighed, opening my eyes to gaze at the motel door in front of me. John Winchester?! Why me?

I grabbed my keys from the ignition, retrieved my phone and stepped out of the jeep towards the bar.  I had about 45 minutes before he’d leave his room.  

"Fuck me."  I whispered as I strode across the lot.

***

I fiddled with my whiskey glass on the bar before downing it in one swift gulp.  I was trying to keep my composure, but booze helped my energy flow and got my mind focused.  God knows I’d need it for this.  Sure, I’d healed people…but not like this…and most definitely not John fucking Winchester!  I’d never met the man but I’d heard all of his stories from Missouri or different hunters that I’d crossed paths with.  Some hated him, called him a hot headed drunk, others couldn’t speak high enough about him and his boys.   And now it was up to me to save his life…no pressure. 

I wasn’t sure how I was going to play this out.  My vision didn’t show me if we interacted or not.  Do I talk to Him? Do I just sit back and watch?  God this was too much…I ordered another whiskey when I felt a spark in the air as the door to the bar opened.  My shoulders stiffened as my gaze shot to the door.  

There he was.  

My heart about stopped as our eyes met for a second.  That second seemed to freeze in time, feeling like an eternity as his brown/hazel eyes locked with my emerald ones.  I broke the moment and turned back to my glass.  This man was much different than my vision.  I’d mainly only seen the back of his head and his bloodied face on the pavement.  This man…He was gorgeous to say the least.   Tall, an obvious strapping build underneath his jacket… His jeans hugging him in all the right places… His dark hair and short salt and pepper beard… Not to mention his aura was off the charts.  A deep purple swirling and pulsing around him.  I was fascinated, his aura, his demeanor, he just drew me in like a moth to a flame.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he made his way towards me and sat a seat away, leaving a stool in between us.  He ordered a whiskey from the bartender and his voice sent a shockwave through me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?!  I’m here to save this man, not get wrapped up in him when he’s just shy of twice my age.  Get it together!

I downed my whiskey and motioned for another one.  I saw John eyeing me as he took a drink of his.  

"Not to be cliche, but what are you doing in a dive like this?"  His voice rumbled through my bones.

I caught myself and put on a face, turning and smirking at him.  His thousand watt smile just about knocked me off of my stool. "Needed a break from the road.”

He nodded, placing his glass on the bar top.  “I get that.  But, a beautiful girl like you could catch some unwanted trouble in a place like this all by yourself."  His eyes drifted over to the group of men playing pool and my gaze followed.  I glanced over quickly and forced myself to keep my face steady.  It was the group from the vision.  Shit.

I chuckled.  "Yeah, they’ve been staring at me since I got here."  I said as I took a gulp off my whiskey.  "So…what about you, are you 'unwanted trouble?’" 

What the fuck?!  Where did that come spewing out of?  Get your head together!

He raised his eyebrows at me, smiling as he took another drink.   

I laughed.  "Sorry.”

“No, don’t be.  You’ve got spunk.  I like that. I’m John."  He set his glass down and held his hand out to me.  

"I’m Aiden."  I grasped his hand and a quick vision flashed in my mind of him driving his truck, turning and smiling across to the passenger seat.  It was weird and felt as if he was gazing at me…but why would I be in his truck?  

I smiled at him and released his hand.

We talked for a while, and I had shifted into the seat next to him.  His aura swirling and changing colors as his buzz began to set in.  

He got up after a while to hit the head and I ordered us another round.  Alcohol didn’t affect me as much as it does the normal person.  My powers caused me to have an elevated tolerance. I wasn’t sure why, but I definitely enjoyed it.

I’d never acted this way with anyone.  I’d always had my guard up and hardly let anyone in.  This man completely broke down all of my walls.  His aura seemed to reach for me, like I was a long lost….friend?  No.. it reached for me like I was something deeper… I laughed to myself and shook my head at my thoughts.

I was having a good night with John, lost in conversation and his charm, so much so that I’d forgotten why I was here in the first place…  

"Well hey there, sweet cheeks."  A voice come from next to me as a man leaned on the bar.  Chuckles and grunts came from the other men that had walked up surrounding me.

And then everything came rushing back.  It was the group from the pool table… from the vision…the group that kills John.  How could I be so stupid to let my guard down!  My rage began to burn deep inside me and I heightened my senses, putting everything on full alert. 

"Whatdya say you come take a ride with us?"  His breath reeked of beer as he leaned even closer to me.

"No thanks."  I snapped.  "Whatever it is you’re looking for, I ain’t it so why don’t you and your boys get lost.”

