#overhead door Tulsa

[superioroverheaddoorsoklahoma]

Superior Overhead Doors Of Oklahoma

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Not the Same Moon: Prologue

Read on ao3 Summary: When the Curtis parents died, Darry was only three semesters away from graduating college. He gave it all up to take care of his brothers and return to life as a greaser. OR: an AU where Darry was much farther into college when he had to come home. It changes a lot of things, some things are always the same.

Three more semesters. That was all Darry needed. Three more semesters and he could get out of Oklahoma. 

When his advisor told him that he could graduate early if he wanted, Darry jumped at the chance. Yeah it would probably mean that he wouldn’t be scouted to play football professionally, but that was alright with him. He would have a degree that would get him a nice job, a nice future with a wife and a house, that was all he wanted. 

He grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Darry had seen his brothers, his best friends be spat on and beat on just because they didn’t grow up with money. All he wanted was to get out of that life. Was that so much to ask?

Going to college was a dream come true. He was playing for the Sooners, he was wearing polos and slacks to classes. No one on campus called him a greaser or a soc. There, he went by Darrel instead of Darry. It was a small difference, but it felt like an acknowledgment that he was finally on the right path.

He loved his family more than everything. He missed his brothers and his parents and his friends every day. 

But when he went home, he felt like an outsider. He saw the way his friends looked at him. In their eyes, he wasn’t really one of them anymore. They still loved him. But he wasn’t a greaser anymore, not really. 

Darry wasn’t even in Tulsa when he got the call. 

It was Two-Bit on the other line, telling him in a shaky voice that he needed to come home right away. He just kept repeating that Darry needed to come back to Tulsa. 

When Darry asked to talk to Soda, his brother’s voice was thick with tears as he said, “They’re gone, Dar, Mom and Dad are gone.”

Darry didn’t remember anything after that. It was all a blur. He shoved everything he needed into a duffel bag, borrowed a teammate’s truck, and drove the two hours back to Tusla in complete silence. His eyes were staring forward on the road the whole time. His knuckles were tight on the wheel. 

Tears flowed down his cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away. 

Darry had made the same drive not even three weeks prior when he came home for Christmas. His whole family tried to convince him to stay home through New Years and celebrate his birthday with them. Darry left instead. He claimed that he wanted to get a head start for the next semester, but really, he didn’t think he could stand being in Tulsa for one more second. 

It got under his skin, it reminded him that he was only ever going to be a west side greaser and never any more than that. It broke his heart when Soda and Pony hugged him with tears in their eyes and made him promise to come home soon.

Soon was sooner than they ever thought.

He pulled up in front of the house. Christmas lights were still hung across the gable. Two-Bit and Dally’s cars were parked haphazardly on the gravel. It could have been any other day, from the outside it looked the same as it always had. Yet the dark clouds overhead cast a shroud. 

Darry jumped out of the car and jogged up to the house. The boards squeaked under his feet. He was just about to open the door when Two-Bit stepped out. 

The first thing his friend did was pull him into a tight hug. Darry hugged him back, digging his fingers into Two-Bit’s shoulders. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed that comfort.

“How bad is it?” Darry asked.

Two pulled back, his face grim. He told him quietly, “It’s really bad. Soda’s been crying for hours, Pony threw up for a while but Johnny and Dally got him calmed down.”

Darry’s eyebrows raised, “Dally?” He couldn’t remember Dally and Pony interacting all that much. Hell, he’d seen Steve and Ponyboy talk more than those two. It was strange to him that Pony would let Dally comfort him in that way.

Two-Bit nodded. “We can talk later, but-”

The door banged open again and Darry was confronted with his brothers, their eyes red. They were wearing pajamas. Pony’s arms were wrapped around his stomach, he definitely looked ill.

“Darry,” Soda sobbed. He launched himself at Darry, but it turned out that catching his brother was a lot easier than catching a football. With one arm around Soda, Darry reached out for Pony. Pony barnacled himself against Darry’s side immediately.

“I’m here,” Darry said softly. He could feel both of them shaking. “I’m right here.”

Standing on the veranda, the brothers held each other close. Their friends peered out the windows at them, exchanging heavy looks. They could all sense that this was the beginning of something, the terrible beginning of the next chapter of their lives.

Rain began to fall over Tulsa. Darry always loved the smell of rain. Somewhere in the city, his parents’ car was being towed from the railroad tracks and their bodies were lying in the morgue. 

Not even a week later, Darry dropped out of school. 

He found a construction job that would let him work every weekday and a job at a diner that he could work nights and weekends. His thoughts were about money and work and custody. There was time for little else.

In a flash, the life he had been working so hard for was nothing but ashes.

He was a greaser again. His time in college meant nothing. He was back to square one.

But his brothers were safe in the house they grew up in and that’s all that mattered. He told himself that over and over again. Sometimes he even believed it. He knew it was the right thing to do and he would have hated himself if he hadn’t stepped up. 

Yet, sometimes he stayed up late and he couldn’t help but think of what could have been. He tortured himself with dreams of a nice house, windows and doors that shut properly, never having to worry about rumbles or socs. 

[garlimcbread]

write me a fic where like everyone lived but over time the gang all moved out of Tulsa and stopped talking as much- and how those idiots reunited and what was it like?

UGHHHH I LOVE HOW YOU THINK POOKIE

I am NOT good at writing fics so this is probably gonna be either bad or ooc (probably both)

Ponyboy leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head and groaning at the feeling of his back popping. He's really gotta stop hunching over his desk like this.

He surveys his work so far. The book is nowhere near done, and he's still gotta edit it, but he's happy with his progress.

As he's putting his laptop away, the phone on his desk rings. He groans, assuming its the publishing house asking about his progress again. He picks it up regardless.

"Hello?"

"Pony?"

"Soda?"

Pony hasn't heard from either of his brothers in a while. It's not that they're on bad terms, it's just that none of them have reached out, at least not to Ponyboy.

