#large warehouse for sale

[safety-pin-punk]

Steps To Take Before You Donate:

A guide from someone who works at a thrift store and has seen some things. This is generalized and not specific to the store I work at.

The first step for ALL of these sections is to look at what you have. Is it something you would give to a friend or relative? No? Then don’t donate it. (Examples of things not to donate: moldy clothes, a soiled pair of pants, sticky dishes, broken mirror)

Clothes and Linens (aka soft lines)

Look to see if your clothes are wet, moldy, or have bodily fluids on them. These types of items will end up at the landfill if you donate them. Just save employees the horror and throw away your own garbage

Don’t donate used underwear or socks, but bras are fine

If the clothes are dirty, wash them (please)

If you want to be super helpful to processors, separate halloween costumes and shoes into different bags or boxes. These items all get processed separately in stores

Donate it even if its ‘poor quality’. Clothing not sold in stores gets sent to textile recyclers

All of this applies to linens (such as blankets and sheets) as well

Electronics

If you have any large items, call the store ahead of time to make sure they are willing to take it. Not all stores have big warehouses for large items. If not, try a different store or chain

Check for any chewed on, or exposed wire. Thrift stores can’t sell these items for safety purposes

If you don’t have a wire or charger for the electronic, ensure that it will stay with the item (tape or rubber bands will work well for this) if an item can’t be tested in store to see if it works, it will not be sold in a typical retail store. It will likely be sent straight to an outlet store

If you are planning on donating a TV (small or big) call the store first, some are able to take them and some are not. Check with them first so they don’t have to turn you away after you get there

If the computer doesn’t work completely, donate it anyway, most thrift stores send them to get refurbished and their memory wiped

Books/Media

Do your books have mold on them or are the pages damp? Don’t donate them

Are the disks so scratched up that they don’t play? Don’t donate them

Stores do accept VHS tapes and cassettes!

If you are donating a bunch of loose disks without cases, keep them together in a bag or a box

If you only have a case for a game (NOT DVD), donate it! People actually buy those

Separate your books and media from other items you are donating, as these get processed separately

Shoes (usually sorted into hard lines but may vary depending on the chain)

If your shoes have bodily fluids on them, or even just some left over dog poop, either clean them or don’t donate them. No one wants to touch that

Even if your shoes have been worn to hell and back (and are not gross), donate them! Just like clothes, if they aren’t sold, most stores will recycle them

Do your best to keep pairs together! Either in a box, tie the laces together, or use a rubber band!

(We do actually love getting shoes donated in their boxes - it makes it a lot easier to sort than a giant garbage bag full of loose shoes)

If you aren’t sure what category shoes fall into at the store you are donating to, just ask! We would much rather that than find shoes in unexpected places!

Furniture

Does it require repairs? Don’t donate it, try a local yard sale site instead

Is it big? Call ahead and make sure the store has space for it

Not every store accepts mattresses/beds/bed frames. Call ahead and ask

If you have a rug, has an animal gone to the bathroom on it? Yeah? Don’t donate that

Side note: if you just bought a big piece of furniture from a thrift store, bring some buddies to help you pick it up. And a big enough vehicle. Our donation door workers are still people and can only do so much to move a giant glass table and fit it into your kia soul when you decide to pick it up 30 minutes before we close

Other Items (aka hard lines)

If a baby is meant to sit or lay in the item, we can’t sell that for safety reasons, even if its brand new

Some stores will sell helmets if they are in good condition, but not all stores. Double check before you drop them off

If you are donating dish ware or china, make sure it is washed and clean. No one wants to touch sticky mixing bowls with a mysterious substance inside

Wrap your dishes or any fragile items and place them in boxes, it helps make sure they dont break before they get processed

If its broken, don’t donate it. Think: is this something I would give a friend?

Put your jewelry together and separate from other items. That way we dont only find one earing

No already lit or used candles that are more than halfway gone, find ways to up cycle them, or see if a friend would like them instead!

No one wants your used bedroom toys. Please no. Im begging you just throw them away if you dont want them

If there are nails sticking out of it, or someone could get hurt on it, wrap it and write a note. Same goes for knives. I can’t even begin to express how many times I’ve almost cut off a finger while reaching into a box of donations

Other Tips

If its sticky, wipe it down

If its fragile, put it in a box not a bag

If its sharp, wrap it

If its multiple pieces, tape it or find a way to keep it all together before you donate it

If you aren’t sure if a store will take it, just call and ask!

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 27 - brewery owner

pairing: brewery owner!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which you and your son (along with someone else special) support the opening of your husband's brewery

word count: 1530

warnings: alcohol, children, announcement of pregnancy, one mention of reader being on birth control, the reader was seemingly very easily able to get pregnant

spence-tober masterlist

Standing outside in the cool, brisque air of the evening isn’t too uncomfortable. It would be without the wool shawl on your shoulders and you make sure to wrap it around yourself a little tighter to keep in your natural body warmth. 

You also bend down to your six-year old son, Arthur, and zip his parka up to his chin, making sure he can stay warm as well. He’s tired and you can tell within the next hour and a half, he’ll start getting a little petulant so you keep a close eye on him. There’s some wooden adirondack chairs not too far from you, circled around a controlled fire pit if needed. 

Artie could always curl up into a chair if he really got tired quickly. It had been, after all, a long day for him.

He was still getting used to attending school and then after school until you or Spencer could come pick him up. Since the sale of the small warehouse that Spencer was renovating into his very own brewery, Artie was also often carted to and from the warehouse as it was being built, renovated, and decorated. He even helped choose some design elements.

For years, Spencer had only done brewing as a hobby. That was when you first even met him. You always encouraged his hobby and with time, he became very good at it. So good that he stopped working as a bartender and got a few various jobs working for different corporate breweries. It had always been his dream to save up enough money to buy a small place and open his own bar and brewery. 

Now, the time had finally come.

The small abandoned warehouse went up for sale and you knew it to be the one. Encouraging Spencer to buy it was a whole ordeal, but when he finally did. When his signature hit the paper and he held the deed in his hand, you knew it was excited to get started. That was a little over a year ago and since then, your husband has poured his heart and soul into the place. 

He was currently standing off to the side, eagerly talking to some friends who had come out for the grand opening. It had been successful so far. 

The grand opening was set for three o’clock and when Spencer set forth his little speech that he had prepared, there was already a crowd of people. Now, the sun was setting in the horizon, hours later. It cast a nice glow over the renovated warehouse and the backyard patio where everyone now gathered.

People had come and gone and the brewery wasn’t going to be open for much later into the day. At least for it’s first official day being open. Spencer mostly wanted the day to be for friends and family to celebrate, not worrying about the number of patrons or bottles of beer sold. 

The large, animated smile told you everything you needed to know. Spencer was happy, very happy.

A yawn breaks you from your thoughts and steals your attention away from your husband and back down to your son. His hold on your hand has gotten a little looser.

“Are you tired, baby?” You ask him, watching him rub his eyes with his free hand.

He hesitates, but Artie nods and with that, you guide him over to an empty large adirondack chair for him to sit in. 

“You can just sit here for a bit, then we’ll go, okie dokie?” You confirm with him, bending down in front of him.

He nods and you ruffle his hair. His chocolate brown, messy locks that are so much like his father’s. Artie looked a lot like Spencer. He’s still young, but the way he carries himself, his hair, his eyes. They all match the look of Spencer.

If you asked Spencer, however, he would always point out the little similarities that Artie held to you. 

“Hey, Artie. You doing okay, buddy?” A voice says behind you. A very familiar voice. It’s Spencer.

Artie blinks his eyes open a little, willing the sleep away and nods, excited to see his dad. 

You turn around and stand up from your position in front of the chair and see your husband. The same chaotic hair and glittering brown eyes. Spencer, however, has started to grow a small beard and has some rough, brown stubble to show for it. He’s wearing an outfit you picked out from him. Spencer has no eye for clothes. 

“He’s just a little tired. Had a big day at school with the play and all.” You inform your husband, a smile on your face.

Spencer nods, “Okay, let me just say goodbye to a few people and we can go.” He says.

You shake your head and place your hand on his arm, “No, stay. It’s your grand opening.” You try to convince him.

“Artie’s not long for this world.” Spencer retorts, pointing to Arthur who is, indeed, nodding off into dreamland.

You feel guilty. You feel guilty and you know why. You’ve been together with Spencer for ten years and it had been eight years since his dream originated of owning his own brewery. From taking his small creations that he fixed only for friends and family and opening it to the public. To sharing that experience with everyone. Spencer had been in the midst of saving money, you contributing even to his chagrin, and had budgeted according to when he wanted to propose to you and get married in a modest wedding. 

