#the other side has like a small roadside restaurant so i was hoping to get there

[thebus1boys]

.

[sneezefiction]

untouchable | vii

Atsumu x Reader

desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.

warnings: slight language, anxiety

wc: 3.2k

part 6 ⚬ part 7 ⚬ part 8 (coming soon)

untouchable m.list

—

“Here ya go.”

Osamu sets down a small cup of water, letting it clink against the bar’s granite surface. There’s no ice in it, but you can tell by the condensation on the glass that it’s cold. Osamu tosses a plastic straw toward you and it lands conveniently right next to your cup.

Throwing him a quick smile, you reach to take a sip but pause when you hear the click and gentle hiss of a drink can.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

It’s a reminder of street vending machines and roadside shops. Of summer walks on hot pebbled pathways and after-class escapades with old high-school friends. 

But, just to be sure, you glance over to study the object in the hands of the man next to you.

Yes, you confirm, Miya Atsumu has indeed brought a can of green tea into his brother’s restaurant. And, yes, you are quite amused.

You choke down the rising laughter in your chest, though you can’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. This is the dorkiest thing you think you’ve ever seen on a not-date before.

 “Where the hell were you hiding that?” You tilt your head, leaning toward him to get a closer look at the drink.

“You’ll see.” Completely unfazed, he reaches for his coat, which hangs on the back of the chair, and digs into the pocket…

And, if what you’re seeing is true, he’s just fished out a second can. The paper covering the aluminum has a pink, floral print and reads, “Matcha-” but his thumb covers the rest of the lettering.

“What? Did you want one?” Atsumu tilts his head and places the can next to your water glass.

You stare at it, curious about two things. 

The first thing being his massive fucking pockets. They must be something of a void for him to fit two whole cans in the same pouch. Well, it’s more like you assume they were contained in a single pocket. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed a sloshing, aluminum object bumping up against your side as you two walked arm-in-arm.

The second thing that struck you is that he actually thought to bring two. Did he plan on drinking both? Was it originally for his brother? Or did he intend to offer you one right from the start? 

You do happen to like this brand of tea.

Atsumu leans back into his chair, tossing an arm over the back of the seat. “My friend tells me it’s good for digestion,” he explains and takes a sip.

“My digestion is just fine, thanks. You can keep it.” 

Your eyes crease in mirth. He has some interesting friends, that’s for sure. And why does he care about digestion? He’s fit and muscular and... is he constipated or something?

Yeah, that’s not something you should ask about.

“I’m gonna try not to imagine what else you could be hiding in those pockets,” you say, twisting your face in concern and pinching your eyebrows together.

Atsumu grimaces, shifting in his seat. “Did ya have to say it like that?” 

“I think I have every right to say it like that. You could be a freak for all I know.”

“Um, I think it’s entirely possible that you’re the freak here.” He shoots right back at you through mock-judgmental eyes.

Your jaw drops in amused surprise. You shove his arm playfully, but his balance hardly wavers. He grins in response, golden eyes glimmering. Your hand lingers briefly as you mimic his smile, but you notice and drop it quickly.

“Gettin’ comfortable now aren’t we?”

A faint flush dances across your skin. Maybe you were being a little touchy… but flirting hasn’t been this fun in so long. Anyway, he was the one who had you walking arm-in-arm with him earlier.

That thought alone makes your heart jump.

You look away, grasping the straw in your glass and twirling it around. “You got all comfy first,” is all you can huff out.

“Well, yeah.” Atsumu places an elbow on the table and props his chin up with his hand, “I mean, this is a date isn’t it?” He takes another sip of his drink, acting as though what he said wasn’t headline news.

Huh?

So apparently this whole not-a-date but possibly-a-date situation had an obvious answer… to Atsumu that is. It still felt about as clear as rocket science to you though.

“Is it?” The words flow from your lips before you can stop them.

He blinks. “Hm.” 

You swallow, “Is this a date?” 

He gestures a hand at the two of you, “I mean... I thought it was.”

Well, yes. You’re both sitting across from each other. Neither of you knows the other well. Atsumu had taken you to his brother’s restaurant.

Everything that’s happened in the past hour screams, “date.”

And, yet, it’s all too strange.

Suddenly the wooden barstool is much less comfortable. You readjust, crossing your dangling legs. You can hear every uneven as it leaves your body - hopefully his ears aren’t too keen.

Did you really change the atmosphere with just a few words?

Should you have assumed that this was a date from the beginning? But you were protecting yourself… 

Thank God Osamu is in the back right now. You don’t think you could handle someone else (especially your date’s brother) hearing this conversation. The embarrassment would be way too real.

“But if you’re not okay with it bein’ a date, then that’s okay.” Atsumu is quick to speak, straightening up in his chair. “I probably forgot to clarify…” He searches your gaze for any change in reaction.

Yeah, he’s probably not adept at these sorts of situations. But neither are you.

There’s a noticeable tint to his cheeks. You’re sure it must burn because your own face has already burst into flames. Great, you’ve made him feel like he’s screwed up. 

Atsumu mumbles a quiet “shit” under his breath, which would’ve found funny if it weren’t for your own pounding heartbeat.

Dammit, how can you salvage this? You might as well be fanning a flame at this point. If you weren’t careful, you could burn this entire opportunity to the ground. 

“Ah, that’s not what I mean,” You respond, waving your hands out in front of you, “I just- I don’t know, you never said anything about it being a date over text, so I just assumed it wasn’t. Not that I would mind it being one...”

If you keep talking, the words will only get more muddled. You clamp your mouth shut so as to not say anything ridiculous.

Suddenly, the blank wall opposite the blonde is very interesting. Maybe if you survive the next 5 minutes you’ll suggest that ‘Samu add some art pieces to soften the stark white paint. It might also make avoiding eye-contact a little easier.

Despite not wanting to face him, you can’t exactly ignore the man sitting an arm’s length away from you. You glance back to him, bracing yourself for a face wrought with confusion.

But Atsumu looks… amused? Relieved? The lines of worry on his forehead have smoothed back out.

Well, whatever emotion he’s conveying, it’s better than the ones you saw earlier.

“Alright, then how about you tell me whether you want this to be a date or not?”

You bite your lip in thought. Partly because a male has just respectfully asked you if you’d like to go on a date (a date you’re already on.) That, in itself, is a rare sight indeed. 

But mostly because he actually wants to go on a date with you.

Did you really meet him only a month ago? Was he ever a stranger to you?

He’s a little too friendly for that. But friendly isn’t the right word. Atsumu is understanding. And simple… but in a good way. Things are smooth like velvet when you’re around him.

You, who’s been shit out of luck over the past few years. You, who had to frantically accept a less than ideal job after moving away from your entire support system. You, who tried to abate loneliness with blind dates and Tinder matches... but only ever ended up shoving breadsticks in a bag before escaping through the backdoor of a mediocre restaurant.

After all the tears and life changes and dating apps and heartbreak, you finally have a choice that you can make by yourself without any serious repercussions.