"Hey Pony. Uh- Johnny's coming in next week. I know this is last minute, but do ya' wanna come over? We're all gonna be there."

What, did Soda think Ponyboy wanted nothing to do with any of them? Maybe he is as dumb as he says he is.

"Course, Soda. Where? The old house?"

"Yeah. Darry's just as stubborn as he's always been, didn't wanna get out."

They both laugh. Pony wonders why he hadn't reached out before now.

"I'll be there. Even Dally'll be there?"

"Yup. I'm just as shocked, but I think Dally'd do anything for Johnny."

Dally had moved back to New York shortly after he'd turned 18. Up state. He didn't want anything to do with New York City. Last Ponyboy heard, he was going to Watertown.

Pony had never heard of it, but it's not like he could convince Dally not to do something. Nobody could, except for Johnny.

Dally had wanted to move to Rochester, but Johnny's mom had moved there shortly before, and Johnny didn't wanna run into her while visiting Dally.

"Right. I'll get on a plane as fast as I can."

"Alright, Cali-boy."

Pony snorts. "Don't call me that."

The line goes dead, indicating Soda had hung up. Pony puts the phone back on the receiver.

The phone ringing cuts through the air. Pony groans. That's definitely the publishing house now.

✧･ﾟ: *━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━*:･ﾟ✧

Ponyboy didn't think he'd be flying places so soon. Sure, he'd had to travel for those book signings last month, but he usually only does those every couple years since they take a lot out of him.

As he grabs his luggage from the overhead bin and shuffles out of the plane with the crowd, trying to avoid being recognized even if he's in Oklahoma, he can't help but feel excited.

He hasn't seen the gang in years. Dally had moved out the second he could, as did Steve.

Two-Bit stayed with his mama for a couple more years after that until she got fed up with him doing nothing but drink all day and kicked him out.

Johnny moved out as soon as he could, and Ponyboy doesn't blame him. His dad had stayed in town afterall, even after Johnny's mom left to live closer to her family.

Ponyboy left before Sodapop did, even though he's younger. Darry hadn't left, apparently.

Ponyboy was just gonna grab a rental car and head out to Tulsa, but he gets absolutely body slammed by someone as soon as he's out in the main lobby. Pony shrieks and starts to fight the unknown person off, until he hears them laugh.

"Sodapop Curtis!" He scolds Soda. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I can't help it! I was just so excited to see you!"

Ponyboy huffs, sitting up as Soda gets off him.

"Help me up, asshole."

Soda snickers and does as Ponyboy asked him to.

"You got everything? I'll drive you."

"Yeah, I got everything."

Sodapop smiles at him. Ponyboy can't help but smile back, regardless of how annoyed he is.

✧･ﾟ: *━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━*:･ﾟ✧

When Ponyboy gets through the door he's already being tackled again.

"Ponyboy!"

"Keith!" He squawks, "Get off!"

Sodapop laughs as he steps around them. "You're awful popular today, Pony."

Darry yanks Two-Bit off him, tossing him on the couch right on top of Steve. Two-Bit continues to cackle even as Steve shouts at him and Darry.

"Sorry, Pony. I've been tryin' to reel him in." Darry helps Pony up off the floor.

"It's alright, Darry. I know you've probably got you hands full with him and Dal and Soda."

"Dal ain't here yet, Pone," Johnny pipes up. He'd been so quiet Ponyboy hadn't even noticed him there.

Pony grins, going in for a hug. "Hey, Johnny."

Johnny smiles back, hugging Ponyboy tight. Jesus, the guy's gotten tall. "Hey, Pony. How you been? How's Cali?"

Pony shrugs. "Well, it's Cali." Ponyboy pulls away from Johnny, but keeps him within arms reach by settling his hands on Johnny's shoulders. "How's Mexico?"

"Fine, better than stayin' with my old man."

Johnny had moved in with his dad's side of the family in Mexico. They're nicer than him, which makes Ponyboy wonder what the hell happened to that man to make him so bitter.

"Ain't that the truth? How long are you stayin'?"

"Just a week, then my visa runs out. Wish I could stay longer," Johnny sighs.

"Wish I could too. Where's Dally?"

"Probably still on the plane. I think it takes longer to get here from Watertown than Los Angeles."

"It does," Pony confirms, "Only took me three hours to get here."

Johnny pulls Pony into a hug again. "Still too long, I think," He mumbles into Pony's shoulder.

Ponyboy rolls his eyes, patting Johnny's back. "Yeah, yeah."

✧･ﾟ: *━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━*:･ﾟ✧

Dally comes through the door an hour after everyone gets settled. Johnny hops right off the couch to greet Dally with a hug.

Dally doesn't push him back, but only pats his back. "Glory, kid. You got tall. What're they puttin' in the water down there?"

"Missed you, Dal."

"Missed you too, Johnnycake." Dally pats him on the back one more time, and then gently pushes Johnny back.

"How's Watertown?"

"Fine. Ain't like New York City, that's for sure."

"Well, that's good." Johnny smiles.

"Kinda. It's kinda boring, too."

Johnny snickers. "Good to see you haven't changed much, Dal."

"You ain't changed either, Johnnycake." Dally grins.

Johnny rolls his eyes. "Oh, I've changed plenty, Dal."

"Agree to disagree. Where's Cali-boy?"

"Quit callin' me that!" Pony shouts from his old bedroom. Darry had told him he could set up there for the week.

"Well, there he is." Johnny smiles.

[dalilacherie]

It makes me so happy to see the outsiders getting more good fics added everyday! I thought I'd go ahead and request one if that is okay?

Platonic reader with the whole gang. She's ponyboys age but terrified of storms. Tulsa being in tornado ally would mean lots of storms spent in storm shelters and she's having a panic attack while she and the whole gang wait it out. Darry hugs maybe?? I hope that wasn't too specific!

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐞

[𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐧𝐠 + 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1,271

The storm clouds roll in slowly, darkening the sky like spilled ink across a page. You can feel the air shift, charged with the electricity of an impending storm. Your heart starts to race as you glance at Ponyboy, who’s looking out the window with a frown. He knows how much these storms unsettle you.

