#flying j truck stop

[sassygrrl32]

Old School Gaffney SC~RH Jones

Old School Gaffney SC~RH Jones

[tgirlwithreverb]

I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:

1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)

2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area

3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.

4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)

7) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered

5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.

6) water is free, go into the bathroom of any gas station or grocery store in America(offer not valid in most big cities or on the west coast, but in that case just go to the library) and fill up your water bottle

8) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)

9) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo

Gear world:

Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20° rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)

Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching

[mydaddywiki]

Jimmy Haslam

Physique: Average Build Height: 6’ 3" (1.91 m)

James Arthur Haslam III (born March 9, 1954-) is an American businessman and sports executive. He is the chairman of the board of the Pilot Flying J truck stop chain. He and his wife Dee own the Cleveland Browns of the NFL, the Columbus Crew of MLS, and a stake in the Milwaukee Bucks of the NBA. Haslam has won two MLS Cup Championships (2020 and 2023) as owner of the Crew.

The first NFL owner I want to fuck since Jerry Jones and Jerry Richardson. Well, technically he and the wife owns the team, but I’m more than willing to do her if I could get him. Handsome, nice gray hair and a nice body. He looks like a top and I’d let him.

The native native Knoxville, Tennessean is married with three adult children and is the elder brother of Bill Haslam, former Governor of Tennessee.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Thirteen - Yours

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it."

Sweet Nothing - T.S.

A/N: so i think this fic will probably come to and end soon, not really sure but ITS SO BITTER SWEET

Masterlist

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“Aliens aren’t real!”  A young boy, maybe eight years old shouts at Eddie, swiping the little action figure Eddie had placed on top of his toy fire truck, sending flying a few feet away.

“And you know that how?”  Eddie argues, arms crossed over his chest.  His dark gray knit sweater sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a telltale sign of how heated the argument had become.  He sits on the floor, criss cross while a little girl sits behind him on the couch, her tiny fingers combing through his chocolate curls.

Sometime in between you offering to help dish up dessert and freshening up in the bathroom, Eddie seemed to have made a few new friends, quite the opposite of what you were expecting out of tonight.

“Clippy!”  The little girl demands, holding her hand out.  

Eddie’s eyes widened as if to recall he had a certain task that he’d abandoned, snatching up a tiny sparkly blue butterfly clip from the fibers of the carpet and holding it out in the palm of his hand.  Within seconds, the left side of his bangs are clipped away from his face.

“Cause they’re not!”  The boy shakes his head.

“Why?”  Eddie prods.

You can’t fight your grin, big bad Eddie decked out in tattoos fully engaged in a disagreement with an eight year old had you internally squealing.  You’d never been met with such a sight, such contrast as Eddie’s large hand held out yet another clip, a pink one this time.

“Cause.”

“Why.” 

“Just cause.”

“That’s not a reason!  Give me my guy back!”  Eddie attempts to reach for the little figurine across the carpet only for the little girl to protest, a whine stopping him from moving any further.  “Sorry, sorry.”  He surrenders, falling back into his original position.

“You messed it up!”  She begins to wail.

It’s evident you need to take the initiative, poor Eddie’s face contorting in horror as he squeezes his eyes shut.  Without another second wasted, you plop down next to her on the couch just above Eddie, greeting her gently.

“Hi, is this the salon?  I was told you do the best hair in town.”  You smile.  “May I make an appointment?”

Her big eyes take you in, scanning you up and down before realizing you’d only wanted to play.  A half done braid in one of Eddie’s strands of hair sits at the back of his head, one that seemed to fall apart in Eddie’s attempt to collect the little alien.  The girl, nodding shyly, starts to point toward the predicament she’s in.  

“Oh no!”  You sigh, placing your hands in your lap as if nothing could be done to aid in correcting the braid.

“Fix it, fix it.”  Eddie mutters under his breath, his hand covering his mouth to muffle his voice.

“Can I?”  You ask the girl, gesturing to her little toy hairbrush.

With a petite nod, she allows you to take the brush from her little hands as you begin to work it through the loose hairs that had come out of the braid.  

“You can be a firefighter.”  The little boy insists as he hands Eddie a new toy, an obvious scoff coming from the man.

“What’s your name?”  You ask the girl, ignoring him.

“Grace.”

“Grace?  That’s a pretty name.”  You begin to pinch the strands back together, braiding them.

Eddie’s thankful that his thoughts don’t project on the wall because in all honesty, he wants to throw himself out the window.  Not once had he ever desired having a kid.  Was this baby fever?  

In an instant those thoughts escaped his mind when you secured the little braid and began scraping your nails at the back of his head, combing through his tangled curls.  His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull, he could practically purr and was tempted to just curl up in your lap.  With a full belly and head scratches, he figures he can die happy.

“Are you sleeping?”  You snort, leaning forward only to catch a glimpse of his blissed out face.

”No.”

”Yes!”  The little boy chimes in.  

“Was not!”  Eddie argues, straightening himself up.  

The boy raises a brow at you, Grace happily twisting strands of Eddie’s hair together.  This felt like home.  This felt like the warm apple pie nestled in your stomach embodied as an emotion, gooeyness seeping from your raised cheeks and crinkled eyes.

Stolen glances at the dinner table just shy of a half an hour ago and brief touches of fingertips as you passed various dishes had warmth radiating throughout your body.  Home was starting to feel more like a person than a place.  Home had started to feel a lot like a person for a while now if only you had been more attentive to the fact sooner.  

Tiny smiles from a tough metal head only encouraged you to rest a delicate hand on his knee whenever possible throughout dinner.  Among all the chatter and friendly bickering, a silent conversation had been happening, an audience oblivious to the behind the scenes of the main attraction: a turkey big enough to nearly splinter the table.  A calloused thumb had grazed over the top of your hand, the touch enough to heat your cheeks and pull the corners of your mouth into a permanent grin.

His dimples took residence on his face the entire time, a shyness to him whenever you took the leap to intertwine your fingers together underneath the table.  A closeness only the two of you were aware of.  A gesture not too big, but not at all taken for granted as he returned an affectionate squeeze.

And when all was said and done, dinner had been devoured, dessert enjoyed, tiny gestures continued to bombard his and your heart the same.  Like an unspoken love war, who could offer the best token of their affections? 

Once Eddie was in the clear with Grace, you’d been able to steer him off to the kitchen, now completely void of busy bodies and full of empty plates and dirty dishes.  Your intent was to drop off your wine glass, and Eddie to discard his beer bottle.  Laughter rang throughout the house, something about a few of the adults playing drunk Twister.  It was lost on you, a large hand splayed out on your waist and pulling you toward Eddie’s warm body obliterating any other thoughts you had.