And it’s a simple yes or no question.

“I’m gonna say, yeah. This is a date.”

A grin that could light up the city of Tokyo spreads across his face. You don’t know why he’s so happy, but it’s making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He grabs his drink, taking another sip.

Even you can feel the earnest smile on your face reaching your eyes. 

“So, can I ask ya somethin’?”

You sit up in silent anticipation. “Uh… sure.”

Atsumu clears his throat, looks away from you and runs a hand through the waves of his hair. Given Atsumu’s display of nerves, someone watching from the outside might think that this man was either about to break up with you or propose marriage.

Thank God it couldn’t be either of those things. But your hands clasp at your thighs anxiously anyway.

“Why’d you want to see me again?”

You find yourself holding your breath, letting his question sink in. 

It’s a good question. An important question. Why exactly are you here? With him?

You’re usually better about setting your intentions before you dive into something new. Plotting out big decisions has saved your ass a multitude of times.

But this opportunity fell into your lap at the most peculiar of times.

In all honesty, you didn’t give his request too much thought. Hell, you didn’t even ask him if he’d give you time to think about your decision. 

Thinking back, you really should’ve been way more careful… but you’re already here.

You lean back into your chair and meet his gaze head-on. 

“Do you want an honest answer? Or would you rather me make something up?” You ask, a glimmer in your eye.

“Oh, yeah I love bein’ lied to, go right ahead.” He throws you a look through squinted eyes.

You laugh, “I’m assuming that’s sarcasm.”

“And you’d be right.” Atsumu’s chin sinks back into his hand, awaiting your honest answer.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, leaning back into your chair and relaxing your body.

It’s best to keep things brief - you’d hate to overwhelm him with your own life. And something tells you he has his own complicated shit to deal with. 

“I’ve had a rough few years here and my social life is about as interesting as a brick right now.” You glance over to him, “Plus you seemed a little weird. But fun.”

This is all true. But there’s so much more you’d like to say.

Stuff like, 

“You’re so easy to be around.”

“Your voice is comforting.”

“I’ve felt like shit but you’ve given me something good to think about.”

“I feel a little less lonely lately and I think it’s because of you.”

But you know that would be overstepping some major boundaries. You’d play it cool and keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

“A bit blunt, but I’ll take it.” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re pretty blunt yourself.” You fake a frown, but can’t suppress your smile for long.

“Okay, sure, I’m not the most tactful… but you should’ve seen me in high school.” He sighs, eyes growing fuzzy with memories. 

But he’s quick to snap back to the present.

You snort. “I bet you were a hoot.”

Osamu’s voice rings from the back, “He was a lot more than that.”

So he was listening in, your cheeks burn a little at the thought. 

“Oi, shaddup, ‘Samu.” He lifts his head, calling back with a playful growl in his voice.

“I have video evidence, don’t tempt me to share it,” Osamu warns, but he gets back to business.

Your eyebrows raise. Now that’d be fun to see.

He notices your curiosity but is quick to furrow his brows. “Oh, no, no. I want you to get to know me, but not that well,” Atsumu says, slightly perturbed. 

“Not yet, at least.” He adds, after a few seconds.

Your eyes soften. 

That makes sense. 

Although, you hadn’t even expected him to show you the videos. You’d just wanted to tease him a little since that seems to be something he’s very comfortable with. You like that it’s a “not yet” instead of a “never,” though.

But instead of continuing this part of the conversation, you divert to asking his question back to him.

“Well, I think it’s your turn to tell me why you asked me out.”

And you swear you must’ve just said something ridiculous because he looks hilariously surprised. Like a deer in headlights. A jammed highway of car-headlights with the brights on full blast.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess that he hadn’t even thought about it. That or he didn’t want to tell you.

Either way, you deserve to know at least this much. You wait with your hands placed patiently in your lap and a trained indifference in your eyes.

—

Okay, so maybe he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.

Atsumu knows he has a good reason for asking you out… he really does. 

But it wasn’t the kind of reason one could eloquently verbalize. I mean, shit, what does Atsumu do that is eloquent?

It was more of a gut feeling than anything else. 

But he’s sure if he told you that he wanted to date you based on “instinct” that you’d laugh and promptly flee the restaurant like a prison escapee jumping the walls holding them captive.

He pulls himself together because he’s sure you can sense his discomfort. He’s never been great at disguising his emotions - he’d only ever learned to mask them with nonchalance and angry outbursts… and that’s a no-go when it comes to the press. Atsumu had to drop those reactions like a hotcake.

“I…” he swallows but gives a wry smile, “Y’see… I live a bit of a complicated life.”

He scans your face like he’s searching for his next words within your eyes. But you’re must be a blank page because they don’t come to him.

“Okay, now, don’t go telling me you’re wanted for some sort of federal crime.” You tease him as your lips brush against your straw, lightening the atmosphere in the process.

Atsumu’s lips open to let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “Ah, ya got me. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.” He responds dryly.

“That’s so sad. And I really thought this was going well, too.” You hum and take a sip of water.

He clears his throat, loosening his shoulder with a stretch. For someone who’s lived most of his adult life in the limelight, he hasn’t had to talk about it much. People either know he’s famous or they don’t.

You’re so kind. You listen well. There’s something about you that he’s magnetized by. Something that continuously draws him back in.

So if you were to learn about his life and see him differently? It would be a door slamming into his face, sealing his fate to be a really fucking lonesome bachelor. Which is a funny concept until you are the lonely bachelor.

So what exactly is he supposed to tell you?

Out of habit, his hand reaches for his hair… but he freezes before he can run his fingers through it.

Because the words are coming to him like a lone flower petal drifting to the ground. Soft and solemn.

He asked you out because his chest hasn’t ached like this in so long.

The warmth you’ve brought him in such a short time flares inside of him; why should those flames to die down anytime soon?

Because when’s the last time he spoke with somebody new and felt so normal? He’d never craved simple conversation back in high school. Even in his early 20’s, he’d just been searching for quick flings and easy getaways - those were easy to manage and feelings almost never got involved.

But being with you is like honey to hot, bitter tea. Like chowing down on a hot meal when he’s hungry.

No, it’s not easy to explain, but your presence is somehow satiating to his soul. Osamu even said that he’s been “less of a dick” since he started talking with you, so that must count for something.

You don’t need to know all of that. That’d be really weird. But if you were already being honest with him (even if you hadn’t spilled your entire life’s story) then he can be honest with you. 

But with this groundbreaking realization comes the hard part. Saying it out loud. And while he’s sometimes smooth in terms of flirting, he’s absolute shit at explaining himself.

The words come out slow and awkward. “I’ve been havin’ a hard time with… people.” 

Okay, that’s not at all what he meant to say. 

There are a million things you could’ve gleaned from that useless sentence. ‘I have a hard time with people?’ I mean, if that didn’t sound like a red flag, then what does?