What you hadn’t exactly budgeted for was the arrival of Artie. Even though you had been married for over a year and on birth control, somehow you had fallen pregnant with Arthur. Both of you wanted children, but you always convinced Spencer to save up for his brewery first. Neither of you ended up regretting the unplanned Artie, but you had always felt a bit guilty when some of Spencer’s savings drained for baby Arthur.

“But Spencer, you won’t get another grand opening. You should stay and enjoy it, I’ll take Artie home.” You offer.

He shakes his head, “No.” Then he takes your hands in his, rubbing his finger comfortingly on the back of your hand, “The brewery doesn’t come before you or Artie. We always tuck him in together.”

“But this is your dream.” You say in a last ditch effort.

Spencer shook his head again, “You’re my dream. You and Artie and any other children we might have in the future. Nothing comes above my family, that’s my dream. I just happen to be living it everyday.”

You concede and nod, letting Spencer run off to an employee to get them to close up for the night. You say your rounds of goodbye to your friends who have come out for the night of celebration, always keeping a watchful eye on your son.

Collecting your son in his strong arms, Spencer scoops him up and has no problem walking with him through the backyard where you are led back into the main part of the brewery. 

A long bar stretches across the metal room with lines and lines of drafts for the bar with a few added concoctions of Spencers. Tables and other fun decorations fill the rest of the space with a few added streamers and banners just for the grand opening.

“Did you see my surprise for you?” Spencer asks you as you walk through the room.

Artie is out completely now, so there is no need for whispering between the two of you. You carry your own things, plus Spencer’s and Artie’s.

You shake your head, “No, what was it?” You show a confused expression on your face.

He’s as confused as you are, “The drink menu. Your favorite is officially named after you. I thought it was a sweet gesture.”

“Oh, I didn’t get a drink tonight.” You explain to him. You get the front glass entrance door for all three of you.

“You didn’t?” Spencer asks, even more confused now. 

A smile curls up on your lips. You reach your shared vehicle and grab something out of the floorboards near Artie’s seat. Somewhere Spencer wouldn’t have seen it since you had left the grand opening early to pick Artie up from after school, then heading back to the brewery.

Spencer transfers Artie into his car seat in the back, putting the seatbelt on for him as he’s still asleep and takes the bag you hold out to him. He’s still quite confused and can’t see into the bag as you’ve filled it with tissue paper.

“Artie will be quite put out that he wasn’t able to give this to you, but we can just pretend in the morning.” You say, vague about the actual contents of the bag.

Spencer gently sifts through the bag and then takes out a singular card. Before he can even read the words, his eyes lock onto the ultrasound that hangs on the cardstock paper. 

“What?” He says softly. It’s a rhetorical question and you know he’s saying it out of shock and surprise.

“We’re pregnant again.”

a/n: i always try to make the names true to character for Spencer. Luma with his philosophy lightbulb joke he made that one time and the fact Diana can mean luminescence. Then Diana, of course, his mother in the show. And now Artie, or Arthur, after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, also known as his favorite author in the series. just little Easter eggs.

[lokisasylum]

You know shit's going DOWNHILL for Hybe when they start PAYING the SAME journalist who defamed and downplayed Jimin's achievements on Billboard Hot 100, and every other record he got without the company's push to start fabricating dating rumors in order to use that artist as a shield from the backlash the company's already facing under the allegations being made/exposed by MHJ.

Such as the fact that Bongo tried to bribe MHJ into accepting him having NewJeans' album sales inflated so they could "beat aespa's record".

ALSO:

(The OP is referring to 2022 when "With You" was released and Jimin's personal information was sold to antis, who spread it to the media to make it seem like Jimin hadn't paid his apartment's rent [its called "health insurance", but in reality its apartment rent] in 3 months, when at the time BTS had been on tour in the US and therefore Hybe should have absorbed the payments until their return. But a manager who was in charge of delivering the mail stole Jimin's for those 3-4 months in order to sell it to antis on DCGallery. And Hybe "allegedly" had no knowledge that this was happening right under their noses and put up that halfassed apology.

And the girl group OP is referring to is Lesseraphim, since at the time one of the former members, Garam, got involved in a very ugly scandal that resulted in her getting kicked out of the agency. OG Armys know about Bighit/Hybe's past scandal with their first gg GLAM and without the fabricated distraction using jimin's mail, this would've put BH/Hybe under a very shitty position infront of investors. )

(Yes, you read all that right, Hybe personally chooses/hires problematic journalists in order to PAY THEM to write articles that favor THE COMPANY. Even if it means damaging their own artist's image/reputation. Like what they've been doing to Jimin since FACE was released last year. ALL of those Weverse Magazine articles that targeted, defamed, downplayed Jimin's achievements, but favored and praised ANOTHER MEMBER, were all PAID and APPROVED by Hybe themselves.

Jimin stans have been warning and talking about this since last year, but nobody believed us. They thought we were throwing baseless allegations "out of jealousy" only for it to be brought to light in the end.

The sales that were stolen and erased from Jimin's album so that he wouldn't get the record of "First 1Million Seller Ksoloist"? Got proven with an official Retail Chart near the end of year that proved Jimin's album had not only sold MORE copies than the other members, but he was the only member who's numbers matched the pre-order with the ones that were actually bought AND shipped/delivered to actual fans (and not some warehouse in China without owners only to be discarded in alleys, train stations and bathrooms << ).

I wrote something similar to this last year around June, how we should be cautious of content Hybe would be releasing in the following months; with possible shipping content included to benefit only ONE member who was obviously being favored above the others to prove a point.

That the company isn't blind, they KNOW which member currently has a large following of unique loyal fans and if said member wasn't the company's favorite they will do everything they can (rumors, scandals, forced shipping content, ect) to wear out the solo fans and make them leave that member to make him dependent only on the group's fandom or company support (even if its nonexistent).

And it amused me the amount of shippers and company stans that got hella triggered by that post I wrote, even though in the end it all came true.

As for that problematic (crazy bitch) girl from IG claiming to be "jimin's gf" ? Just know that she's been doing this since 2018 to MANY male Idols/Public figures for clout (i guess it helps to boost her already TANKING career as a mediocre "actress").

Hell, she even at some point in the past 2 or 3 years claimed to be f*cking JK too.

[still-not-over-transformers]

hi! May I request a GN!human Reader x TFA!Swindle,

maybe reader and swindle make some sort of deal with each other (but swindle being swindle) is the one who gets the better end of the deal.

A Mutually Beneficial Partnership

TFA Swindle x GN Human Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1000+

You were nervous as you stood outside a large warehouse on a pier, waiting amongst a group of other people. This would be the first time you had ever personally attended a black market weapons auction, as you normally had your assistant Steve go in your place and represent you. Well, Steve got arrested for tax fraud and now you were stuck here amongst various shady and unsavory individuals you preferred to avoid. 

You specialized in acquiring illegal merchandize, primarily weaponry, and selling it online through the dark web for maximum profit. Currently the hot items were anything Cybertronian, especially weapons. Ever since those autobots arrived on Earth, acquiring and selling Cybertronian items became very lucrative, but you knew how to be careful. Security opened the large garage-like door to the storage unit, allowing all attendees to enter in single-file, each “guest” being searched for weapons upon entry. 

As you finally entered the venue, you found your seat and waited until the auction began. After the auctioneer graced the stage, multiple black market items began to circulate on and off the stage, many attendees shouting out their bids. Almost as soon as the first Cybertronian item, a null ray, appeared on stage the room was illuminated by bright spotlights. Aggressive voices resounded from loudspeakers held by Officer Fanzone, “EVERYONE PUT YOUR HANDS UP! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST FOR PARTICIPATING IN THE ILLEGAL SALE OF CYBERTRONIAN WEAPONRY.” Various Detroit P.D. officers burst into the venue, followed by none other than Optimus Prime, sending everyone into a panicked frenzy. 

Instead of heading for one of the exits like the other attendees, you made a beeline for the stage entrance, sneaking past the gaze of the officers. You made your way backstage and eventually found your way to the storage area where the illegal items were housed. As you attempted to find an escape route, you heard footsteps not far behind you. As you panicked, you spotted an unattended S.U.V./Jeep vehicle. You rush towards the vehicle and pull on the door handle and quickly climb inside, hoping to hide. 

To your horror, the exit doors of the building open up allowing a flood of Detroit P.D. officers inside. Suddenly the engine turns on, and the vehicle peels towards the exit, forcing the officers to dive out of the way. In the passenger seat, you start to freak out as you’re taken on a terrifying ride via a self-driving car. 

