#rolling shutter brochure

[ladyartemesia]

The Secret

◐ PART IV of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Series Masterlist ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Mature (for this installment)

Warnings: ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming. Violence and discussion of violence relating to ritual combat. Jin’s pheromones need their own warning. Yoonji and Yunli are not the same person.

Word Count: 3600

Author’s Note: This update literally made me sob because I edited it and formatted it and it just disappeared when I posted. I seriously felt my heart drop because it took so long to format... ANYWAYS I wonder if anyone guessed the secret.

”You can’t do this, Luna ... Come back inside.”

Your hand tightened on the doorknob.

“I was just going out for some air-”

Jin shook his head, letting his lanky frame collapse onto the overstuffed chair by the fireplace. 

“And after the air... then what?”

Your terse silence was confirmation enough. 

He sighed heavily, hating himself a little for what he had to do. 

“You cannot go to him. They’ll smell you on his skin and it could cost him... dearly.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

“I just wanted to see him...,” you whispered. “I wanted to talk to him just once before-”

A sob bubbled up in your throat and your hand flew up to cover it. 

The dawn would come in two hours. 

And then Park Jimin would be gone. 

Jin’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and you fell against him hopelessly. 

“They’re going to make me watch, Jin-ah. I-I have to watch him-”

Bitter tears overtook you, wracking your body with the violence of your despair. 

“I know...,” he murmured softly into your hair, “I know.” 

“Do you think he’ll really show up?”

The chief elder glared fiercely at the young man who dared voice such a question. 

The entire pack had jammed themselves into the clearing where the challenge was taking place and despite the solemnity of the occasion, the atmosphere buzzed with barely contained speculation. 

“Park Jimin was chosen by the goddess herself to be her champion or to be the divine test of her champion. Have some respect,” he hissed. 

The young pup had the decency to look abashed, but the chief elder was already ignoring him in favor of the newest arrival... 

A Luna wore only three ceremonial colors at any given time. 

Green for celebration and harvest was worn in times of laughter and gaiety. 

Blue for mourning and peaceful resolve was worn in times of trial and hardship. 

Red for passion and vengeance was worn in times of war and signified the sacred bonds that wove the pack together. 

Your mother laid out a blue cloak as it was the color chosen by every Luna who had ever faced down a provocatione ritual.

But you arrived in sumptuous Red. 

It was a stunning act of defiance, a wordless declaration of your fury. You were here to obey the goddess, but in a crimson cloak you would not embrace this challenge with peaceful resolve. 

An attack upon your mate, even under these circumstances, was an attack upon you. 

You had come dressed for war. 

Jimin heard the gasps echo around his meditation cell.  

He and Namjoon arrived at the sacred circle a full hour before dawn and sequestered themselves in the small, free-standing hovels on opposing sides of the the site. 

The tiny pods were spaces for an individual to commune with the goddess and center themselves before engaging in the typically life-altering events that brought them there. 

Sometimes it was marriage or celebration, sometimes it was acceptance to one of the guilds or a promotion to a higher rank within your family’s clan...

Today it was life and death and the future of the pack that weighed upon the combatants’ shoulders. 

The sudden swell of movement and sound pulled Jimin from his meditative state. 

What happened? 

He got his answer soon after an elder came to escort him into the circle. 

It was you. 

Your hands and feet were bound to the ornately carved chair they had seated you in. This was a typical precaution because it was natural for a wolf to defend their mate if they were in danger and the restraints kept the Luna from doing so. 

The pain in your gaze was agonizing, but in red, flowing down from your shoulders with fiery obstinance, you were every inch the warrior queen. 

Yet it was not your rebellious cloak or even your incredible beauty that caused his heart to pound and stutter in glorious shock...

It was the familiar praesidium bracelet wrapped around your wrist; an intimate message of devotion that he and he alone would understand. 

Pride and possessiveness roared to life in Jimin’s chest. 

She’s mine.

“You look... surprisingly calm.”

Taehyung jerked guiltily. 

“What? Me? I don’t know anything - I mean I’m not calm - I’m frantic. I - I don’t even understand the question.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised right up into his hairline. 

“Taehyung-ah? Did you put those special mushrooms in your broth this morning? You’re acting a bit strange-”

“No,” Taehyung’s voice cracked. “This is me - this is totally normal me. I’m not - there were no mushrooms-” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “So - uh - how’s Yoonji?”

“Oh my go- really?!” 

The chief elder began to recite his speech, reminding the pack of the profound significance this moment carried...

But Yunli could barely hear his words over the ringing in her ears. Her gaze fixed on Namjoon from the moment the elder brought him forward... yet he had not glanced toward her once. 

He looked so strong and confident. 

So capable of victory. 

A faint whimper of abject sorrow worked its way passed her lips and Namjoon’s eyes flew to her instantly. 

As if he had always known exactly where she was. 

Longing split his features for a fraction of a second. 

Then his gaze shuttered again and Yunli’s wolf howled in silent, mournful agony. 

Anticipation bore down upon the assembly as the chief elder uttered the last few sentences with reluctant finality. 

The moment had come.  

Both alphas stepped into the circle. 

You began to tug frantically - futilely - against the bonds. Jin’s hand gripped yours as a tear slipped heedlessly down his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon whispered - to you - to Yunli - to Jimin -

To himself. 

Then his claws lengthened to a deadly point and he tore forward with a chilling snarl. 

Jimin remained unnaturally still, watching his rival barrel towards him with almost calculated intent. 

Namjoon’s arm drew back to land the first strike and- 

———◐———

Last Night...

———◐———

“Wait - WHAT?!”

“It was... me. I broke the table.”

Taehyung drew back slowly. His eyebrows furrowed in profound confusion. 

“With what? A jackhammer!?”

Jimin tilted his head in amusement. 

“Hammerfist strike... actually.” He shrugged. “I lost my temper.”

“You - You lost your-“ Tae began shaking his head rapidly. “Is it a spell of some sort?! Goddess you know better than to get tangled up with witches! You let them give you a band aid and then they show up ten years later asking for your firstborn!”

Jimin rolled his eyes. 

“Of course not! No... it’s...” he bit his lip. “You remember that time I came to your house a little too early and... Yoonji had you tied to a bed...”

Tae paled. 

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

“And I haven’t - spoken of it - especially since Yoongi still thinks his precious baby cousin is unaware of big bad boy wolves and if he found out you were corrupting her-”

“Wait. You think I was corrupting her?!“

“The point is... it’s a secret. And I know you have your reasons for keeping it that way so... I hope you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you...”

———◐———

Fourteen Years Ago...

———◐———

Jimin’s hands fidgeted nervously over the flyer that the human boy offered him. 

“But I’m only in Seoul for the summer.”

Just long enough to miss Alpha Camp entirely. 

“That’s perfect because it’s only a summer program. Seriously, you were so fast catching that jar I knocked over. Your reflexes are amazing and it looks like you’ve got the perfect build for it too.” He tapped the flyer for emphasis. “Think about it.”

No one had ever told Park Jimin that he would be good at anything like this. In fact most people told him he needed to be better...

Bigger. 

Stronger. 

His eyes traveled over the large letters printed at the top of the brochure. 

“Taekwondo...”

——◐——

“...so thank you all again for signing up and attending the orientation. I will see you tomorrow for our first class.”

A strange sense of anticipation hummed through Jimin as he gathered his coat. He was finally doing something for himself; something that had nothing to do with being an alpha-

“You’re a wolf, aren’t you...”

The young instructor who gave the initial demonstration and spoke for most of the orientation stood behind him with his arms crossed.

Jimin’s eyes widened in shock. 

“How did you know?”

The stranger tapped his nose. 

“My grandfather had a human mate and his pack exiled him for it. I’m mostly human, but this nose can pick up another wolf’s scent just as well as yours.”

Modern packs didn’t exile wolves with human mates anymore, but fifty years ago the practice was still unfortunately common. 

“I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

The young man smiled. 

“He lived a long happy life with his mate and his family. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He stretched out his hand. “Lee Taemin.”

“Park Jimin.”

They shook firmly, and Taemin continued to examine him with unconcealed interest. 

“Tell me, Park Jimin, what’s an alpha wolf doing all the way out in Seoul? The only pack around here married their last child into one of the mountain nations years ago.”

“That was my mother, actually... I’m here visiting my grandmother.”

Taemin tilted his head curiously. 

“I’ve never known wolves to be interested in human martial arts. You lot prefer to fight shifted... In fact, I doubt a mountain wolf could even throw a punch,” he snorted, “not that they’d need to with those fangs.”

Jimin’s shoulders fell a little. 

“So... you don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

“On the contrary, I think you could be incredible.”

The young wolf’s face brightened immediately. 

“Really?! Even if I’m not as strong as other wolves?”

“Taekwondo isn’t about strength. It’s about speed. Master the speed and the strength will follow.”

———◐———

“Relax your body. Focus your energy.”

Jimin drew in a deep breath as he moved  through the pattern Taemin taught him. 

“The power and speed of your wolf is constant, but most wolves do not bother channeling it in human form. Concentrate on your wolf and bring that power into your strike.” 

His hand came down on the thin press wood and-

It hurt. A lot. 

Taemin chuckled as Jimin cussed and swore, cradling his tender fist grouchily. 

“You’ll get it. Just keep practicing.”

“Are you sure I’ll be able to break the boards one day?”

The boy’s face was so round and adorably hopeful. Taemin nodded confidently and offered him some ice. 

“A human with training can break boards, but a wolf who harnessed his natural speed and strength could break much more than that.” 

———◐———

Twelve Years Ago...

———◐———

“You’ve improved a great deal since last summer. Were you finally able to find a teacher near your pack?”

“Yes - but... she’s not as good as you.”

Finding a local Taekwondo teacher had been the easy part. 

Constantly making up excuses to explain his habitual disappearances... 

That was trickier. 

His mother thought he was hunting with Taehyung, Taehyung thought he was sniffing around some human girl and needed a buddy to cover his tracks. 

Sneaking away to practice wasn’t too difficult, but he panicked when Yoongi caught him moving through forms in the woods once and pretended to be doing an interpretive dance. 

With no music.

Yoongi had looked at him a little funny since then. 

Taemin grinned. “Of course she’s not as good as me. I’m the best. Now take position and let’s see if you can finally land this kick.”

———◐———

Ten Years Ago...

———◐———

Jimin glared at the thick oak board Taemin sent him home with this year. 

“It’s a 4x6 solid oak plank. I want you to break it before the winter solstice.”

He snorted, positioning the board between the makeshift vices he fashioned to hold it in place. 

“Sure, I’ll just get right on that.”

“...Who are you talking to?”

Jimin groaned internally.

Of course. 

“Hey guys,” he turned to greet Jungkook and Hoseok brightly (while completely ignoring the question). “Where - where are you two headed today?”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“One of the elders is going to teach us how to build traps! He invited all the unmated alphas to go with him past the boundary lines to test whatever we make!”

A familiar embarrassment settled heavily in Jimin stomach. 

“Oh... I uh... I didn’t hear that.”

“I’m sure it was just a mistake that they didn’t call for you,” Hoseok rushed to reassure him. “You could come with us. I don’t think the elder would mind.”

The older boy’s gaze was filled with discomfort... and pity. 

Jimin cleared his throat and forced up a sunny smile. 

“No that’s fine - I have work to do anyways so...”

Jungkook nodded quickly, desperate to escape the unexpectedly awkward conversation. 

“Have fun!” he shouted, already beginning to jog away. 

Jimin watched quietly as their figures grew smaller, waiting till their clumsy steps no longer disturbed the stillness around him. 

He should be used to it by now... 

The passive rejection. 

It shouldn’t bother him anymore. There was no malicious intent... just casual dismissal again and again and again-

An angry roar tore past his lips as he brought his hand down on the board. 

It cracked in half. 

———◐———

Eight Years Ago...

———◐———

“It’s strange but - I feel like the better I become at this, the stronger my wolf is.”

“That isn’t strange at all. You and your wolf are two halves of a whole. The more you balance your energy, the more your strengths can be shared. Now - stop stalling and get to it.”

Jimin eyed Taemin’s latest idea with a reluctant groan.

“None of the other students have to break cinder block.”

“None of the other students are wolves. Besides, it’s been 6 years, you’ve broken stacks of boards. It’s time for a real challenge.”

“I’m lucky I haven’t broken a bone,” Jimin mumbled irritably. 

He did that day, but it was healed in a week and he broke his first cinderblock a month later.

———◐———

Five Years Ago...

———◐———

“Remember, timing is everything. Never let your opponent see what you’re going to do.”

“How many times do you think I’ve heard that over the last ten years?”

“Not enough, clearly. You’re still telegraphing with that right foot.”

Jimin’s left hand shot out and connected with Taemin’s jaw.

“Am I?”

Taemin blinked up at him from the floor. 

“Ok. I admit. That was pretty impressive.”

———◐———

Three Years Ago...

———◐———

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I was looking for Jin.”

Jimin scrambled to his feet, dumping the pile of pebbles he collected (for his mother’s garden) noisily to the ground.

“Luna...”

He took a discreet step backward as your gaze scanned the area in frustration. 

“You haven’t seen my cousin, have you?”

Jimin gulped. 

He had seen Kim Seokjin - leading a curvy beta girl (nose first no doubt) in the direction of the old wading pool. It took every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to laugh out loud each time Jin bashfully declared that he was a ‘good boy’ and to ‘be gentle with him,’ - after all, he’d given the same speech to two other she-wolves last week. 

Best not to scar her for life. Some things cannot be unseen.

His mind darted briefly to the scene he’d walked into at Taehyung’s house yesterday.

“I have no idea where Seokjin is, Luna.”

You sighed, gnawing absently at your lip while you considered his words, and Jimin felt a familiar hint of futile longing whisper through him. 