“Oh, really?” Your eyes are wide and thoughtful and he swears he sees a glint of amusement flash through them. 

Shit, this would be harder than he thought. 

“Well, dating in particular, but that’s because my life is out of wack.” He presses on, but it only comes out worse.

Maybe he should’ve taken that communications class back in high school. It would’ve saved his ass in his interviews and, more importantly, here.

You nod along, folding your arms. “Mhmm.”

It’s both unfair and such a relief that you’re finding his verbal blunders funny. 

“Okay, gimme a minute, this is comin’ out all wrong.”

“Take your time,” you smile and your eyes crinkle. “I’ll be here all night.” 

But is it possible to soften what he’s about to say? To give you something to chew on rather than a bunch of information to choke on?

Being candid with you is the only fair way to do this. If he isn’t straightforward with you, you could end up getting hurt. Even being with you here at his brother’s restaurant is a risk — he should’ve thought through that decision better too. Not that he visits his brother there in person much, but it’s still not a gamble he likes to make.

Anyway, what’s done is done. He’s just got to tell you.

Atsumu sits up, resting his clenched fists on his thighs and knitting his brows together.

“Listen, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

You shift in your seat, mouth closed and eyes fixed on his. There’s a tension in your posture, but he tries not to let it deter him.

“But I’m...”

—

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Listen to the cry

No one questioned Castiel’s trench coat, so why should they question yours?

Sam and Dean Winchester x reader but it’s heavy on Sammy.

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare: with the amount of fluff, heart wrenching angst, dark themes, explicit language, sexual remarks.

Trigger warning mentions of past abuse, and self mutilation. 

This is loosely based around the episode; Season 15 episode 11 “The Gamblers”

Sorry for the let down I’m not dead. I want to dedicate this to my wonderful and fabulous friends who are my family, you know who you are ;).

Let's start this story off in the way that makes any possible sense, the day your mother birthed you. Your mom and father's relationship seemed normal to the naked eye but once you started to peer deep into the picture. It was the exact opposite, speaking of your mother's labor it wasn't exactly your fault what happened to her. Although your father thought otherwise, it had been exactly three to four minutes after she gave birth that she had gone. That day your father never forgave you. No one dared to question why you wore long shirts where the sleeves run past your small torn arms. They were your father's he didn't dare to give you clothes that he had to buy with his hard-earned government filled check. 

That wouldn't do nor buy any food that was for two almost every night well every night for the past eleven years you had to eat after him. We also couldn't forget how a minor "b" on a report card resulted in you getting lashings from that horrendous leather belt with the buckle being the size of an ashtray. You were that too. Days had gone into months when you realized there is no hope for you, always dreading the walk home. Until one evening when your ratty untied boots kept kicking pebbles came across a scene. One of which involved a scrawny shaggy-haired boy being beaten to almost death by three what looked like cows. You never did like bullies so you shrugged on the one strap bag (the other had been eaten off many years ago from rats.) You kept your head hung low in a desperate measure to disappear from their sights. Yet your wishes were cast away when his ungodly eyes met your form from across the street. You knew you should've picked up the pace. The guilt insufferable when you heard the kids squelched cry for help, you couldn't help but glance over to peer at the kids' face. One that had blood smeared from eye to ear. That didn't help your soundless escape. 

It was like watching a train crash into a car, it was as much excitement and fear you would ever get, and for some reason, you were paralyzed. You couldn't move. You stood there like a small tree, watching every slur, every kick to the gut, every punch to the face for what seemed like hours. Although the cows' brains seemed to turn when the kid's head no longer was against the ground but in turn lifted to where you were watching. "The fuck are you looking at freak?!" you heard one of them say when they kicked his gut making him curl into a fetal position. It seems they were done with the torture when the kid's shoulders stopped moving to signal that he was dead or at least playing it. That also appeared to strike fear in their layers of flesh as they took off, one of them just had to look back and saw you. A witness. His pig face porked into a smirk that drew attention to his intentions, and his small thin lips drawing into syllables that made your blood run cold. "Oh, you are so dead." and with that, you took out in a sprint. 

You hadn't gone far just a few mere inches when you tripped over your laces, you will forever think of the day when you learn to tie them as the day you become a god. It was such a lost cause to get up, one boot had flown off your foot entirely, the bottom of your bag busted making every single thing fall out, and you just managed to bust your chin on the pavement. With everything else, the cherry on top was the pig still coming for you. You had a few feet of a headstart on him which was yards in his situation, you could have made it to your house if you would have gotten up right then and just made a run from it. But you were too clouded thinking about what your Dad was going to do about your bag, the last thing you remember that orange soft winded evening was the boy's fist coming in contact with your head and knocking you out cold. 

Your dad stormed into the living room where you were sitting on the couch (your bed) and started ranting about how on some test you had got an A- on. You hated him you did, you wished that whatever happened to your mom had happened to him instead. But the world never did take kind into the matter. You could no longer hear his shouting and rampage. Your mind focused on the small T.V. in front of you displaying a rerun of some old cartoon. A blonde buff dude in a black shirt trying to pick up some girl but then getting slapped across the face, then you just had to go and ruin it by laughing. That was the end of the line for you, you remember that night so vividly because that was the night when Grandma came. This happened often, arguments laced with venom every time she came, which would leave him to slam the door in her face and scream at the top of his lungs ``IT'S MY KID NOT YOURS!" She was on your Father's side. You weren't even sure if your mom had any relatives you never heard him speak of them, nor even seen them. It was if they were a forbidden monster that the world would stop turning if you knew about them. The knock on the door was your prayer but the look on your dads' face told an entire another story, it was a brief yelling match of a so-called discussion before he came back in with something flowing from his hands. It was a coat.

You woke up with a gasp. Air flowing through your lungs as the world whirred back and forth, your head having sharp pain as well as your chin. You were confused as to why you were laying on the sidewalk, asleep. But then you remembered. The farm animals, once you understood there were entirely too many emotions but the main ones were anger and sadness. Anger that this happened and sadness out of the outcome. You decided that can't wallow in your pity, (although you did consider it for a long duration of time.) Once you sat up you didn't realize you had an audience, the meat they were practicing on sat before you criss crossed and head tilted shaggy hair hiding his eyes. You mimicked his presence, your black coat falling behind your form drowning you in its wake. After a few minutes of soaking in each other's battle scars, he jutted a handout an introduced himself in a lopsided smile; "I'm Sam Winchester." That was the last time you had ever seen Sam.

~Time jump~

Working at a diner was stressful, sure, but never as stressful as trying to find a job that allowed you to wear a trench coat that went to mid-leg. It was a simple job taking orders and giving them to the back and serving the food to the customer. No, but it was your boss. Every single time he could slip a comment or a remark in, he would. Even in the worst of times like right now, you were waiting for the food order. It had been a slow off day not many on a Monday night came through on a roadside restaurant. Your boss was a middle-aged man who happened to look like your father and just had gotten all of his wonderful traits. Right now he was bickering at you because you weren't doing anything, there was nothing to do! you cleaned every possible thing there is to clean. Twice over might, I add and even polished the seats, you do not know how hard it was until you encountered the unforsaken bridge. 