After what felt like a lifetime, the vehicle finally came to a stop after reaching a rural and isolated area away from the warehouse. The passenger door opens and you bolt out of the vehicle, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

Suddenly the vehicle before you transformed into a massive robot. No, a Decepticon, you thought as you recognized the purple insignia on the robot. The Decepticon, Swindle, looked down at (Y/N), “Well, if this isn’t an unexpected situation we have here. That was a close call with the police and Optimus Prime of all things.” 

You were in shock, but you were also upset at this situation you were now in. You shouted up at Swindle, “Unexpected situation? You’re the one who kidnapped me!” 

Raising an optic ridge at (Y/N), Swindle leans downwards to get a closer look, “Well pardon the intrusion, but you were the one who tried to use me to hide. Not to mention, I graciously helped you escape. Otherwise you’d most likely be in a prison cell, hm?”

You froze, surprised by both the nerve and wit of this Decepticon, and the fact that you hadn’t been blasted to smithereens yet. Hesitantly you spoke, “Okay you have a point… Thank you?”

“HEYY, think of it as an investment towards a future partnership!” Swindle gestures towards you. “Now, what is a human like you doing attending a black market auction for Cybertronian weapons? You don’t look the type if I’m being honest,” he notices your attire lacked the usual ‘shady’ vibe most humans dawned at such criminal events. 

You were hesitant to divulge any of your personal information to a Decepticon, but you had no idea what he would do if you weren’t cooperative. “This was my first time going to one of these things. Normally I hire someone to attend for me, but my usual go-to was compromised so I had to cut ties and go myself.” 

Swindle is intrigued by your response, a smirk creeping across his face as he senses a potential opportunity before him to gain a human puppet *ahem* partner… He flashed an optimistic and charming smile, “You know, I’m actually looking for a partner myself. Perhaps you and I could… make a deal? Form a sort of… mutually beneficial relationship? Professionally speaking, of course.”

Being in a tight spot yourself, you entertained the idea. After all, when would you get such an opportunity again? A Cybertronian business partner could provide certain advantages which your competitors surely lacked. “And what exactly do you propose?” you asked curiously, wondering what sort of arrangement you’d be getting yourself into. 

“Nothing unreasonable or too risky. You’d be attending more of these events, and you’ll spot the merchandise. Relay what you see back to me, and I’ll tell you which items are worth the most. And depending if we’re short on funds, you let me in the back and we’ll slip out with the merchandise and be out of there before anyone knows what hit em.”

After weighing the pros and cons, you give your answer, “Decepticon, I think you have a deal” extending your hand towards him. 

Swindle struggles to keep his smile genuine as you agree, “The name’s Swindle, and you, my new business partner?”

“Y/N. I suppose this will be a rather interesting partnership,” you replied, a nervous smile on your face.  A smug look crossed Swindle’s faceplate before he transformed into his alt-mode and opened the door for you. A very interesting partnership… his thoughts were dubious to say the least as the two of you drove away.

[pondslime]

what have I done (to deserve this)

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4k

Bo POV. It’s the day before Valentine’s. Bo goes shopping at a bargain outlet. In true romcom fashion, you’re there too. 

Chance encounter meet-cute. Except it’s with the worst man this side of Baton Rouge. Sucks! But you get to make out with him! Hope that’s worth the incoming pain and misery, bestie!

Crossposted on AO3 here. 

Very self-indulgent and GOOFY. A heaping dose of humor and general dumbassery. Big warning for Bo being Bo. We’re in his head and he is, as always, so stupid. Reader does not have a car for porn reasons. That’s it. She’s a public transportation whore for roadhead purposes. She’s also kind of annoying. And a bratty bimbo. 

The title of this fic comes from the song “What Have I Done to Deserve This” by Pet Shop Boys. It’s just a jazzy lil 80′s track that I could 100% picture playing in a bargain outlet over shitty speakers. Bo’s on his Gen X shit.

I just wanted to write about Bo encountering a chick who immediately wanted to hoover him down. Ambiguous ending with some unsettling implications.

This fic is a birthday gift for @raccoonspooky​! 🦝💝👻 MWAH!!! I LUV U!!! HAPPY BDAY!!!! HAPPY BIRF!!! DAY!!!! HERE’S STUPID!!!! 4 U!!!

The bargain outlet stretches out in front of him, large yellow signs hanging from the warehouse ceiling. Sales down every aisle, 25% off on all kitchenware. Music blares out of loudspeakers, spitting out a song that Bo hasn’t heard since high school.

He’s thinking of his mother again.

Packed into the family car, bumping down the road to the department store. Just the two of them. Mama would tell him that it was because he couldn’t be left alone, that he wasn’t trusted like Vincent was—up at the big old house, drawing his pictures and staying out of the way.

Time seemed to drag on days like that, plodding along ungainly as Trudy slowly perused shelves. It always felt like he would be stuck there indefinitely, rotting away in front of the floral baking sets and printed potholders. When people congregated around the racks, Bo would reach up and grab her hand. Surrounded with onlookers, she’d let him hold onto it.

Sometimes they’d pass by the toy aisles, but she never gave them more than a passing glance. These trips weren’t for him, after all. Despite that, he looked forward to them with an odd giddiness.

Bo couldn’t be alone, but Vincent couldn’t get this.

Vincent didn’t get to watch himself reflected in the shining glass of the displays that their mother stopped at, tutting over bottles of perfume. He didn’t get to see the chrome and glossy mirrors, the array of beautiful women with long nails behind the counter tops. It wasn’t for him.

Bo would return home smug, carrying Mama’s bags. He always made sure to catch his brother’s eye.

Look. Pay attention. This is mine, it’s all mine. It isn’t yours.

He got in trouble one day. He couldn’t remember for what. Whatever it was, she got angry, and the trips stopped.

That department store had long since been razed. There weren’t a lot of things that stayed the same. Tradition was lost and paved over, turned into this.

Picking up a basket, he makes his way to the back of the store.

The hardware section is pitiful. It always is.

Tools are strewn everywhere, each one emblazoned with illegible clearance stickers. They never have the shit that he needs here. He sifts through the pile of haphazardly stacked tools, pulling a wrench out. It’s a twelve-inch, decent weight. He wraps his hand around it and knocks it against his palm. It’ll do.

On his way out of the aisle, he snatches up two rolls of duct tape and a pack of braided nylon rope.

There are some things you can never have too much of.

He cuts through the clothing department.

A store display looms overhead, announcing another sale. A woman pouts out of the ad, the heaving curve of her breasts spilling out of black lace. He feels something under his foot. Bending down, he plucks a bra off the ground. There’s a boot print across the front, dirt smeared across the polka dots.

“Good afternoon, shoppers!” A voice crackles over the intercom. “Two-for-one deals comin’ in hot this holiday season—”

Trudy would hate this place, with its messily stacked piles of clothes and the incessant beeping of the registers. That’s part of the reason he’s here.

“Um. Excuse me.”

“Huh?” He blinks, jerking his head up.

“Sorry, I just…” You look at him quizzically, your lips pursed. You’re holding a bra that looks identical to the one in his hands, sans dirt. “Need to get…uh. Behind you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He shuffles to the side. “Go on.”

He flicks through the rack, shoving the ruined bra unceremoniously to the back.

“You buying a bra?”

“Yeah.” He says absently. “For my sister.”

“…You’re buying your sister a bra?”

He turns to look at you. Wrenched away from the padded curve of the bras, he finally has a chance to assess you. Cute.

“Sister-in-law.” He amends.

Your brow scrunches in confusion and you nod slowly, fidgeting with the bra in your hands.

“I’m just messin’ with you.” He smiles.

“Okay.” You huff out a perplexed laugh.

He’s rummaging through the detergent when he sees you again.

“We just keep running into each other.” You remark.

“Seems like it.” Gesturing at the duct tape and utility gloves in his basket, he flashes you a smile. “Gotta get some stuff for work.”  

“You a plumber?”

“Uh, no.” He’s unable to hide the flicker of indignation that twitches his lip up into a sneer. “Mechanic.”

Your lips curves into an open-mouthed O and he glances down at your left hand. Finding your ring finger conspicuously bare, he files that away for later. It’s not like he gives a shit, but less collateral is less collateral.

“I run a station not far from here.”

“That’s cool.” You pick up a lint roller. “Well, nice to meet you.”

Bo finds you in the Valentine’s aisle. Or you find him. He can’t really tell.

“Are you followin’ me ‘round here, girl?” He shoots you a bemused smile. “You gonna tell me your name, stalkin’ me like this?”

“Maybe. What’s yours?”

“Bo.”

“You buying that for your sister-in-law too?” You nod towards the box of conversation hearts he’s holding. “Can’t imagine your brother likes that much.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. We share everythin’.”

“Oh yeah?” You grab a box of chocolates off the shelf, placing it in your cart. “Seems messy.”