A buzzed haze lingered in both your stares, heavy eyes taking each other in.  The kitchen was dim, lights shut off for the time being as everyone ignored the ginormous mess awaiting them, only the light leaking in from the living room illuminating a fraction of the room.

”Hi.”  A whispered greeting, softly, for your ears only.

“Hi.”  You whisper back, a gentle finger tucking a rogue curl behind his ear, hot to the touch whether it be from the nerves or the alcohol you weren’t sure though you had a suspicion that it was both.

Your cold hand rests against his stubbly cheek, his eyes fluttering shut at the touch.  Your other hand trails up to rest flat against his chest, body heat radiating from him.  Anyone could walk in and spot you two at any second.  But neither seems to care.  

“You’re beautiful.”  He gulps, not enough beer in the world could aid him in having the confidence to tell you though he went for it anyway, humiliation could be confronted later.

He thanks whatever higher power is looking out for him that your eyes grow larger and twinkle in a way he’d now spend forever attempting to replicate.  A bashful smile parts your lips, your gaze shying away from him momentarily. 

His shy girl.

Several glasses of wine couldn't even hide the sheepish aura taking control of you.  Fragile fingers toyed with the neckline of his sweater, fidgeting with the chain around his neck.  A distraction from the flustering words.

”Yeah?”  You ask, small and sincere.

So small and sincere, he wonders how often you’d been made aware of your beauty.  So small and sincere, it’s like you almost didn’t believe him.  If that were the case, he’d kick the stupid butterflies in his stomach to the curb, suck it up, and tell you every chance he got.  

“Yeah.”  He tells you with a nod, waddling the both of you back and forth to the music drifting in from the living room record player, Can’t Help Falling in Love, Elvis.  “You’re beautiful.”  He repeats, his forehead now resting against yours.

He doesn’t know if his advances are correct.  Doesn’t have the experience of another woman’s touch to provide him the checks and balances.  But he figures that if he was wrong in his movements and words, you would’ve given him the hint by now.  

“And you’re handsome.”  Your lips hover just barely over his, nose nudging into his cheek endearingly, a sultry tone to your hushed voice that nearly makes him melt.

He had never been called handsome before, not in the tender way you were uttering it to him.  Sure, girls had attempted to lure him in for some free weed, never genuine and only for their own personal gain.  You never asked anything of him other than earlier when you’d asked him to stay.  Just to stay.  That was it.  And he couldn’t fathom it.

”Yeah?”  He mimics you from earlier, a genuine question falling from his mouth against your top lip.

Your answer doesn’t come in the form of words but in the seal of a kiss, a promise against plush, slightly chapped skin.  A statement.  A devotion.  

I am yours, I hope you’ll be mine.

Noses smash together as your lips mold to his, his hands coming up to cup your face with anxious hands.  Similarly, yours reach up to rest against his cheeks, one hand working on its own accord to tuck itself into his hair, thumb brushing over his ear to fidget with the little silver hoop dangling from his ear lobe.  Rather than ignore the shiver it sends up his spine, he embraces it, stroking his thumbs along the highest points of your cheeks.  His rounded nose nuzzles into yours, lips parting from each other slightly, the tiniest strand of saliva hanging from either end.  Suddenly, you feel the pad of his thumb brush against your bottom lip, tugging it ever so gently with crinkly eyes and a toothy grin.  His answer.  His own devotion to you.

I have been yours all along.

—

“You’re biting me.”  You laugh, a bit too obnoxiously for your own liking.  

Eddie’s canine grazes your top lip, teeth clashing against yours.  His determination was endearing though you were hoping to keep your lips intact and your tooth unchipped.  A breathy laugh against your cheek sends shivers through your body, his voice dripping in honey, more so than you’d previously heard.  A side of him that not another soul had been granted access.

“Sorry.”  

Endless giggles–yes, giggles-fall from his lips against your skin, his forehead bumping against your temple, hands fiddling with the hem of your sweater.  You start to wonder how anyone could see him as anything but gentle.  Anything but sweet.  

The truck was cold enough that you saw your breath in the air, a warning that you should head inside though you couldn’t find it in you to part from him.  Invite him in, you found that little voice in your head saying.  But you didn’t want to push.  Despite the front he could put on he was delicate, you could see it in his eyes.  Chocolatey pools of vulnerability that had previously been stone cold but slowly melted for you.

“Slower.”  A whispered instruction, your hand cradling his jaw as you hover your lips just above his.  “Softer.”  You playfully nip at his bottom lip, plump and kissable.  

He offers a hesitant kiss, lips gently brushing over yours before pulling away.  

“Like that?”  It’s barely a whisper.  A kind of anxious fear falling out of his brain and into the air, a thought he didn’t mean to put so much emotion behind.

“More.”  Your lips meet his again, encouraging him.  “Like you need it.”

A large hand rests at your waist, nearly pulling you into his lap though the steering wheel prevents him from doing so.  Instead he dives into you, nose smashing into yours, eyelashes fluttering against your skin as eager lips work themselves against you.

“Mhm.”  You mumble, nodding, motivating him.  “Just like that.”  You gasp, unable to get another syllable in before his tongue interrupts you.

Teaching Eddie the basics of how to make out wasn’t something you had envisioned when fantasizing about him previously.  But it was so much better than anything your mind could’ve conjured up.  It was endearing, the way he was so hesitant, so unsure, as if you weren’t ready to pounce into his lap hours ago.  As if you hadn’t been glancing his way all evening, flirtation twinkling in your eyes and necessity for his touch obvious in the way that you would graze him any chance you could.

“Like that?”  He repeats, excitement leaking in his question whether he knew it or not.

He was a quick learner, leveling up from awkward and uncertain to velvety smooth and confident in his movements.  The more you egged him on, the more greedy he became, holding your face in his hands, tongue exploring against yours, lips finding a rhythm as they smeared your lipgloss.  He was covered in it, some lingering on the tip of his nose and when you attempted to wipe it off he was kissing you again.

“Just like that.”  You practically whine into his mouth.

—

Weeks passed by, a quiet romance blossoming with each and every interaction.  Within those weeks, there were stolen kisses at the bar on smoke breaks and in passing.  You didn’t mind the tobacco on Eddie’s breath though you still encouraged him to quit.  It more so bothered you that he was increasing his chances of his health deteriorating.

“So everyone can blame you when I get grumpy if I quit?”  Eddie grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks.

”You’re already grumpy.  Even after your smoke breaks.”  You giggle.

The Bourbon was doing well enough, the evening rush not quite arriving yet as the remaining beams of sunlight set behind the horizon at a premature five o’ clock.  Happy Hour had officially started though the blanket of snow coating the town fended off some regulars as they opted for the comfort of their own homes, almost like hibernating animals.

”Is that so?”  Eddie chuckles.