He’d never been so close to you, and now that he was, his wolf was making all sorts of insane suggestions to keep you near. 

Do a backflip. Climb a tree. Build her a house. 

Jimin bent quickly to gather his scattered stones, ashamed at the direction of his thoughts. 

You were so incredibly beautiful...

It was almost enough to make him forget that he would only ever be Park Jimin.  

He couldn’t blame the others for fighting and fawning over your attention like they did. You were the moon and every man around you was drawn in like the tide. 

“Today is my seventeenth birthday, you know.”

Jimin looked up to discover that you had moved much closer and were now looking down at him expectantly. 

He blinked. Twice. 

“I - yes. I did know.”

The entire pack was celebrating. He’d have to be comatose not to know.

“Should I save you a dance, Park Jimin?”

Up until that exact second, Jimin would have bet his life savings that you did not know his name. 

Yet here you were - so very close to him - gazing down into his eyes almost shyly.

He nodded because he couldn’t think of a single reason not to give you anything you wanted. And when you smiled so brilliantly -  he almost believed that you truly wanted to dance with him...

Almost. 

He never went to your party. 

He never danced with you.

Not that day. Not ever.

Because deep down he suspected that if he held you in his arms - even once - he would never truly let go. 

He was sure you wouldn’t notice his absence...  You wouldn’t remember talking to him by the time the evening rolled around. 

He never saw you search the crowds for his face right up until the midnight bell. 

He never saw you turn down dance after dance hoping that the beautiful boy from the forest would finally come and take your hand. 

He was your only wish that birthday. 

But he never knew. 

———◐———

One Year Ago...

———◐———

“I’ve never seen anything like your skill. You’ve long since surpassed me. I’m not sure what more I can teach you,” Taemin smiled, bumping Jimin on the shoulder, “Perhaps you should find a woman and spend a little less time practicing.”

An unwelcome flash of silver eyes and a laugh like sunshine danced through his mind. 

“No. I’m... not really the type wolf girls go for.” 

Taemin snorted. 

“I don’t believe that. Aren’t you an alpha?”

“Yes, but it’s... complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?”

Jimin laughed. 

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Silence settled comfortably between them as they nursed several bottles of soju on his grandmother’s porch. Taemin had charmed the old hellion quite thoroughly and he would often drop by for a visit even when Jimin was back home with his pack.

“So what will you do now?” he asked. “You can’t compete. I can barely withstand sparring with you, and you’d kill a human - even if you landed a blow at half strength.”

Jimin ran his fingers absently through his hair while he pondered his mentor’s words. 

“I learned to fight because I was searching for something that would help me sort out who I was.” He scoffed. “I don’t know that I’m any closer to that goal.”

Taemin shook his head. 

“No. I think you’ve got it all wrong, Park Jimin. No one achieves what you have without knowing who they are. You’ve always been a fighter and some part of you realizes that.” He sighed heavily and finished off the rest of his drink. “Now I think you’re just... waiting.”

“For what?” Jimin chuckled playfully. 

Taemin pulled out another bottle and met his gaze with a knowing grin. 

“Something worth fighting for.”

———◐———

Now...

———◐———

Jimin remained unnaturally still, watching his rival barrel towards him with almost calculated intent. 

Namjoon’s arm drew back to land the first strike and- 

It was fast. 

So fast it almost seemed like magic. 

One moment the Kim alpha was the barest breath away from a swift and decisive victory-

Then he was crashing backwards onto the dirt. 

Those who watched carefully saw Park Jimin spin into a vicious kick, one that connected solidly with the middle of his opponent’s chest. 

Stunned silence pressed in from every side as Namjoon scrambled back to his feet, his expression wavering wildly between excruciating pain and monumental shock. 

Jimin smiled, letting his razor sharp canines lengthen menacingly as he flowed back into a perfect combat stance. 

“You didn’t think I’d just let you have her, did you?”

Please comment if you would like to be added to the taglist! If you have already asked, you will be tagged automatically in every update. 

Please please please let me know what you thought of this chapter! (*insert puppy face here*) I am so excited to hear what you think of everything that went down in this update and I savor each word of feedback like fine wine. Your theories and commentary have been such a gift. It truly keeps me writing. 

[frustratedpoetwrites]

Hiya. Do you remember me? I’m still not really writing but I found this little thing I wrote a while ago and just had to share its cuteness with you.

House Hunting.

“I love it, let’s get it!”

Lily tried her best not to roll her eyes at James’ enthusiastic shout as they parked up outside another house. They had already looked at four that day. Another one of many days looking at disappointing options, and she was beginning to wonder if they would ever find something in their budget that met all her specific requirements that were not at all unreasonable, because if you were going to buy a house it had to be the right house. She had already lowered her expectations of what they could get for their modest budget. She was more than willing to get her hands dirty and fix up a place, but having a newborn meant that wasn’t as practical an option as it once had been. She just shot him a small smile and took off her seatbelt.

“James” she said as patiently as she could muster after he had already said this about every. Single. House. “Try to be objective, we don’t know the size of the rooms, or what the kitchen looks like yet. We’ve not even stepped inside.”

They got out the car and Lily lifted Harry out of his seat while James put on the baby carrier. James held him close as Lily deftly wrapped the stretchy fabric to make sure it supported their precious cargo properly, and mere moments later the soundly sleeping baby was now snuggled happily against his father’s chest.

“Ah, but sometimes you just know. And me an’ Harry have a feeling about this one, don’t we mate.” Harry didn’t stir at his dad's voice or the soft kiss he pressed to the top of his head, he wasn’t paying any attention to any of this. Mainly because he was only four months old. He had been a real trooper throughout so far, something that Lily was immensely pleased about. She had been dreading having to do this with baby in tow, but they had been able to carry on and not disturb his routine too much. Lily had even been able to feed him at the last house. The only good thing about that place had been the quiet nursery, with the gorgeous rocker she had taken full advantage of, while James had diverted the estate agent by asking them many questions about the large and overgrown garden. He had fallen back to sleep quickly after being fitted back into his car seat.

James was the one carrying him now, not that he ever passed up the chance to wear his son. Lily was trying to keep a little distance between her and the baby right now as the smell of her milk tended to wake Harry up early from naps, and even though he had just been fed she didn’t want to take any chances. Lily needed to look around these houses without her son taking up too much of her attention. She leaned in and brushed Harry’s tufty black hair out of his eyes stroking his downy check.

“You both, have a feeling?” She asked James with a smile that he returned with an added wink.

“You know we have a special connection.”

“Okay then Papa bear. But let’s look around inside the house before we decide for sure.”

“You’re the boss mama.” James replied quietly, following her to the open door.

This house hadn’t even been on their list, Lily hadn’t seen it advertised at all during the endless time she had been searching. They had already been to all of the pre arranged appointments for that day, discovering all of them to be inadequate in one way or another, and all with equally annoying estate agents.

Thinking the day was another bust they had been heading back home to their tiny one bedroom flat when they spotted it, and the open day! Sign. James had claimed it was destiny.

She had to admit she liked the initial look of it, even if it was more than likely way out of their budget. It looked too big, sitting on it’s own patch of land completely separate from its neighbours. Who were hidden behind a wall of gently swaying trees. A beautiful red brick house. With a forest green painted front door, and steps leading up to it. The wide windows looked welcoming. She had never seen a house in Britain with French shutters before but she loved them. Loved the way they matched the colour of the front door, loved the way they gave the house something more than the others around it. She could just about make out a large grassy space at the back of the house that would be perfect for a goal post and a trampoline. The front garden had a gravel driveway big enough for three cars, and a small circle of grass.

“You’re already picturing us living here aren’t you?” He said with a happy smile. “See son, Daddy’s a genius,” he said bouncing his knees gently. Harry didn’t really stir just mumbled baby noises as a small patch of drool appeared on James’ grey jumper.

“I can admit the appeal of the outdoor space,” she conceded, “but that. In no way. Says I’m sold on this place. Also, we have no idea how much it costs, how many bedrooms it has? What work needs doing.” she knew she could go on but his nod said he got the message.

“True, but I’m sure we can drive the price down if we convince anyone else looking there are a ton of problems,” He suggested with an eyebrow wiggle.

“James we can’t do that!” She said laughing despite herself and already knowing she was definitely going to do this if the house was worth it. James’ wink told her he knew this too.

“Come on Lil let’s have some fun.”

The hall made a great first impression on Lily. The staircase had beautiful wooden spindle handrails as it curved around and up to what looked like a balconied upper hallway in honey coloured oak. Lily didn’t get a chance to see much more than this before a face wearing far too much makeup was beaming at her with a fixed grin.

“Hello there,” the face said brightly. “Can you sign your names in the book please and then you’re free to look about the house.”

“Have you had many people interested?” James asked as she handed him a glossy booklet. Her smile wavered slightly as if she was wondering about how honest to be.

“Oh yes of course, we’ve had a few walk ins like yourself.” Lily looked at the visitor book as she signed their names at the top of the first page.

“Did they forget to sign their names?” Lily didn’t mean to sound rude but it was obvious this lady was lying. She gave a nervous smile to James then Lily and shrugged.

“I’m expecting some visitors later this afternoon, I have a few bookings.” she brushed her suit and adjusted her jacket. “Are you guys local.”

“We are looking at this area, we live in the next Town at the minute, but need a bit more space with the little one.”

“Of course, and this house would definitely give you plenty of room to grow at such a bargain price.” She smiled her fake smile again and Lily wanted nothing more than to go to any other room that didn’t have her in it,”

“Thanks we’ll go take a look around,” she told her with a forced smile of her own. They went straight upstairs to check out the space there. Light streamed in through the large bay window of the master bedroom, reflecting off the beautiful polished wooden floor, a little further exploration revealed a small en suite wet room tiled floor to ceiling in large sandy coloured slabs. It’s modern look was a stark contrast to the rest of what they had seen so far.

Lily looked over the glossy pictured brochure as James took a peek in the tiny room.

“James, we may as well stop looking now.” She said feeling deflated. “This house needs some work done and it’s a decent bit over our budget.”

“How much over? He asked, then looking over her shoulder added. “That’s not too bad. So we use some of my inheritance money.”

“James your parents are still alive,”

“Okay not ask for it as inheritance. I’ll ask mum and dad to invest in the future of their grandson, and…”

“You know I’m not comfortable about asking them,” she told him like she had so many times before. This time however as they continued to look around this house that was just ticking every box inside Lily’s head. She wondered if perhaps, just this once, she could bend her stiff pride just a little. “If we do ask them, it’s just a loan.” She could see James eyes lighting up as she said this but was trying his best not to get excited. “I don’t want them holding this over us, I want us to pay them back quickly.”

James nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

Lily grinned as she looked around this house, “this one is so perfect.” There was a look that came over James’s face as she said this that made her stop. “Almost too perfect.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “James?”

He looked back at her all too innocently “yes my love?”

“Did you plan this the whole time?” He stroked Harry’s back as if it was the baby who was getting the sudden suspicion thrown at him. She could physically see the cogs working in James’ head as he tried to work out the best way to tell her.

“Okay so perhaps Sirius told me about this place he had found. And perhaps he brought me to see it.” She put her hands on her hips in exasperation, but before she could say anything James continued. “As soon as I did I just knew that you would love this place. That it would be a perfect home for our children.”

“Children?”

“Well of course, eventually. I don’t want Harry to be the only one.” He took her hand and kissed it gently. “I’m sorry if I have done something to upset you, but I knew. You just had to see this house. Because you do love it don’t you?”

Lily looked out the patio doors to the perfectly neat garden, picturing barbecues and football matches. Of three boys laughing as they dodged water balloons thrown at them. She turned and looked to the kitchen, at how everything was already laid out just the way she wanted, and pictured baking cooking, making Christmas dinner. A house full of laughter, love, and joy.

“I do,” She smiled. “I think we could look for years and not find another house as perfect as this one.” She turned to her husband. “I think our search is over.”

[littlelovelyspiderling]

The Photo Shoot

Here’s my take on the adorable request given to me by  @a-bad-actor !! Hope you like it!

Tony needs a photo of a young and happy face to put on Stark Industry’s website and requests Peter’s aid. When the grumpy kid can’t seem to smile normally, Stark takes matters into his own hands.

word count: 1,800

“Mr. Stark, couldn’t you find someone else to do this…?”

Peter squinted uncomfortably beneath the harsh lights, pulling at his collar. He felt like a bug being studied under a microscope—a bright, judgmental microscope. Tony Stark stood behind the camera, fiddling with the settings.

“Nope. You’re the only intern that’s here this late. And the youngest, therefore the most endearing and inspirational to potential applicants.”

“But I’m not even a real intern, Mr. Stark. It’s a front, remember?”

“Who cares? You think the 20-something-year-old grad students scrolling through the Stark Industry’s website are going to know that?” He narrowed his eyes as he racked the lens. “I just want a nice picture of a welcoming face to put on the online brochure. It’ll help encourage youngsters such as yourself to apply for all the internship positions and project grants my company is now offering.”

“That’s really cool of you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, swallowing. “But, um…I’m just not very photogenic. I hate getting my picture taken. And my face is crazy broken out right now, so can’t you just hire someone tomorrow to pose for—?”

“The re-vamped website goes live at midnight, so no.” Tony clicked one last button on the camera’s screen, then stepped away. “Relax, kid—you look fine. Just think how awesome it will be to show all your friends a pic of your handsome mug on Stark Industry’s home page.”

Peter hung his head. “Yeah. So awesome…”

Tony scoffed. “What’s your problem? I thought you’d love this.”

The kid shrugged haphazardly. “Whatever. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Alright then, grumpy pants,” he snorted. He held up the shutter remote and gave it a shake. “Say ‘cheese’.”

The smile Peter pasted on his face was so pathetic, Tony thought he was just holding back a sneeze. Or crushing something between his teeth. He stared at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement, waiting for him to actually attempt to smile, his finger hovering over the shutter release button.