“Oh, come on now.  We’ll have lots of fun."  The man ran his finger down the length of my forearm.

"I said no."  I glared up at him as I tried to move my arm away and his hand clamped down on my wrist.

"I’m not asking-"  he snarled.

"I distinctly heard the lady say she wasn’t interested."  The man turned, still clenched on my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.  John was behind him, his jacket off and arms crossed over his chest, his black t-shirt snug around his arms.  He nodded to my wrist in the man’s grip.  His voice dropping an octave.  "I suggest you let her go."  John’s eyes darkened in challenge to the man, his aura swirling and sparking with anger.

It was then that I realized….this vision, was all my fault.

[fakesurprise]

Bends in the Road

3.

I cross the road as Wilbur waves us toward the house and stands at the end of the ramp as though studying the home for a shot. Noah follows me in silence; I leave him to the silence. I knock on the front door once. Twice. After the fourth knock, it’s opened by a man in jeans and a golf shirt. He’s in his early sixties, with a faux military-cut to his hair, sharp eyes and an impatient glare. He wears the clothing uncomfortably; that jumps out. Some people just seem to belong in suits and ties.

“Who are you and why are you here?” he barks.

“We’re students from Rivercomb doing a movie. We’d like to use shots of your house for exterior bits?”

“Oh. You’re not –.” He pauses. Looks past me. “Doing a horror movie with this kid?”

“No,” I say, not looking back at Noah. “He’s the cameraman. Wilbur is the director,” I add.

“Jesus Christ. Well, you tell him he’s not coming up my stairs or on this ramp. I’m not having it broken because someone ate too many big macs.”

The word are flat, without hate, delivered like facts.

“I don’t care what you do about the exterior of this house, but you’re not taking pictures of the ramp, you’re not mentioning me and if you do I am suing you so hard you won’t believe it.”

“Okay.” I turn and walk back toward Wilbur. No thank you, no asking of the man’s name. Noah slips aside to let me pass, follows me down the ramp after.

“So?” Wilbur says.

“Any luck with the ghost?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It barely existed. I know her name, and that it was hard for her to get to the Grey Lands and back here. No idea why. I would like to know about the funny look you had on your face coming back down the ramp though.”

“You aren’t allowed to go up the ramp, or on the front steps. In case you break them. He thinks we’re using Noah to film a horror movie but, on the plus side, we can take photos of the exterior of the home. So long as they don’t include the wheelchair ramp and if we do that or mention his name, he’s suing us.”

“We’re going to be sued if we film a wheelchair ramp.” Wilbur rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m starting to wonder about this town. If the Outsider active around here has infected them somehow, or if it even needs to.”

“It’s not that bad,” Noah offers softly. We both look over. “They probably all have guns here, and no one has tried to kill us yet?”

“Yet,” I repeat.

“The woman who saw my talent was terrified. The man who opened the door to his home was waiting for someone, angry and scared at the same time.” Noah shrugs. “There might be weirdness going on here that’s just a small town of twenty people?”

“That is about the size of a classroom. And they are pretty weird.” No one has come out of the largest house yet, so I nod to the oldest house in Oscar’s Bend. “Now to door number three. It can’t be any worse than the last two.”

“Do the two of you want to tempt fate?” Wilbur demands. I think he’s joking, but I’m not certain.

The other side of the road is like a different town. Both homes are neater, despite one being a frankenhome affair. There are no fences in Oscars Bend but there are empty lots between the homes that used to have houses. Past the frankenhome is the one local store that, from here, looks to be in decent shape as well. There are tracks in Rivercomb, even if our town hasn’t seen a train in years, and even now you can divide the town up by them in certain ways.

That you can do the same for a town with four homes in it is almost depressing. I lead the way to the oldest house in the town: like the newest, it’s a single-storey affair but the lawn is freshly mowed even if it’s almost past the season where you neat to. The window sills and front porch need painting, but someone has chipped off old pain in preparation for that and the smell of baking comes out between the cracks in the front door.

There is no welcome mat, but I imagine that’s only because it’s in the wash.

I knock. An older woman calls out, “It’s open, dear,” presumably expecting someone local. I knock again and it’s a good twenty seconds before the door is opened by a grandmotherly woman. Late seventies at least, her hair as white as her apron.

“Oh,” she says.”I thought it would be one of the McTavishes! I’m Edith Truman. My husband Gerry is getting various supples in Appleford today, if you wished to speak with him?”

“I’m not sure? I’m Anya. This is Noah and Wilbur. We’re from Rivercomb and hoping to do a short video using the town as a backdrop?”