The tiny hallway just outside the office was secluded from any view from the rest of the bar.  Especially the corner he was backing you into.  Slowly, as if you were prey, he stalked toward you, caging you in with his arms.  You couldn’t help but admire the lean muscle as it tensed against the wall next to you.

”Mhm.”  You hum.  “So if you think about it, you’ll be grumpy either way so you might as well—“

You weren’t prepared for his lips to smash against yours so suddenly, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before pulling away.  A smile hid behind his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lip as he tilted your chin with his index finger.  

God, was he fucked.

“You really want me to quit?”  He asks, drowning in your eyes.

He’d do it for you. Only for you.  Anyone else could ask him and he’d tell them to fuck off then and there.  But you had him wrapped around your finger.  Where he once didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, he cared about yours, he deeply cared about yours.

”Well I-I just-I think—“

”Tell me.  Tell me you want me to quit.”  Eddie demands, encouraging you to stand your ground, be firm with him.

”Well, only if you want to.”  You say quietly, your gaze nearly forcing him to his knees.

”My shy girl.” He whispers, tracing his knuckles against your cheekbone.

You made it so easy to go soft.  So easy to submit to.  Yes, he was the more dominant one by definition but he kneeled to you in every instance.  It took him a while to realize it but it was so obvious now.  Eddie was coming to find that when he fell, he fell hard.  Faceplanted.  

“Yours?”  You question.  Nothing had been established yet though you both had a pretty good idea where the other stood.  

“If you want.”  He uses your words against you, smirking.

You’d pin the mental polaroids you’d been taking of his dopey face on that ever growing wall in your brain forever.  Frame them, even.  Put them on display like a museum.  They were precious, untouchable.  No one could taint them, not on your account.

”Yeah.”  You nod, a breathy sigh escaping your lungs.  Solace washes over you, like your heart had just realized it had found a long lost piece of itself.  And it whispers:  Oh.  There you are.    “Yeah.”

And immediately your lips are on his again, a craving for nicotine kisses that drove you crazy.  Then, a muttered promise against you had your head spinning.

”’M gonna quit.  Just be patient with me.”  

“Always.”

One of the new hires, Rex, had interrupted, shouting from around the corner that there was a “Code Vomit” near the bar.  It didn’t spoil the lovesickness that poured from your mouth into his, only forced you into desperation as you chased his lips.  Eddie’s eyes rolled, the scent of your perfume much more preferable to the puke out on the floor.

Later you talked him down, insisting that the new hires didn’t need to “earn” their status though Eddie thoroughly disagreed.  You suppose he had a bias, being pulled away from you mid-makeout surely increasing his grumpy mood.

“They’re fine, they can deal with a little puke.”  His hands dramatically gesture toward the office door, shutting you both in and shielding you from wandering eyes.  

“Just because you put me through trials and tribulations doesn’t mean we need to continue the tradition with them.”  

“Oh–I did not–”  Eddie scoffs.

“You did.”  You grace him with a smirk.  

“Bambi.” 

“Eddie.”  You sing his name.

For a silent moment, he stares.  His stares had become increasingly softer, his rough edges fading away anytime you were in his presence.  And you knew he surrendered before even saying another word.

“Forgive me?”  A hopeful question as he steps forward, looping a finger in one of your belt loops, tugging you toward his chest.

“Hm.”  You hum in thought, eyes fixing themselves on the ceiling rather than his large, intriguing eyes.

“Hm?”  He hums back, an inquiry.

“I dunno.”  

You were playing games, the kind of games he was unfamiliar with.  A territory he’d only recently stepped into, a flirtatious bantering that had his heart fluttering, aching because it had never been used to this kind of attention.  The muscle had never been exercised, never prepared for this kind of thing.  

“Tables are filling up, need another set of hands!”  Jett bangs a fist on the door, not lingering for any longer than he has to as he continues managing the sudden rush.

“Yeah, yeah.”  Eddie calls back.  

“How can I make it up to you?”  He tilts his head, his tone quieter in contrast.

Rather than supply him with an answer, a delicate hand cups his jaw, a slow yet passionate kiss pressed to his lips as he gladly reciprocates.  His hold tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer if possible.  

“You’re forgiven.”  You whisper, twirling one of his curls with your finger.  

You leave him in his office, pretending to ignore the rock hard bulge in his jeans.  It’s not until around ten minutes later that he shuffles awkwardly into the bar and you’re sure you’re the only one who catches the little kick he does as he finishes adjusting himself.  

–

The phone call comes unexpectedly.  Wayne only calls on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  8:00 AM.  Three times a week, a well polished routine.  It was Thursday night.  9:00 PM.

Eddie had stared at the phone, hearts taking the shape of his pupils at the prospect of it being you on the other end.  Another routine he’d been carefully trying to curate, every other night risking his integrity just to hear your voice.  Stupid, he knows.  With you just a few yards away in your own home, he may as well just show up on your porch but this…this was comfortable.  He didn’t have to fear not touching you enough or overstepping.  It was only your soft tone, his hushed responses, and the evening out of breaths between two half asleep souls.  You hadn’t chanced calling him first, not yet.  There was a mutual understanding that this was all unscathed territory, your knowledge of Eddie’s past confirming that moving too fast would only scare him off like a spooked horse.  

He was grateful for your everlasting patience though he didn’t know how to navigate telling you that you could call him any time, night or day, and he would gladly pick up.  He wouldn’t mind your voice lulling him to sleep, and welcomed the idea of his ears perking up, his body reacting to your voice like he just had a shot of espresso should you call him first thing in the morning.  Yes, he wanted to take it slow, wanted to respect the boundaries around his heart he’d spent so long putting up.  But he also didn’t have the patience you yielded and often found himself wanting to take a hammer to any walls he still had up.

Wayne’s usually gruff voice surrendered to a more calming tone, one that Eddie hadn’t really ever heard or cared to remember hearing since Mama had passed.  No, he hadn’t heard this frequency of gentle words since that one night, he was six and his only worry should’ve been his spelling test the following morning.  Unfortunately his worries far exceeded that of a first grade spelling list he had practiced with Wayne and Mama all week.  

His uncle's breathing wavered, a nervousness about him that had Eddie paralyzed with his palm beginning to sweat against the plastic of the phone.  He could nearly picture the way the older man’s calloused hand would rub over his scruff, his head shaking as he searched for words.  Eddie couldn’t anticipate what kind of news was about to break.  Was Wayne sick?  How long did he have?  How was he going to get him to agree to move out with him so he could take care of him?  Was Wayne even allowed to move in with him, did Eddie’s government contracts allow for that?  He hadn’t bothered to search that far into it initially seeing as his uncle was stubborn and thought it best to let Eddie take the reins on his life after everything went down.  Let him do what he always said he wanted to do, get out of Shit-Hole-Small-Town-Hawkins.  He had Grandpa Roy anyhow, waiting on the other end of everything to support Eddie, he didn’t need Wayne anymore.  