You were fixing to give him a jab by saying that when has he ever done anything around here but collect his money and go. But instead, you bit your tongue and closed your eyes and counted to ten because that would cost you the job and your life. You peeled your eyes open at the sound of the doors' literal bell ringing signaling someone had come in. A pair of tall stocky men made their way through, one of them had to bend down a little to get through the door because of how obnoxiously tall he was. "Great, now do your fucking job." He sneered in your ear as he went to the back. The other one struck you hard in your stomach for some apparent unknown reason, his bright green eyes falling onto yours which didn't help the circumstance as he rummaged through his pocket. While he was doing so you took in the other, long shaggy hair and bright but dark eyes like the other. He gave off a certain aroma which you didn't understand but he seemed familiar but you couldn't put your finger on. His eyes felt like they were burning away your coat making you defenseless, showing who you truly are. His eyes to say the least were the most intimidating out of the two. You pulled down on the sleeves, getting uncomfortable. You put on the most genuine grin you could and asked the routine question "What can I get you for today?" A hint of sincerity lurking within your question.

 The green-eyed man grinned a bashful smile, his head twitching to the side every now and then "Uh, yeah what can we get for $4.60?" you oh so desperately wanted to laugh but stopped yourself by making yourself smile a true one. He seemed despondent by the look on his face and the nervous tics he was having. Your hand ran to the back of your neck scratching "Maybe a slice of pie and at the most a small drink?" Your response was more of a question than anything of what it was supposed to be. The taller one smiled knowing that it was dumb trying in the first place, yet you wanted to get to know him better so you decided fuck it and it was a better way to hit into your boss then your first idea. "You know what it's on the house." You shrugged while pushing the change back to the smaller one, he was happy with your response as he looked like a referee saying someone was out by enthusiastically saying "Score, maybe our luck is finally turning around!" and patted the taller one on the back while finding somewhere to sit. He rolled his eyes to the remark and grinned. Maybe their luck was turning around because he mistakenly found you again.

You were back shortly with drinks in hand. It looked like they were discussing travel routes. That explains why the look so rough, makes sense. You placed the drinks down and began to go to grab napkins before you had gotten caught by his gravely 'thank you' You were so done for. Although you were a few feet away the green-eyed one decided to get some intel, you chose that it was just his way of small talk. The conversation was going along smoothly until he asked where you were from. You thought he had figured it out, your true identity, and was going to tell your dad where you managed to escape to, so you tugged on your sleeves once again. Trying to hide the few burn marks that cascaded along your wrists, the dark-eyed one seemed to take notice. Shit. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed; he stopped his colleague from his tangent and took notice of you. "Are you okay?" he asked, of course, you weren't okay with the millions of problems you had but you didn't want to freak the guy out so you found an escape. You smiled and nodded your head "Yeah just poison ivy." 

He mouthed the word "Oh" he was still suspicious but he thought it was rude to pester. He took another sip of his drink as his friend continued. Toward the end, he gestured to the map "Do you by any chance know what's around here?" As he asked you sucked in a breath. This day has been the worst in a while, you hoped he wouldn't know that you played your chances and it resulted in this. Scraping the bottom of the barrel to living in a shitty apartment that you could barely afford. You rolled your eyes going to get the slice of pie "It's just some old wise tale, about pool." You answered shrugging your shoulders. They looked at each other if they won a million dollars "What about pool?" the green-eyed one spoke faster then you could reply You thought this was such a dumb conversation like talking about Santa Claus. "If you win you gain luck, you lose luck." You stuck two forks into the pie and slid it in between them. "Just by playing pool?" He said as he lowered his drink from his lips for the first time since he had it. "Yup," you said, popping the "p" as you turned to get napkins once again, only for him to stop you in your tracks "Do you want to come with us, I mean since you know the place better than us?" As soon as the last word left his mouth you felt like you could faint. You kept weighing all the possibilities and it only came out in one, you go with them.

It wasn't a long drive but it was because his thigh pressed up against yours as you sat between the two giants. The radio played softly in the background as another Metallica song played, the trees and forest going past as you kept going further into the brush of pavement. The only Metallica song you knew played you smiled hopefully to make some conversation out of this entire carr ride of silence. (The man you now know as Dean shushing Sam, his younger brother, when he was trying to do introductions.) "Master of the Puppets is probably one of the most iconic Metallica songs, hands down," Dean snorted in disgust and made you laugh as he turned the radio down. "Really? It's so overplayed! Ride the lightning is way better. Did you not hear the badass guitar solo in it?!" He looked like he saw something that had three heads as he rolled his eyes and scoffed. For a man who looked so tough, he was childish as ever. You tell that Sam was more of the quiet and laid back while Dean was more rambunctious and loud. "Shouldn't we have a plan?" 

Sam spoke as he saw the small building appear Dean scoffed again "When do we ever?" As he parked the car and turned the engine off. He noticed as he tried to take the tape out it was destroyed. The tape that was once secured in the small plastic rectangle was now wrapped and strangled around itself. There was a pained expression when he came to realize and then came the anger. Once he got out he had thrown the tape down so hard that it spread into thousands of tiny pieces. "Son of a bitch!" he grumbled hands shoved deep into his pockets as he sulked into the bar, "He's not always like this, it's just an off day." 

Sam's voice startled you as you came out of one of the memories that reminded you of your dad. His face still in thought as he tried to wrap his head around why you were so what seemed to be; fragile. Could it be? No, it couldn't that's dumb of him to think of something so tragic. He opened his door and held out his hand in offering to help you out, his hand was rough and scratchy against yours. It was hard to make out since your skin wasn't in the best of condition either, you stopped halfway and told him to go on ahead and go in. You figured that you could try and fix Dean's tape even though it was beyond repair. But you'd probably be here without anything to do so you grabbed it, along with an old coin.

~Sam's point of view~

She just kept sitting there with the tiniest screwdriver known to man. I don't even know where she got it, but I would be lying if she wasn't trying her hardest to fix it. Her hair kept touching her face; which would agitate and distract her from her work. Her hands were occupied so she would blow a gust of wind to make it fall someplace else, she was way too concentrated on the music box. Her eyes were beautiful with the way the curtain blocked sun fell onto them, her lips were pursed as she concentrated and her small hands twisted and turned the bolts as she screwed them in. She was beautiful, no that's too vague to describe such beauty. I suppose a goddess should do it. Her name kept twisting and turning with her hands, the name was so simple yet elegant and familiar. One that I wouldn't forget fitted perfectly on my tongue. The number of times my tongue formed around the syllables sounded as if I was chanting it, and if she would ask me too. She'd never have to say it twice. I smirked at that. Not too big or toothy being cautious of Dean beside me chatting up some woman waiting for the bar. Knowing that if he saw me stalking her.