“She’s a lucky girl.”

“That depends.” You quip. “What’s your brother look like?”

He angles toward you, resting his hand on the shelf.

“We’re twins.”

Your eyebrows raise.

Couple months ago, he had one downstairs that kind of looked like you. Same hair color. He has a lock of it in one of the gas station drawers. Her ID’s in there too, but he doesn’t remember her name. He couldn’t place it at first, but that’s who you remind him of. Another version of you, maybe. You’ve got the prettier mouth, though.

“Surprised this one didn’t sell.” You pluck a card off the wire rack. A goose peers off of the paper, surrounded by hot pink lettering.

VALENTINE, WON’T YOU LET ME GET A GANDER…

You flip the card open. With a sigh, you hold it up so he can read it.

…AT THEM HONKERS.

“That’s a good one.” He nods appreciatively.

The food court is tucked into the corner of the store, a collection of neon signs and scuffed tables. The whole area smells gray, strings of cheap cheese and the lemony reek of industrial cleaner.

As he appraises the menu, he notices you at the drink fountain. When you turn, your eyes go wide.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” You exclaim.

“Huh.” He sighs. “Darlin’, you keep this up and I’ll have to call the cops.”

You open your mouth once, close it.

“You hungry?” He gestures toward the menu.

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya’?”

“I’m just passing through.”

“Hmm.” He murmurs out his acknowledgment. “You should stick ‘round for a bit. Nothin’ like Mardi Gras in Baton Rouge. Family vacation?”

“No, it’s just me.”

He hides his laugh around a forced cough. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he clears his throat.

“Sorry. Cigarettes.” He smiles at you. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout quittin’.”

You chew idly at your slice of pizza, your eyes drifting over his face. He arches a brow.

“You like what ya’ see?”

“I’m not sure.” Your lips twist into a smile. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

You have a lot of damn nerve.

“You do this a lot?” He fixes you with a pointed look.

“What? Go shopping?” There’s something so hopelessly dumb about your expression. You’re blank and brainless, an assortment of curves and painted-on prettiness in front of him.

He imagines paddles whacking the careening Ping Pong ball of your thoughts across your brain. A thought misses the paddle, ricocheting off the side of the board. Game over. Fiddle with some buttons, start over. Another one comes to take its place, bopping uselessly in your skull.

He’s met enough of your type that it shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow it always does. Someone this stupid shouldn’t be allowed to wander too far. And yet, here you are, all by yourself. Just you and your flimsy hold on rational thinking, wandering around his state.

If he hadn’t have met you here, lord knows what trouble you would’ve gotten into. You’d probably have wandered out into the bayou. Blinking all pretty, getting stuck in the muck. Wrenching open a gator’s mouth and stepping into it just because you were curious how many teeth it had.

He’d pay good money to watch that.

“Don’tchu act all shy ‘bout this. You know what I’m askin’.” He tears the straw wrapper into tiny pieces, his gaze trailing down your neck and onto your breasts. “Ya’ make a habit of goin’ ‘round and propositionin’ men in stores?”

You choke out a laugh, your eyes going wide.

“I’m not propositioning you!”

“Whatchu doin’ eatin’ my pizza, then?”

“What am I…doing…” Your eyes twinkle with barely contained glee. You muffle a laugh around another bite of pizza. “…Eating…your pizza?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in the chair. “Ya’ seem pretty happy to be sittin’ right there. Eatin’ my pizza.”

“You’re very cute.” You wipe your mouth off with a napkin, staring pointedly at his hands.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Grabbing a slice of pizza, he takes a bite.

It’s awful. Grimacing, he manages to swallow it down. Glancing down at it in disgust, he lets it fall limply back into the box. It takes him a moment before he remembers to readjust his face into one of tranquility, winking over at you.

“You know what.” You deliberate for a second, your eyes darting to his lips. “I think I am propositioning you.”

“There’s a theater next to my shop.” He smirks. “You wanna catch a movie?”

“I don’t wanna interrupt your work.”

“I got all the time in the world, honey.” He winks. “Truck’s outside.”

“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” You rest your chin against your palm.

“Not yet.” He shakes his head. “Hardly know ya’ yet. That’d be jumpin’ the gun.”

“Alright. Fuck it.” You grin. “Let’s go.”

Standing in line at the register, he reaches into your cart and snatches out the box of chocolates.

“Hey!” You put your hands on your hips. “What are you…”

“Ya’ think I’m gonna make a girl buy her own chocolate? What I look like to you?”

You move to say something, your eyes glittering.

“If ya’ say plumber—” He gives you with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll tan your hide.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” You stage-whisper, loading up the belt with items.

“Goddamnit, girl. Let’s get you outta this fuckin’ store.”

Pulling down a side road, he parks the truck.

“Hand me that, would ya’, baby?”

Rustling in the bag, he pulls out the box of chocolates. Ripping the plastic off, he tugs the lid open. He takes a bite of one. Cheap, shitty chocolate. Puts it back in its slot. Picks up another one and takes another bite. Caramel, but it’s still—

“You wanna give me my chocolate back?” You tap on his arm.

“Sorry, darlin’. I bought it. It’s mine.” He smirks at you. “Maybe if ya’ ask all pretty, I’ll give ya’ one.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you let out a frustrated huff.

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim. “You lied.”

“Lyin’? Nah. Just omittin’ some details, sugar. It’s how we do it down here in Louisi—”

You clamor into his lap, making a grab at the chocolate. Popping one in your mouth, you bug your eyes out at him.

“Bad girl.” He tosses the box onto the dashboard. Reaching up, he grabs your chin, pulling you closer.

You taste like chocolate when he kisses you, his hand slipping down your jaw to tighten around your neck. You hum happily into his mouth, your hands on his shoulders. He can feel your breath under his fingers, the pulsing hammer of your heartbeat against his palm.

You’re always so close to death, to all that red and heat underneath, and you don’t even notice. He could press down a little more, constrict your airflow. Make it hurt. You need that, don’t you? You don’t have any fuckin’ structure. Leave you with your throat burning, your eyes swollen with tears. Make you thank him for that.

“I don’t really do this.” You murmur against his lips.

“Whatchu doin’ right now, then?”

You laugh, a breathless little noise. He reaches back and gathers your hair together at the back of your head. When he tugs your head back, you gasp.

“How bad ya’ want it?”

“I—” Discomfort flashes over your face. “Wait, um. Hold on. This is really awkward, but—”

You readjust yourself in his lap and he drops his hand, watching as you reach under your shirt. Biting down on your bottom lip, the strap of your bra slips down your shoulder. Working it through the sleeves of your shirt, you blow out a huff of relief. Stretching your arms to extricate the loops, you tug it free, tossing it onto the floor of his truck.

You turn back to him with a bashful smile.

“Movin’ fast, girl.” 

"The wire's been digging into me all day.” You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder at your discarded bra. “I needed to get a new one, but—I got kinda distracted."

"And whose fault is that?"

You look at him curiously, as if his question is strange. You lean forward and flick at the brim of his cap, smiling.

"Well, yours, technically."

“Don’t see how that tracks.” He leans back onto the headrest. 

“You distracted me.” Your voice goes high-pitched and melodic, a sing-song lilt that makes his hand tighten into a fist at his side. 

He exhales, snorting out a laugh. 

“You know what?” 

“What?” You tilt your head, raising your brows.

“I changed my mind. I’m killin’ ya’.”

You blow a raspberry at him, rolling your eyes. 

“Not yet, c’mon.” You whine, dropping kisses down the bridge of his nose. “It’s like you said. We haven’t even gotten to know each other yet!”

“You’re tryin’ my fuckin’ patience, girl.” 

“Good.”

You’re a bratty fuckin’ thing. Untrained, not an ounce of discipline in you. You rock your hips against him, wetting your bottom lip. Tart and wild, a stubbornness coasting under your skin.  He wonders how long you’ll be able to hold onto all that sass. What he’ll have to do to make sure you lose it. He can’t wait to see you cry—you’ll taste sweeter then, curled up inside yourself.

What kind of fuckin’ coincidence. 

“Look at’chu.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What’d you say? Take a picture, it’ll last longer?”

“Oh, don’tchu worry, baby. I will.” He grins. “Gotta get you all warmed up first, though.” 

Slipping his hand between your legs, he rubs at you through your jeans.

“You’re not fucking me in your truck.” With a giggle, you still his hand, tugging it back onto your hip.

“You gonna try to stop me?”

“Um, yeah.” A shriek of laughter spills out of your mouth and the movement rocks your body against his lap. “Anybody could see us!”

“Ya’ gonna tell me that’s what you’re worried about?” He squints at you, squashing down the glare that threatens to darken his features. Not yet. “After grindin’ on my lap like that?”