Eddie told himself as such, too, so he could get out of his old man’s hair, let him live his life without supporting some kid he never asked for.  He knew he loved him unconditionally but he owed him that much.

Thousands upon millions of thoughts engulfed Eddie’s brain, everything that could go wrong, that other shoe was about to drop, it had to be, Christmas was just around the corner and it wouldn’t be a true Munson holiday without something going wrong.  It’s why he didn’t celebrate anymore.

“Kid, I gotta tell you somethin’,”  Wayne warned his nephew.  “It’s about your dad.”

Eddie blurted out every possible scenario the second he was mentioned.  Every plausible reason.  It had been years, maybe over six?  He hadn’t spoken to or heard from his dad in around six years although there was no telling if he had tried through the means of Wayne and his uncle had never relayed his messages.  For good reason.

“He got caught up again and needs a place to crash.”

“He needs money.”

“A getaway driver.”

“An accomplice he can screw over when it all goes to shit.”

”Just say it, he needs his fuckin’ son to help him out of some shit and he’s got no one else to turn to.  That’s it isn’t it?”

Venom lingered on Eddie’s tongue, he wondered why the man didn’t just call him himself, though Eddie would hang up at the first trace of his voice.  At least then though, his dad would’ve been man enough to seek him out on his own this time.  At least then, it would’ve shown he tried to track Eddie down; put in some effort.  Eddie didn’t want that…did he?  He hated that man with every ounce of his existence but something about appeasing him always remained deep in his gut.  Like a virus.  

The little boy in him couldn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go of the what ifs.  

The daydreams of what could have been.  They poisoned his mind, every now and then reducing him to a ghost of himself.  Eddie wasn’t proud of it, who would be?  Idolizing a man that never existed?  Dad was never one to teach him to play ball or take him on fishing trips, no, he was the man that taught him to hijack cars and talk his way out of trouble.  The kind of trouble that lands you in a cell for a night or two.  The kind of trouble that got him caught in the crossfire of two local gangs and when he turned to his pops for help, he was nowhere to be found.  He was twelve.

He was twelve and was beaten to a pulp in an alley near downtown.  Left to choke on his own blood.  Dad was long gone and the only one he could count on was himself and even then, he feared he would black out before being able to crawl to the nearest payphone.

Wayne picked him up that night, red in the face because of his brother and blue in the eyes for the broken boy in his passenger seat.  if he could die and give Eddie a life worth living a thousand times over he would.  The kid never stood a chance in his brother’s hands and he’d done everything he could to get Eddie out of that godforsaken house that was full of dust bunnies and beer cans but Eddie was hard-headed and always vouched for his deadbeat father.  It’s all he knew.  It’s what he thought love was.

But after that night, Eddie didn’t fight back.  Didn’t refuse going back to the trailer park, his heart still stuck in that stupid house his dad rarely came back to.  Didn’t protest.  He wanted to, god he wanted to but his ribs were so damn bruised that words were impossible to create.

He still craved affection from his father, even when he left him for dead.  Still wanted his approval.  Wanted to ask if he was good enough.  If he had even been the slightest bit proud.  Those conversations never happened.

Wayne cleared his throat in preparation for his next words.  Words that he wasn’t even quite sure how to piece together.  

“Ed, he-“. Wayne stuttered.  “Your dad, he was-he had a run in with the cops.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what his uncle was trying to get at, dad always had run-ins with the cops.  It happened more often than not.  Maybe this time he wasn’t so lucky, maybe this time he got himself thrown in jail for good.  

“Figures.  What does he want, bail money?”  Eddie spat.

Rage clouded his vision, how much audacity did his dad have?  Did he really think Eddie would bail him out after the last incident?  Perhaps the last incident had been a tad more tame than others, Eddie made it out in one piece, conscious and not too badly bruised.  What made it different though: pieces of Mama had been destroyed, burnt to a crisp.  And that in of itself severed the remaining tie.  Burned the entire bridge.

“He’s gone.”

Eddie let the words bounce around in his brain briefly.  Gone?

”What, so, he fled the country?”  He asks.

Wayne sighs, keeping Eddie on edge, making him wonder what was so damn different this time that had the old man delaying his words.  His uncle was not one to sugar coat things.

”He was shot, Ed.”  Wayne says quietly, almost with regret.  Regret for the small boy he knows still resides within Eddie.

Eddie’s breathing comes to a halt, stalls in his lungs.  It couldn’t be.  The devil himself couldn’t be dead, he had to be immortal, always lingering somewhere awaiting Eddie’s everlasting loyalty.  Why did he feel sad?  Why did the tears well up in his eyes for a man who never shed a tear for him?

”He’s—he’s—dead?”  Eddie whispers the word, the reality of everything sinking in far too quickly.

Time freezes and he is a boy, sharing a frozen dinner with the man who promised and promised and never delivered.  He is just a boy and he is looking at that man with stars in his innocent eyes, devoting every hope and dream to the life they would one day have, the life pops told him stories of.  He was just a boy.

”Look, son—“

”I have to—I’m sorry.”  Eddie sniffles before dropping the phone back down, burying his reddening face into his shaking hands.

He surrenders his body, sliding down toward the crumby kitchen floor and bringing his knees toward his chest in an effort to disappear.  His cheeks wet and body trembling with sobs, he can't help but ask himself, why?  

Why do I care so much?

Why am I sad?

Why does grief feel so wrong?

~end~

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[tempting-seduction]

Born on March 9, 1954, Jimmy Haslam is an American businessman and sports executive. He is the chairman of the board of the Pilot Flying J truck stop chain. He and his wife Dee own the Cleveland Browns of the National Football League (NFL), the Columbus Crew of Major League Soccer (MLS), and a stake in the Milwaukee Bucks of the National Basketball Association (NBA).

[faketrex]

For the prompts, would love to see firstprince and:

10) a dingy truck stop after 10 hours on the road

Thank you, friend!!

Thank you for the prompt, Allie! 💝

...

Henry learns how to pump gas at a truck stop outside Billings, Montana, well after sunset. Flying J, the sign says.

"What does the J stand for?"

"Jesus, maybe? Don't quote me on that. Now, listen: my pro tip is to not flip the hose lock thingy on the terminal until after you've put the nozzle in the tank. That way, it can't leak all over your shoes."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"No comment. Okay, go for it."

Carefully, Henry turns the fuel cap anti-clockwise until it clicks, then tugs it out. He removes the handled nozzle from the pump terminal, inserts it in the tank, and flips up the hose lock.

"Perfect. Now squeeze the handle a few times–there you go, like a champ. I'm so proud of you. A prince of England, pumping his own gas."

"If only my country could see me now."