(I would say admiring, his words not mine.) I would never hear the end of it. Speaking of the devil he sadly interrupted my appreciation towards her. He grabbed the joint between my shoulder and neck and told me he found a game. He did that ever since I was a kid, I guess it was just showing his way of knowing he could grab me if something went sideways. Which did happen a lot, "Sammy!" he shouted out. That was all too familiar as well and I groaned not knowing when I'd be back to take her in again and sulked my way to where they were setting up for the game. 

~Back to normsies~

If only the damn thing would go back into the socket, you managed to makeshift a few pieces together. Although the pie was still broken with many pieces left to bake, this was an absolute nightmare. But on the other side, you kept thinking if I could get away from H.I.M. you could do anything. It had to be about fifteen to twenty minutes later when they had started to gamble their lives. You knew they were getting a good high from every cocky remark Dean would give to his less unfortunate opponent. Dean was a complicated man. 

That is the best way you could explain it, anger issues, and maybe family issues as well. Yes, they were old enough to travel without supervision but usually, you couldn't get out of town without someone calling for help just for you to come back. Hell, you couldn't speak. And Sam, you thought long and hard why his name was so off-putting but in a good way like an old friend. But you never did have any friends so that just made it even harder to understand why. Every time you thought about it, it made your heart flutter. Maybe because he was attractive with his tall structure or chiseled face, or his gorgeous dark eyes that seemed to have taken a liking to stop at you. The way he crossed his arms made him appear bigger, the muscles in his arms popping out like a sore thumb. You wondered yourself into a daydream of what he would look like under that black dress shirt, those few unbuttons gave you a small peek of what's behind. You shouldn't think of such things because why would someone attractive ever want to mingle with you. Under the cape, you looked like Freddy Kruger with the scars, burns, and your added self-mutilation. 

God, how can you be so dim-witted to fall for a guy who doesn't even like you. It was so stupid, no one liked or will so why would he? Being so distraught and in your head, you forgot where you angled the screwdriver which in your situation was now a weapon as you shoved it straight into your finger. "Bitch!" You let out as you cupped your hand with the other, a few turned heads just to see what was going on. She took notice and you thought your dad had a bitch face, holy shit you were wrong. You thought the trench helped you fade into the dark, apparently not. As she pursued your way as if she was the hunter and you were the prey and you were so proud of the amount of restraint from not plunging the screwdriver into her nonexistent brain. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder as she grabbed a napkin and threw it your way. You thought it was a cool magic trick when you watched it float down and her face was shoved into yours. You thought you went cross-eyed from how close she was, her breath being fanned across your face "You're not allowed in here." She snarled. Your face scrunched into an exasperated one, you were already done with her, you cleared your throat as you began to at least try to get her delusional ass to see through her load of bullshit. 

"I was never informed that I couldn't visit and root for my fellow gamblers." You spat and you swore her ears billowed out steam, "Yeah, but you won so you have no business here." you could feel the spit flying through her clenched teeth. You breathed out a puff of air as you gathered your things and hopped down from the bar stool and out the door, you never one to argue with cows. Yet a towering dashing bull, just couldn't keep away. You had a pout on your face, sure, and your thick dr martens (You considered it an upgrade from your father's work boots.) kicked at the rotting patio. In your head, you've smitten her dead but as you took a seat on the porch swing and glanced into the window you saw the man of your wonders chatting her up. Her hand rubbing up and down on the bicep you wanted to touch and suddenly you felt your luck was gone. You gripped your hard work tight in your hand, the edges you fixed were slightly cracking, you wanted to cry. Mommy didn't raise no bitch, she didn't even raise you. But you blinked away tears and then it spawned on you. You had a coin. Maybe your luck is turning around.

It was turning dark when you made up your mind, the coins' rugged edges dug into your thumb and index as you glared at it. You held your head in your hands when he walked out, curiously you lifted your head to find the suspect at hand you had won against him before. The first time you betted, he was good but not as great. He was a kind older fellow, but the world struck him down as it did you and you supposed that's how you became companions. The swing shifted as he sat down beside you, (you quickly grabbed the side of your tench to make sure he didn't sit on it.) "Rough night?" he asked, trying to make small conversation, you guessed it was to try and ease the devastation of the lost. "Erm, I guess." you were taken off guard as your brain was swimming through the sea of thoughts it suddenly turned into a dessert when he spoke again. "You want one?" he offered a cigarette but you politely declined as you shook your head. He grinned and raised an eyebrow "That's new," he laughed softly as he dug in his pockets searching for something but to come up empty. "You gotta light, sweetheart?" 

The cigarette dangled from his lip but never dared to fall from how many years of practice he's had. You jolted up and dug in your pockets your fingers getting poked and scratched at from all the things you had in them. Shortly, you found it you flipped it open and cupped it from the chilly wind that blew softly against the flame. He laughed again but it became a coughing fit. You were confused as to why he was laughing since you hadn't said anything amusing. Yet, you quickly shut the lighter and put it back into one of your pockets. And placed a hand on his back to comfort him. You never knew why he didn't stop smoking, he knew it would come to this. After a minute or two of his heaving, he sat back up with a red hand coming to his lip to wipe away the substance but carried on the conversation. He stared at the stars as they glistened against the black drop of night, you were staring at him 

(yes it's rude but not in the context of the way you were doing it.) You took in all his scars and indentations of his face from the years that showed through them. His eyes crinkled but they were beautiful from the stars glaring against them. You didn't like this ending. Not one bit. "This isn't all bad, sweetheart." His voice croaked out as his head rested against the back of the swing looking at you his neck craned his life running from him. How is this not bad, he was dying before your eyes. The only friend you ever had. You sniffled, your eyes glossy from before but now they looked like rain. "I wished I could've met my Granddaughter. I hope she was as beautiful as you, darlin','' 

Bewildered as to why he was telling you this, maybe it was because he didn't want to think about leaving this world and going onto the next, but you didn't dare try to change the subject. "I wish I could've seen her being born, I wish my son wasn't as big of a bastard as he was to not let me." His became almost as glossy as yours as his story continued, his hat that was on his lap was now on yours as he looked up at the stars again. "I wished she knew how much I fought for her." His voice became softer as his face started to slim and the scars began to protrude from his face more. "I hope she knows I lov-" He stopped halfway and let out a sigh his body slumped back into the wooded seat. His eyes were no longer lively but dull and bland as they held no life into them, you started to freak out, you grabbed onto his shoulders and started to shake him. This couldn't be happening, he was just asleep, right? this was all too much too process. 

Your cheeks began to dampen as the waterfall began to burst from too much compression, once your brain took everything in you sat back and pushed your hair away from your face. Your face between your knees as your breath began to fasten, you closed your eyes hoping it would all go away when you opened them. You should've stayed at the diner, you should have never left home. It then spawned on you once you started to connect the dots slowly, one by one, that he was the grandfather you never got to meet. You opened your eyes to only find that the hat was where he previously once was, and from that, you decided that this was the last straw. And no one else was going to have to suffer this curse.