“Uh…seriously? That’s the face you’re going with? That’s what you want a quarter million people to wake up to tomorrow morning?”

Peter huffed miserably. “I told you I’m bad at this, Mr. Stark.”

“Just smile. Like you always do. Don’t think about it so much.”

The kid rolled his eyes and tried again. This time, it looked like he was in actual, physical pain, like someone was holding a knife to his back and threatening to kill him if he didn’t pretend to look happy. 

And boy, was he bad at pretending. 

Tony took a picture just to see if he’d look any better on camera. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t. If anything, he actually looked worse. Stark couldn’t help but laugh.

“Geez, Pete, are you trying to look constipated? Is that the new fad among you Gen Z types? Cuz if so, you are killing it.”

Peter blushed and stared at the floor. “I hate you.”

Chuckling, Tony stepped forward. “Here,” he said, giving his shoulders a shake. “Loosen up. Don’t stand so stiffly.”

“Why don’t you just take a picture of yourself? You’re so much better at this kind of stuff.”

“The whole website is already plastered with my face. We need a dash of youth and freshness to spice things up.” He licked his fingers and ran them through Peter’s hair, making him grimace. “But if you want, I can show you how it’s done.”

He walked behind Peter and struck a few casual poses, boasting a subtle yet winning smile. He snapped a few photos just for show while the kid threw his hands in the air.

“But see, that’s what I’m saying—it’s easy for you. For me, it’s just…not. I can’t do this. I give up.”

Tony caught him before he could sulk away. “Just one more try, that’s all I’m asking.” He turned the dejected teen back to the camera. “Imagine you’re receiving an award, or smiling at a girl you like. Anything like that. Think of something that makes you genuinely happy, and channel that energy into a nice, natural smile. You can do it.” He took a few steps back and to the side. “I’ll stay behind you so you don’t feel pressured.”

Peter sighed helplessly and stared into the daunting eye of the lens. He tried his best to do as Stark said, he really did. It wasn’t working in the slightest, but that was okay. Because Tony didn’t expect it to work. He just needed something to keep the kid distracted while he executed his real plan to make the kid smile.

When Tony stopped firing the shutter, Peter figured he was doing something wrong, and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m telling you, Mr. Stark, I can’t do it. Either find some other stupid intern for your photo, or steal a stock pic from the Internet. I just—I can’t—”

Peter’s angry rant was interrupted by two hands seizing him around the middle and squeezing his sides just above his hips. The kid let out a shriek of surprise, followed by a flood of laughter.

“AHAhahack! Whahat the—?” He sprung away, wrapping his arms around his midsection, flustered to his core. “Mr. Stark! W-what was that for?”

“Ha! I knew that would work.” Tony stepped around him and turned the camera screen for Peter to see. “Look at that smile! It’s perfect!”

In the photo, Peter’s eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was wide with smiley laughter. His head was tilted back while his cheeks glowed a gentle pink. He looked truly, genuinely happy; Stark could hardly believe it, especially compared to the slew of depressing shots taken previously.

Upon seeing the picture, the kid’s face burned. “No, no, please don’t use that.”

“Why not? You look so happy. It’s like you’re in an Old Navy ad.”

“But it’s…embarrassing,” he murmured.

Tony smiled softly. “No. It’s cute. Anyone who sees it will love it.”

“Not me…”

Stark sighed and faced the camera back towards the teenager. “Fine. I guess we’ll just have to keeping taking more until there’s one we both like.”

Without hesitating, he marched up to him, causing Peter to wince. “W-wait, what—?” Before he could get away, Stark scooped the kid into his arms and started drilling his tummy with tickles, kneading his fingers up and down his sides. The response was hysterical and instantaneous.

“Whaha—AHAHA NOHOHO! M-Mihihihister Stahahahark!” He kicked and squirmed and laughed like crazy, grappling at Tony’s wrists, his face bright and happy. “Stohohahap—wahahahait! Eheeheehahaha!”

“But this is the only way to make you smile normally,” Stark replied, chuckling at Peter’s adorable squirminess, “which would’ve been nice to know about a lot sooner. Now I know exactly how to cheer you up whenever you’re being a grouch.”

Peter managed to flail right out of his arms, but that only led to Tony pinning him to the ground and spidering his fingers underneath the kid’s T-shirt, scribbling his bare tummy in tickles. His laugher jumped in both volume and octave; his wriggling transformed into wild floundering.

“AHAHAHAHAAA!” he cried, whipping his head back and forth, bucking and squealing like a helpless piglet. “OHO SHIHIHIHITNOHOHOHAHAHA!”

“All we need is one good picture we both agree on, and then we’re done. Since you’re so picky, I’m trying to make sure we get every angle.”

“AHAHAHANY ONE! USE AHAHAHAHANY ONE! I DOHOHOHOHON’T C-CAHAHARE HAHAHA!” Tony’s evil hands clawed all over his ribs, belly, and underarms, driving the ticklish teen mad with giggles. “JUHUHAHAST STOHOHAHAHAHAP! MIHIHISTER STAHAHAHARK! EHEHAHAHAHA!”

When Stark saw tears flooding the poor kid’s eyes as he fought pathetically to escape, he finally let up. Peter was left in a bundle on the floor, panting with relief. Tony smiled down at the giggly hero. He was so cute, it almost made him sick.

“You think we got one you might like?” he chuckled.

“M-Mihihister Stahark…” he moaned, laughter still clinging to his words. “Whyhyhy…”

Tony sighed solemnly and offered him a hand. “Look, if you really don’t want your picture on the website, I won’t put one on there.”

Peter stared up and him, blinking in surprise.

“I can figure something else out. Maybe stick some silly graphic on it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Peter hesitantly accepted his help and stood, blushing at the floor. “N-no, it’s fine. Go ahead, I don’t care.”

“Yes you do.”

The teenager winced. Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Why? What’s got you so worried about it? 99% of the people who see your picture on there won’t even know you, and probably won’t pay it a second thought.”

“Yeah, but I…” He paused, licking his lips. “I don’t know. I’m used to seeing Spider-Man’s face online, in newspapers, whatever. It’s just freaky to think about my actual face on an important website, without my mask on.”

“Don’t you use Instagram and Snapchap or whatever? You post pics of your face on the Internet all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’m in control there. And my Instagram only has, like, eighty followers, so…” Peter scratched the back of his neck. “I just wish I could have my mask on for the photo. Could we do that instead? People would much rather see Spider-Man on your website than me.”

Stark’s heart tore as he stared down at the kid. At his center, Peter Parker was still just a teenager, with all fears and insecurities that came with it. Like any teenager, he’d much rather present a facade to the world than something authentic: his true self. Tony knew it could be scary. Releasing a slow breath, he placed his hand on his head and ruffled his hair.

“But they would be seeing Spider-Man. The real Spider-Man. The best part of Spider-Man.”

When Peter’s expression stayed stony, he fluttered his fingers against his neck, causing him to cringe and giggle.

“And I for one would much rather see Spider-Man’s smiling face than some dumb mask that hides it.”

Peter glanced up at him with a shy grin. It was the most endearing thing Stark had ever seen.

Tony walked back to the camera to look through the media. Not, of course, before snapping a quick photo once he was out of frame.

“Now come on. You pick which pic makes the final cut.”

…

As anticipated, the photo didn’t stir up much of a buzz. Peter did feel a bit like a celebrity among his friends, especially the ones who refused to believe that he worked with Tony Stark. Until now.

Peter would never admit that he actually liked the picture. And Tony would never admit that he had all the pictures from the laughter-filled photo shoot saved on his network, and that he would look at them as a choppy video sequence whenever he was feeling down.

[tietheknotweddings]

Holland Hall

All you need is love…we will take care of the rest. Holland Hall is an exclusive Grade II listed manor house dating back to 1654, with attractive gardens, provides a stunning backdrop for those all-important wedding photographs, whatever time of year. A bijou Hotel, Wedding & Events Venue nestled in the countryside in UpHolland . A discrete, exclusive and very private hidden gem, nestled in the picturesque West Lancashire Countryside and is accessible via a long driveway, adorned by luscious greenery and gardens, which leads onto a private car park with a charming stone fountain. Holland Hall is conveniently located just 2 miles from M6 and M58 motorways, near to Wigan and within easy reach of Liverpool and Manchester by road and rail. The stone pillared entrance leads to grand wooden doors that provide a dramatic entrance into the foyer. The modern entrance canopy, rolling land, private landscaped gardens, sweetheart swing, conservatory, garden bar and traditional pagoda create an idyllic backdrop for those forever photos. Elements of the original Baroque architecture balance perfectly with the recent refurbishment, creating a classic rustic charm throughout the bedrooms, wedding suites, lounges and traditional Victorian pub. Our contemporary designed and extremely versatile function suites provide a variety of spaces to suit a myriad of different requirements. The Terrace Suite is a large, elegant room flooded by natural light with access to the private garden area, with an exclusive garden bar and conservatory which has a retractable roof making it ideal for BBQ’s. The Garden Suite is a spacious and elegant room with a wall of bi-folding doors that open up to the terrace suite to create an increased capacity for 250 guests. Decorated with luxury handcrafted tiles, The Restaurant is a modern space accompanied by heritage fixtures, a French baroque bottle bar, wooden dancefloor, large shuttered glass doors that open onto the private patio area, and a small lounge breakout area. Looking for an outside ceremony? We also have our Garden Pergola and Forever yours' Ceremony Area. Offering an extremely versatile venue for your Wedding Day with unparalleled service and guaranteed discretion and privacy. Our dedicated brigade of personal chefs use only the freshest local produce to provide top quality cuisine bespoke to your needs. From a traditional Wedding Breakfast to a summer BBQ and even a late-night Hog Roast, we offer complete flexibility and can cater to all of your culinary needs. Our hotel accommodation comprises 26 luxury bedrooms, including feature rooms, suites and an apartment. Look no further, this really is the ultimate wedding venue for you to create your dream wedding. To book a viewing appointment, request a brochure & prices or check the availability of your desired date, please contact our dedicated weddings team. Exclusively yours…the hidden gem of West Lancs. Read the full article

[danwjlds]

Communion Wine

It's a small camp nestled in the middle of the woods. 

Yellow skinned wood and green shutters that have scattered leaves stuck in their hinges. Everything is immaculate in it's design. Perfectly a replica of what they promised in their brochures. 

Far away from society and far away from the temptations that will make the young children of the 1970's generation stray away from the one true God. 

Even from the back of the car, she can feel her parents satisfaction at the camp fulfilling what they had promised. She digs her nails further into the palms of her hands, blood sticking underneath her nails and clogging her life-line with thin spirals of red.

Her mom's lipstick stains the crown of her forehead as she pulls away from the kiss she leaves there. There's a frown on her mother's face, like she wants to say something but can't find the right words to express her inner thoughts. So, instead of talking, she remains silent and fingers the cross around her neck instead.

"This will be good for you. Cleanse you of the plaguing sins," They say at the orientation. 

A man standing before them, dressed in a crisp back shirt with a faint white smearing at the gullet of his throat. He paces to look them all in the eyes, staring into their unforgiveable souls. He holds a bible tightly in his sun-spotted hands, slapping it gently against his palm as he speaks the words of their disgusting choices.

He believes in what he is saying - that much is obvious.

Twenty or so teenagers are crammed into a tiny bunking space. Girls placed with girls, boys places with boys, even though that seems counterproductive to the message they're trying to achieve. Apparently, sex out of wedlock is more of a sin that being a homosexual.

Every day they're brought to a small church that's tucked into the corner of the camp ground. White wood with a pointed roof and stained glass windows. There's tight-lipped boys that serves as ushers, hands clasped tightly in front of themselves as they speak about how they had been saved from their previous sickness. 

Their eyes tell their true words, but no one dares to call out their bluff.

Her knees ache with all of the kneeling. Hands pressed tightly together in front of her face as a thumb dusts holy water across her forehead in a cross. Smooth voice reading a verse that she forgets as soon as it's finished.

Even amongst the conversion, she still finds her stares lingering. On the girls who walk stiffly around in her cabin. All smooth thighs and plump lips. Dainty pale ankles from having to wear socks every Sunday, and nails trimmed down accordingly. Hair always done up in a pony-tail or curled loosely by their collarbones - hairstyles fitting for a woman to attract a male counterpart.

The body of Christ melts against her tongue as she is fed it every morning. Just like she is gripped by the throat and told to speak about her sins in confessional. About how she still dreams of women and being in-between their thighs and kissing their breasts as they sigh so softly in her ear.

Months pass by like this. Until, one day during mid-morning mass, a burning smell begins to waft upwards into the air. Causing a disruption of attention from where they had all been listening to the words of Genesis 19. 

The flames lick up the sides of the church. The stained glass doors locked from the outside to keep Christ inside, as angry chants echo in the air. Hateful, spiteful words are shouted from the mob outside the church. 

During this, a girl beside her, no older than fourteen, begins to pray to a God that doesn't even love her, to provide her safety.

Flesh begins to burn around her. Alongside the screams of terror and agony. She is so hyper focused on trying to listen to the pounding of her heart to make sure that's she's still alive, that she doesn't notice whenever the flames lick upside the cotton that makes up her Sunday best dress wear.

Agony courses through her veins, and she's on the floor, rolling in the flames as they eat at her. Others are screaming and the smoke is heavy in the air but the chants from outside continue. Condemning them all to Hell for their sodomy - for thinking they could ever be saved.

When the flames stop alongside the screams, and the beams of the church that had once made up the pointed ceiling are on the ground beside her, do the doors of the church open. She remains still, staring up with cloudy pupils at Jesus' face that still lingers. Her body is nothing but char. 