"Did you know, there used to be two U.S. states where it was illegal to pump your own gas? Laws changed last year, so now there's only one. You've got five minutes to come up with a guess for which state it is." Alex reaches into the car and pulls out his Stetson, plopping it on Henry's head. "There, now you blend in. Don't blow yourself up."

With Alex inside the building, the truck stop is empty of voices, but still loud. Only a few hours earlier, they'd gotten out of the car to stretch their legs and Henry had been able to hear a cacophony of summer insects. Now, the sound of lorries–semi trailers–crunching through the car park and whizzing by on the road masks any signs of nature.

As if that weren't enough–as if someone at this truck stop couched between train tracks and a highway truly needed more auditory stimuli–there's tinny music piping through speakers in the metal canopy above the pumps. It's familiar, but just fuzzy enough that he can't quite pick out the melody amongst the competing noises.

The terminal chimes. Henry reaches over to flip the lock back down into place, going through the motions in reverse. First the hose lock, then the nozzle, then turn the gas cap until it click-clicks. Finally, he closes the fuel door and brushes his hands on his thighs.

"All good?" As he rounds the front of a truck, Alex looks Henry over like he's half expecting to find Cakegate part two, version Unleaded 88. "Did you figure out which state won't let you guzzle your own gas?"

"No cause for concern. But–" Henry pulls off the hat and settles it back on Alex's head. "I'm afraid you're going to have to tell me yet another story about your country's history of inconsistent state-level legislation."

"Sweet," Alex says, grinning. "That's kind of my specialty."

It's Hall and Oates, Henry realizes, as the chorus comes on just as he's climbing back into the car. You make my dreams come true. He's familiar with the feeling.

[aziraphales-library]

hello! so grateful for all that y’all do ! seriously it’s so nice being able to come on here and browse and get fresh and classic ideas instead of just adding filters- aziraphale bless you 🙏

i would really appreciate a long and fluffy wholesome fic with a bit of spice in which it has it all — confessions, moving in, possibly marriage?! and ofc our favorite side characters! i don’t mind AUs as long as it’s really in depth and lengthy 🥰

thank y’all so much!!!

Hi! If you've been browsing you've surely checked our tags that cover everything you've asked for: #fluff, #long fic, #love confessions, #moving in together, #south downs cottage, #proposal, #marriage, #apocalypse buddies. Here are fics that may or may not have been recommended on the blog before...

Dreams Told in Flowers and Stars by Izabella95 (M)

While rushing out of the library, Aziraphale suddenly runs into the redheaded boy he's been watching from afar. Thanks to some interference from his best friend Anathema, he slowly learns more and more about the botany obsessed student.

The Only One I Still Know How to See by Furuba_Fangirl (E)

Aziraphale has been an admirer of Anthony J. Crowley for years. However, the gap between audience member and stage actor begins to thin when they are given the chance to officially meet.

A Second Chance by Yelhsabeech (E)

Aziraphale just had to get through his last year of high school-then he could move to London and never move back. He can't explain why he's so drawn to the older boy who worked at the florist's..

Crowley is an ex-con who is just trying to keep his head down, trying to be worth his room on this earth. When his dog causes him to meet a boy with pale blue eyes however, he starts to wonder if he can hope for more..

I Only Have Eyes For You by Twilightcitysky (M)

After narrowly escaping execution, Aziraphale and Crowley want to fly under the radar for a while. Worried that performing miracles will reveal their location to their former bosses, they relocate to the country and stop using their powers. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is ready to start moving faster... and Crowley has a secret. Can he keep Aziraphale from realizing what's changed while juggling moving trucks, furniture assembly, inquisitive mediums, attacks of Feng Shui, and the mortifying ordeal of grocery shopping?

A fic about moving in together, finding yourself, and finding one another.

Meditations on Domestic Bliss by wordsphoenix (NR)

Everyone is alive. Time for an angel and a demon to start doing some living. Preferably in close proximity and with deeper significance than the friendship previously mentioned, since feelings are very much allowed now that Aziraphale and Crowley are aligned with emotionally-driven creatures, and, more importantly, each other.

The professor, the old crush, the new love by AccroV (E)

Aziraphale Fell is an english literature professor who freaks out when he discovers that his new colleague is his ex best-friend and crush from high school : the one and only Anthony Crowley. They didn't talk for years after one night in high school. What can happen now ?

An AU with : high school memories, awkward flirting and lot of good feelings

- Mod D

[instruth]

Hi to all my Friends on Facebook.

I have an interesting event to post - to add a 9th picture that I had earlier failed to locate in my album, when I posted my previous article, How Time Flies. This picture will conclude my intended version of the post.

How time really flies, from May 2021

We were moving, but our new abode

would be ready only in August 2021

For two months, we had to reside at our

rented temporary service apartment

This is an account of our encounters

I shall illustrate my story from the 9

photos with accompanying captions. Enjoy.

Your Friend

J. P. Lee

Picture No 1:

“Honey, I shrunk the dining furniture!”😬

No 2:

Gulliver in the land of the Lilliput 😂

No3:

My FamiLEE in our empty house, including our two helpers - we shared our last dinner here together, ordered from a takeaway food service center 😜☕️

No 4:

Echoes in our empty FamiLEE Lounge. I recalled my Mum’s teaching - “Son, should you move to another house, you must take a broom and sweep the floor and wall of the entire house, including the air below the ceiling. You ask me why? Remember this, take back your spirit and the Spirit of God with you, but leave the dust behind and place them at the corner. You, as head of the house whole, must conduct this ritual and do it on behalf of everyone. Love and God’s Blessing will follow all of you.”

And I did all that😅😅😅👍👍👍

No 5:

Moving out soon … the movers are here!👌👌👌

No 6:

This bird flew into the house through our opened front door, when it saw the movers truck parked outside🥲

No 7:

Flying desperately, trying to get our attention. We began taking pictures of it in various stances. 🥲🥲

No 8:

Look at it, just perching on the wall at an inconvenient corner, making desperate chirping noises. It took me quite a while before I realized this bird wanted to come along with us to wherever we go were going🥲🥲🥲

No 9:

This last picture is heart warming. 2 months after we moved to our temporary rented service apartment (The Parc), this bird flew in and perched on our balcony. It did not feel disturbed nor afraid, just resting there and chirping a melodious tune. I spoke gently to it. It stopped, then took off with a chirping of cheer and farewell. We moved in to our newly renovated condominium in August 2021, at the ground level unit with a sizable balcony plot. We have some plants. Birds come to perch on them, sometimes on the railing, every now and then. 🙏🙏🙏 

[mamabearwonders]

"Hello everyone my name is kesslyn Roberts i went missing from the flying j truck stop in resaca ga on 1/18/2020

I have been missing for years. There is a

Reward leading to my whereabouts if anyone has seen me please please come forward. My family does not know

Where i am . No one has seen or heard from me i just vanished Into Thin Air

Keep a look out for me any tips big or

Small will help me be found. Or if you recall seeing me on 1/18/2020 at the flying j truck stop. Please come forward "

I go by the nickname butterfly.🦋🦋🦋

Or if anyone remembers anything come

Forward" 🦋🦋🦋

~

I remember her!! So two days before she went missing, Caleb Nathaniel Smith also went missing from the same stop. He was later found with his wings from an OD 🪽. The cops didn't take it seriously because they were both dr*g users and that truck stop is rumored to be a hotspot for that. But they deserve to be laid to rest and go home to their families. No cameras which is weird especially at a truck stop in my opinion and from what I recall the employees wouldn't put up missing posters.