“Looks like we’re in for it,” Two-Bit comments, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. His voice is casual, but there’s a thread of tension underlying his usual joking tone. The others start to gather around, each exchanging glances as the first low rumbles of thunder roll through the sky.

“Come on, let’s get to the bathroom,” Darry says, his voice steady and reassuring. “Better to be safe.” He leads the way. You follow closely, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as the wind picks up, rattling the windows.

The bathroom is cramped, a small sanctuary against the brewing storm. Two-Bit and Dallas squeeze into the bathtub, bickering playfully as they jockey for space. “Quit elbowing me, you idiot,” Dally grumbles, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I ain’t elbowing you, you’re just in the way,” Two-Bit retorts, grinning as he makes himself comfortable.

Sodapop perches on the closed lid of the toilet, his easy smile aimed in your direction. “You’ll be alright,” he assures you, reaching out to give your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

You nod, though your hands are shaking slightly. Everyone else tries to fit on the floor, knees and elbows bumping against each other as they settle in. You find yourself wedged between Johnny and Ponyboy, and the familiar scent of leather and smoke is oddly soothing.

Darry takes his place closest to the door, his presence a reassuring wall between you and the wind outside. “Everyone okay?” he asks, glancing around the cramped space. His eyes land on you, softening as he notices your unease.

You nod again, but the thunder cracks loudly overhead, and you can’t suppress a small gasp. Instantly, Darry wiggles over, leaving Steve by the door. He wraps an arm around your shoulders. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, pulling you closer to him. “We’re safe here.”

The wind howls, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your heart to slow down. You focus on the gang, drawing strength from their laid-back expressions and the fact that they’re all here, weathering the storm with you.

Ponyboy breaks the tense silence with a story, his voice cutting through the noise outside. “Remember that time we got stuck at the diner ‘cause of that hailstorm?” he asks, looking around the small circle of friends. “Man, that was something.”

Johnny chuckles softly. “Yeah, and Two-Bit tried to impress the waitress by pretending he knew all about the weather.”

“She was cute,” Two-Bit protests, grinning despite the circumstances. “And hey, she gave us free refills on the coffee, didn’t she?”

Dallas snorts. “That’s ‘cause she thought you were pitiful, man. Not ‘cause of your so-called charm.”

The story works its magic, pulling you away from the storm raging outside. You listen as they reminisce, sharing laughs and memories, and the tight knot of fear in your chest loosens just a little.

Sodapop shifts, reaching over to mess up Ponyboy’s hair. “You were so sure we were gonna be stuck there forever,” he teases. “Started talking about how we’d have to live off diner food for the rest of our lives.”

“I was ten,” Ponyboy protests, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Seemed like a big deal at the time.”

The stories and laughter weave around you, a protective barrier against the fear that threatens to take hold. Darry keeps his arm around you. The storm might rage on outside, but inside this cramped little room, you’re safe and sound, surrounded by the gang you call family.

You settle back into the tight circle on the bathroom floor, the gang’s voices lulling you into a more peaceful state. You’re grateful for the distraction, for the way their stories weave a tapestry of memories that keep the storm at bay.

“I remember the time we got that old junker car running,” Johnny says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes light up as he recounts the story. “Thought we were gonna cruise around all summer.”

“Until it broke down two blocks from the house,” Sodapop adds with a laugh. “We ended up pushing it more than driving it.”

“That was a classic,” Ponyboy chimes in, grinning. “I think we spent more time fixing it than it ever ran.”

Two-Bit leans back against the tub, a playful glint in his eyes. “And who could forget the time Dallas got caught trying to sneak out of the Dairy Queen without paying?”

Dallas rolls his eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “It was a dumb plan anyway. Could’ve gotten away with it if you hadn’t been so loud.”

The banter continues, stories bouncing back and forth as the gang recalls shared misadventures and the kind of trouble only they can get into. The warmth of their voices wraps around you like a comforting blanket, each laugh and teasing jab pulling you further away from the grip of your fear.

Just as you’re beginning to feel more at ease, a deep rumble shakes the house. It’s different from the thunder, a low, vibrating tremor that makes your heart jump into your throat. The storm seems to have found a second wind, and your hand instinctively reaches for Darry’s arm, fingers gripping tightly.

“It’s alright,” Darry murmurs, leaning closer so you can hear him over the rising wind. “Just some strong gusts. We’re safe here.”

You nod, though your knuckles are white with the force of your grip. The bathroom feels smaller now, the air charged with tension as everyone braces for whatever comes next.

In the cramped bathtub, Dallas shifts and bumps his head against the edge with a dull thud. “Son of a—” he starts, rubbing the back of his head as a string of curses follows. His irritation is clear, but Two-Bit’s laughter breaks the awkward moment, his voice echoing in the small space.

“Good thing you got a hard head, Dal,” Two-Bit teases, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin.

Dallas shoots him a mock glare, though he can’t suppress a chuckle. “Laugh it up, clown,” he mutters, but the tension eases just a little with the exchange.

Despite the storm outside and the cramped conditions, the gang’s presence is a balm against the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You focus on Darry’s steady breathing next to you, on the way Ponyboy and Johnny are quietly chatting about their favorite movies, on Sodapop’s easy smile as he listens to Two-Bit’s jokes.

The house shudders once more, and you feel the urge to hold on tighter and you cling to that thought as the worst of the weather passes by, leaving behind only the soft patter of rain against the windows.

Eventually, the storm starts to quiet, its fury spent. The gang remains in the bathroom for a while longer, just to be sure it’s safe, but the mood is lighter now, the laughter and stories gradually easing the lingering fear in your chest.

When Darry finally stands, he helps you up with a reassuring squeeze of your hand. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You nod, managing a small smile. “Yeah, I'm…alright.” Mumbling as you stepped out of the bathroom, ready to stretch your legs.