A pair of hands grasp her from the burnt remains that make up the church floor. Pressing sharp points into the side of her throat, digging into the remaining flesh there. A new agony starts, not from the bite of those teeth, but because she knows this is just another chance at a redemption she'll never truly receive.

Her bare feet slid against the floor of the church, toes bumping against the wood that had once made up the twelve pews that had been neatly places. The sunlight blares into her eyes as they drag her body outside, making her clench her eyelids tightly closed, trying to not see the light above. 

She can still feel herself burning. Can still feel the flames kissing the side of her face like the girl she had been caught caressing in her childhood bedroom. 

As she's taken away from the remains of her baptism, where she was told she'd be reborn into another innocent child of God, she can still taste the communion wine in the back of her throat.

- R.G.

[reddieforakiss]

can u pretty please do either a sleepover realization of feels for reddie or just them being adorable and in love at school?? i would love that sm:))

Love the sleep over idea!! also holdin’ onto the school idea for later <3

We Belong (belong together)

//A Reddie Sleepover Fic (rated T) 

- the boys are 17// content warning for light underage drinking and passionate smoochin

- 3,669 WORDS

( this song will come in handy to get the full feel later on in the fic, so i suggest you listen to it either before, during, or after)

———————————————————————

  It was a Saturday night and Richie Tozier was straightening his room, Eddie  was coming over soon and he wanted the room to look nice (well as nice as a mess like that it could be). Richie and Eddie had sleep overs almost every weekend since they were in sixth grade when Eddies mom decided he was finally old enough to have them. They always planned their sleepovers for Saturdays so they could spend the day together as well as the night, opposed to purely nights after a long day of school on Friday. It always went as following: Eddie came over at 3pm, they talked until in got dark out (god they could talk for hours), walked down to the convenience store around 9pm and headed back to the house to eat their snacks and drink their booze. Paul, a scrawny red head riddled with acne, worked at the store and would let Richie buy beers with his not so convincing fake ID. In exchange Richie would try and “set Paul up” with girls he knew, none of which ever working out to Paul’s disappointment. Some nights he and Eds would do an activity like see a movie, or go to a shitty concert, but it was a rare occasion because both of them would have to save up their allowances for weeks to afford it.

The time was now 2:54pm and Richie heard a knock at the door, he jolted his head up from the electric cords he was fiddling with, a new record player. Richie shoved the rest of the filth under his bed and jogged out of his room to open the door. Right when Eddie was about to knock again, Richie swung the door open and posed in the frame of it, “couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”.  Eddie laughed and rolled his eyes, his pale blue duffle bag slung over his shoulder, “Oh i absolutely could not, I missed by husband”, he smiled up at Richie and stepped inside, Richie blushes stupidly. Richie and Eddie had always flirted as a joke but recently it was starting to make Richie feel,, well he didn’t know how it made him feel but it was just different. Richie shut the front door and  Eddie lead the way back to Richie’s room, throwing his bag on Richie’s bed and flopping down on it. “Parents not home?”, Eddie said, staring up at Richie’s navy blue ceiling. “You know it babe”, Richie laughed and sat on his bed next to Eddie. “So whats the plan tonight?”, Eddie sat up and looked at Richie smiling. “Ah just the usual, but i was thinking we could be a little wild and order Chinese rather than gorging gas station treats”, Richie wiggled his eyebrows and Eddie giggled. “OhhhH fancy!”, he grabbed his bag and placed it on his lap. “Well”, Eddie rummaged through the duffle and pulled out 3 VHS tapes, “I got some new movies from the video rental and i figured we could watch one”. Eddie held up all three chunky cases,  Say Anything, Sixteen Candles, and The Princess Bride,, all romances Richie noticed. “Ew why all the romance Eds, you trynna say something?”, Richie had really hoped he was, Eddie looked flushed but Richie figured it was the lighting. “No, they just happen to be good movies, asshole”, he set them down on the bed between them and pointed to Say Anything, “I really wanna watch that one, Bev says its good. But”, he pointed to The Princess Bride, “I know you like adventure so i grabbed that one too”. “How thoughtful my spaghetti man, but i’m feeling nice so we can watch your lame one”, Richie smiled down at Eddie, he still towered over the boy in their teenage years. “Okay first off its not lame, its romantic. And secondly, im sure you could use some pointers so take notes you fuckin’ anti-romeo.”. Richie laughed and picked up the VHS case and walked over to the small dingy TV that was across from his bed. Eddie got up and held onto Richie’s shirt sleeve, grab me more, “Not yet! I wanna watch it tonight with dinner!”. “Okay fine”, Richie walked back over to the bed and patted beside him, “Lets just chill then”. Eddie walked back over and they laid down next to each other and talked about the week.

As hours passed, their positions changed. At first they laid side by side, Richie’s hand twitching and aching to reach over and grab Eddies, he didn’t know why. Soon Eddie scootched over and rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, Richie’s curly hair like a pillow for him, smells good. When Eddie was close to Richie he always felt safe, like a wave of warmth and calm would wash over him, it made him want to be even closer. When Eddie got the courage to rest his head on Richie’s chest, both their bodies tensed up. Why did they feel like that, why did they feel so starved of touch all of a sudden, why did they crave more. Eddie nuzzled in which warranted a shuttered exhale from the taller boy. Soon Richie’s hands were playing with Eddies hair and tangling his long spidery fingers through it. so soft. Without realizing it, they had both gone silent as conversation faded and focus was directed to touch. This is what close friends do. Close friends make each other feel safe, make each others chests feel warm and arms tense,, right? They had gone about thirty minutes without talking and Richie looked out the window near his bed, it was dark. For Richie, the comfortable silence became an anxious one and he croaked quietly, “H-hey wanna go to the Convenient Mart?”. Eddie looked up at him lazily from his chest with his long eye lashes, his lips looked so soft. what the fuck. Eddie smiled and pushed himself off Richie, stretching, “Mhm! Lets head!”. Eddie bounced off the bed and was already scrambling to get his shoes. Richie was slower but he got up eventually and before they knew it they were out the door. “Remember”, Richie cautioned, “4 bottle limit, and, tonight we are ordering Chinese so no snacks”. “You got it chief!”, Eddie ran ahead giddily and looked back to smile at Richie. “Come on ‘Chee! Wanna make it home soon so we can watch the movie”. Richie grinned and ran to catch up to Eddie. 

At the Mart they both waved hello to Paul and went straight to the back to look at the liquor. Rule was they got two each, which meant they had to choose wisely. Richie always liked the sweet stuff because he would always be a child at heart, while Eddie preferred light Mexican beers. Richie studied the back of each bottle, trying to find one with the highest alcohol content. He knew drinking shouldn’t be just for the buzz of being drunk, but the buzz sure was fun and it helped as an excuse for any weird shit he did. maybe if he got drunk he could try and figure his feelings out about Eddie. The logic was poor but Richie was desperate for answers. He ended up with some hard lemonade and some, probably shitty, raspberry flavored beer. Eddie got two Carona Lights, and they met at the counter to check out. Richie checked out and chatted it up with Paul about his latest encounters while Eddie walked out to use the payphone and call to order the Chinese. Earlier Richie had given Eddie the Brochure for the place so Eddie had folded it and put it in his fanny pack, Eddie stepped into the booth and rang the number. He ordered some noodle dish for himself and orange chicken for Richie, it was his known favorite. Eddie also ordered some potstickers, a large bottle of coke and extra fortune cookies. Eddie was giving the woman on the phone Richie’s home address as Richie stepped out of the store, Eddie held up his finger to silently say “one minute”. When Eddie hung up and walked out of the booth Richie snaked his arm around Eddies to link their elbows and the two began to walk. “How much was the Chinese?’, Richie asked as they came around a corner. “Just 17 dollars, nothin to sweat over”, Eddie shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t being held up by Richie’s grip due to their height difference. “I think i got some cash under my bed we can pay for it with”. “No don’t be silly Rich you know the deal, i pay for entertainment and food, you pay for booze and host”. “I know i know”, Richie sighed lightly when they arrived at his house and he unlocked the front door, “Just wanna be a gentleman for my Eds, thats all”. Richie held the door open for Eddie and let him go in first, making a show of it all, Eddie rolled his eyes and laughed. They brought the bag of booze to Richie’s room and put it on the floor, Richie grabbed the VHS of Say Anything, and cued it up to watch by the time the food arrived. Some dick who had rented it previously had not rewinded the tape which meant Richie had to unwind it, closing his eyes as not to get any spoilers. When the food arrived, Richie was still unwinding the tape so Eddie got the door and tipped the driver. Eddie brought in the takeout bag and plopped down on the floor next to Richie, close enough that it made Richie’s skin prickle. It had gone to the beginning and Richie paused it looking over at the food and grabbing towards it, Eddie slapped his hands away, “Nu-uh Richie let me set this up so you don’t make a big mess like you always do”. Richie made an exaggerated frown, “okay wifey”, he reached over to grab the booze bag and unpack it. Richie fished his pocket opener out of the pocket of his jeans and popped open his hard lemonade and one of Eddies Caronas. Eddie meanwhile was unpacking the food and laying it out as nice as he could in front of them, he had the shimmy the food boxes to nestle them into the carpet. If they spilt it would be a sticky and colorful mess, and Eddie knew he’d have to clean it up if he didn’t want it to be there forever. Richie looked over, “Ohh! Orange chicken! my favorite!!”, Richie leaned over and kissed Eddies shoulder. wait. why did. why did he just do that. They both tensed up but kept talking as to not make it a weird moment, thats just what friends do, they both thought. They scootched back against the side of Richie’s mattress and pressed play, Eddie giddy to see the movie that Bev had continuously raved about. A few minutes in and Richie had already finished his food and more than half the potstickers, Eddie on the other hand was slowly slurping his noodles in between sips of beer. Richie nursed his hard lemonade and rested his head on Eddies shoulder, already feeling his filter fade and a buzz come on. Despite his height, that boy was a lightweight, in fact they both were, Eds being tiny in every way and Richie just being a total bean pole. By the time things were becoming even slightly romantic Eddie was feeling nervous, staring all too often between the screen and Richie’s big mop of hair that lay on his shoulder. Why did he care? He had schoolboy crushes on Richie his whole life yea but, but they were never more than that. He had gotten over him and Richie never had to know, the boy being obviously straight after all. obviously. No one knew Eddie was gay anyways, and he was planning on waiting until college. Richie was just a friend, just a friend who made him feel things, a friend who-. Richie sighed and nuzzled deeper into Eddies shoulder. Shit. Feelings had faded or so he thought and now, god now he felt giddy all over again for his best friend, his straight best friend. Richie was oblivious to Eddies feelings, too focused on his own fidgity body. Eddie was so warm, so nice. Richie didnt know what it meant, he never felt like that before for anyone other than Eddie. Was this how best friendship feels? are you supposed to want to kiss your best friend? i mean moms kiss their little kids and we are like family so,,. Richie tried to justify it any way he could, the real answer right in front of him yet so easily unseen. 

When the infamous boom box scene played, they had both finished off all their drinks and food besides the fortune cookies. Richie sighed as Lloyd held up the boombox, “He shouldnta gone back for her, she’s a biTch.”. “Richie!”, Eddie teasingly yelled and swatted at the boys head which had somehow found itself resting on Eddies lap. Richie turned from the screen looked up at Eddie with furrowed brows, “But Eds he did his very best and she just gave em a pen”. Eddie smiled down sweetly at Richie, drunk on beer and his good looks, “Sometimes people don’t always do the right thing at first Rich, sometimes people get scared”, he pushed Richie’s hair back off of his face. “if i was in love id never be scared, id stay for ever ever”, Richie frowned. “Not all of us can be brave like you Rich”, Eddies heart ached a little when he smiled down at the boy. “Yeh, imma real Romeo. But to be fair i never been in love so i dunno how hard it is”, He fingered at the folds of eddies pajama pants and turned his face inward to face eddies stomach. god slightly drunk Richie is like a baby. “Mm yea its harder when you’re in love”, the melancholy in Eddies voice luckily unheard by Richie. “Eds whats it feel like?”, Richie looked back up at Eddie like a little kid asking to hear a bedtime story. “Well, it”, he started cautiously, “its hard to explain. Love is hard to explain because well we all feel it differently. I think i’ve been in love but im not sure, its hard to know sometimes”, he brushed his hand through Richie’s hair. Richie furrowed his brows again, “Well how does you’re ‘maybe love’ feel?”. Eddie paused for a moment. “It feels good, but aches at the same time. Its this feeling deep inside of you that makes you never want to let go of that person.” thats how Richie felt, fuck. “ Its this little part of your brain that just, just tells you to do things and you don’t know why. Love is feeling safe in someones arms.” i think i love you Eddie “Love is wanting the best in the world for someone. Love is wanting to give every piece of yourself away if it means that it would make that person smile. Love i-”. Richie leaned up and kissed Eddie. Eddie went stiff and his mouth hung open. why did Richie do that. Richie looked scared, Eddie would hate him. “R-Richie, why did you do that”, Eddie wanted to cry as he looked away from Richie. he was so fucking scared, scared it was all a joke, it was always a joke with Richie. Richie sat up quickly and turned away from Eddie, arms wrapping around his own huddled up knees. “Im sorry Eddie”, the shame rang high in his voice, his mind suddenly all too sober.  “Its just, you were describing it and i, i, i”, he was choking back tears, “Ive been so confused lately and i, i didn’t know what these feelings meant and, i think,”. His tone dropped dead serious with fear, ‘Eddie i think i love you”. Eddies tears began to fall now, dripping down his face. “Richie you idiot”, a smile present in his voice, “i love you too. Richie i was describing you”. “Really?”, disbelief yet a song of hope sang in Richies voice. Richie turned around to be surprised with an embrace. They were both crying like dorks. Eddie began to kiss Richie’s tears away, trailing up and down and Richie did the same, both touching each other like they’d always wanted to but were too afraid to admit to until now. Eddie held onto Richie like he was a lifesaver, held onto him like his life depended on it. He never wanted to let go, Richie didn’t either. They calmed and held each other closely like that for a while. 