[stylecouncil]

“It brought a sense of danger and excitement into my adolescence. Nephi, Utah, where I was living at the time, had neither danger nor excitement. It’s heavy, melodic and dark. I still love it. I love the power of music. I bought it for $4.99. It was in a bucketful of cassettes at a truck stop called Flying J. I was already aware of the band, but by discovering this record all by myself it brought me closer to them. They became mine. Now, whenever there is a Killers song in a minor key, it can undoubtedly be traced back to Depeche Mode. Particularly this less cheery period of Depeche Mode. We actually called upon Flood [SOFAD’s producer] to help us out on Sam’s Town. And, of course, by this record Dave Gahan was one of the best frontmen.”

- Brandon Flowers on Depeche Mode’s 1993 album Songs Of Faith And Devotion for Q Magazine’s “The Record that Changed My Life”

[autogyne-redacted]

Happy first birthday to the campaign to make pilot/flying j truck stops offer golden showers 💛

[sharpie scrawled on a gas pump reads: THANKS FOR NO GOLDEN SHOWERS ASSHOLES 01/16/22]

[nihilight]

i haven't been remembering my dreams for about 2 years. even more rare is when i have the epic -- be it good dream or nightmare -- Whole Sleep Dream. the kind where, even hours after you wake up, you remember EVERYTHING.

last night i had both, & it went a little something like this:

CW: animal death, SA.

your usual apocalytic setting. the weather was frightening & gorgeous. the sky was a juxtaposition of sunlight & storm. snow came. falling ice shards. so much snow & sunlight; it can't possibly be so hot & cold at once, but it is.

my house is some hybrid of my house, my mom's house, and the basement of shy's grandfather's house, where we lived briefly in 1996 in a moldy, spider & ant infested room, with an even worse bathroom on the other side of the basement.

keith is keith, but keith doesn't look like keith? it's a male, same approx build, but i never see his face, either because of a face shield/ski mask/scarves, etc. the voice isn't right either.

people are frantic. the snow is piling up & the hot hot sun won't melt it. planes in the air are crashing, falling. news can't keep up, but towers that carry signals are exploding by the second, all over the word, so we're all on our own.

i'm trying to figure out how to get shy, J, & my mom back to our house. keith tells me to start reinforcing windows & get the girls food, needs, 1st aid stuff, basic food, water, & everything gathered. we decide given the pace & direction of the weather that our bedroom will be our hole up spot.

we are a solidified unit, a team. we got this.

i do this, he takes the blazer to fetch the family, chilly, ruby.

<i wake up here. i turn over, push mina a little, readjust, go back to sleep.>

4 hours later, keith returns. they only live like maybe 2 or 3 miles away, and it took 4 hours. by now, there are a few more people in our house bc i can't say no. people who i let in, had something to contribute: food, radios, flashlights, water, blankets, etc.

i go into hyperfixation mode & get everyone organized with a little spot, that still leaves room to quickly move around, etc.

it takes forever to get the door back open against the snow & ice over it, that the sun is somehow still not melting. (yet how did i get people in? idk, dream logic) vehicles are smashed & on fire here & there but it isn't melting anything either.

as we're getting everyone in, some monster truck comes flying through out of control, having hit an iceblock in the road. it smashes into our blazer. 'fucking hell,' keith says, & then magically sparrow is there, runs out frantically bc she's confused, & gets hit by another car flying through.

i lose my shit. keith says to stop being emotional because there isn't time for that. i feel my heart both shatter & flare with anger at those words. i say nothing, & help get everyone inside as 2 more planes crash in the air, & pieces fall down.

<i wake up here, cold sweat. i spend a few minutes petting mina with my face in her flank. mina rumbles, does big comfy breathing sighs. i fall back asleep>

chaos at hume home across the street. half the building is smashed from airplane parts. 'can you come cook a few meals to get us through a couple days? we'll send you home with a few huge cans of veggies, milk, cooler boxes...' (we don't have cooler boxes IRL, but sure.)

it takes me about 25 minutes to get over there (2 mins IRL), over all the ice chunks, busted cars, bodies, airplane parts. i do the cooking, they tell me cleanup doesn't matter but i do it anyway (???), and then i work on making the trek back home.

i see keith talking to the dude with the monster truck who hit our blazer. i call out for help dragging these cooler boxes full of shit, but they both just look at me. 'you've been doing kettlebells,' says monster truck driver, looking me up and down, creepy. 'you can handle it. it'll keep you warmed up.'

'for what?' i ask. i need to know what's coming. i need order. i need... something, here, bc so far i've been doing a damn good job at not losing my shit, especially with sparrows body getting covered up by ice that the sun won't melt, 15 feet away in the street.

they don't answer. when i get to our driveway, keith grabs the boxes, says thanks, kisses my forehead and adjusts my hat and scarf, then gets inside. confused, i go to follow him, but monster truck guy grabs my arm.

'just be quick,' keith says to monster truck guy, then goes inside and shuts the door.

s*x traded for the truck.

'it was you or your kid, i mean... it's a monster fucking TRUCK!'

so, that happens. on a jagged pile of snow & ice that the sun won't seem to melt.

when i get all my layers put back on, wipe my nose, ignore all the cold/hot cuts on my back, & get inside, i start to cry.