🌪️

[getqcomtech]

Garage Construction Technique Suggestions

Garage construction has removed over the past couple of years. Many individuals that have actual homes have made a decision that they intend to develop onto it in one method, form, or type. As well as a great deal of these individuals have actually figured out that a brand-new garage would provide just what they are looking for.

When you are seeking to take on a garage construction job, you will certainly first begin with a plan of the brand-new structure. You can locate a garage building strategy in a variety of various places.

Deciding whether or not you are most likely to handle the garage construction project yourself is an important action as for generating a strategy is worried. If you are going to construct your personal garage, you are most likely to need to draw up your personal plans. However on the contrary end of points, if you are most likely to hire a service provider to handle your garage building task, they will certainly have the ability to supply you with a number of different plans.

However, despite who is going to be doing the actual building, make sure that you have an in-depth plan to make sure that your job follows along as it is meant to. Never make the blunder of assuming that you will merely build as the job goes along. Although this might exercise in the end, more times than not you will certainly end up losing out on something that you need.

Discovering a garage construction plan that suits your requirements must be simple. The very first thing that you will certainly need to do is figure out how much room you have, as well as how large you want your new garage to be. The advantage is that your choices are limitless. You can opt for a solitary cars and truck garage that uses nothing greater than basic shelter, or you might decide to construct a multi cars and truck system with a storage area on top. This choice will certainly be based upon dimension in addition to necessity.

Additionally, the cost is always an establishing consider any type of garage construction project. Obviously, the smaller sized the garage the less you will certainly need to pay. And also remember, by getting the job done on your own you could save a great deal of loan on labor.

A garage construction job may be all you need to take the look and also the functionality of your home to the next level.

Garage Door Repair

[synmorite]

Behind These Eyes- Chapter 1

Summary: It’s been 5 years. Artiya’il was injured and you now have control of your body again.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2417

Warnings: SPN level violence, language

A/N: This is still a work in process, but if you have any constructive suggestions, please let me know! And if anyone wants me to create a tag list, let me know that too. I’m still new to posting fanfic on tumblr so any advice or suggestions are welcomed. :) 

****************************

Five Years Later

You lay on the beach as the sun warmed your skin and the cool ocean waves tickled your bare feet. You watched the white fluffy clouds pass lazily overhead. You were happy. You were content. Today was a beach day. Yesterday was mountains day. You spent the day hiking through the forest and exploring the little streams and glades you’d found. You never got tired. You never got hurt. You were never hungry or thirsty. You didn’t need anything. You didn’t have anything weighing you down. You just thought about what you wanted to do that day and it happened. Arti visited you and talked with you. He was your friend. You knew that you had been hurting before Arti saved you. But you no longer remembered what that pain felt like. In here, your scars were gone. There were no reminders of your suffering.

So you never saw it coming when everything fell apart.

Your world shook and you frowned. That had never happened. Even during the rainstorms you loved to dance in, things didn’t shake like that. There also were no dark clouds in the sky above you. You screamed as you felt yourself be ripped from where you were and the world went black.

You opened your eyes to a dimly lit warehouse. The ground you were lying on was cold and hard. You could hear grunts near you and tried to turn and look, but realized that it hurt to move. Where were you? Where was Arti? Why did you hurt? You weren’t supposed to hurt anymore. Arti promised.

You heard a heavier grunt and a squelching noise before there was a thump.

“Is that all of them?” You heard a man say.

“Yea, think so.” That voice caused a shiver to go down your spine. It was deep and rough, but felt like honey. Dark and warm.

A set of footsteps approached and a man in a tan trenchcoat loomed over you. His blue eyes widened as he looked at you. Your eyes flicked to his hand which held a long bloody silver spike. You opened your mouth and screamed. Despite the pain it caused, you shot up and scrambled back from him, but only succeeding in a few feet before your back met a wall.

“Shit, Cass! Shut your friend up.” The deep voice yelled.

Your eyes flicked over to him and the scream died. The man was gorgeous. His blonde hair was a little ruffled and he had a bit of scruff on his face. He had perfect pink cupid bow lips and he was well muscled. But the feature that entrapped you were his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of green you’d ever seen. Like the forest with sunlight streaming through the leaves.

The trenchcoat man who you guessed was Cass knelt down in front of you. 

“What’s your name?” He said gently.

Your eyes kept flicking between him, the green eyed man, and the third man that you realized was there as well watching you. He was tall with longer brown hair. The other two men were handsome, but they didn’t capture your attention the way the green eyed one did.

You turned to look back to Cass. “My name is Y/N.” He nodded and reached a hand out to you. You flinched and sucked in a small gasp at the pain you felt everywhere. 

Cass froze and met your eyes with an intense gaze. “I just want to heal you, Y/N. Your body took an enormous amount of damage recently and you’ll feel better.” You nodded slowly for him to continue. He gently laid two fingertips to your forehead and a somewhat familiar warmth flowed through you and the pain went away. You sighed softly in relief.

“You’re an angel, aren’t you?” You whispered.

“Yes, I am Castiel.” He glanced over at the other two men. “That’s Sam and Dean.”

You frowned a little again when you recognized the names. “Winchester?” 

Castiel looked surprised. “You know them?”

You could feel yourself blushing now. “Only by reputation. Arti used to tell me stories about them.” The Winchesters and their angel Castiel were heroes. You’d always loved hearing about Dean the most though. Everything he went through. You just wanted to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay. You had asked Arti why he didn’t help Dean like he helped others. You could tell that Dean must suffer the same pain that you had. Arti made you better, why couldn’t he help the Righteous Man too? Arti explained that Dean was a special case. He had trials in his life that he needed to face and that pain would make him strong enough to endure it. Not all pain was meant to be healed.

“Cass, what’s going on?” The tall man who must be Sam, asked.

“Artiya’il is no longer in control of his vessel.” Castiel said.

“Where is Arti? I can’t feel him.” You asked, confused.

“He seems to have retreated in order to heal. He must trust you to give you control back while he recovers.”