Richie spoke up, “Hey Eddie”. Eddie looked up with a red, tear stained face. cute. “yeah Rich?”, he smiled weak and warm. “Can i show ya something?”. Eddie nodded and let go of Richie so he could get up. Eddie sat on the ground and saw Richie walk over to the record player and dig around in his giant pile of records looking for the right one. After a while of searching to no avail Eddie giggled, “Need any help there?”, “No no i got it hold your horses,, Ah! Here!”. Richie set the record down, flipped the switch and put the needle at the start of the song he wanted. 

♫♬Many times I tried to tell youMany times I cried aloneAlways I’m surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone♫♬

Eddie got up and walked over to Richie who had turned to him with a smile. He held onto Richie and Richie offered out a hand for Eddie to take, so he took it.

♫♬Don’t want to leave you reallyI’ve invested too much time to give you up that easy♫♬

Eddie nestled his head into Richie’s shoulder and they rocked back and fourth to the beat.

♫♬To the doubts that complicate your mind♫♬

The music picked up and Richie began to spin Eddie around the room, swaying lazily in what could barely be called and dance. His hand was around Eddies waist and Eddies on his shoulder while their other hands remained clasped together.

♫♬We belong to the light, we belong to the thunderWe belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen underWhatever we deny or embrace for worse or for betterWe belong, we belong, we belong together♫♬

They both started to tear up again and held onto one another, their grips tightening in fear of loosing any contact at all. It was all Eddie had ever dreamed of, it was all Richie never knew he needed. 

♫♬Maybe it’s a sign of weakness when I don’t know what to sayMaybe I just wouldn’t know what to do with my strength anywayHave we become a habit? Do we distort the facts?♫♬

Richie danced Eddie down onto his bed and laid him down, looking over a tear stained, smiling and breathless Eddie. 

♫♬Now there’s no looking forwardNow there’s no turning back♫♬

Richie bent down in a buzzed confidence and kissed Eddie, this time with no questioning in his touch. This time he was so fucking sure of what he wanted and Eddie was too.

♫♬When you say We belong to the light, we belong to the thunderWe belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen underWhatever we deny or embrace for worse or for betterWe belong, we belong, we belong together♫♬

They kissed more and the music faded out from their ears, minds too focused on one another. The softer kisses turned into a starving passion of touchings and hums. Eddies arms snaked their way around Richie’s neck and pulled him down closer so Richie was on top of him, the contact they had both always needed. Hands were lazily drifting all over, touching and exploring, needing to feel everything and anything the other had to offer. Eddie scooted back so he could be all the way on the bed and Richie got up to walk around his bed and put his glasses on the night stand. He eagerly jumped back into bed which made Eddie giggle and go to kiss him again. Their cheeks were burning and so were their touches, fingers like searing fires on one another’s skin, a welcomed warmth. Eddie licked into Richie’s mouth and Richie obliged granting access, Richie moaned load from this which made Eddie hold onto him tighter. Eddie moved his fingers through Richie’s curly black hair and grabbed it a little too hard, earning an even louder moan from the boy which made Eddie smile into his mouth. Richie grasped at the bottom of Eddies shirt and tried to pull it up, Eddie disconnected and pulled it off. Before he reconnected with Richie he just stared at the boy, flush cheeks and swollen lips, fuck he was beautiful. Eddie moved close again and tried to pull off Richie’s shirt, being surprisingly successful without any of Richie’s help. Their bare chests touched, warm contact that sent an electric shock through their systems. So much more to feel, so soft, so rough, hot touches all over. Richie bent down to kiss and nip at Eddies neck and Eddie purred at the wetness of his mouth. “R-rich”, Eddie struggled out before Richie could move back to his lips, “Hm?” Richie looked up at him. “I think its time for bed”, he kissed Richie’s forehead. “oh, OH, sorry yea too fast”, Richie pulled away. Eddie closed the gap again, “aha no not too fast, just not sober ya know? wanna take in every new moment”. “mmm” Richie kissed Eddies lips lightly, “Makes sense”. Richie grabbed some pillows and dragged them underneath their heads. Eddie nuzzled his face in the crook of Richie’s neck and held onto him like a koala bear, legs wrapped around him and everything. Richie kissed Eddies hair, “I love you”, Eddie smiled up, “I love you too”.

[technogeekstmr]

Global PVC Crash Door Market Size, Share, Growth Rate, Industry Analysis and Global Forecast – 2027

PVC Crash Door Market Introduction

PVC crash doors are commonly used as a practical and effective option to prevent heat loss. They are also sometimes referred to as swing doors. PVC crash doors are used in a wide range of applications such as hospitals, postal sorting offices, and industrial units to warehouses and cold storage. In cold storage, PVC crash doors help to prevent hot or cold air escaping from the room in which they have been placed. PVC crash doors can be custom made depending on the requirement of the buyer. The doors work by using a spring mechanism that slides into a vertical tube and this unit can be adjusted to cater to varying draught and traffic conditions.

PVC crash doors are the perfect solution to reduce heat loss and noise pollution in the workplace. In open areas, energy is often wasted. Almost one third of energy is saved using strip doors in some walk-in cooler applications. PVC crash doors help to achieve cost saving against energy loss in heated or cooled sites. Besides, these doors are durable and traffic-friendly. This ensures a cleaner and safer environment by avoiding dust, contaminants, odor, and sound through the door. Many options available in stainless stain frameworks for the PVC crash doors are also popular. Panels of PVC doors can be colored, fire retardant, or anti-insect to offer the best solutions with sound insulation as well as thermal insulation. This helps to preserve food at low temperature. The most affordable one allows maximum visibility.

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The framework of PVC crash doors offer either a Multiflex or Interflex framed house with a vertical spring unit mechanism loaded at the top of each door tube. The mechanism has adjustable tension with a double action torsion spring unit concealed in the door frame. The PVC crash door are UV resistant & weatherproof with outstanding isolating capabilities, temperature resistant & easy to clean features.

PVC Crash Door Market- Competitive Landscape

ARROW Industrial Group

Incorporated in 1986, ARROW is manufacturer, supplier and installer of specialist doors and services for industrial, retail and commercial applications. The company also manufactures client specific doors depending upon which sector it is retail, food production, pharmaceutical complexes, manufacturing and distribution.

AA Industrial Door Co Ltd,

Established in 1991, the company has vast range of products which are compliant with ADIA legislation and CE marking

Syston Rolling Shutters Ltd

With over 90 years of experience in installation of doors along with after sales service. The product portfolio ranges from industrial doors to rolling shutters.

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PAR Group

About 30 years of experience serving clients in the UK, Europe and Worldwide. The company is well known for our providing solutions to unusual and difficult applications in rubber and plastic engineering. The wide range of industries which is served by this company includes food and pharmaceutical, water treatment, power generation, chemical, brewing, mining and quarrying, aerospace, packaging, recycling and distribution.

DP Doors & Shutters Ltd.,

Incorporated in 1997, this company have several years experience in the manufacturing, installation and repairs and maintenance of roller shutters and doors for industrial, food processing and commercial applications. The company also take care of services for either new build, or refurbishment.

The other key players in the market are HAG, AA Industrial Door Co Ltd, Oriel Windows Pvt. Ltd., and Flexible Door Technology, and others.

PVC Crash Door Market Dynamics

Innovation in technology had lead add on features like remote control with receiver, microwave radar, magnetic loop detector, pull cord switch, key switch, additional push button etc. Rapid growth in the commercial sector is the major factor contributing to the PVC crash doors market. Significant growth in the pharmaceutical industry, chemical, and food and beverage industry is also leading to increased demand for PVC crash doors. Demand for PVC crash doors is anticipated to grow during the forecast period as companies are increasing their storage units to keep their goods safe and protected from environmental hazards. Rising concerns regarding health and safety across all end-use industries is compelling them to substitute the old systems with new ones, thereby triggering the PVC crash doors market.

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PVC Crash Door Market Segmentation

Based on framework material type, the market can be segmented into

GRP

Powder coated steel

Zinc plated steel

Stainless steel

Based on panel type, the market can be segmented as

PVC

Rubber

Combination of the two

Based on application, the market can be segmented as

Factories

Supermarkets/ Retail Units

Hospitals and healthcare

Cold stores

Food preparation areas

Pharmaceutical units

The report offers a comprehensive evaluation of the market. It does so via in-depth qualitative insights, historical data, and verifiable projections about market size. The projections featured in the report have been derived using proven research methodologies and assumptions. By doing so, the research report serves as a repository of analysis and information for every facet of the market, including but not limited to: Regional markets, technology, types, and applications.

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[hillnerd]

Taking a Shallow Breath- Ch 1

|Harry Potter | Fanfiction | PG-13 | in-progress | Chapter: 2398 words

Ships: Rose/Scorpius, canon and others | Fanfiction.net link

 Summary: It's the day of the wedding, and Scorpius is getting panicked. Sometimes people just need to take a breath, grow a pair, and get married to the one you love- despite all the hitches along the way. 

Romance friendship comedy family & drama

| Next Chapter

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Author’s note: So I started this forever ago and started working on it again. I’m going to start posting it and other fics/drabbles I’ve done on here. :) 

Scorpius took a shallow breath as the music began to play. What would normally be a cheerful throng seemed more like the screams of a banshee as the organist played with eloquence. Was he the only one hearing a distant screaming noise? Everything felt wrong as Rose walked down the aisle. She was more beautiful than ever, which made him blanch.

She was holding a bouquet of blue hydrangeas which almost perfectly matched her own blue eyes. He wanted to kick himself for helping her pick them out. He had sat beside her as they picked out flowers, chose where the wedding would be, picked the music, brought in his own mother to help with choosing the bridesmaids dresses. In truth, he had only volunteered so he'd have a chance to smell her hair as she enthusiastically flipped through brochures, and watch her eyes twinkle as she found 'the one' of everything from place cards, to the ridiculous canapés. It was his fault she looked so happy, and everything was going to go perfectly. He gave an irritated cough.

She had decided to do something alluring with her hair he hadn't foreseen. There was an enticing tendril of red hair gently touching her pale neck.

"Oh God," he heard himself mutter through gritted teeth. "I can't do this."

Al surreptitiously shot him a perturbed look.

"Of course you can!" He managed to say this without moving his lips.

Scorpius felt his face paling as cold sweat trailed down his back. He gave a quick shake of his head. Luckily everyone seemed oblivious to his turmoil, save the ever supportive Al.

Albus smiled as Rose and her father were yards away from the altar. Scorpius couldn't do more than swallow, and give a glance to his best friend. He looked calm, as if Scorpius wasn't about to throw everything into upheaval and make the whole Weasley-Potter clan hate him, yet Al was perfectly at ease with this prospect. He had been the one to encourage this course of action in the first place.

"There's no way I can stop this wedding… Rose will never forgive me, and your Uncle will kill me." Scorpius' hair was askew from all the times he had frantically clenched it in his fists.

"Just wait for the priest to say 'speak now or forever hold your peace,' and then say something. Hell, you can grunt and throw things and people will get the point," Al said with a grin Scorpius couldn't reciprocate.

"I shouldn't have waited til today… I should have told her months ago…"

"Well, you didn't, and now it's a bit late. She'll understand… you know… eventually. Though I think you'll have most of the congregation to worry about more than Rose."

"But on the wedding day? This isludicrous… People never speak when the priest says that. They know better! They have weddings interrupted-"

"You mean called off-"

"-called off before the actual wedding day. I could have talked this out right after the engagement."

"Or maybe even before it," Al added, crossing his arms.

"She was so happy… I just wanted her to stay that way."

"She won't be happy in the long run if that wedding goes as planned and she's married to a wanker who could never really love her fully."

Rose had reached the altar with her father, who seemed unable to fully let go of her arm, until she gave his side a prod. Abashed, Mr. Weasley let go of his only daughter's arm and went to his place next to his wife, who was giving him a look that promised a dispute later. She had no idea she'd be busy trying to kill Scorpius later.

The tiny priest walked up the soon-to-be-wed couple, and spread his arms wide.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today…"

Somehow the sound had cut out, but no one seemed to notice other than Scorpius. His eyes frantically darted between the priest, Rose, her parents, and the ceiling. He'd never been overtly religious, but he felt himself praying someone strike him down with a lightning bolt to end his torment. Rose gave him a warm smile, which made his sense of guilt mature into full-fledged self-hate. Scorpius felt his chest constrict. His breath come out in a wheeze. Al gave him a worried look.

"Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, they must speak now or forever hold their peace."

He couldn't make a noise as the priest allowed for a brief perfunctory pause. Al gave him a nudge, but no sound would come out of his mouth. The priest gestured to continue the ceremony, when Scorpius felt a burgeoning cough building in his lungs and gasped. He willed himself to say something, but instead a fit of wheezing coughs came out.

"Are you ok?" he heard Al whisper.

Rose, looking pale and pristine, gave him a look of concern, as did a number of people. He had to keep them from getting wed with something other than a cough, but before he could manage one syllable, he gave a heaving gasp, as everything suddenly went black as he fell into oblivion.

"-and I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Oh! You're awake!"

"W- what?"

He was lying on a lumpy mattress with scratchy white sheets. The large darkened room had a solitary lamp giving of a faint orangey glow, while a clock chimed noon. The shuttered windows made what could have been an airy room, stuffy. How he had gotten here, he wasn't sure. The last thing he remembered was-

"The wedding!" he said, trying to sit up, but a pair of small, forceful hands pushed him down.

"Lay back down, Scorpius."

He looked over to see Lily and Al standing over him.

"What happened?" he asked from his prone position.