"you have to stop being so emotional about this," my mom says, tiredly, from a couch in my living room that's purple now, instead of brown. part of me is frantically trying to point this out to another part of me (forcing lucid dreaming--it's a long explanation), or look for my hands, or something. 'everything's different now, we have to make sacrifices.'

shy & i's eyes meet from across the room. 'wake up,' they said.

there's a pounding at the front door, & someone yelling that i need to get back to work. the sound of collision, an inward sucking of air that pulls everything into silence, & then a crash as more airplane parts drop on the front porch section of the house.

shy's at my elbow now, their little hands curled around my bicep. 'wake up,' they said again.

i woke up, and it was 8.45a, mina was curled against me. i exhaled. i started to just sob, hard, for maybe ... idk, 20 seconds?

but i stopped, bc i was ✨ being emotional ✨ & now i'm just angry & feeling sad.

i guess the gist here is that something in me is damn sick and tired of being pegged as emotional, crazy, or bitchy, when things keep changing with no pre-amble or slight explanation, i get pushed, or etc, & even more sick & tired of having to explain why to save face. i feel like i'm being gaslit & brain-r*ped when people do it.

yeah, i see you out there, i heard what you said, with your MA in psychology. it sure does seem like i'm using my NDs as an "excuse," doesn't it? it's because i fucking have to keep explaining why.

but i'm done! :) i've cared too much about people liking me, or being the one that people DON'T have to whisper about. well, whisper away... cause i can't be myself happily when juxtaposed with having to embarrassingly explain myself too. i'm turning 40-fucking-5 tomorrow. i'm halfway to 90.

i literally don't have it in me to care about people outside my circle anymore, if they aren't even going to take 10 seconds to try to understand someone outside their norm.

& also when the world ends? i hope it's that fucking gorgeous.

[deadpuppetboi]

Goretober Day 12: Sacrifice

Every motion he made elicited a piercing cry from the elder man, who had his hands on the rod that had struck his abdomen.

He snarled as he clutched the pole, trying to draw it out only to cry out and clench his teeth. The blood flowed through his body and over the fabric of his garments as he looked down at the cut. His body shook with pain with each breath he took, his eyesight blurring with tears as he cried out once again.

He leaned back into the crumbled seat, growling as he gazed about at the wreckage.

He'd hit the side of a home, the front of his taxi cab bending uncomfortably against the rubble. His windshield was entirely smashed, as were significant sections of the glass on the dashboard in front of him. The bumper was broken in half, and the interior of the automobile had collapsed and been left to decay on the ground below. The stench of gasoline filled his nose, prompting the elderly man to cough in distaste before his gaze shifted to his right.

A young youngster sat awkwardly next to the man, his head slashed open and blood flowing down his chin.

He appeared peaceful despite being asleep, the seat belt draped over his chest the only thing keeping him from falling out upon contact. Despite this, he was still harmed, but not as badly as the man, for which the man was grateful. He shook the youngster awake with his right arm, growling under his breath as he felt the pain race through his body.

The youngster whimpered, his eyes pinched together as he forced them open. He rubbed his head carefully before stopping and crying out, his eyes watering as the anguish echoed throughout his skull.

“Ow.”

His gaze then shifted to the elder man, his father, a tiny smile on his face before it turned frightened. His gaze tracked the silver rod that had struck his father from the outside, his eyes widening as he comprehended the complexities of the scenario.

“Dad!”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and rushed to his father's side, instantly assessing the severity of the damage. He overestimated his suffering since he couldn't conceive how much anguish his father was in after a pole struck him right in the stomach. He noted how hard his father was trying to stay away and, on impulse, shook his father's shoulders, forcing the elder man to shout in anguish.

"Sorry," the child said as he drew his hands back, "Sorry!"

The older man grumbled but held his head up, trying not to lose consciousness right away, he gently gripped and shoved his son.

"Go," he murmured, pulling his jacket over his wound to try to stop the flow.

The child gazed at him with disbelief.

“What?”

Charlie Kane shoved his son once more, prompting the boy to exit the taxi cab. The door to his left had not been damaged as badly as Charlie's. He could leave right now, right here, and get a head start on rushing away.

“I—Dad—I can't leave you. You need help. I need to get this out of you. Just—just hold on—I need to get some help, okay?”

Charlie held his breath, his grip on his son tightening, tears welling up in his eyes. He strained to speak as something metallic coursed through his taste buds, nearly making him gag. But he didn't have to say much since something else had filtered through to fill the uncomfortable silence that had formed between father and kid.

They could hear music.

The ice cream truck's music was a horrible, jumbled mess. The sounds of a distorted mesh of bells and jingles all around cause terror in the father and youngster. It had sounded so far away but so close, the truck approaching them as slowly as possible, as if the driver wanted to prolong the sensation.

Charlie pushed his son as far as he could towards the door.

"Go," he screamed, ignoring his son's protests, "just go!"

The small boy shook his head, his gaze flying to the ice cream truck, his father, and the pole that had hit him.

Ice cream truck, his father, and the pole.

The pole, his father, and the ice cream truck.

Ice cream truck, his father, and the pole.

He just couldn't pick, he wouldn't choose, he couldn't leave his father like this, not when he would be exposed.

He'll be killed! Or even worse! The child didn't know, but he knew it would be horrible if he just went away like a coward.

"Dad, please-" The boy wailed, begging him to accompany him. Despite his severe injury, he didn't want to abandon him.

But Charlie was insistent, shoving his son towards the door with both hands, not expecting the rod to dig even deeper into flesh. Despite his anguish, the father continued to push his son, the music from the ice cream truck becoming increasingly loud. As he reached over to the glove compartment, opened it, grabbed the pistol, and placed it into his son's hands, the dad bit his tongue.

“JUST GO!”

When the child saw the pool of blood spilling from the open hole, he looked at his father. His spit was bile and blood, practically flowing onto the tiny boy when he tried to approach his father.

He shed a few tears softly to himself before turning and opening the creaking door. He gave his father one last look before peering over the corner, his expression growing terrified as he jumped out of the taxi and hurried away into the night.

Charlie Kane, now alone, concentrated his attention on his wound, wailing to himself as he sat back, the pain increasing greater by the second. He felt a few tears fall down his cheeks, his hands shaking as he put a portion of his jacket around his wound, which was now covered in his blood. His abdomen was becoming numb, and he would have considered it a godsend if it hadn't been for the person who appeared beside him.

Closing his eyes hard, the elderly man could hear and feel his cab move uncomfortably as a huge person approached him on the side. He warily looked over and unmistakably saw someone who wasn't even human. They wouldn't consider themselves human in the least.

Sweet Tooth saw his father groan and clutched his wound with his one working eye.

He stood there without empathy, watching the older guy struggle to keep himself upright, attempting to put his anxiety away when his eldest son stared at him. He could see him curse to himself, asking him to stop, crying out in anguish as the pole bore further into him. But the elderly man kept his composure, his eyes sharp and his mouth full of blood.

He wants to go to give this…monster the least bit of salification, not in the slightest.

Stubborn, old man.

"Marcus," the old man gasped, "you can do whatever you want with me, but leave that boy-"

Needles Kane drove his knife into the older man's throat, without allowing him to finish his sentence. The older man gasped, his eyes wide as he began to cough, his hands frantically clutching at the gloved hand as the knife began to slide itself across. His neck began to break open, showing the pesky flesh beneath and allowing the blood to flow freely.

Whatever breath he took was in vain as his body began to shut down, slowly but steadily, the old man would die a painful and drawn-out death.