It was an understatement when you stormed back in with a cowboy hat on your head and walked into the swarm of an audience watching the current match. Sam was on the outskirts since he towered everyone and it would be unfair if he was in the front, he turned his head hearing the wooden doors clatter open. He was confused but happy to know about your entrance; because now he can watch something enjoyable rather than worry about his brother. When he locked eyes with you, your stomach did a flip and knees became weak, but you didn't dare let him see it. You not so gracefully walked over to him and tugged on down on his sleeve as a kid would asking their mom for money. He laughed and crinkled his nose at how ridiculous your action was, he relented and leaned down to your level to hear what you wear trying to say. (You nearly forgot what you were saying when you smelled how good his cologne was, a mixture between pine and coffee.) "WHO'S IS AGAINST WHO?!" you blared into his ear which made him reach and stand into his normal posture. 

He laughed when he saw your face it looked as if you saw a ghost. He shook his head with a smile etched across his face "It's Dean against the mean lady," his sonorous voice rumbled through your tiny form. You tugged on his shirt once more which he then rolled his eyes and bent down. When he got close enough you grabbed the hat and placed it on his head, which he wrinkled his nose at again at how odd it was. You placed the sternest face you could and poked him in the chest with a finger "You better not have lice in that mane of yours!" You boomed at home which made his mouth hang open "Excuse me?!" is the last thing you heard before you made your way into the action. Although you whirled your head behind your shoulder and yelled "Wish me luck!"

All you could hear was the back and forth comebacks between the two, it reminded you of the fights. The constant battle in your life, "Lady I'm Tolstoy." He gave a slight nod thinking that was the end and he won, he was too cocky for his own good but that was just adding to the texture of Dean being Dean. She snickered at that "Oh, that's funny. hilarious even!" she gestured and flicked his nose then went to grab the wooden stick of your inevitable doom. You pushed through the last of the sheep before you stepped up for your presence to be known, "No." your voice even scared you from how it growled out the two letters. she looked at you like your dad did in the past from the night when you arrived with a black eye and scabbed chin. "No?" she gave you a look a mother would give her child when they would say a bad word. "No, little girl?" 

Her hips swayed as she taunted you, but you didn't dare coward down to her. She was taller than you in her pristine heels, she looked down from the bridge of her nose, your dad did the same and you knew what happened next. You got a face full of fists. Except she didn't do that. She stared into our eyes and you did the same, you knew what she was searching for. You tried not to think about the similarities but you couldn't stop them, she smiled a toothy red-lipped smile and sauntered back to the table, she angled and knocked the glaring white ball into the triangle. Breaking the game into the start. She looked over to you with half-lidded eyes and her words were sultry and she purred them "Let's begin."

It was a rough start with a breathing Dean on your neck, you didn't need the constant reminder of his and everyone else's lives were on the line. Including Sam's. You forgot about his prying eyes as well, now and then you'd catch him and he'd smirk as if he was a soccer mom saying you're doing great, sweetie. But knowing her child was the worst player there. You also saw his eyes dart down in the window to your ass, whenever you bent down in front of the crowd to get a better angle. You had a measly three, while she was picking up on four. You were fucked. You tried. Every time you would miss she would smirk, a cat, and a mouse. "I know about your father, Y/n." she teased, you stopped and blinked a couple of times, flabbergasted. She knew.

Your hands came clammy as you accidentally hit the white ball. It had been the last few remaining and if you fucked up anymore, you endangered everything. You groaned in annoyance because she had to come over on your side for her exhausting turn. She missed. She actually missed it. Maybe the couple coins in your pocket weren't completely drained! You thought it was suspicious when she stood by you when you leaned down to take your shot and then you knew why. "I know why you wear this disgusting cloak," she spat in your ear, you knew she was playing mind games with your head to mess with you. But you couldn't help the fear if someone could hear. 

To know that you were just a little girl trying to run from her dad. You didn't notice how your sleeve began to come up from your hip dragging against the wood, nor how close her hand was to said sleeve. She tore it up to your shoulder and you froze. You jolted and hit the ball when you jumped out of fright. "Is to hide his filthy secrets." You are a deer in headlights. You couldn't move, she's trapped you. You can't breathe. Blink. Hearing was out of the question as well, everything was a dull buzz in the background. When someone's heart monitor falls flat that is how it felt. Your scars, long fat skinny, and deep running everywhere across your arm. You had no skin that wasn't covered. "You are always going to be nothing." You watched his lips move in slow motion as she spoke. The word nothing made the world come into motion and allowed you to have power over your body. The first thing you had done was look to find Sam's eyes on the exposed skin with pursed lips. FUCK! Panicking you ran through the hoard pushing and shoving your way through to the exit. You needed air, you needed to be alone, you needed to run.

You don't get far you got to the gravel in the middle of the road and curled into a ball and tried to slow down your breathing because right now you were full-blown hyperventilating. Every breath felt like a struggle for your lungs, your lungs felt they were being kicked in like the night you met Sam. Oh. Was all you could think when you finally knew why this was all too deja vu fever dream. Great, that's just fucking great. That's your first impression on the boy you liked for ages? Fan-fucking-tastic. You pulled your head the slightest bit from the leather and looked at the skin that caused all of this. God, you hated all the veins that were stitched over and the ones that dug so deep that even the doctor said that couldn't get too. Rage took over and you dug your nails into your wrist and started to scratch, maybe that will make them go away. Your eyes blurred and you pushed your head back and looked at the stars. It made a soft thud as it hit the ground, your self-hatred becoming stronger. You'd be better off dead, then have to be a more mutilated Frankenstein.

~Sam's point of view~

I couldn't find her. And that. That was what scared me the most. I was giving up hope until I saw a small form sprawled out onto the ground near the Impala watching the stars, as I grew closer I found out that it was what I was looking for; Her. She was gorgeous as ever as her hair fell behind her shaping around her head. I crouched to where she was. I wanted to touch her, caress her reddened cheek; just something for her to know that I was here for her but I went against it deciding that it was the best option. Instead, Her eyes took me in captivity as they glowed and shimmered with the stars above. "Mind if I join?" I asked with a tilt of my head in question. She didn't respond but I sat down beside her anyway, the rocks dug into my thighs but I didn't mind it, not one bit. This is going to be harder than I originally had planned. Not that I minded that either. My brain turned and my eyes darted to and fro as I tried to think of how I could get to see her smile again. Maybe I should leave her alone, was that a good idea? No, try to make her feel better, let her know that I care; "Don't be like that partner," Fuck. I hit the heel of my palm into my head how can I possibly be so dumb?! Oh, wait! it made her turn her head. Success! although it wasn't the typical success you would think of. No. What she did was she stuck out her scarred hand and introduced herself with a lopsided grin, 

"I'm Y/N L/N."

[language-of-love]

he hung the moon so he could paint the stars...