“Look, I’ve got a better idea.” Shimmying off his lap and onto the passenger seat, you grin at him. “When’s the movie?”

“The movie?” It takes a moment before the realization hits him. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he clears his throat. “Oh, uh—an hour.”

“And how far away is it?”

“Uh, twenty, thirty minutes.”

“Well. I don’t wanna miss it.” You tilt your head, raising a brow. “What if there’s a line?”

“There ain’t gonna be a line.” He says definitively, a wave of exhaustion settling over him. 

“You don’t know that.” You laugh. “Anyway. I think…you should drive us there. Now. So we have time.”

He’s barely started the truck back up when he feels your hands at his belt, undoing the loop.

“The fuck you doin’?”

“Trust me.” You unzip his fly, pulling him out of his boxers.

You could be sweet if you wanted. All sugar. It’s easier that way, but you won’t want it easy. You’ll make him fight you for it.

You work your hand over his cock with a sigh of contentment. Your thumb teases over the slit, rubbing precum over the head of his cock. He feels a spike of irritation at you for wasting even an ounce of his spunk on your hands. As if to apologize, you bow your head, running your tongue up the underside of his cock. You’ll have to do better than that. Licking up the sensitive skin of his frenulum, you tease your mouth around him, letting him twitch against your tongue.

“Ya’ gonna suck it or not?” He snaps, keeping his eyes locked on the road. He doesn’t need to look down to know that you’re smiling.

“Don’t be grumpy.” Your voice floats up from his lap. “I’m just taking my time. You’re just so pretty.”

Pretty? Anger rushes through him. Calling him that—thinking you can, thinking that there wouldn’t be any consequences. Who raised you? For all your pathetic staring, you haven’t even seen what’s in front of you. 

The lack of respect is sickening, making his balls feel heavy and tight. He needs to be down your throat, if only to shut you up. Give you something else to focus on. Every moment you’re near him, you’re signing yourself away. Doubling back, going over the contract in bubbly cursive.

You’re entirely unaware of how many marks you’re tallying up. Every swirl of your tongue sinks you deeper in debt. He wonders if you’d laugh if you knew just how many apologies you’re setting yourself up for.

With a hum, you take him into your mouth, swallowing your lips around his cock.

“Take it deep. Don’t you stop.”

A noise erupts from your mouth, but it’s garbled around his cock. He can’t tell, but he could have sworn that was a laugh.

He stops the truck abruptly, the movement thrusting him deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, a disgustingly wet noise at the back of your throat. With a wet pop, you pull your mouth off of his cock. The sudden loss of sensation draws a frustrated growl from his lips.

“Be careful.” Your lips are back on him. Mouthing kisses down his length, your nose bumps against his skin. “Don’t crash the car.”

“I’ve been drivin’ this truck for longer than—” You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and the sentence falters in his mouth.

He pictures you standing in the theater lobby. Confusion in your eyes, a slackness to your jaw. It’s odd and you’ll know it, right away. But you won’t do anything about it. You’ll second guess yourself. You think you’re so smart, don’t you? With that sweet little twist of your lips, batting your eyelashes at him, resting your hands on his shoulders. He wonders how long it’ll take for the confusion to lift. The realization settling over you, chilling you to the core.

You’ll look back at him and you’ll know.

A lifetime of mistakes all falling into place, your scream lost under the palm of his hand.

You should be fucked there. That’s how it should go.

He can’t wait. Not for anything, ever. Mama was always saying that. And with the wet clasp of your mouth around his cock, patience isn’t manageable. How could it be? You’ve taken up all of it, trapped it in your smile. He doesn’t have any more to give.

You bob your head up and down, resting your hands on his thigh. 

“Good girl.” He mutters. You moan and he clenches his jaw, tightening his hold in your hair. “Just like that, c’mon.”

You raise your head off his cock again and murmur out his name, and his grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white.

You better be enjoying saying it. Let it live in that slutty mouth of yours for a while. It’ll be off limits soon.

There’ll be other things to call him. Later. He can see several of them in his head, stacked fifty feet high in neon. He probably won’t even have to tell you which one he wants, you’ll come up with it on your own. It’ll bubble up in your little head and you’ll drool it out helplessly, stuffed full with cock. Makeup smeared down your cheeks, caked under your eyes. He’d like to see you when you’re trying to fold into yourself. When you’re trying desperately to be anything but pretty for him.

He’s ready to take the shiny veneer of this personality off. It’s slipping now, he can feel it. 

“Ain’tchu glad you met me?” He grunts out, his breaths coming out shallow.

You’re going to hate him soon enough, and he’ll be able to remind you that you didn’t before. That you can’t fool him into believing you don’t love his cock down your throat, that you don’t want his hands on you—he knows better, and you do too.

You moan your agreement against his cock. Glad, you’re fuckin’ glad. You’d better be.

He bucks up into your mouth when he cums, smacking his hand down on the steering wheel. You’re choking around him, making desperate little huffs through your nose. For your credit, you keep him in your mouth, tightening your lips around the base. He eases his foot off the accelerator, wetting his lips. 

The truck slows to a crawl as he pants, leaning into the steering wheel. He shudders when he feels your lips tug off his cock, swirling your tongue around the oversensitive head.

“We there yet?” You cough a bit, carefully tucking him back into his boxers.

“Christ, girl.” He whistles through his teeth, glancing over at you. “Actin’ like I didn’t just fuck ya’ throat.”

“You didn’t fuck me. I fucked you. And no one saw.” Wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand, you giggle.

“Little cocksucker.”

“You loved it.” You chirp smugly, winking at him. It takes everything in his resolve not to grab you by your hair and slam your forehead into the dashboard. He can’t get blood in his truck again. Shit’s unprofessional. And he’s nothing if not a stickler for appearances. There’s a way to do these things, and you’ve forced him to rewrite his script halfway through the scene. He’s almost impressed with your lack of morals.

He can only imagine how wet you must be, soaking through your jeans. With the way you were moaning around his cock, your pussy must be aching for it.

He should lay a fuckin’ towel down. Protect the goddamn seats—he can’t get your blood on the upholstery, and you know that. 

Tryin’ to leave your mark some other way, ain’tcha?

“Is this it?” You ask brightly, peering out the window.

“Yup.” He parks, turning to you. “Think you can do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Just gotta check on somethin’ with the truck. You wanna run into the shop and put this on the counter?” He grabs the chocolate box off the dashboard and stuffs it into the plastic bag. “Wouldn’t want it meltin’.”

“Sure.”

You hop out of the truck, looking at him expectantly.

“Go on, pretty thing. I’ll be right behind ya’.” 

As you push the door of his shop open, he stuffs your bra in the glove compartment. It’s cute. You won’t be needing it.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Sir Vival, the two-piece safety Hudson

Sir Vival, Walter Jerome's Hudson-based concept for the ultimate safety car, last moved under its own power sometime around when he showed the car at the New York World's Fair in 1964 or 1965. Since then, it's been split apart, reassembled, shuffled all over eastern Massachusetts, and remained hidden more or less in plain sight, but nobody's made an attempt to get it running again. That'll change now that longtime owner Ed Moore of Bellingham Auto Sales has sold Sir Vival to Jeff Lane of the Lane Motor Museum.

"It'll be the perfect fit," Lane said. "I've been pestering him about it for a while."

Moore, as we reported in November, has decided to close the doors at Bellingham, which he considers the last active Hudson dealership in the world, and has been either selling off his inventory of cars and parts or transferring portions of his lifelong collection to his house nearby.

In 1958, Worcester-based Walter Jerome decided it was about time somebody built a car designed primarily for safety and not for looks or speed. Rapidly increasing numbers of highway deaths - especially in the postwar period - led many to call for greater automotive safety as early as 1947, but the response from Detroit was tepid at best throughout the Fifties. Ford made a few gestures at improving automotive safety, including funding a study on safety cars at Cornell, but it largely fell to independents and individuals to build cars with safety features designed into the vehicle.

Jerome decided to start with a step-down Hudson - which he bought from Bellingham - and split it into two sections "to anticipate the possibility of collision from any angle." Similar to Bela Barenyi's idea for the crumple zone, Jerome intended the front section, mounted via a hinge to the rear section, to absorb a collision rather than deflect one, noting that the rigidity of typical cars was what led to injuries and deaths in collisions. To each of the two sections, Jerome added steel bumpers that acted, in his words, like a second frame, and rubber bumpers around the steel designed to redirect all but direct collisions. Yes, he built a full-size bumper car.