The killer clown examined the blood on the weapon after removing the knife from the old man. The scarlet glistened in the light of the full moon above, dropping upon the glove he was wearing and the skin he had harmed out of spite. It thrilled him to take another life, but it profoundly grieved him to do so in the person of someone who showed no remorse.

No traces of fear.

No witty comeback.

Not even a snide remark.

Pathetic…

Before stepping out of the cab, the killer clown-eyed the corpse next to him. He flicked the blood off his knife as he slammed the door shut, causing the pane to fracture as he did so.

Somewhere, someplace, that brat is pissing his pants thinking he was just at arm’s length. Knife in hand, ready to sever his peachy skin and splatter his blood like a sprinkler.

He couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he finally got to him.

That wonderful, delectable, and priceless fear.

[oleanderblume]

So something wild happened to me yesterday.

I got punched in the face a whole bunch by some 40 yr old man with anger issue and piss poor impulse control.

I was driving (cause im a truck driver and it's my job) and i have my signal on to change into the far right lane in order to exit. There's no one close behind me and I'm going maybe 50 miles an hour right?

So I start moving over and as I'm moving, this white rig is coming up behind me in the same lane, but he's well and far away from me at this point and I have been merging pretty slowly because the road behind me is congested with standstill traffic from construction.

This white bobtailed asshole gets big mad about me merging and rolls into the right side shoulder, blaring his horn and speeding up around me to cut me off in the right lane.

Lemme repeat that. This dude deliberately drives onto the shoulder of the road to pass me. (This is because there was a truck on my left and he couldn't pass over there and was too impatient to abide the fucking law)

So he cuts me off and slams on his brakes to brake check me. And I'm going like, 47 mph right now and I'm just confused on what this fucker is trying to accomplish. We ALL had been sitting at a dead stop for like 30 minutes due to the construction, and it was a one lane road that opened into 3. So of course people are speeding up pretty slowly, and moving over to the lanes they need to be in like. What is this dudes fucking rush.

So I am trying to exit, I have my signal on, I'm slowing down specifically to exit cause there's a stoplight at that exit and I'm trying to get to the truck stop at that exit. This white bobtail takes the same exit, I'm not thinking much of it because why the fuck would I? I'm not the one pissing my pants over changing lanes.

Well I have to pull up at the light directly behind this dude because I'm trying to get to the flying j on that road. Light is red. This mother fucker jumps out of his truck, walks over to me and CLIMBS MY GOD DAMNED DOOR AND STARTS FUCKING PUNCHING ME IN THE FACE.

At the intersection.

So of course it draws attention because uh. WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT.

The trucks around me and their drivers start jumping out of their rigs to stop this dude because he's punching me and trying to pull me out of my fucking window, because I "cut him off"

And he finally stops and goes back to his rig and I'm just what the fuck.

So anyways. I got punched a bunch in the face yesterday and I have had a headache since then and my face and nose fucking hurt. 🙃

[bi-galacticgargleblaster]

okay I just got back from a trip to the US and I have thoughts:

why is the water level in the toilet bowl so high?? I accidentally dipped my hand in twice during my two weeks there and believe me it was twice too many!!

christ your groceries are expensive compared to here?? maybe it's because I exclusively go to aldi/lidl (which are cheap here) and I hadn't worked out what the equivalent in the states is but like, hannaford and trader joe's seemed a lot more expensive (based on my rough estimations of exchange rates and sales tax)

oh yeah the sales tax not being included on the price of the thing is strange to me also but I kinda knew that was a thing already

I occasionally see memes about like US public toilet cubicles being poorly constructed, with gaps, etc, and living in the UK I did kinda relate to them, but actually going over there I can confirm that the US gaps are bigger and the amount of panel you have is significantly less. like I can maybe squeeze my head under a uk toilet cubicle but I could fairly easily completely shimmy under a US one

okay this one is probably because of the state we were in and I'm sure it's not universal but like, the amount of pride flags I saw flying?? the amount of progressive pride flags?? the amount of "trans people are welcome here" signs and "we respect trans people" posters?? Active trans specific inclusion in *government buildings* right there for everyone to see, and not a single one (that I saw) defaced or torn down? in the uk you're lucky to get trans positive stickers on streetlamps (and even then a lot of them get defaced/torn off soon after going up) and specific LGBTQIA+ businesses might fly flags or put up posters, but in the US, even in the small towns we visited, a bunch of private houses and not specifically queer businesses had pride flags and posters up (again I'm sure this is different in other states but coming from the uk it was a breath of fresh air). oh and also we went to a farmers market in a tiny town and someone running one of the stalls was like "how's it going guys?" and then was immediately like "ah wait is it okay that I say guys? I don't want to misgender anyone" and like, that has never happened to me in the uk and I struggle to even imagine it happening outside of specifically queer settings

oven pizzas!! honestly the oven pizzas we had while there were better than 99% of UK pizzas (I'm including UK oven pizzas, restaurant pizzas, and takeout pizzas), idk what goes in them that's different to the uk but they were So Good

vanilla ben and jerrys??????? we get some B&J flavours in the uk but they're generally expensive compared to other ice cream and there might be 1-3 flavours to choose from in stores that stock it. we saw a whole freezer dedicated to B&J ice cream, in the entire aisle dedicated just to ice cream. anyway, I thought B&J only did fancy flavours so seeing the plain vanilla there was cool

also my lactose intolerance seemed to go on holiday during the trip?? like is american dairy just different? I had cheesecake and ice cream and incredibly cheesey pizzas and cheese toasties and had like 0 ill side effects. As soon as I got back to the uk I went "well I must be cured" and drank a yoghurt drink and Let Me Tell You That Was A Mistake

cars are B I G. we got off the plane and went to the car rental place and all the trucks and vans and stuff were just completely towering over me. It's like someone took a uk truck and expanded it to like 1.5x size. I felt kinda like I was a child again just with the height difference

gas stations!! we stopped off at gas stations and I was expecting like a lil selection of packaged sandwiches and bottled drinks but like, there were salads and sushi and wraps and sandwiches and then an entire hot food counter doing pizzas and hot wraps and there were pastries and several different types of filter coffee and teas and then An Entire Beer Cave?? (side note: alcoholic arizona ice tea?? holy shit??). apparently gas stations are some of the best places to buy booze, which I was not expecting?

I had a super great time while there and everyone was so friendly ^_^ but if someone could tell me why the toilet bowls are like that I'd appreciate it D:

[max--phillips]

I was in a Flying J this morning getting my caffeine fix & a breakfast sandwich and I had a thought, like, what would a gentrified truck stop look like? Bc ur average truck stop is usually very blue collar as you’d probably expect, but like, what would it look like if you tried to make it ~fancy?~

But then I realized.

Airports.

Airports are just gentrified truck stops.