“Wait, what? Why does he need to recover? Why would he give me control back?”

“Artiya’il was taken by demons and tortured. I heard him through Angel radio. He was very weak and needed assistance. Sam and Dean agreed to help rescue him.”

Sam and Dean came closer while you and Castiel talked.

“Wait, Cass. This isn’t your angel friend?” Dean asked. Your eyes became glued to him again.

“She is Artiya’il’s vessel. It seems that he retreated and passed control to Y/N.”

“So she’s human?” Sam asked.

“Yes and No. Artiya’il is still in her, but dormant. We will be unable to bring him out until he is ready.”

“Great, so what do we do with the chick?” Dean asked.

“She should come with us. She will still be a target and she won’t be able to defend herself against enemies.” Castiel stood up and offered his hand to you.

“Why would the angel go dormant if it puts his vessel at risk?” Sam asked.

“Arti trusts you guys. He knows you would protect me.” You say confidently as you took Castiel’s hand.

As you stood up, you realized that you were wearing a dirty pantsuit. The shirt that must have been white previously, was now brown with dirt and dried blood and had several holes all over it. The black pants were covered in dried mud and also had several holes. You were barefoot, but there was so much dried mud and blood on your feet, that you almost couldn’t tell. Glancing at your hands, you saw the same thing. Your face and hair must have been a wreck.

Castiel pulled you over to the boys who ducked through an old fire door that led outside. Immediately, you winced as your bare feet stepped onto the gravel. Dean noticed the small movement and walked over to you. In one smooth movement, he dipped down and scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked in surprise and you could feel a soft chuckle rumble through his firm chest.

“I can walk!” You said indignantly.

“You don’t have any shoes on, princess. Car’s almost a mile away and it’s all a gravel road. We can move faster and get home if I just carry you.”

You glanced up at his face and felt your own face redden with a blush when he met your eyes. His mouth widened into a smile.

“Where’s home?” You asked, curiously. “Wait, where’s here?” You looked around and saw no clues besides a warehouse and an empty gravel road.

“Home is in Lebanon, Kansas. Here is just outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma.” He cocked his head, looking at you again. “How long have you been that angel’s vessel?”

“Arti told me five years have passed. I said yes back in 2009 so it must be 2014 now?”

Dean nodded. “Arti? I know the name Cass gave was longer and more of a mouthful than that.”

“You seem to call Castiel ‘Cass’. Same reason I call Artiya’il ‘Arti’. Less of a mouthful.”

He chuckled again. Dean carried you the rest of the way in silence. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes. He looked like he wanted to ask a question, but didn’t know how to.

Dean approached a sleek black car that was gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Oooh, she’s beautiful!” You said in awe. You felt Dean’s chest puff out a little bit.

“That’s my baby. ‘67 Chevy Impala.” He carefully set you down next to the backdoor of the car before opening it for you. You slid into the black leather seats and ran your hand over the smooth leather. You spent most of your time over the last five years in nature or libraries. Cars were not something that you thought you had missed and wanted to relive, but you had never ridden in a car like this before.

Dean watched you for a moment before shutting your door and opening the driver’s side door and climbing in. Castiel climbed into the back beside you before Sam slid into the front passenger seat. Dean started the car and it rumbled to life. You grinned.

Dean eyed you through the rearview mirror. “You alright back there?” 

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I’ve never been in a classic car before. I’ll definitely have to add this to my list.”

As he pulled away, “Your list?”

“Yea, of things to do. I usually just do nature things. Watch sunsets, go to the beach, see the Northern Lights. But taking a drive down an open highway with music blasting in a beautiful car like this definitely needs to be added.”

Castiel was looking at me oddly. “When do you do these things?” 

“Whenever I want. Arti lets me control what I want to do when I want to do it.” 

Castiel was clearly surprised. “He gave you a haven?”

You looked at him, confused. “Well, yeah. What else would I do with my time?”

“Did Jimmy have that?” Sam asked Castiel.

“No. Angels do not generally set up havens for their vessels. I did not expect Artiya’il to be one to do that.” Castiel looked embarrassed.

“Well, Arti is my friend. He promised me peace.”

Castiel appeared troubled at your words.

You glanced up front and noticed Dean watching you. He smiled softly before returning his eyes to the road. 

*

The asphalt passed quickly under Baby’s wheels and before you knew it, you were pulling into a concrete garage. Dean shut off the engine and you opened your door, looking around in curiosity. The garage was filled with old cars. They mostly looked like they were from the fifties except for Baby.

“So why don’t we get you a room, I’ll give you some clothes and towels, and you can take a shower?” Dean asked, moving up next to you. 

You snorted. “Are you saying I smell?” 

He looked apprehensive for a moment. “No, no! You’re just covered in grime and blood…” 

You snickered at him. “A shower would be awesome. Haven’t had one in five years so I’m sure I’m a little ripe.” 

Dean’s eyes flicked behind you. “Don’t even say it Cass. She knows angels don’t need to shower.” He rolled his eyes. “Angels, am I right?”

You laughed. “You have no idea. I spent years trying to teach Arti the finer details of modern human language. He still struggles with sarcasm.” 

Dean’s eyes were soft as they looked at you again. 

“What? I got something on my face?” You laughed at your own joke again knowing your face was filthy.

“Nah, sweetheart. You just have a gorgeous laugh.” He reached and grabbed your hand. It felt like electricity when his skin made contact with yours. He tugged gently on it towards a doorway. You followed him through a heavy iron door and down a winding staircase. There was a large table lit up in the center of it with a map of the world. He pulled you up a couple of steps and you stopped in your tracks looking around at all of the books.

Dean turned around to look at you and noticed that it was all of the books that caught your attention. He chuckled.

“Bookworm, I take it?”

You nodded enthusiastically, sure that your face was glowing like a kid’s on Christmas morning.

“Well, help yourself whenever you want. We got fiction, magic books, lore books, and galore books.” He chuckled again at his joke.