He didn't stop there. The driver controlled the car from a turret-mounted central driver's seat surrounded by a "full circle" windshield for greater visibility. (According to Jerome's literature, the windshield itself rotated past stationary windshield wipers as part of Jerome's quest for maximum driver visibility.) The exterior is fitted with high-visibility marker and signal lamps; the parallelogram doors are designed not to pop open in a crash; and the interior features seat belts, padding, and even a rollbar.

"It is all too obvious that Detroit has no plans to come up with anything really new," Jerome wrote. "Their 1964 cars are already on the drawing boards and spring from the same rigid frames. I hold that human life is important, far more important than Detroit's worry about the cost of retooling to produce an automobile which will save human lives. Adoption of the flexible Sir Vival design would make rigid vehicles obsolete and create a new market, almost immediately, for 65 million vehicles."

Moore and his family assisted Jerome over the years with Sir Vival, including one episode Moore recalls in which he went to Worcester to retrieve the vehicle from the fourth floor of a warehouse, where Jerome had stored it in two pieces, so it could be reassembled and transported to Jerome's house on Cape Cod. After Jerome's death in the early 1970s, the Moores took possession of Sir Vival and brought it back to Bellingham. While Moore had hoped Sir Vival would have gone to Eldon Hostetler's Hudson museum, it turned out fortuitous that he didn't donate it to Hostetler, given that the museum was closed and liquidated in 2018. Sir Vival has thus primarily sat in its pride of place in Bellingham Auto Sales's garage ever since.

"It needs gone right through," Moore said. "It's not really something I want to take home and just let it sit there. Jeff, he's the guy who'd really appreciate it. He'll build it and do it right."

Lane said he's only seen Sir Vival once in person, when he spent an entire day up at Bellingham Auto Parts four or five years ago. "I recall it as not terrible, but also not in great condition," he said. "It's not like it's been outside for 40 years, rusting away." While he won't have a more definitive plan about what to do with Sir Vival until he picks it up later this month, he said he wants to go through it mechanically without restoring the entire car, if possible.

"I'd say the closest it comes to any other vehicle in the (Lane Motor Museum's) collection is the Dymaxion," Lane said. "It's a really interesting story but it's really been pretty much hidden away from the general public."

Moore, for his part, said he'll continue selling Hudsons from his home garage even after the Bellingham Auto Sales property becomes a warehouse. "I still have my new and used car licenses," he said. "I know I can't keep them all, but I've tried."

UPDATE (6.January 2023): The Lane has started restoration on Sir Vival, according to a Facebook post from the museum. "Sir Vival has been separated into two pieces, and the automotive archaeology begins!"

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Clayface

Celebrated film actor, Matt Hagen was severely disfigured in a automobile accident.  While recovering, Hagen was approached by Roland Dagget who asked him to be a test subject for the newly developed face cream, ‘Renuyu.’  This cream was a mutagenic that made skin cells malleable.  

The Renuyu enabled Hagen to fix his scarred face and continue his acting career.  The effects of the cream, however, were only temporary as well as highly addictive.  Once hooked, Dagget used Hagen to enacted the criminal activities necessary to circumnavigate the regulatory channels that would otherwise prevent the sale of Renyu.  

When Hagen failed in said efforts, Dagger cut him off.  Desperate in the throws of withdrawal, Hagen broke into Dagget’s warehouse.  He was apprehended by Dagget’s stooges, who attempted to kill Hagen by pouring an entire vat of the Renuyu cream onto him.  

The mutagenic cream hyper-saturated Hagen’s every cell, transforming him into a large, mud-like creature.  Hagen was discovered by his boyfriend, Teddy, who brought him back to their home. There Hagen found that, with concentration, he could mentally manipulate his form, altering his appearance and shape.  He had become entirely malleable and could even transform his limbs into weapons with the consistency of steel or rock. And yet, it required tremendous assiduousness to maintain a given form and, at rest, he returned to a monstrous state.  He decided that Hagen was dead… from now on he was ‘Clayface.’  

With his new abilities, Clayface attempted to extract revenge on Roland Dagget, exposing the dangers of Renuyu and attacking Dagget on the set of the Summer Gleason talk show.  Batman ended up battling Clayface and it appeared that the creature had perished after being electrocuted.  Although Batman later surmised that it was a ruse and that Clayface had merely faked his death.  This proved to be correct and Clayface would resurface on a numerous occasions to again do battle with the Dark Knight.

Actor Ron Perlman provided the voice for Clayface with the tragic villain first appearing in the fourth episode of the first season of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘Feat of Clay Part One.’   

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Epic: 11 Oct. Suptober

Though Sam had no love for Halloween, he too felt a modicum of despair for the display before them.

deancas not-hiding-a-developing-relationship-as-well-as-they-think-they-are au #pray4sam

A giant banner over the store's entrance read "Epic Holiday Extravaganza" and upon spotting it, Sam groaned in his soul.

"Awesome," Dean said, grin wacky and his chest puffed out like an inflatable vampire's. 

(They'd just driven through a neighborhood heavily decorated with towering monsters and fake cobwebs, Dean slapping the steering wheel out of sheer enthusiasm the whole time.)

Upon entering the store lobby, however, Dean's balloon instantly popped.

Though Sam had no love for Halloween, he too felt a modicum of despair for the display before them.

"Where are the ghosts?" Dean demanded. (Never mind that real ghosts were usually the fucking worst.) "The jack o'lanterns? The Oogie Boogies and tombstones? No spiders? No bats? Not even a cornucopia or stack of plain old pumpkins?"

Sam tried to put out his arm in a casual sort of way, to keep his brother from plowing headfirst into the copse of festooned Christmas trees, reindeer and sleigh, red and green gnomes, and a large translucent angel with lacy wings that flapped, slowly, like a butterfly's. Everything on sale, 40% off, earn ten dollars Krazy Kash for fifty dollars spent.

"It's October eleventh," Dean all but yelled.

"All right, chill," Sam hissed under his breath.

"The assistant store manager has time to meet with us now," Cas said. Having arrived first, he'd strolled up an aisle of boxed ornaments, wrapping paper, wreaths, and snowmen figurines without any discernible distress. 

Cas did give the fake angel a dirty look; Sam snorted, mostly to himself.

"Finally," Dean muttered, "at least we can see a real corpse for a change." He stopped dead in his tracks. "You know what I mean."

Cas tipped his head. "I don't, actually."

Dean rolled his eyes and nudged Cas back down the aisle.

-

"I'm surprised the Christmas stuff bugged you so much," Sam said conversationally. He finished drinking his milkshake and waited for Dean to swallow a wad of french fries.

Dean wiped his hands on a paper napkin, crumpled the burger wrapper into a ball, and pitched it neatly into the world's smallest trash can set beneath the motel television stand. "I like Christmas," Dean said. "Hell, I love Christmas sometimes. Not in freakin' autumn. The leaves haven't even fallen off the trees yet. Halloween's too good to waste this early, man. It's disrespectful."

A ghoul digging up a semi-retired warehouse worker, eating half his limbs, and leaving the rest in the mattress section of a mid priced department store just to annoy the store manager also seemed disrespectful to Sam, but Dean didn't need him chiming in about that.

"You and Cas picked out your costumes yet?" Sam asked, toeing off his boots.

Dean went stock still. Shifty around the eyes. Maybe a little spooked.

Cas exited the bathroom just then. He'd changed into his on the road pajamas, i.e. he'd taken off his trench coat and his suit coat, and left his shoes by the door (having already washed off the gooey ghoul blood, for which Sam was grateful). "Has something happened?" he asked Dean.

"No," Dean said, sullen as a teenager.

"Are we going to watch a movie?" Cas arranged himself against the headboard of one of the two beds.

Good mood restored, Dean bounced up to grab the remote. "Local access channel's showing Bludgeon Brothel in fifteen minutes. Classic '80s slasher. Made Lola Sidebottom a household name for a while there." He crashed onto the mattress next to Cas and looked happier than a witch with a new broomstick.

Well, at least Sam knew which bed was his for the night: the other one.

-

(On the 31st day of the month, he pretended to be surprised when both Dean and Cas walked out of Dean's bedroom dressed like skeleton pirates.)

[gatheringbones]

[“Larraine asked for more time to gather some belongings. The deputy said no. Then she asked if she could retrieve some items from the truck. A mover said no, citing the company’s insurance policy.

Larraine stood outside, silently looking on. The movers carried out her chair, her washing machine, her refrigerator, stove, dining table. Next came the boxes with who knows what inside: perhaps winter jackets or shoes or shampoo. The neighbors began to gather. Some grabbed beers and positioned lawn chairs as if watching a NASCAR race. It didn’t take long. Larraine was cleaned out in less than an hour. She watched the truck lurch away.