Marcy and Clint are early for breakfast the morning after Patrick's surprise party and thanks to Twyla, they learn a bit more about their son's relationship with David. (1400 words, AO3)

~~~~~~

She looks around the cafe, which reminds her a bit more of a roadside diner than the quaint cafes she’s used to, but she has to admit to finding the atmosphere welcoming. Or maybe she’s just still carrying some of the good feelings from the party here last night, seeing her son happier than he’s ever been.

“Let’s grab a booth,” she hears Clint mumble behind her, having finally caught up from his glacial walk from the motel. He’s a slow-mover until he gets his coffee, hence their early arrival for their breakfast with Patrick and David. She smiles over at her husband knowingly when they both move to sit in the same booth as last night. 

There are many moments of her son’s life that Marcy has cataloged away as momentous: losing his first tooth, his first at bat at little league, that one time he came to her crying over something mean a friend had said to him, his engagement to Rachel, and eventually, his leaving home with very little in the way of explanation. But last night, it’s a singular one, a moment she will forever remember as life-changing, mostly for Patrick, but for herself and Clint as well. What she’d said to David in the motel was true, is true, she doesn’t care that Patrick is gay. She cares that he’s happy. And after last night, any concerns she’d been harboring these many months of very little contact, they’re well on the way to being alleviated. 

“Oh, hi Mr. and Mrs. Brewer, what can I get you?” the sweet waitress from last night says with a smile, her slender fingers tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she pulls her pad from her apron. 

“Coffee,” Clint responds, quickly adding, “thank you” before Marcy has a chance to chastise him for his rudeness. 

“Yes, just coffee for now...um, I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” Marcy admits, not embarrassed as they met quite a few new people in Patrick’s life last night.

“Oh, I’m Twyla, or Twy, but really only Alexis calls me that,” Twyla answers, seemingly lost in her own thoughts for a few seconds before she’s smiling at Marcy once more.

“Twyla, yes, lovely to see you again. We’re a bit early for our breakfast with the boys. Clint here couldn’t wait until 10 am for some caffeine.” Patrick had explained last night that David doesn’t really function well in the mornings and they’d agreed to a late breakfast.

“I’ll get that right out to you,” Twyla says cheerfully as she walks back towards the counter, stopping to chat with an older couple Marcy doesn’t think she recognizes from the party. 

“This menu is enormous,” Clint exclaims and Marcy looks over at him, noting that yes, the plastic covered menu he’s holding up is perhaps the biggest one she’s ever seen.

“Good gracious, how could a place this small serve that many different things. Just looking at that is giving me anxiety.”

Clint finds her hand where it’s resting on her lap and intertwines their fingers as he continues his perusal of the menu, pulling a smile to her lips as she looks around the cafe once again. Twyla is weaving between tables towards them with a pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs and a small container of creamer balanced in the other. 

“Here you go,” she says as she deposits the mugs and pours some coffee in each, the color of the liquid a bit on the pale side, but still more promising than what was available in the front office of the motel. Stevie had warned them off and sent them here instead.

“Thank you, Twyla,” Clint pipes up as he puts the mug to his lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he sniffs and takes a slow sip.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’m really glad you two are getting a chance to see Patrick and David together.”

Marcy’s attention moves from the spoon stirring her coffee back to Twyla, finding her looking at bit wistful as if she’s thinking of a good memory.

“It’s just that, I remember the first time Patrick came in here. He was polite and friendly, but I could tell he was a bit out of sorts. For those first few weeks in town, it was much the same, and I worried about him a little. And then he started coming in with David, back when they were just getting the store up and running and it was like someone had turned on Patrick’s light. Kind of like when someone finds their soulmate, you know? I don’t know, he was just...glowing. And flirting, even if David was completely oblivious.”

“Oh really?” Marcy interrupts, feeling somewhat like she’s getting information Patrick might not want them to know, but she just wants to soak up everything that might fill in the blanks in her son’s life that she’s obviously missed.

“I’m not sure if he even knew that was what he was doing, but when you spend your entire day watching people interact, you can spot these things a mile away. It wasn’t until their first date that David finally got a clue, even if it took him a minute to realize he’d been asked out. I swear, if it wasn’t for Stevie, David might have completely missed it.”

“So, it was Patrick who asked David out?” Clint asks, the obvious pride in his voice making Marcy’s heart clench just a little in her chest.

“Yep. And he was wearing the most adorable blue dinner jacket. I’ve never seen someone so nervous, but I was so proud of him.”

A customer across the restaurant waves over at Twyla and she gives them a quick smile and puts up one finger to let them know she’ll be there in a moment.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to your coffee. I’m just really happy I got to be here last night for his surprise party and see another chapter of his and David’s love story unfold. Make sure you ask Patrick about Open Mic Night, you’ll swoon...”

Twyla has moved to help her other customers before Marcy can reply, leaving her to look over at Clint with what she’s sure is a shell-shocked expression.

“I wonder if it was the dinner jacket we bought him for his first job interview?” Clint ponders and Marcy just stares at him, incredulous at how unaffected he seems to be by all of this brand new information.

“That’s all you’re wondering about?”

Clint seems to realize she’s not processing things as quickly and he reaches out and wraps his large hand around her wrist atop the table.

“Sweetheart, he’s Patrick. When he wants something, he figures it out and gets it. Seems like that’s what happened with him and David, which quite honestly, alleviates any lingering questions I might have had about all of this.”

“Our boy’s in love,” Marcy whispers, feeling her eyes begin to well up with tears as she realizes last night was the first time she’s actually seen what that looks like. All those years with Rachel, it must have been a different kind of love, something incomplete, something he’d had the courage to end before things went to far. She wonders if Rachel knows about David?

Movement out the front window catches her eye and she sees her son, his laugh so familiar her lips move of their own accord into a wide smile. David is there too, walking just behind Patrick, but she can tell by the angle of their arms that they’re holding hands. Patrick stops and David practically collides into his back, prompting David to protest and Marcy to chuckle. But then Patrick is turning and he’s reaching his hands up to cup David’s face and Marcy feels as though she should look away, darting her eyes back to her coffee just as her son is leaning in to give his boyfriend a kiss.

Her cheeks are burning and she can’t stop smiling, even as she brings her coffee to her lips for a small sip. When she takes another quick peek outside, Patrick is just pulling back from the kiss and even through the smudged window she can see that David is looking at Patrick as if he’s hung the moon.

Clint leans towards her and gives her wrist a squeeze as he presses a soft kiss right beside her ear. “Our boy is loved,” he whispers with a nudge of his nose before leaning back into the booth.

She knew that yesterday, when David came to their room, gift basket and his heart in hand. 

“He is. Let’s stay another day. I don’t want to miss another minute of their love story.”

[sirjustice322-blog]

New ways to generate power