“Really?!?” You asked.

He shrugged. “Sammy will be glad to have someone to talk books with. Now come on, there’s no way you’re comfortable covered in dirt.” He tugged on my hand again and I continued following him down a hallway. He led me to a room and opened the door. The room was pretty bare with minimal furniture. But it was clean and the bed looked comfortable. 

“You can stay in this room. I’m right next door in case you need anything.” He left the door open and pulled you down the hall a little further. He pushed open another door into what looked like a communal shower area.

“There’s some towels over there and you can use whatever you want in the shower. It’s either Sammy’s or mine. The fancy hair stuff is definitely Sam’s. Water pressure is pretty awesome here. I’ll grab some clothes for you and leave them in here for when you’re done.”

You smiled widely at him. “Thanks, Dean.”

His ears reddened a little bit.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He mumbled back and left the bathroom. 

You walked over to one of the shower stalls and turned the water on. Dean was right, the water pressure was fantastic. You quickly stripped off the clothes that were going to be trash and stepped into the hot stream of water. As you let the water wash away all of the grime from what had happened to Arti, you let a moan out at how good it felt. You heard a slight cough outside of the shower stall and pulled the curtain to the side slightly so you could see out. Dean was holding a small pile of clothes and blushing furiously. You couldn’t help but grin. Apparently, he’d heard your moan.

“I’ll, uh, just leave these here, princess.” He said, before setting them down and leaving hurriedly.

You laughed at the green eyed hunter.

Go to Chapter 2 >>>

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[aaknopf]

Kevin Young's Brown, published tomorrow, explores myriad manifestations and shades of brown in American life, including the poet's own experiences from his black boyhood in Kansas. In our moment, when high school students are speaking out and attempting to make history, it's worth remembering, as Young does here, how the subject of American History was served to him and his Midwestern classmates only a generation ago, and by whom.

History

Pillar of my high school, Mr. W     made class by seven a.m., filling his blackboards with white, using notes     decades old & denture yellow. I heard he could write any way     you wanted—backward, forward, left hand or right, even     mirrored. For him History was what each night     he erased. He never missed a day. Snow     days drove the man insane—   regular as mail, he said if a letter could reach     the school, so could we, trudging through bitterest cold to his overwarm room.     Never let kids eat, or talk in class, or take down just what he wrote on the board—     Listen to what I'm telling you, he'd say, synthesize, don't record. Some days he'd launch     into an anecdote about the War or what's wrong with kids today— you're not moral or immoral, just     amoral. Even his jokes grown older than he was, the trap door he wished he owned       would send kids crashing into spikes simply for walking during class     without a pass. At breaks he began to bend to pick up stray trash. He despised the boom     boom boom of the radios black kids wore, he swore, or tugged his eyes at the corners     to imitate a Chinaman on the rail. Ah, so. Brilliant is what everyone     dubbed him, but by the time we got there Mr. W had started to slip,     missing most of the May before— rumors went round       our school had tried stopping his return—Take the year off,     you earned it—even he told us that—but here he was,     stonewalling, aged twenty years over the summer, back like MacArthur     or the Terminator to teach us all. Some seniors from last year's class     brought him steel tension balls     that September—tinny things he clutched in his palm & clanked past     each other like cymbals tolling stress. We     stayed silent. Fifty pounds shed over the summer, his wrists jutted out     from the frayed cuffs of his Crayola cardigans.     He'd turn & tune those chiming spheres like the globe     his classroom never had— his walls held only Old Glory     & a fading photo of the flag raised at Iwo Jima. Mr. W let us know     he never got to fight in the War   more often as the year wore     away with his sweater's elbows, till his yellow shirt shone     through like yolk. That year the Depression & World     War took all winter & knowing time was short, his own,     Mr. W spent nights transcribing to transparencies words     water could wipe away, numbering each palimpsest to match     his crumbling notes. Just in case,   he'd say, above the overhead     projector's buzz—you could manage without me. He never     could forget a past only we would remember—     his teacher telling him at graduation You know you're only seventeen     & who knows how long this Pacific Theater might last—They have this new     GI Bill. Get some college first, Wayne, his name all alliteration,     a tone poem. How   could he know     we'd drop the bomb & end it all? He tried serving     later, even went to enlist in Korea but was foiled     by a bad back & luck. I tried,   he'd plead the air. How to soothe     a man who woke his whole life at five & could silence kids     not his own? Who once drove 45 on the highway he told us     cause Nixon asked his fellow Americans to, counting     each unpatriotic car that passed him along the way? Like history he saved     & scored the immeasurable— with years-worth of sick days     hoarded & never spent, illness came to fetch him     from the only other home he knew. Wearing black now, pointing out where other kids once sat long before     we were born—future governors, a crook or two—       each chair a ghost. You're my kids, he'd tell us, we built or broke     his heart. Next day he was gone. We never did make it     to Vietnam—rest of the year in silence we took down     the words he'd written projected on the wall     like any man's promises to himself. The latter half of the twentieth century     felt a bit too cold, winter lingered too long—Mr. W's words,       unchanged, awaited us coloreds & women libbers     half-hoping for him to return—for the world not to be     as cruel as we'd learned. We spent the Sixties     minus Malcolm X, or Watts, barely a March on Washington—     all April & much of May we waited for Woodstock     & answers & assassinations that would never come         among the steady hum & faint bright     of flickering fluorescent lights. More on this book and author: 

Learn more about Brown by Kevin Young.

Browse other books by Kevin Young.

See Kevin read from his work on April 17 in Brooklyn, April 19 in Wichita, April 20 at the Tulsa Lit Fest, April 24 in Philadelphia, April 25 in Baltimore, May 2 in New York, and May 16 in Brooklyn.

Peruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[karingudino]

Springfield family knows pain of Tulsa massacre

“You would possibly argue it was Harlem, however Harlem actually got here on after World Struggle I.”