Her things were headed to Eagle’s storage warehouse, a dimly lit expanse with clear lightbulbs strung from a ceiling supported by large wood pillars. Inside, there were hundreds upon hundreds of piles, each representing an eviction or foreclosure. The piles were stacked to eye level and individually encircled in shrink-wrap like so many silken-wound insects on a spider’s web. Up close, the contents were visible through the taut clear wrapping: scratched-up furniture, lamps, bathroom scales, and everywhere children’s things—rocking horses, strollers, baby swings, bouncy seats.

The Brittain brothers thought of the warehouse as a “giant stomach,” digesting the city. They charged $25 per pallet per month. The average evicted family’s possessions took up four pallets, or 400 cubic feet. Larraine would have to find a way to pay her storage bill. If she fell ninety days behind, Eagle would get rid of her pile to make room for a new one. This was the fate of roughly 70 percent of lots confiscated in evictions or foreclosures. Years before, the Brittain brothers had approached Goodwill but were rebuffed; there was simply no way Goodwill could handle that kind of volume. The brothers searched elsewhere. They reached out to metal scrappers. They found someone who would buy the clothing by the bale, turning it into rags. They partnered with people who would rummage through the piles, looking for things to sell. They organized public sales twice a month, each involving ten to forty lots. But most of the stuff ended up in the dump.”]

matthew desmond, from evicted: poverty and profit in the american city, 2016

[form-sweet-form]

DRAMAtical Murder Flashback Stage Play Goods

GO READ THE REBLOG! ALL THE GOODS WILL BE SOLD ON ANIMATE JAPAN ON MAY 29TH! GO USE YOUR PROXY SERVICE YALL!

THESE WILL ONLY BE SOLD IN STORE AND NOT ONLINE.

You can go to Marcari Japan and already start finding some items online. You can use proxy sites such as Zenmarket or Buyee to ship them to you.

They use DRAMAtical Murder in English as a keyword but you can also use:

ドマステ (Domaste, the short form of the play name)

脳内クラッシュ演劇 (Brain Crash Play)

ブロマイド (Bromide - The A4 postcard photos are called these)

Image Source: Animate

All Bromides have an A and B set for Aoba, one for each Actor.

Couples Bromides, cards and acrylic stands are all Seii-chan as Aoba.

Some goods are blind bags where you can't pick: Couples bromides, clear cards and acrylic stands.

The tshirt is only available in one size which is Large.

When you buy all Single Bromides Sets, you can pick a special 2L size Bromide, A or B ONLY IN THEATER. Link Source.

The Ring Light is ONLY IN THEATER and LIMITED TO ONE PER PERSON.

Goods will be available Friday April 28th IN STORE at Animate ( Akihabara store ) and SHIBUYA TSUTAYA B2F " shibuya 2.5d " corner.

SHIBUYA TSUTAYA Re-stocked items, TShirt sold out again. Refer to this post which they are updating.

Source: Animate

Source: Official

FAQ:

[About Aoba products]

Due to the production schedule, some pages of the pamphlet and solo bromide are using photographs of both Naotake Tsuchiya and Seiichiro Nagata. For other products, Seiichiro Nagata's photo will be used. Please note.

≪About store sales≫

Animate Akihabara and SHIBUYA TSUTAYA will sell some performance goods from Friday, April 28th.For details, please check the official website and SNS of each store.

≪Regarding Kuradashi Goods≫

Some premiere goods will be sold at the theater and Animate Akihabara store.Please check the local product guide for the lineup of warehouse goods.

■ Performance pamphlet: 2,800 yen (2,546 yen excluding tax) Specifications: Size A4 / 40 pages in total

All 12 types of solo bromide: 600 yen each (546 yen excluding tax) Specifications: L size 3 piece set Aoba role A/Naotake Tsuchiya Aoba role B/Seiichiro Nagata Kojaku role/Aren Kohatsu Noise role/Rikiya Tomizono Mink/Takaki Yamaki Clear/Yuki Yamagata Virus/Yuya Tominaga Trip/Dai Isono The role of Mizuki/Naoya Iwaki the role of Akushima/Tetsuya Makita the role of Ren/Shogo Yamazaki the role of Sei/Shogo Yamazaki For those who purchase all types of solo bromide, a 2L size not-for-sale bromide will be presented! You can choose one of the two options below. ① Aoba, Kojaku, Noise, Mink, Clear ② Aoba, Virus, Trip, Dogwood, Akushima *Aoba will be Seiichiro Nagata.

■Random couple bromide All 7 types: 300 yen (273 yen excluding tax) Size: L size Aoba & Kojaku Aoba & Noise Aoba & Mink Aoba & Clear Aoba & Virus & Trip Aoba & Ren Aoba & Sei *Aoba will be Seiichiro Nagata. Products will be sold randomly in blind bags. You cannot choose the pattern.

■ 14 types of random clear cards: 300 yen (273 yen excluding tax) Size: About W55mm x H85mm Material: PP Aoba (2 types) Red Sparrow (Koujaku) Noise Mink Clear (2 types) One with Mask, One Without Mask Virus Trip Dogwood (Mizuki) Akushima Lotus (2 types) (Ren) Sei *Aoba will be Seiichiro Nagata. Products will be sold randomly in blind bags. You cannot choose the pattern.

■Random acrylic stand All 14 types: 1,200 yen (1,091 yen excluding tax) Size: About W100mm x H100mm Aoba (2 types) Red Sparrow (Koujaku) Noise Mink Clear (2 types) One with Mask, One Without Mask Virus Trip Dogwood (Mizuki) Akushima Lotus (2 types) (Ren) Sei *Aoba will be Seiichiro Nagata. Products will be sold randomly in blind bags. You cannot choose the pattern. When removing parts from the plate, remove them slowly.

■ Ring light: 900 yen (819 yen excluding tax) *Can be used from the ending.

■ Eco bag: 2,200 yen (2,000 yen excluding tax) Size: Pouch about W100mm x H100mm / Bag about W390mm x H540mm x D100mm Material: Polyester An original eco bag for the performance with a pouch inspired by the lotus in Aoba's bag. Not only can you carry performance goods, but you can also enjoy shopping with Lotus.

■ T-shirt: 3,300 yen each (3,000 yen excluding tax) Size: One size (L) An original performance T-shirt inspired by the junk shop "Heibon" where Aoba works part-time.

Source: Official

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Anyone interested in a 1920s former pasta factory in Alentejo, Portugal? Lots of potential for €1.1m.

Look at how cool it is, and you can actually live here.

Stained glass window in the hall. 

Looks like it could be a kitchen.

Huge space with so much potential.

There are twin warehouse spaces, an 8 bedroom farmhouse, two cottages and four large warehouses and outbuildings also on the site.

I wonder if the few pieces of furniture left convey with the property.

It’s a very light and airy space.

One of the bds. Look at the ceiling and the original floor.

This looks like part of the factory.

This would make a nice art studio.

This is nice.

There are 2 factory buildings on the property.

One wide open space.

Look at the loft. A masterplan for the site envisaged a 12-bedroom guesthouse surrounded by gardens and a swimming pool. The warehouses, meanwhile, were slated for multi-use as a coworking space, gallery and restaurant – all approved by the town.

https://thespaces.com/a-former-pasta-factory-is-for-sale-in-alentejo/12/

[musicalislife]

The tabloid story about Käärijä’s Mr. Worldwide nickname.

“Did Käärijä copy his nickname from a con-rapper? The Latin artist has been using the title for more than 14 years

The wrapper shares his Mr. Worldwide nickname with a well-known Latino rapper.

Artist Käärijän, 29, while following the Eurovision tour and social channels, may have heard him call himself Mr. Worldwide (Finnish: Mr. world-wide).

So far, the wrapper has not specified where exactly the nickname comes from. Its use started roughly around the time when an artist who speaks bad English started his world conquest at Eurovision. When he suddenly became a global phenomenon, the name remained alive in the artist's international interviews, videos and social channels.

However, the wrapper is not the first to use that name. Latino rapper Pitbull, 42, who has been making dance music since 2009, has been using the same name for himself years before Käärijä. He even has a song called Mr. Worldwide from 2011.

In addition to his stage name and nickname, Pitbull has a third designation: Mr. 305, which is the area code of his hometown of Miami. The rapper explained the story of all his nicknames on the Nova Fm radio channel in August 2012.

- In Miami, I learned to see that music is a global language. When I got out of my recording contract with TVT Records, my music got a chance to grow because no one was there to stop it. Then you get a real chance to feel the global movement, Pitbull said on the broadcast.

- That's why I give you three characters to show my own development in the career: Interesting character Pitbull, Mr. 305 who is part of his city and Mr. Worldwide who learns about every country and city, the rapper added.