“Well, Peter McTavish can help with anything YouTube, though Scott and Mark are involved as well. It takes them forever to get their videos out as I understand it but I’ve never watched them. Can’t be bothered with all that internet nonsense myself. Hmm.” Edith peers at Noah and Wilbur without batting an eye. “Well, I have some scones I was going to take next door, but you’re welcome to come inside and have them if you like?”

I look back at the others. Noah nods. Wilbur – who is a good cook but not about to turn down food others makes – hesitates a moment before nodding as well. “If it’s not an imposition?”

“Of course not. We don’t get many visitors here. The last ones were looking for bigfoot or some such, naturally. I do have family in Rivercomb of course,” she adds as she props the door open and heads down a hallway. “And there are lots of houses there as well one could film, but I suppose Oscars Bend is exotic for the area.”

The hallway is wide, lacking even a dresser in it, leading to a spacious kitchen. Everything in it is old but well cared for, rustic without being antique. Edith offers tea, pouring some into cups and brings over homemade biscuits that had been cooling on the counter. “Well,” she says once we’re eating them. “I admit to being quite nosey about my town. I have no desire to be unduly rude about it, but even as your cameraman I’m sure this boy would not be coming to a small town like this on his own?” she asks, nodding to Noah.

“Maybe they dared me,” Noah says softly.

“I imagine you can’t be too picky about who is friends with you, but one must have some standards.”

Noah just stares in shock, saying nothing.

“Have you ever made friends with someone out of guilt?” Wilbur asks into the silence.

Edith barely hesitates. “There was this one black girl when I was younger. I imagine you would understand.”

“I can’t say I do,” Wilbur says after a pregnant pause.  Sometimes Wilbur can be so calm it’s almost scary. “What I can say is that you seemed nice mere minutes ago. I’d like to know if that was a lie before making any further replies.”

Edith sips her tea carefully. “I told you I have relatives in Rivercomb. I have heard stories from my niece about a boy looking like Noah does. I scarcely imagine there are two. The stories suggest that problems follow you. You’ll forgive me if that makes me worried and, frankly, willing to see if I could anger you into departing.”

“Oh.” I finish my tea slowly, consider the cup. “Noah. Catch.”

I throw it toward the ceiling. The cup stops a foot from old wood to gently float down to the table, landing beside Edith. “We have talents.” I say calmly. “They help us deal with things other people can’t. I didn’t think we’d achieved the level of fame to be noticed. Frankly, we have no desire to do that. We know something weird is going down here. We want to stop it from getting weirder. Please.”

Edith Truman picks up the tea cup gently, sets it back down. “And these talents, they have costs?”

“Not in the way you mean, no. Everything has costs, if one has to think in those terms.” I shrug.

“I’ve had some of my talents for a long time,” Wilbur says. “I didn’t always know what they were, or what I could do. but I’ve had them regardless of anything else.” He moves his chair back from the table, rests his hands on his belly. “How much I weigh doesn’t affect than. How Noah looks has nothing to do with his. The same is true for Anya: our talents aren’t some kind of compensation, nor a curse. It might help other people to think that, but that doesn’t make it true.”

“I see. It does, however, make it harder for you to not be noticed. You will have to forgive me for thinking that trouble might follow you rather than you finding it.”

Four months ago, I would have said: ‘We will?’ without thinking. I’m getting better at balancing where my talent ends and I begin. Not so much where I end, and the part of me that isn’t human begins. But I’m working on that. “Our problem in not being from here is that we can’t tell if people are being influenced by something Other or not yet. Knowing the players would help.”

“I’d like to think I’m still me, but I’ve never tried to drive anyone away from Oscars Bend so cruelly before,” Edith admits. “I’ve never said a single rude word to Paul McTavish. I should not have tried to hurt you with them, Noah.”

“Oh!” Noah takes refuge in drinking more of his tea.

“We haven’t met the McTavishes yet. We met someone with unique style choices – and they were definitely freaking out a little over Noah’s talent.”

“Jennifer Smith is – well, she’s been in town for four years, our newest arrival. I know far less about Jennifer than I’d like to know a neighbour, but one must respect privacy. I’ve been told she had a business that ebay ruined it somehow, so Jennifer moved here.”

“And the man who insisted he’s sue us if we took video of a wheelchair ramp?”

“I’m amazed Bob didn’t think you were a trap,” Edith murmurs.

“A trap.”

“His son Alvin is confined to a wheelchair, and has – very limited responses. He can do very little on his own.”

“Okay? And random strangers knocking on the front door is a trap because –?” I press.

Edith Truman pours herself more tea. “I should not tell you this, but I doubt you will leave town without learning some things. Alvin Plint does not go to school.”