Constructed within the early a part of the century, Greenwood had 10,000 residents and a thriving enterprise district that included all the things from resorts, theaters, eating places and night time golf equipment to grocery shops, medical doctors’ places of work, pharmacies, dentists, barbers, legislation places of work and actual property brokers.

There have been colleges, church buildings, a hospital and two newspapers.

However close to daybreak on the notorious day 100 years in the past, Greenwood discovered itself beneath a vicious assault.

It’s now known as the 1921 Tulsa Race Bloodbath.

The mob shot anybody who was black, together with kids. Properties and companies have been looted after which set ablaze.

A machine gun had been mounted on a grain elevator to assist mow down the unsuspecting. At the least a dozen airplanes flew overhead from which dynamite and kerosene bombs have been dropped on the neighborhood.

The mob was particularly brutal.

A blind man with no legs had a rope tied round him and he was dragged by the streets behind an car one of many bloodbath’s survivors informed an investigative fee that was lastly empaneled in 2001 – 80 years after the actual fact.

One other survivor informed of how an aged couple, too feeble to flee, have been kneeling subsequent to one another at their mattress and praying when one of many attackers got here up and shot each at the back of their heads.

The well-respected Dr. A.C. Jackson – known as “the most-able Negro surgeon in America” by one of many founders of the Mayo Clinic – got here out of his dwelling along with his palms up and informed the mob:

“Right here I’m boys. Don’t shoot.”

He was promptly shot and left to bleed to loss of life. Meantime, the hospital he labored at was burned to the bottom.

The Carters’ Aunt Helen, who was 12 on the time, their mother Maxine, who was 2, and their Aunt Dell (Adele) fled out the again door of their dwelling with their mom, Heddie Edwards.

The 2 youngest survivors of the 1921 Tulsa Race Bloodbath of the Edwards Household (left to proper) Adele Edwards Butler and her sister, Maxine Edwards Carter, the mom of Darnell and Michael Carter. CONTRIBUTED

Mace Edwards, Heddie’s husband, was with the household’s two boys – Clarence and Judson – at their pig farm close to Guthrie, nearly 90 miles away.

In the course of the faculty yr, Heddie lived with the women in Greenwood so the youngsters may attend good colleges. Michael stated there was solely a Native American faculty that went to the seventh grade within the neighborhood of the farm.

Darnell stated Heddie and the women first took refuge in a church which hadn’t but been set afire after which they have been rounded up and brought to one in every of three internment camps swiftly set as much as corral blacks.

“She stated they have been herded to a baseball area,” Darnell stated. “On the best way she stated she noticed numerous useless black individuals, largely males and boys that, in her phrases, have been ‘stacked up like cordwood.’”

Lots of these our bodies, it’s now suspected, have been both dumped into three unmarked, mass graves round city or into the Arkansas River.

It’s estimated 100 to 300 blacks have been killed within the assault and over 700 individuals have been injured. At the least 1,470 properties have been burned or looted – the fireplace division, just like the police, did nearly nothing – and over 8,000 individuals have been left homeless.

Some 6,000 blacks have been put into fenced-in areas at a baseball park, a fairgrounds and a conference corridor. The one means they may get out was with the consent of a white employer. After which they needed to put on a inexperienced badge hooked up to their garments.

It could appear exhausting to think about this occurred in America, however, in fact, there have been not less than 100 race massacres within the U.S between the top of the Civil Struggle and the Nineteen Forties stated Duke College economist and writer William Darity, Jr., who has executed intensive analysis on the topic.

Two years previous to Tulsa, there have been some 25 assaults in what’s known as the Crimson Summer season.

In Elaine, Arkansas 200 black sharecroppers and their households have been killed by white troopers.

In Ocoee, Florida, 60 blacks have been killed on Election Day once they tried to vote.

And in Chicago, 15 blacks have been killed, 500 have been injured and 1,000 have been left homeless after a black boy who was rafting in an space of a lake deemed “prohibited to Negroes” was drowned by whites.

For years the Tulsa Bloodbath was swept beneath the rug. It was not talked about by whites, not legally pursued – to this present day, nobody has been punished or prosecuted for the crimes – nor was it talked about within the colleges. And most of the black survivors didn’t need to talk about it and relive the ache.

That’s modified just lately and particularly this previous week with the centennial remembrance.

4 documentaries have appeared on TV in latest days together with one on CNN – “Dreamland: The Burning of Black Wall Avenue” – which had basketball nice LeBron James as an govt producer. One other proven on the Historical past Channel – “Tulsa Burning: The 1921 Race Bloodbath” – was produced by Washington Wizards’ guard Russell Westbrook.

On Tuesday’s anniversary, President Joe Biden grew to become the primary sitting president to go to Greenwood. He met with three survivors of the rampage – all of them over 100 years outdated – and had some sturdy feedback about what occurred that day and the makes an attempt to cowl it up.

Since final October – on the urging of Tulsa’s mayor G.T. Bynum, who reopened the investigation that was shut down by a earlier mayor – a crew has been looking Oaklawn Cemetery for our bodies in what’s regarded as a mass grave website.

Thursday, 5 extra coffins have been discovered. Fifteen had beforehand been found.

Monday the formal exhumation will start.

Though there’s now some readability coming to these horrible, long-hidden occasions of 100 years in the past, there’s much more harm than meets the attention.

Household bushes – just like the Carter’s – have been eternally altered.

“Our household by no means absolutely recovered from that day,” Michael stated.

Darnell Carter at John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park which was established to commemorate the victims of the 1921 Tulsa Race Bloodbath. CONTRIBUTED

‘All hell broke free’

Greenwood prospered out of necessity again then as a result of segregation and its Jim Crow legal guidelines prevented blacks from going into many companies in white Tulsa.

On the time of the bloodbath, it was estimated that 40 % of the adults in Greenwood have been professionals or expert crafts individuals. However black success usually fueled white resentment and any incident may ignite confrontation.