According to Promolta magazine, the rapper also earned himself the nickname Mr. Worldwide when his popularity spread worldwide very quickly. Pitbull has shouted or rapped his name during many of his songs. Examples of these include the hits Fireball, On the Floor and Hey Baby, also heard in Finland. Pitbull last performed in Finland in Suvilahti, Helsinki, in June 2012.

Original Mr. Worldwide or not, Käärijä's worldwide popularity was already proven on July 13, when tickets for his European tour went on sale. In less than a day, concert tickets were sold out in no less than five cities.

Especially in Great Britain, the Käärijä drug was so big that the organizers decided to move the gigs to bigger arenas. Käärijä's performance in London will be moved from 02 Academy Islington to the Electric Ballroom, which is almost twice as large in audience capacity. In Glasgow, Käärijä's gig will be moved from SWG3 Warehouse to the twice bigger Clyde Rooms.”

I used google translate for the translation so I don’t know how accurate it is.

@katinkulta thanks for the correct translation.💚

[hollyhomburg]

Where do you shop for your clothes? Are there any particular brands you look out for?

OH SO- this is kinda gonna be a frustrating answer.

i shop almost exclusively at this re-sale/second chance/excess store that puts together the unsold clothing from places like free-people and anthropology and the indy brands that they carry. It's INCREDIBLY local to my stretch of the woods- it's called retail 101 in naugatuck connecticut. i got a 350$ dress new with tags for 30$ and that was the most expensive clothing item listed in the store. it's definitely worthwhile to make the drive. it's about an hour for me, at least two if you're in nyc.

shopping there helps me feel better about getting clothes- because they're generally a lot bit better quality than like h and m or primark (which is what i can reasonably afford). it's also not directly supporting like- all those big businesses and keeps unsold clothes out of the landfill ect. It's helped me get some very very nice clothing for very cheap. it's a very overstimulating experience because it's basically just a football field sized warehouse filled with clothing.

i greatly recommend it if you're overly small or overly large because their greatest selection is in the Xs and Xl range like- I think i saw a size 14 jeans that were originally 400$ on sale for 14$ so- if you're more middle sized it definitely requires some hunting.

but tbh i also hit up the target clearance section for most of my jeans because they have really reasonable sales. i got my favorite pair of ripped jeans there for 6.50$. Target just for some reason happens to fit me pretty reliably- which is honestly rare because i have a 28 inch waist but a 40 inch booty.

[an-aussie-button-masher]

Short & Sweet - Five Games You Can Finish in One Afternoon

   Triple-A game titles are always boasting 80-hour-long campaigns, hundreds of hours’ worth of collectables and all sorts of other time-consuming features, but what if you simply don’t have that kind of time on your hands? Not everyone is able to sit around playing games 24 hours a day, so it’s a good thing these shorter games are around. These games can all be finished in a single session each if you want, making for a fun, no-commitment afternoon. Some might be a bit more expensive than others, but they’re all an experience worth the cost - you’ll have tons of fun playing through these quick little puzzlers and will remember them long after you put them down. Enjoy!

LEGO Builder’s Journey    This isn’t your usual LEGO game - there’s no minifigures to unlock, no gold bricks to collect, no goofy film adaptations or anything like that, and yet it’s probably the one game that truly captures the real fun of playing around with LEGO. LEGO Builder’s Journey is a simple and charming story about a father and son told through a series of short puzzles that can be solved in just about any way you can imagine. With relaxing music and gorgeous graphics that look better than actual LEGO bricks, this game tells a surprisingly heartfelt tale without saying a single word and allowing a level of creativity unlike any other puzzle game. It’s a little pricey for a 3-hour game, but lovers of LEGO and puzzles will certainly find it worthwhile.

Please Don’t Touch Anything    You’re standing in front of a mysterious red panel with nothing but a large red button on it, and told not to touch anything. Naturally, it’s time to touch everything. Like a deceptively small puzzle box, almost everything you interact with on this panel causes something new to pop out - more buttons, switches, number pads, dials, levers, tools, and so on. Pushing the right combinations of buttons, switches and numbers results in various “endings”, most of which result in the poor city shown on the monitor being obliterated in various ways. It takes only a few hours poking around to get all the endings, though some of them are a bit more obscure than others. Messing around with a virtual doomsday machine has never been cheaper or more fun!

The Pedestrian    One of the most fascinating and expertly-executed concepts for a puzzle game I’ve ever seen, The Pedestrian takes the little stick figure you see on various street signs and brings him to life. It’s up to you to guide him through a bustling city, rearranging various signs and panels around the fully-modelled 3-D environment to get the Pedestrian to his destination. Taking you through apartments, subways, warehouses, construction sites and more, the puzzles get very complicated very quickly - expect quite the challenge even for the most puzzle-minded of players. It’s a bit expensive for its length, but definitely worth grabbing on sale if you want to spend an afternoon challenging your mind to its limits.

OneShot    Don’t let the simple artstyle and short length fool you; this innocent little adventure will mess with your mind, your computer and your heart like nothing else. A lost child named Niko finds themselves stranded in an unfamiliar, dying world, and the power to potentially save it is thrust upon them. It’s up to the player to guide Niko along their journey, solving puzzles and meeting various characters still clinging to life in this cold, dark world. Also, the game knows who you, the real player, are. While it can be finished in one sitting, the endearing cast and thought-provoking writing, on top of a soul-wrenching ending no matter what choices you make, will leave you thinking about this game forever.

INSIDE    A bleak and dystopian world, eerie monsters, disturbing story elements, zero spoken words, and a lone child trapped in the middle - the developers at Playdead certainly know their strengths. The people that brought us the creepy classic Limbo give us the brilliantly unnerving follow-up INSIDE, a 2.5-D side-scrolling survival game with sinister puzzles and horrific experiments. Playdead have definitely upped their game with this one; be wary of vicious guard dogs and spine-chilling mutations, and don’t play it too late at night if you want to get any sleep! Despite taking only a few harrowing hours to finish, INSIDE will leave your skin crawling for days afterwards - and coming back for more.

   All these games and more are great for those short afternoons when you want a quick and memorable game that won’t eat up your free time. Do you know of any other games that would be a good fit for this list? Let me know! Reblogs and likes are much appreciated!    Thanks for reading!

[tumbl-census]

If you’ve applied for a job in the UK recently, you might have seen this question on the application form in the diversity section

modern professional and traditional professional occupations such as: teacher, nurse, physiotherapist, social worker, musician, police officer (sergeant or above), software designer, accountant, solicitor, medical practitioner, scientist, civil or mechanical engineer.

senior, middle or junior managers or administrators such as: finance manager, chief executive, large business owner, office manager, retail manager, bank manager, restaurant manager, warehouse manager.

clerical and intermediate occupations such as: secretary, personal assistant, call centre agent, clerical worker, nursery nurse.

technical and craft occupations such as: motor mechanic, plumber, printer, electrician, gardener, train driver.

routine, semi-routine manual and service occupations such as: postal worker, machine operative, security guard, caretaker, farm worker, catering assistant, sales assistant, HGV driver, cleaner, porter, packer, labourer, waiter or waitress, bar staff.

long-term unemployed (claimed Jobseeker’s Allowance or earlier unemployment benefit for more than a year)

small business owners who employed less than 25 people such as: corner shop owners, small plumbing companies, retail shop owner, single restaurant or cafe owner, taxi owner, garage owner

other such as: retired, this question does not apply to me, I don’t know

[reikothepoundingheartprincess]

THIS IS THE GREAT AND WONDERFUL HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF MY INTRODUCTION INTO THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD OF CARDIOPHILE Once upon a time I was a very beautiful and sweet little girl I was only 7 years old and it was the time of 1995 still and at that time my father worked as a future doctor in Acenso to become a real doctor and have his own medical office at the moment he only dedicated himself to studying the career and helping pharmaceutical companies with the sale of their medicinal products and medical equipment and My dad had a large warehouse full of medicines and medical equipment and it was on the top of our house and I remember very well that at that time I was a very curious and mischievous girl and out of pure evil I got to climb the stairs of our roof where my dad's warehouse was which he had left open by mistake I decided to enter it and once I was inside his warehouse I found a box which was open due to my dad's carelessness so I decided to check that there was inside and to my surprise there were different types of medical equipment but to my surprise and interest I found for the first time in my life what a Stethoscope was but when I was little obviously I didn't know what it was so that time I said that it was a snake with a very strange head so I decided to take it and take it from my dad's storage room and I ran until I got to my room and I locked myself very excited inside my room and I hid covering myself in my bed and I decided to proceed to test and use the Strange Snake that I had found and I put it on my chest which made me very cold by the way and there. It was where my great and supreme love for the Cardiophile was born and where for the first time I made the sound of the beating of my heart with my voice