“Homeschooling isn’t a crime,” Noah says, almost sharply His birth parents might have been human monsters, but they at least made sure he was relatively educated.

“Alvin isn’t home schooled. Bob is aware of the limitations of his son. Perhaps too aware. Alvin cannot walk, talk, sit up or feed himself. His father has no desire for Alvin to burden the school system or society. That a child is a burden to a parent is a fact; that his son should not burden others is another.”

“A fact,” I repeat.

“Their are social workers who have disagreed with Bob. I believe it is one reason they moved on Oscars Bend but I am not privy to any others.”

“The hallway.” Wilbur looks back to the front door. “It is wide enough for a wheelchair.”

“Alvin and Bob visit every so often. I think you misunderstand: Bob looks after his son, makes sure he is taken care of and healthy. The rest is between him and God, I think.”

I take a breath, let it out. We don’t know the whole story here. We never will. “You will have to forgive me,” I say, dropping Edith’s words back at her, “if I cannot refrain from judgement.”

“Of course, dear, We often judge. We seldom realize that we are only called upon to witness.” She stands. “The McTavishes make up over half of own town: if you seek answers to why you came here, I imagine they know it.”

[meanwhileinoz]

10+ People Shared Small Lies That Escalated Really Quick And Became Part Of Their Lives

Telling a lie is never worth it.

You are going to get caught eventually. If you don’t, however, you will have to live with that lie for the rest of your life. This is what happened to the following people. They might have thought “what harm can one innocent lie do?” Apparently a lot.

#1 Guess that is your name now.

My husband’s best friend has a 6 year old daughter that I see often. When she was almost 3 she babbled something to me (I think it was “My friends here!”) and my husband interpreted it as “My friend Steve!” and started calling me Steve in front of her.

Now her whole family call me Steve when she’s around, and she still believes that’s my name. For clarity, I’m a female and my name isn’t anything close to Steve.

–rebel_nature

#2 At least they got free dinner.

I didn’t want to go to dinner with the gang from work, including my boss, so I told them I was having dinner with my wife and her parents. Of course, It was lie.

I get home, wife wants to go out to dinner. So, we head to the restaurant, and just as we’re getting near the door, I see the work gang with my loudmouth boss all piling out of their cars. What are odds of us picking the same restaurant? Shit. Busted.

There was an old couple walking into the restaurant in front of us. I held the door for them, and insisted they join us for dinner. They were quite perplexed, but accepted my offer of a free dinner.

It was the most uncomfortable dinner ever. They had no clue who we were, none of us had any shared interests… they rushed through dinner, thanked us, and got the hell away from what I’m sure they thought were a couple of weirdos.

–disgustipated

#3 Happily pay full price?

I became friends with one of the managers at Panera. One day as I was giving a cashier my order, he told her to give me the same discount as they give to firemen, police and paramedics, i think.

He just chose this discount as it was an easy button to push on the register. Well this cashier really thought I was a fireman. I’m not. So for the next two years this cashier gave me the discount.

Even if she wasn’t serving me, she would go out of her way to tell the cashier that was helping me, “He’s a fireman, give him the discount”. It snowballed into such an awkward situation that I didn’t know how to get out of it. Luckily that cashier eventually transferred to another store and I now happily pay full price.

–Steve0512

#4 You can never lie forever.

Living in a College Town, every year around spring graduation there’s one or two “I’m here to see my kid graduate, but I haven’t been able to locate them” families. Usually kids that stopped going, pocketed their parents money, and/or just gave up and couldn’t handle telling the family.

It ends sadly sometimes.

That’s a big lie/deception to deal with and maintain. It almost always comes to a head.

–YunalescaSedai

#5 Well, you’re not technically lying?

When I was 14 years old I played with a group of other kids on stage during the 2008 Hawaii International Ukulele Festival. Jack Johnson was performing and we were behind him strumming along.

Hundreds of us. This story has turned so thoroughly into-I played on stage side by side with him just the two of us- that I can’t correct people anymore and just shamefully accept the oohs and ahhs when it gets retold.

–Axinyew

#6 You have to lie to your boyfriend’s mother.

Once my boyfriends mom asked me if I liked their bathroom soap. It’s lavender, I don’t like lavender. But I decided to tell her “I love it, it smells so good!”

Now I have an endless supply, she buys me some all the time. It’s too sweet to tell her the truth, so I just keep it to myself and use the mediocre-smelling soap.

–Llebanna

#7 Name change? No worries!

Back in High School, someone in my freshman English class thought he heard someone call me Louis, so he started calling me Louis. Not really a friend, just someone I spoke to on occasion.