"You flummoxed it up," said Al without much sympathy.

"He didn't flummox anything up," Lily said, giving Al a painful swat. "You had an asthma attack and passed out. Apparently you are very allergic to something in the chapel."

"It was probably those stupid flower arrangements next to each pew," Al added.

"Where are we?"

"St Mungo's."

"It's a good thing Lily's a Healer. Otherwise we might have been attending your funeral later this week."

"We would have saved on floral arrangements by just recycling the ones that offed him," Lily said with a smile. "That would have been terribly ironic."

"Where's Rose?" Scorpius suddenly asked.

"Getting herself some tea."

"They didn't go on with it?" Scorpius couldn't keep himself from beaming.

"Of course not. 'I can't get married without my best friends here,' she said." Al gave a fairly good impression of Rose, perfectly miming the way she exaggeratedly flapped her arms when she was upset. "Her git of a fiancé tried to talk her into going through it without us, saying how much it would cost, how it'd inconvenience everyone, and how their timed Portkeys took forever to arrange and were non-refundable."

"Brandon is not a git," Lily said in a well-practiced way. 

"Of course he's a git," Albus added with finality. Lily rolled her eyes.

"Anyways, she said it didn't matter what inconvenience it would be, and followed us to the hospital in her wedding dress. Left Brandon to deal with the guests and took the Floo here. She's been by your bed for the last few hours, covered in soot, and looking a fright."

"Gee, thanks, Lily,” came a voice.

Rose was standing in the doorway. She was precariously holding a cup of tea in one hand, and the sooty mass of her wedding train in another. As she trudged up to Scorpius' bed, and threw herself into the seat beside it, her hair was falling into its usual wild fashion of red curls, making his palms sweat.

"Are you doing all right?"

With her sitting so closely, he wasn't sure.

"He's fine," Lily answered for him.

"Good," Rose said, letting out a breath of air.

"You owe me almost a thousand galleons for all the food, flowers, venue and Portkeys, Scorpius," she said, before taking a loud sip of tea, her expression stoic.

"You don't think your fiance can pay for it?" Scorpius said with a short laugh.

"Oh, he can. But you're the one who stalled it by being a pansy."

She had a mischievous twitch of a smirk curling her lips.

"A pansy?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I'll make it up to you," he replied with as much bravado Lily would allow him. She gave a stern Healer's stare from where she stood.

"Oh, I know you'll make it up to me. You're going to help me with the organizing of my wedding again, only this time, you're footing the bill for it," giving him a fond smile Scorpius knew she only used with him. His mind suddenly went whirring into the wonderful thought of helping her with a wedding, only this time with him as the groom.

"And we only have five days to pull it off."

She tried and failed to blow a curl out of her face, as both hands were preoccupied with the tea and yards of once white fabric threatening to spill onto his bed. Considering how sooty her dress was, he wasn't sure which held the greater menace.

It took a moment to register she still was going to get married to Brandon Bradley. She didn't even call him by his first name. She had made a nickname of his last name. Who marries someone when they aren't on a first name basis?

"So, five days to marry Brad, is it?" The name stuck in the back of his throat like a hunk of sanitized gauze.

"That's the longest we can put off the wedding with Brad's family having to go back to Scotland, France, and everywhere else they're from."

She unsuccessfully tried to move the curl on her furrowed brown with the inside of her arm. Before he could stop himself Scorpius held up a hand and pushed the hair behind her ear. His stomach flipped. Did she notice how his hand lingered there a bit longer than it should?

"Look," he began, hoping his all-business tone would make her stay oblivious. "We can't pull off a giant wedding in that amount of time."

"We have to!" Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration as best she could. "Scorpius, you're my best friend. If you were a girl, you would have been the maid of honour. Now, the maid of honour is supposed to help with the plans-"

"I'm not feeling very maid-ish right now. It's an impossible task. We can't-"

"Of course we can!" Al interrupted, speaking up for the first time since Rose had entered the room. A terribly gleeful smile lit his face. What was he playing at?

"But-" Scorpius said, giving him a dubious look, "five days just isn't enough time to do it."

"Five days will be perfect,” Al said, grabbing the tea from Rose’s hand and setting it on the floor. "But first, our bride-to-be needs to go and get on some normal clothes," 

"Al, what-?" Rose protested as he wrenched her out of the chair, pushing her towards the door.

"Seriously, giant lint balls are of no use planning a wedding. Now go put on some clothes, comfort Bert-"

"Brad," she protested.

"That's it. Comfort old what's-his-name, then meet us up at my place for wedding plans around two. We'll have food and everything. There we go!" he said, before firmly shutting the door.

"Fine, but it had better be Indian food," she called through the door.

They listened to her footsteps going down the hall, her dress getting caught on a gurney and ripping, and Rose cursing as only the spawn of Ron Weasley could, before Lily exclaimed:

"What was that?"

"Ok, so we all know you love Rose, right?" Al’s disturbing grin hadn't left his face. 

Lily looked on aghast.

"Wait, you love-"

"Well, now 'we all' know," Scorpius muttered, as Lily stared at them with wide eyes.

"Whatever," Al said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's just Lily. So! You help her plan the wedding."

"Yeah… Your point being…"

"Don't you get  it? You'll be spending all this time with her, only this time, you take a shallow breath, grow a pair, seduce her, and then celebrate YOUR wedding! It's the perfect plan!"

Al gave them a moment to let the sheer brilliance sink in.

"That is the stupidest plan I've ever heard," Lily said with the bluntness of a bludger.

"Well what do you suggest, Lilibeast? Let me guess, 'tell her how you feel.'"

"Well, yes! And don't call me Lilibeast."

"Or, at the best, you can get the wedding called off by one of them. Doesn't matter who, as long as they don't want to get married."

"Al, that is the most... Gryffindor plan I've ever heard," Scorpius said with a shake of his head.

"It's brilliant, I know it."

"No. It's Gryffindor stupid, Al," Lily said, crossing her arms.

"Oh, come on! It'll work. We just need to help him!"

"You think this plan is insensate enough to function?" asked Scorpius with a short laugh.

"Well, I don't know what insensate means, but yeah. It'll function."

"Insensate means stupid, Al. This 'plan' is stupid," Lily added.

"Yeah, but it's stupid enough to work."

"Well, it won't work without me helping," said Lily, a determined look on her face. "Scorpius is going to need all the help his pale little self can get."

"So, what do you say, Scorpius? You going to go and win back the love of your life?"

Albus and Lily turned to him with inquisitive gazes.

"Er… yeah."

"With conviction like that he's sure to win her over," said Al flatly. "Don't bite my arm off with the enthusiasm, already. With us on your side, we can't fail!"

"That's right," said Lily in a prospective bracing manner. It fell flat as her smile couldn't seem to lift all the way at the corners of her mouth, but somehow Scorpius felt a bit bolstered. "You can't fail."

"If that Berthold character marries her, I'll just have to kill you. So what will it be? Death, or Rosie?"

"Rose," said Scorpius, though death looked to be the easier task to undertake.

| Next Chapter

[jwood719]

Looking at the Old Railroads, August 2017: Nebraska Zephyr at the Illinois Railway Museum.

A return trip!  O.K. not unusual, I suppose, but that I returned only a few weeks after my initial visit to the Illinois Railway Museum is unusual.  Normally, my returns come with rather longer intervals.

However, having again looked up IRM’s website some time in July I think (for why I can’t recall), I saw that Burlington’s Nebraska Zephyr was scheduled to run during the museum’s “Diesel Days.”  Now that was reason to make the drive back to northern Illinois.  I had seen the Zephyr in its storage barn back in June, but with little distance to back up the camera frame I didn’t even bother to snap a shot.  To have it out on the trackage and available for a ride?  Catnip!

Diesel Days: a GM Electro Motive Division (EMD) SW-7, formerly run as Chicago Burlington & Quincy’s 9255.

For better or worse, I was far from the only visitor out there.  Not being a proper “railfan,” I can but assume that Diesel Days annually draw a serious crowd.  I state “not a proper ‘raifan’” because I have not made an avocation of learning, and following, railroad engines, which a goodly number of the other visitors surely had done.  I can write up who built these engines with their model designations because IRM has them listed on its website and I can look for additional information on the “web.”

Railfans and the former Union Pacific’s 1848, a GE B40-8.

From many of those about me I heard scraps of conversation - about seeing this engine or that in different locations, the relative merit of differing liveries, and snap observations of which unit was approaching.  As may happen for any hobby or avocation, the interest for some individuals in these prime movers has reached a very high point, to put it mildly.  Recall that “fan” is a foreshortened form of “fanatic.”

While the “true” railfans positioned themselves along the track for a parade of diesels (they don’t call it “Diesel Days” for nothin’) I wandered the grounds a bit farther than I had in June.  Behind the bus barn on the southeast side, for instance, were some rather forlorn motor coaches awaiting restorative efforts (above), while nearby stood a sign rescued from Chicago (below):

In a shift of focus for me, while the railfans watched and took photos and video of parading engines and their trailing consists, I started taking photos of railfans.

I mean, I can only take so many photos of any one engine, beyond which I would only be snapping the shutter for I don’t know what.  As my primary interest was the Zephyr, I thought I could spare some frames for the general scene.

Previous two photos: the parading Zephyr and railfans.  Below, the view along the platform.

When the parade was over, the majority of the ‘fans were clustered along the platforms nearer the station (as evidenced in the above image).  When Chicago & North Western’s 411 (an EMD F7A) returned to the station with its consist of bi-level commutation coaches, the crowd surged toward the doors (following):

For a few minutes it looked like a scene from an apocalyptic movie, with local residents trying to flee some impending doom.  “Bring only what you can wear and get on the train!”  And, yes, those are true commutation coaches; the coach at the end of the consist opposite the F7 unit was equipped with controls to allow operation with the engine pushing - just like New Jersey Transit!

Through it all, one man’s project kept his head under a box car (above).  I don’t know what he was doing, but an angle grinder was involved - I’d know that sound anywhere.

I also took some photographs of other diesels, as has been seen.  It was Diesel Days, after all.  These (preceding) are former Union Pacific in “heritage” livery.  The 1996 in Southern Pacific colors, and the 1988 in those of the Missouri Kansas Texas Line, or “The Katy” (both EMD SD70ACe units). 

Sadly for the visual effect, caution tape had to be wound about the stanchions to warn visitors off the equipment.  Seems that some people think if it’s not moving, it’s O.K. to climb on.  I watched a few parents encourage their small children to climb up for a photo opportunity, and shook my head in wonder.  “Did you not read the brochure available at the gate?” I muttered to myself.  “It states ‘NEVER climb on any car or locomotive, unless it is clearly posted otherwise.’ Oh, le sigh.”  Of course most of us were pretty brazenly ignoring the admonition to not cross the tracks randomly, but still - this aint Disney World!  O.K., I’ll climb down now.

Southern Pacific’s 1518, an EMD SD7.  

Minnesota Transfer’s 200, an ALCO RS-3, beyond a track maintenance unit outside the diesel restoration shop.

I count myself fortunate, too, that I was able to play my time right and got some shots inside the Zephyr.  Wow, if only trains like this were still running all the places they used to!  I mean the coach seats were nice (following):

Sure, sure, not all the passenger coaches were this nice back in the “golden age” of rail travel, and yet – even the old commutation coach I rode in back in June was pretty nice.  Then again, I’m not riding those commutation coaches on a daily basis, so I can give them some leeway in the “nice” category.

As usual, I also had a couple good naps.  I rode coach in the morning, and lounge car in the afternoon (below) and put my head down to let the rock of the car lull me to sleep.  I find sleeping on trains to be quite pleasant.

The lounge seating included pivot-mounted “easy chairs” (above) which could do a complete revolution to allow for conversation or window gazing.  

As the Zephyr backed past the station, I looked out and said “Hey! I can see my car from here!” (below). This view of the car park shows some space, but only because a number of visitors had already departed.  IRM saw a good turnout this day, and the grass was well covered.

Yeah, I’m sure I’ll go back.  I may not be a “railfan,” but I do like these old pieces of railway equipment.  Like visiting with the “warbirds” flown by the Collings Foundation, I feel some “pull” toward these out-of-date machines.  I guess maybe they’re not out-of-date to me.  I suppose, though, there will come a day when the planes and trains simply cannot operate any longer; at some point, there may no longer be any fuel available for them.  But until that day, I’ll keep taking photographs when I may.

Burlington’s Nebraska Zephyr, pulled by an Electro Motive Corporation (EMC) E5A diesel unit.  The Zephyr as it is today represents the final incarnation of the “streamliners” before complete retirement in 1971.

Illinois Railway Museum

Nebraska Zephyr on wikipedia

Photographs: R. Jake Wood, 2017.

[kittensjonsa]

The Delivery Boy (Send Love My Way p. 2)

For @jonxsansafanfiction Valentine’s Day - day 8: Secret crush. Part 2 of Send Love My Way. A tiny little bitty twist at the end, modern au and Robb (my darling) and Lyanna lives ☺️ Enjoy! ***************

Jon tossed aside the sixth shirt he tried on that morning. He needed new clothes when he realised some of them didn’t fit anymore. He had been wearing the same t shirts his mother bought him since he graduated college and started helping out at the shop. He finally gave up and donned his usual white t shirt and jeans. He sighed as he grabbed his apron and went into the kitchen.

“Morning honey, the lillies are in the basket out on the porch. I didn’t know they were so popular,” Jon’s mother greeted him as he entered. Great, Jon thought, partly relieved there were still some lillies. They were indefinitely of high value and importance to him now.

Jon gave his mother a thank you peck on the cheek which surprised her and made her smile. She wondered in amazement how her flowers had brought on such a positive impact, on her customers and now her son. Whatever it was she was doing, she must be doing it right. Either that or Jon really did love flowers. She had no idea and ignorance was bliss.