That occurred on Memorial Day in 1921 when Dick Rowland, a 19-year-old black shoe shiner downtown, went to make use of the one toilet he may, a “Coloured Solely” facility on the fourth ground of the Drexel Constructing.

He needed to take the elevator, which that day was run by 17-year-old Sarah Web page, who was white.

The hand-operated elevate would typically lurch because it stopped and the doorways opened and its thought that’s what occurred as Rowland obtained into the automobile. As he fell, he instinctively reached out to stabilize himself and grabbed Web page’s arm. She screamed, he fled and a close-by clerk known as police to report an tried assault.

Rowland was arrested the subsequent day and the Tulsa Tribune instantly ran an inflated and inflammatory account beneath the headline: “Nab Negro for Attacking Lady in Elevator.”

A white mob of some 500 individuals appeared outdoors the courthouse, which additionally housed the jail, and demanded the sheriff launch Rowland to them. There was discuss of lynching him.

Phrase obtained again to Greenwood and a gaggle of armed black males, many World Struggle I veterans, went to the courthouse and informed the sheriff they’d assist defend Rowland.

They have been rebuffed and once they returned once more, a white man tried to disarm a black vet, the gun went off and, as Biden put it Tuesday: “All hell broke free.”

The sheriff ended up handing badges and weapons to many within the mob and inside 24 hours, Greenwood was destroyed.

FILE – This photograph offered by Division of Particular Collections, McFarlin Library, The College of Tulsa exhibits crowds of individuals watching fires through the Tulsa Race Bloodbath in Tulsa, Okla., on June 1, 1921. (Division of Particular Collections, McFarlin Library, The College of Tulsa by way of AP, File)

Credit score: Uncredited

Credit score: Uncredited

Authorities tried in charge the bloodbath – which it known as a riot – on the armed Greenwood residents.

Dealing with trumped up fees, a number of distinguished black residents fled town and by no means returned.

However some individuals refused to yield, none extra so than the congregation of the Mount Zion Baptist Church.

Through the years that they had raised and borrowed the $92,000 wanted to construct their worship home and it had been open lower than two months when it was focused within the bloodbath by machine weapons after which burned down.

Afterward, the insurance coverage firm refused compensation, utilizing an escape clause to keep away from fee for damages induced in “a riot.”

The church members who remained, saved their religion, took 21 years to repay their preliminary debt after which rebuilt.

Right this moment their emblem of black perseverance is on the Nationwide Register of Historic Locations.

‘Genie is out of the bottle now’

“My grandmother (Heddie) was a Church of God minister and through the Mud Bowl, it was very exhausting for the farm to supply,” Michael stated of the droughts that ravaged Oklahoma within the mid-Thirties. “In that setting of desperation nearly, she accepted the pastorate of the Washington Avenue Church of God in Springfield, Ohio.”

She moved to Clark County together with her three daughters in 1935, Darnell stated. Mace and one son stayed behind

Maxine labored as a home and a prepare dinner and finally married Darnell Carter Sr., who grew to become the warden of the Clark County jail. Residing on Lexington Avenue in Springfield’s West Finish, the couple raised three kids:

Nancy, who died final summer time, Darnell and Michael.

Whereas their mom by no means talked in regards to the Tulsa Race Bloodbath, Michael stated he did hear about it from a black historical past trainer – Louis Butler – at South Excessive.

Hettie Edwards, the grandmother of Michel and Darnell Carter. The Edwards dwelling within the Greenwood part of Tulsa was one in every of some 1,250 burned down by a rampaging white mob within the 1921 Tulsa Race Bloodbath. The Edwards household escaped, however from 100 to 300 black individuals have been killed and plenty of are regarded as buried have been in unmarked mass graves. Hettie later mved to Springfeld Ohio together with her daughters and served as a minister. CONTRIBUTED

In Tulsa the incident was by no means addressed till 1997 when Don Ross, a black state legislator authored a invoice that created what was then known as the Tulsa Race Riot Fee.

The investigation – beneath suppressive political stress – finally fizzled out.

“The largest factor for me is the reluctance to speak about it,” Michael Carter stated. “You usually hear this chorus: ‘Simply recover from it. It occurred prior to now.’

“We by no means say that in regards to the Holocaust. It’s solely while you speak about experiences of blacks in America that we shouldn’t speak about it. However not speaking causes extra ache.

“Within the case of Greenwood, you need to it acknowledged and have it admitted that these have been issues America did to its residents. While you do you could heal.”

Darnell Carter at John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park which was established to commemorate the victims of the 1921 Tulsa Race Bloodbath. CONTRIBUTED

Michael and Darnell and two different buddies visited Greenwood in 2016 on their option to Ohio State’s soccer recreation at Oklahoma.

“It was actually emotional,” Michael stated. “You possibly can examine one thing, however while you’re bodily there and simply form of resurrecting some ideas of what your loved ones might have be going by again then, it’s fairly surreal.”

He’s particularly heartened when he hears individuals – whether or not its professional athletes utilizing their platforms, the Tulsa mayor or the President – speaking about what occurred to households like his personal 100 years in the past,

“The genie is out of the bottle now,” he stated.

That was by no means extra evident than Tuesday when Biden addressed not solely the growing old survivors, however the nation, saying:

“For a lot too lengthy, the historical past of what occurred right here was informed in silence, cloaked in darkness. However simply because historical past is silent, it doesn’t imply that it didn’t happen. And whereas darkness can conceal a lot, it erases nothing.

“We will’t simply select to be taught what we need to know.

“I come right here to assist fill the silence, as a result of in silence, wounds deepen. As painful as it’s, solely in remembrance do wounds heal.”

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source https://fikiss.net/springfield-family-knows-pain-of-tulsa-massacre/ Springfield family knows pain of Tulsa massacre published first on https://fikiss.net/ from Karin Gudino https://karingudino.blogspot.com/2021/06/springfield-family-knows-pain-of-tulsa.html

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trip to tulsa

visited the house my grandma grew up in and this is the front lawn of her next door neighbor...also an owl flew overhead when i took this photo