Now high school me thought he was just him trying to be funny, and didn’t care to correct him and he continued to call me Louis and whenever I heard him call for me I responded.

It wasn’t until our last week of senior year that he stops me in his tracks and goes. “Someone told me your name isn’t Louis. Is your name Louis?”

“No.”

“I-I’ve been calling you Louis for 4 years! I thought that was your name!”

–Zytherious

#8 Sorry but you got played.

My first relationship. A few days in, then-girlfriend tells me she isn’t ready to go public just yet and if we could just pretend we weren’t together for a few days then she would be ready.

Six months later, I had lied to so many people for her I can’t tell whats real anymore and any time I asked her if we could stop because it was messing with me she refused and argued her way out of it.

Looking back on this fucks with my head to this day. Amazing how much things like that can snowball.

–Terminator_t101

#9 Well, he was certainly polite.

Not me but my Dad. We moved and he was convinced the postman’s name was ‘Ger’ as in short for Gerry. He greeted him by it, nearly every day for about 10 years. We even gave him a Christmas card which he displayed down in the sorting office.

Fast forward and we have a temporary post man, my Mum asking him after a few weeks ‘When is Ger coming back?’ This was met with stunned silence and a puzzled look, with a resounding ‘Who is Ger? No one works in the locality by that name’

Turns out, his name is Declan and he was too nice to correct my Dad for close to a decade.

–Parmersan

#10 Sometimes you have to sacrifice your tastebuds for love.

When I was little, my grandma would make me these horrible frozen chicken tenders filled with cheese. They were just god-awful. Because I am a good grandson, I told her that I loved them.

From then on, every time that I visited her, she would cook me those abominations. Even when I was in graduate school, I would go visit her and for one meal, I would have to slide those gross things down my gullet.

Every time I would say, “Thanks! I love them!” The things we do for love…

–the_planes_walker

#11 Isn’t that illegal?

I was looking for a job and I didn’t want to be a fast food manager anymore so I fluffed out my resume with computer skills I didn’t have. I was contacted by a recruiter who asked me some questions to gauge my abilities and I straight googled the answers as he was asking them.

When I went to the interview, the boss had all of these circuit boards sitting all over his desk. I recognized them as Raspberry pis from Reddit. So I asked what he was using them for. The rest of the interview was just this guy bragging about all of these projects he had going on.

He might as well have been speaking Greek. I just feigned interest and said wow a lot. I’m hired. Who knows how this shit happened but I have literally googled every problem I have been given. Day 543, they still think I know what I’m doing.I’m making 1.5 times what I was making as a manager. I have a GED for chrissake.

–realitygenrator

#12 Although you got a cute duck out of it.

told my parents i bought a duck when I was 20 to tease them. I found a picture online of one and sent it to them. Sadly, they believed me. They got overly excited about their “grand-duck” and told my whole family.

I ended up buying a duck…

–ThePolishFish

#13 Yeah, he just moved…for forever.

I did online homeschooling for a few years and there was a forum where you could socialize with other students enrolled in the school. During this time I was big into making music on a DAW I had downloaded.

I didn’t know how to play any instruments, but I could still download different drum beats and guitar riffs from the dev’s website. I shared a few songs with my fellow “classmen” and told everyone that I could play guitar and had a friend that tracked the drums.

Eventually people started asking me for guitar lessons or more songs. I couldn’t keep up the lie so I told them that my friend moved to Africa for a missions trip and would not return for the foreseeable future. But everyone in that forum thought I could play guitar. I couldn’t, and still can’t play to save my life.

–Primitive_Teabagger

#14 Such a good friend he is.

A new coworker of mine tried downplaying his birthday and eventually after me hounding him about why he didn’t like celebrating, he eventually told me in confidence that his best friend was killed on his birthday and he hates thinking about it.

Fast forward 8 years — this guy and I had become really good friends. Best friends. Lived together at one point. He was accepted into my friend group and I always made sure to downplay his birthday (his is 4 days after another friend) so we just did a group thing and never made a big deal about it.

Finally someone got brave enough and wanted to talk to him about it, and he laughed and had no recollection of telling me that and said he was probably just screwing with me. He always wondered why no one wished him happy birthday.

–jackrack1721

#15 It seems harmless enough.

I moved to a new city, and got a new dentist. For some reason, the guy thinks I used to see him at his old practice in a town I’ve never lived in. I corrected him a couple times, but he just keeps bringing it up, so now I just kind of roll with it.

He asks after my parents, which is easy enough…but we’ve had all kinds of conversations about local restaurants I’ve never been to and other random stuff like that.

–Davran

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