Jon grabbed a muffin and his keys and waved bye to his mother as he made his way to open the store. It was earlier than usual, he had lied to Lyanna he had stock taking to do, when in fact he just wanted to make an early delivery to a certain Sansa Stark. Or at least pass by where she lived. Jon wasn’t sure yet. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it. All he knew was, he needed to see her again.

Don’t be a creep, Jon reminded himself.

He glanced at the notepad laying on the passenger seat. Her address was right on the street where all the big houses stood. He rarely drove down that street but he had known a Mr Reed who lived in the first house on the left. A kind man who often helped his mother with her legal concerns. Mr Reed often shopped at the store and Jon enjoyed chatting with him whenever he came by.

Jon slowed down as he approached the street and looked out for the house numbers. There was only one in particular he wanted to find. True enough, as Mycah’s dad had told him in their previous conversation, the house was a large pale grey stone mansion. It almost looked like a castle.

He glanced at his watch, it was only 7.30 in the morning. Too early to be coming around for making deliveries. It would be odd for him to turn up at this hour. Jon took one last look at the house and steered out to leave. He would be back as soon as he could.

It was a quarter to 8 when Jon rolled up the shutters and unlocked the door. His mind was far way and dreaming as he put a pot of coffee on in the pantry.

“Jon! Hey Jonny boy!” a voice yelled out to him and Jon came back reluctantly to his senses.

“Deep in thought there. Everything all right?” George’s concerned face appeared to Jon. It was clear Sansa had an effect on him. Good or bad, Jon didn’t know it yet. Jon smiled and nodded.

“Just stuff on my mind, George. Everything’s great at home. Mom will be in later so good that you’re early. Gonna get started with my routes soon,” Jon chimed as he poured the elder gentleman a mug of coffee.

“Whoa there boy, a little early ain’t it? What’s the rush? Got a date tonight or something?”

Kind of, but she doesn’t know it yet, Jon thought.

“Nah, I wish. So you’ve got the delivery list for today?” Jon shrugged. He did wish he was on a date right that moment. With Sansa. But he would probably need a new shirt first. George pointed out to the board where the list was tacked on. Jon counted he had seven deliveries, not counting Sansa’s. Jon figured hers would be the last stop, so he wouldn’t have to rush somewhere else. Sansa, Sansa, Sansa, Jon chanted her name as if it was a prayer. Meeting her was an answered one.

Jon latched up the back of his truck and slid in his seat, there was one more delivery he had been wanting to make, after dropping off a box at the Daynes. Jon took a quick look at the rear view mirror to check on his appearance and winced. He had been up and about the whole day, which resulted in him smelling like gasoline and cardboard and even he himself was put off by how dishevelled he looked. Jon checked the time, if he stepped on the gas, he might make it in time to freshen up. He may just be a delivery boy, but Jon was determined to make an impression.

“Jon, honey! What are you doing home? Everything okay at the shop?” Lyanna jumped when she saw Jon run past her in the living room. Jon gave an OK sign and jumped into the shower. Lyanna shook her head and wondered why her dear son was acting so strange lately.

It was the fastest shower he had ever taken and he had gotten dressed in record time, too. Jon slapped on some cologne and dashed out the door. He shouted a bye to his befuddled mother and went on his way.

“What is up with that boy?” Lyanna muttered as she watched him drive away, the truck still with a delivery box in it to go.

There it was, as Jon walked up the stone steps leading to heavy side by side oak doors. Jon looked around, the house was newly built and it was majestic. Jon inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. It was still damp from his shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he was a nervous wreck. Jon rang the doorbell and waited, his heart thumping so wildly, he could feel it reverberate through the box he was carrying.

“Jon! Hi,” she greeted him, her face shone as she opened the door. Jon was at a loss for words. She was even more gorgeous than the last time he had seen her with her hair slicked back in an elegant ponytail and dressed in a t shirt and jeans and sneakers. Just like him. Jon stood wordlessly, holding the box against his chest, his brown eyes fixated on hers. He had no chance against those ocean blues.

“Miss Sansa. Hi, your groceries as you ordered,” Jon finally said. Sansa grinned as she peered in the box. She then looked up at Jon, confused.

“The lillies, Jon?”

“Oh right, yes! I forgot, I’m so sorry! Let me get them, they’re in the truck. Where shall I put this?” Jon felt silly that he had forgotten the most important thing. Sansa chuckled and Jon was glad the lillies were the first thing he loaded in his truck that morning.

“Why don’t you come in, Jon? You can put it in the kitchen.” Sansa suggested and welcomed him in. Jon followed in a daze but soon awoke to the beautiful interiors of the Stark mansion. Jon placed the box on the bar counter top and was greeted by a delicious fragrance that made his mouth water. Oh right, lunch, he realised. He was so over the moon with his daydreaming that he had missed his lunch break. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled in protest.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sansa offered as she opened the oven door to retrieve a baking sheet filled with cookies. Jon was hungry in more ways he could never imagine.

“Would you like some? I’m baking them for my little brother’s school fundraiser,” Sansa pointed to the cookies upon noticing Jon’s stealing glances. Jon shook his head and smiled his refusal.

“Oh no I couldn’t, but thank you, miss.”

“Sansa, please. No you should, at least you can tell me how they taste,” she coaxed him with a plate and filled them with cookies. They were chocolate chip. His favourite.

The cookies tasted divine as Jon wolfed down one by one hungrily. It would seem that everything she touched and made was heavenly.

“They taste amazing, mi- Sansa. You’re going to sell it like hot cakes,” Jon remarked, his mouth still slightly full of cookies. Sansa laughed at the baking reference. Jon did too, though he was more embarrassed at himself and the bad unintended pun, the moment he said it.

Jon remembered the lillies and excused himself to grab them from his truck. When he returned, Sansa had poured him a glass of milk and talking to a young man.

“Here are the lillies, you asked for. I hope your friend will like them,” Jon handed the basket to her. Sansa glowed when she saw the lillies. They were more beautiful than the ones she had seen at the shop.

“Oh my, these are gorgeous, Jon! She would love them!”

“Hi, and I’m Robb, Sansa’s brother,” the young man chuckled, seeing his sister almost hugging the basket of flowers, and he offered his hand to Jon. Jon smiled and shook his hand. They both had the same copper hair and blue eyes.

“So you’re from the corner grocery store? I didn’t know they do deliveries, that’s great.”

“Yeah, well it’s a family business, my mom and I run it and we figured why not deliver since we know everyone in the neighbourhood,” Jon introduced himself to Robb.

Sansa sighed happily as she smelled the lillies. It was perfect. Jon had been generous too, sending her a basket full. Sansa watched him as he chatted with Robb, eyeing the dark curly hair and dark eyes, and her olfactory senses adored that he smelled like fresh soap. Her eyes drifted over to his broad shoulders and sinewy arms and wondered how it would feel like to be held in those strong arms.

Sansa couldn’t forget the first day she met him, the moment she stepped into Mom’s Grocery, and how he had looked at her. His intent gaze on her gave her goosebumps. Never had anyone made her feel that way or looked at her that way. As if she was the one and only person in the world. That was how she remembered him.

She was glad she had walked in that day. It was the first day after the move and she had wanted to explore the quaint little town on her own. The flowers by the window too were pretty to ignore and her favourite were lillies.

“Well, I better get going, I do have a shop to run before I forget. It was nice meeting you Robb. Oh and I have a brochure right here, call us if you need anything from the shop,” Jon placed some flyers he had in his apron pocket on the counter top and nodded to the both of them. Jon didn’t want to leave just yet but it wasn’t his place to stay. Robb nodded as Sansa followed Jon to the door.

“Thanks again Jon, and for the lillies, they were just beautiful,” Sansa gushed, leaning against the door, slightly hiding behind it.

You are beautiful, Jon thought wishing he could say it to her. Jon pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, willing himself not to reach out to kiss her. This was kind of a date, Jon thought to himself.

“No problem, Sansa. I really hope I’ll see you again soon… At- at the shop I mean,” Jon stammered, looking down trying hard to avoid gazing into her eyes.

“Yes of course. Or I could call you and you could come here.. with the deliveries, of course,” Sansa suggested. She wanted to see more of him, he had piqued her interest. Plus, he was also dark, shyly broody and handsome. He ticked all the right boxes.

“Yes, please do call. I’ll come by… For whatever you need,” Jon was finding it hard to say goodbye. He sensed Sansa’s longing eyes on him the whole time but he could be mistaken. Only time would tell if it was all just wishful thinking.

Jon nodded and finally turned to walk to his truck. It pained him to do so. Sansa watched as he drove away and sighed as she closed the door.

“What the hell was that?” Robb’s teasing tone caught her in the act. He was standing in the living room, and had been watching the exchange between them.

“Nothing. And none of your business. Don’t you have appointments to go to?” Sansa brushed him off.

Robb shook his head and grabbed a cookie from Jon’s plate.

“It’s not nothing, you gave him cookies. Meant for Rickon. You never just give anyone cookies, not even us, your own family,” Robb pointed out, taunting her with the cookie in his hand. Sansa kept quiet as she cleared the plate. Robb was right, she had never let anyone, not even her own family members, touch or eat anything she baked or cooked for special occasions.

“Oh, my, you got it bad, sis. And your favourite flower? Lillies.”

“You got a cookie, now will you please shut up?” Sansa rolled her eyes. Robb shook his head, a teasing grin plastered on his face.

“Sansa’s got a secret crush, Sansa’s got a secret crush! But I know who it is! I know who it is! ” Robb wailed and sang as he stomped triumphantly around the kitchen.

Ugh, my brother is a man child, Sansa cringed as she watched with annoyance at Robb acting like a seven year old. Some things never change.

[onlinecarreview]

Toyota Tacoma TRD Pro review - living the American dream

Seeking respite from clogged UK roads, we find solace in the freedom and isolation of California's El Mirage lake bed

Isolation is a difficult concept to truly experience in the UK. Some parts of Scotland manage it, but there’s always a wiggle of tarmac or the bobbing cable of a power line somewhere in your line of sight, evidence that humankind is never that far away.It’s something I’ve always loved about travelling in the US.

Go to the right spot, at the right time, and you might be the only human being on the planet. Stand on the parched, dusty surface of El Mirage, a dry lake bed north of Los Angeles that covers almost 76,000 acres, and as the sun dips behind the mountains to the west and the landscape adopts an eerie silence, it’s just you and your shadow, stretching dozens of metres towards the east behind you. A moment away from work, from emails, a moment alone with your thoughts.

The silence might be even more stark were it not for the shutter click of photographer Aston Parrott’s Nikon, as he captures the descending, glowing orb through the windows of the car we’re here to drive - a Toyota Tacoma TRD Pro. I say car; what I mean is pickup truck, or simply ‘truck�� in local parlance.

Not a style of vehicle evo regularly gets its hands on, but we’re not entirely oblivious to the category either: we’ve run one or two in our long-term fleet, since they make brilliant workhorses for evo’s less glamourous errands.

It’s bigger, feels tougher, looks angrier

The ‘Taco’, as I quickly discovered, is a slightly different beast. What it shares with the pickups available on UK shores is utility, and rather rudimentary construction. There’s a ladder chassis, for instance, and the rear is suspended not by coils but by semi-elliptical leaf springs. Where it differs is almost everywhere else: It’s bigger, feels tougher, looks angrier, drinks petrol rather than diesel, and is - unnatural though it is to use the phrase in this context - more focused.

The focus comes courtesy of TRD, or Toyota Racing Developments. I’m most familiar with TRD through hotted-up Japanese sports cars, having steered numerous Celicas and MR2s around virtual circuits in the Gran Turismo series, but in the States it’s a name associated mostly with trophy trucks and NASCAR. The Tacoma features several TRD bits and TRD-selected improvements, from a naughty exhaust system to some trick Fox dampers and a quarter-inch aluminium skid plate under the front end.

Up front, mounted roughly chest-high if you share my 5ft 9in stature, you’ll find a 3.5-litre, naturally-aspirated V6 making 278bhp at 6000rpm and 265lb ft at 4600rpm. As the numbers suggest, and as I found out not long after leaving the confines of Los Angeles, it’s an engine completely out of step with modern expectations of performance.

The TRD Tacoma isn’t slow as such, but it needs working remarkably hard if you’re used to the relentless thump of something turbocharged. Shortly before heading to the US I’d driven the Mercedes-AMG GLC 43, whose twin-turbocharged V6 makes an extra 84 horses and 119 lb ft, and does so 500rpm and 2100rpm sooner respectively. It’s also around 150kg lighter than the 2007kg Toyota, which allows it to get to 62mph in 4.9 seconds. Toyota doesn’t quote figures for the TRD Taco, but we’d estimate it’s a good three seconds slower to 60.

It’s a difficult car to make a case for on the road too, at least if corners are your thing. The loping highway gait is actually quite pleasant and the high driving position feels purposeful, but detour into the twists and turns of the mountains around LA and you’ll go to sleep that evening with the sounds of tortured rubber in your head, and reeling from nightmares about canyon-seeking understeer. It turns out that off-road tyres aren’t conducive to on-road grip, and turning the feel-free steering in either direction feels like opening the valve on an airlock. With time its responses become predictable, but you have the most fun when you eventually stop.

But that’s not really what I came to America for, and certainly not why I paid my $15 daily fee to enjoy the El Mirage Off-Highway Vehicle Recreation Area. Where trackdays are the last bastion of the thrill-seeking UK motorist, Americans get another option: spend a day hacking around in the wilderness, free to do largely as you please.

Within reason - the lake’s custodians take a dim view of firearms and fireworks, and you’re kindly asked not to tear up the lake surface by doing donuts - but beyond that your only real limit is your imagination. Want to zip about on quad bikes or dirt bikes? Go for it. Need somewhere to land your light aircraft? Be their guest.

Want to stage an impromptu race with your mates? That seems to be fine too (and El Mirage is more than suited to it - the Southern California Timing Association, which also runs Bonneville Speed Week, regularly hosts events at El Mirage). And if you simply want to turn up with your buddies and have a barbeque, you can do that too.

My own plan was pretty simple. I wanted to take a truck - the kind of vehicle that millions of Americans buy every year - and see how much fun I could have for my fifteen bucks.

Test number one: Speed. El Mirage is over six miles long from tip to tip, and around two miles wide. It’s also very flat and has a hard, sun-baked surface. And good visibility, so you can pretty much point your nose to the horizon and go. The Tacoma shifts clumsily down its six-speed automatic transmission, clears its lungs and emits a guttural bellow from the TRD exhaust as it heads for the red line.

Each shift is slurred like slushboxes of old, but the pace is definitely increasing. Top speed in the brochure is a limited 113mph; I lift off at a nice, round 100mph on the dial, followed by a mile of fine dust that’s almost certainly ruined the backdrop for the handful of people making what appears to be a low-budget music video.

Yumps next. The one thing we can’t find at El Mirage are proper rolling dunes, so we scout the small, sandy speedbumps that line the lakebed for potential air-worthy candidates. Photographers love jump shots whether you’re testing a Kia Picanto, a 918 Spyder or a two-ton truck.

My first attempt is little more than an uncomfortable thump, but the next is much more promising. Bit of a ramp on both sides, decent height. The TRD’s definitely getting air on this one, but Aston isn’t happy. ‘Faster, Ingram’, he says.

Faster, Ingram goes: I sink Converse to carpet and hit the ramp with a good 10mph more on the clock than last time. The front gets air, pointing the nose skywards, but then the back wheels hit the ramp and send the nose quite rapidly down. Sand replaces sky and I land with a sickening shudder. It’s enough to have set the wipers going by themselves, but a few exploratory wiggles of the steering suggests everything is still functioning.

I loop around to Aston, doubled with laughter as he shows me an image that will no doubt define my career

I loop around to Aston, doubled with laughter as he shows me an image that will no doubt define my career at evo: front wheels tucked into the arches, skid plate on the dirt, and back wheels a startling distance off the ground.

Remarkably, the only visible evidence of the landing is a scuffed skid plate. A BMW X5 would probably have set off all its airbags and auto-dialled for emergency assistance.

We try something a little closer to terra firma. One, solitary hillock standing proud of the surrounding bush looks inviting. Until we get close, that is. The damn thing looks a hell of a lot steeper than it did from half a mile away. Let’s be methodical: Clunk transmission into four-wheel drive, low range, engage the rock-crawling mode, foot off the brake... and up she goes, accompanied by the chunter and chatter of the ABS grabbing individual wheels to maintain traction.

I’m feeling quite proud of myself until it gets even steeper and I chicken out, but plans to fake the top-of-the-hill pictures and reverse back down are dashed when a couple of locals pile up the hill behind me at about eight times the speed I crawled up and park immediately behind. Bugger.

El Mirage is just one of dozens of off-road playgrounds in the area

Thankfully, they’re able to direct me to the top (��Left a bit, you’ll clear that rock, give it some gas’), I thank them, and they say ‘no problem’, graciously pretending I’m not the most pathetic “four-wheeler” they’ve ever seen. One does take an interest in the truck - he currently drives a battleship-grey Toyota FJ Cruiser on huge tyres, and is looking to trade soon. He also tells me that El Mirage is just one of dozens of off-road playgrounds in the area, before roaring off down the hill again and shrinking to a spec in the distance.

By now the sun is sinking and I’m seeking a different, more traditionally evo kind of thrill. Lining sections of the lake are gravel roads and firm dirt trails, pockmarked by bushes and small dunes. To any self-respecting petrolhead, the rally stage builds itself.

There’s just one problem: while I’m back in rear-wheel drive, the traction control won’t fully disengage. Long, trophy truck-style skids are not there for the taking. But at low enough speeds the electronic nanny’s back is turned and I send thick clouds of ultra-fine dust into the sky as the ‘Yota slews sideways. It feels hilarious, perched so high and throwing armfuls of lock at every slide. Might be the most fun I’ve had all day. Maybe all year.

And the best thing? There’s nobody around to witness, nobody to disturb, and nobody to push passive-aggressive notes through your letterbox. Fifteen bucks doesn’t buy a lot these days. But it can buy you a few hours of blissful, automotive isolation.

[easyautogates]

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[wondernwriter]

Such A Thing As Fate

SUCH A THING AS FATE

By: Angelica A

Burnt coffee and frying pork fat fill the nostrils of fifteen-year-old Kimberly. Since her father Kirk insisted that they take the back roads they came upon this little dive tucked behind an old closed down plantation named Mill House that sported loose shutters, unruly grass, and chipping paint. The dive is named Wonderful World of Waffles, however, the smell inside is anything but sweet. “Believer” by Imagine Dragons plays through the ear buds of her new iPod. She crinkles her nose as something sour like ten-day old Chinese food wafts past. A fistful of food snakes its way up her esophagus. With great concentration and clenched fists, she forces it back down.

“You okay, Kim?” Kirk asks as he fans away the fly buzzing around his mouth. “You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” she says as a drop of sweat drips onto her iPod. “Just ready to get home and settled.”

Her little brother Kent makes gagging noises that cause her stomach to knot painfully. “Kim is gonna puke. Kim is gonna puke,” he sings in his squeaky prepubescent voice.

She leans over the table and slaps him hard across the forehead knocking off his new baseball cap that had been signed by some player from the Chicago Bears. The cap skitters across the floor and lands near a stool in front of the counter where a business man sits munching on waffles.

“Kim, that’s not nice,” Kirk says as Kent rushes over and retrieves the hat.

“That’s what he gets for running his mouth.”

The cook in a greasy apron manning the griddle looks over at them and shakes his head. To him her family probably resembles hoity toity highfalutin city folk in name brand clothes who like being catered to which could explain why he is taking his time coming over to get their order considering there were only four customers in there.

Smoke wafts across the counter, settling around the balding man in the suit. He’s hunched over in his seat now reading something on his phone.  

The cook finally makes his way over to their table with an impassive look. He’s bald with a septum nose ring. His finger tattoos are on display when he hands them menus and scribbles down their orders. “Nothing for me thanks,” Kim says when it’s her turn.

“You have to eat something. We’ve been on the road all day.”

“Dad, I’m not hungry.”

“Bring her some waffles please and an orange juice.”

“Give it about fifteen minutes,” the cook says.

Kimberly rolls her green eyes and places in her ear buds. Her father just doesn’t listen to her. It’s frustrating being a teenager especially in this family. Due to her father’s cause they always have to be on the move driving around hoping to meet interesting people. But Kimberly no longer believes in the cause her father has held so dear. Though raised to always hold it in her heart, there’s no way she would ever raise a child this way. And being that she’s three months pregnant, she has a decision to make. Her father will never allow her to keep the baby and would insist on abortion. Since her mother had passed, he’d gotten strict about not allowing her to make friends with anyone who could take her time away from “the family business”. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think they moved constantly to keep her from making friends.

“Here.” The waiter places down the messy plated food.

Kimberly recoils as the scent smacks her in the face. She covers her nostrils with a quivering palm and breathes through her mouth. She stares at her dad’s large stack of waffles and her brother’s pork fiesta featuring sausage, ham, and bacon with a side of eggs. How either of them could eat after the busy night they’d had is a mystery to her.

“Kim, you’re food is going to get cold.” Kirk points at her plate with his butter knife. “Don’t be wasteful. Lots of people wish they could sit down and eat in a place like this.”

She rolls her heavily lined eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure many homeless are dying to make their way to the Wonderful World of Waffles to sit in a stinky dive with flies buzzing around their heads.”

“Don’t whine. Eat.” He cuts into the stack that’s drizzled with syrup and stuffs it into his mouth.

Her brother Kent stuffs his face with sausage, some of it spilling back out onto his plate.

Kimberly’s stomach gurgles. Another wave of bile snakes its way up. She can’t stomach the single waffle in front of her. In fact she hasn’t been able to stomach much of anything. She forces herself to swallow the acidic gunk her gut has shot up.

“You PMSy?” Kent asks with a smirk.

“Shut up, turd.”

“Damn,” the man in the suit says to no one in particular. He looks around for anyone to share something with and decides on the sweaty cook behind the counter. “Did you hear about that massacre?”

The cook looks up and wipes his forehead. “What massacre?”

“A family of four was tied up and shot to death last night and the teenage daughter is missing.” He waits for the cook’s reaction but he returns to his cutting board whistling. The man looks around and spots Kimberly and her family. He hurries over to them. “Did y’all see the news? The one about those four people and that missing soccer player?”

Kirk wipes his hand and takes the phone the man is giving to him. He reads for several seconds then returns it. “That’s a shame. No telling what this world is coming to.”

“I know.”

“Did they mention the motive?”

“Robbery or disgruntled customer I’m guessing. Guy was stockbroker. I sure wouldn’t mind killing mine,” he says with a hard laugh. “Just kidding. But no they don’t mention motive. Probably wanna keep it hush hush.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it was the Railway Munchers,” Kent offers with a smirk.

“They weren’t eaten you idiot,” Kim says.

“The Railway what?” the man asks.

“Pay him no mind. He’s talking about this case involving people suspected of cannibalism,” Kirk says.

“It’s true. They’ve killed lots of people.” Kent raises his finger. “I mean, they’ve eaten lots of people. The police suspect it’s two brothers who travel around making meals out of unsuspecting folks.”

“Wow, that’s crazy.” The man looks down at the floor at Kirk’s briefcase. “I see y’all are environmentalists according to those brochures.”

“Yes, sir, we go around preaching the gospel of good clean living.”

“Oh, how nice.” He backs away toward the counter clearly fearing he will hear their spiel about saving the world one recycled cup at a time.

Kimberly doesn’t get why they still do this. This isn’t the life she wants to continue to lead and yet she has no say or control. And now she’d gone out and gotten herself pregnant. Her father will not be happy. If she were lucky he’d disown her and let her be to live her life as she pleases. But that’s highly unlikely.

“Kimmy.” Kirk picks up a piece of Kim’s waffle and tries to put it in her mouth.

“Dad, gross.”

“You need to eat. We have to get back on the road and get some more preaching done.” Her father signals for the cook to refill their drinks. “Another coffee and chocolate milk.”

“And some coffee for me too,” the man in the suit says.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She scoots out of the booth and rushes to the back in search of the restroom. It’s 2:45 pm. Who in the hell named it morning sickness? It should be called “what you get when you trust your boyfriend to pull out sickness”. She hasn’t told them about the pregnancy. It’d changed everything if they knew. No parent wants to hear that their teenager is pregnant.

Abort the pregnancy or raise the child?

The latter was impossible. Not with her family and their history of staying on the move. That’s no life for a baby.

She flushes and watches everything swirl around the toilet and into the dark depths. Kim opens the bathroom door and spots another door that’s slightly ajar. On the table partially hidden in the shadows is an open purse. No one is watching. A few bucks for the road won’t hurt and maybe she can use it to put toward an abortion. She eases down the tight hallway and pushes the door open. It hits something with a thud. Kim almost scurries away but after hearing nothing, she eases her torso inside hoping to snatch the wallet out of the white boxed purse. As she reaches in she looks down and spots three bloodied bodies sprawled out on the floor. A muffled scream escapes from her lips as she falls to her bottom.

In the room are the bodies of an old woman in a World of Waffles uniform and two chubby men in tank tops and boxer shorts.

“Oh god,” she cries inside of her palm and mistakenly stumbles backwards into a swing door. She ducks down when whistling is heard headed her way. Kim peeks through the crack and finds a man in a blood covered tee cutting into the gut of a World of Waffles employee. His intestines are pulled out, cut, battered, and then thrown into the deep fryer. Kim crawls to the front of the store as fast as her wobbly knees will allow. But as she reaches the edge of the counter, she spots her father face down on the ground holding his cup. The cook makes his way over with a meat cleaver. Before Kim can call out “daddy” one last time, he brings it down on his neck.

There must have been something in the food or the coffee, she thinks. The man in the suit is hacked several times on the back of the neck. Poor Kent. Though he’s barely conscious he tries to crawl away, but the cleaver comes down on him severing all life force.

Kim shakes. Her hand instinctively curls around her stomach. She pushes herself onto all fours and makes a break for the door. The cleaver carrying cook sees her and yells, “One’s getting away, Bruce!”

Kim runs toward her family van parked 200 yards away near the edge of the road. The cannibals are behind her. Just as she throws open the side door and dives inside, one of them catches her foot and snatches her back out. She struggles trying to get away before turning onto her back.

“Holy hell,” the one with the cleaver says as he stares down the barrel of the pump action shotgun.

Kim pulls the trigger.

The second cook turns around and runs.

Kim steadies her aim and fires a shot.

The bullet lands in the middle of his back.

The wind howls past her ears that are ringing due to the blast.

She looks down at the men who have murdered her family and reportedly eaten many others. It’s as if they were fated to cross paths, fated to meet their match. As she ponders on the chances, a thud is heard coming from the back of the van. Kim opens the doors and points the gun at the frightened brunette teen in a bloody soccer uniform.

The girl is terrified. She’d witnessed Kim and her family enter their home under the guise of spreading the word about living a pollution free lifestyle. They then pulled out weapons and demanded money, clothes, food, and tech gadgets. After they got what they wanted they shot her parents and her two older brothers and abducted her.

“You can go.”

The girl is skeptical seeing that her captor is still holding a shotgun.

“Go! Get!”

She stumbles out and waits for her restraints to be cut.

“You’re free now,” Kim says as the girl runs toward the road. “And so am I.”

The End

[cctv-aura]

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