in the final analysis to bar kamba blooded from migration which got the Saudi blood, they love town much more than countryside while stile some might love country side yet kamba but got Trukana blood that changes the puzzle dude and immigration officers should find such in people not to infuse the race much further as we see lazy people even grown ups now wanting even kids food hoping they are born again kids, wanting to die not. Trukana people love peoples things, they are tried with good shelter if they will not relocate to their house and wants to control people and love women not as they got meru blood of such. Get to know that dude.

Ondukoga moling, as women were found saying, the beauty with kebi. Women look 4 men who love sex so they can sleep with ya as in Dutchland as u got such groups where u Marshall up the cash and put in something huge now that we got the e-gearboxes from china which even makes u buy a body of a bus at $ 20,000 and live ya life not wanting direct from 1 then plotting attacks against him, look at how Victor ampez is smiling, kinda, like a falling skyscraper but not yet fallen dude

Even the Bar kalare water is not bought much as in like 10,000 litres container but just like in a household super-drum and made much in the boom process b4 sold to other nations to be used in jails, so think twice if u think u will sell in magnitude to be rich and made those USA cities as it was the boom thing dude and using the dredger described in following tumblr a/c of sirjustice300, from below the earth safe, will not be realized to affect the flow of the spring cause even dripping amounts like in a syringe size hole the whole days amount can be made in boom process to make the amount above b4 the amount above tripled or made 10x the way u want, again and again, in an ad-inifitum way. So they twice if u got excuses or wanted to build ya cities like Kansas city knowing in mind the boom method where if they buy much cant buy again dude as in the song link below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AY_YDpqFNNA

Since people re-package, like household consumable or chemicals as medicine which they have made artificially in already used bottles, we encourage every chain-store or shop to have the machine in the link below as with casket, to make such so they can not be used again that way making others well on-top of others is unfair way or Govt bring the vending machine option 4 folks to buy from them to eliminate the above as well as much as well with Liquor store having the same or breakable seal on those containers so u cant re-use the bottle again.

https://www.google.com/search?q=electric+rod+stamper+machine+images&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=yX_b8t0XVcWbXM%252CHO6KScGGQ0EVYM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kR89Qo6GKB8zl4yrw9PLA5edVI1eg&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiz8pe50MnqAhWJ8eAKHSwZAO0Q9QEwAHoECAcQBQ&biw=1024&bih=657#imgrc=yX_b8t0XVcWbXM

As in the link above, let the Chinese or any nation that has their own writings not as English written give their Machines names we cant read as in the stamper above to remove some spirit and imbue us with new confidence in such electronic or machine.

Yes, u still ask me if i want to get out, now that Mr Hindu, is out, yep, i wanna get out and we wanna see what u r up to dude and am shaking up my head like a little 1, i want to get to a nation where things are planed as with nursing homes and shelter and grants 4 school where people wants from u not and are of reality dude not ya still saying Kenya is rich yet not

They want them not to have social media SM, smile with many people as can be used as a marketing frontier as Uganda is launching theirs, the kikuyu or luo blood can have 4 their own as people will not trust them as they screw peoples dreams as can erase all ya a/c contents if not pro them, as well as with Hindu, china or state like Kansas 1 and thats what they are eyeing dude, so be understanding and serve justice, so people might trust ya social media to keep their data as with Tumblr a/c, and those who keeps ya data safe to help u, u wanna visit them and that’s tourism dude. Or u thought u will never come up with like airplane, pay-tv or internet but now everything is handy as reality.

Simeon in the bible are Siberian who still got that blood though the original tribe moved to another planet, they were bad never wanting others to control them, watching things from above and Barbados men got that blood, almost people leave them alone cause they love food much, they were foodious as masai also got that blood but were not glutton so were tamed like lions with heavy not kevy food, foods like Africa foods to stop that habit, where with like snacks they could eat all day and in the USA u r wanted not if u did not know out of the above solid reason as they think u r a threat in times futurity.

If 1 is with u from ya back as wanting to get a glimpse of what u buy in shops, makes u dull and grow sharp kisogo and be small in height as making u not to be satisfied as angry to go and eat again as put u in food which they know and what b4 giving u names. While open shopping and carrying food on ya hands in seen bags makes u grow tall as 1 sends me the same via my tumblr a/c connected with my twitter to let u know, maybe can be of help to many or u to stop or embrace the same, whichever dude.

Artificial rye makes building stones which puffs water more easily not long lasting as grown 1 and that's it dude as the shortcoming though many can be happy with the former message dude

Buy many watt inverter then use solar charger controller mounted on a piaggio motor bike starter has it produces much current when like a Walkman motor mounted on a magnet on the rotating head, where u smear super glue to hold the magnet and u can use solar lamp as in the links below to rotate the motor

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=piaggio+motorbike+stator&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjsm-mo1snqAhXMDWMBHVgpB80QsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=657

https://www.google.com/search?q=inside+of+a+walkman+motor+images&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=k-0gkNGHUG4zlM%252CMQn3LH8yvlAGRM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kSwml3C5FOx619upUxKuuK6Xzg96Q&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwimy8q71snqAhWZBGMBHTkWCAsQ9QEwAXoECAcQBw&biw=1024&bih=657

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=solar+charge+controller+images&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiQ95jU1snqAhULohQKHXBtBeIQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=657

https://www.google.com/search?q=high+watts+inverter+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjHzbbV1snqAhVIDGMBHXpLDvsQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=high+watts+inverter+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoECAAQQzoCCABQ22FY15kBYKikAWgAcAB4BIABkwuIAZFGkgEOMC4xMS42LjUtMi4yLjKYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZw&sclient=img&ei=agkMX8fwH8iYjLsP-pa52A8&bih=657&biw=1024&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883

https://www.google.com/search?q=china%203%20v%20-%2048%20step%20up%20step%20down%20transformer%20images&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg%3ACbWKCC4DLF_1yYRAmgICXSnsq&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&hl=en&ved=0CCQQuIIBahcKEwioqI6P18nqAhUAAAAAHQAAAAAQBQ&biw=1007&bih=640

https://www.google.com/search?q=china%203%20v%20-%2048%20step%20up%20step%20down%20transformer%20images&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg%3ACathSszjmE_1xYZHujARlV0nf&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&hl=en&ved=0CCYQuIIBahcKEwjwxd3Q18nqAhUAAAAAHQAAAAAQBQ&biw=1007&bih=640

https://www.google.com/search?q=china%203%20v%20-%2048%20step%20up%20step%20down%20transformer%20images&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg%3ACUr0yDyZAC6LYQaIKZI1jQBj&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&hl=en&ved=0CCUQuIIBahcKEwjAhpLW18nqAhUAAAAAHQAAAAAQBQ&biw=1007&bih=640

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-tb-lg-105-dc-3v-6v-to-400kv-boost-step-up-power-module-high-voltage-transformerblack-25301801.html

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-cacao-50kv-high-voltage-pulse-arc-generator-inverter-step-up-boost-transform-21877551.html

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-the-old-tree-inverted-step-up-high-voltage-generator-arc-igniter-coil-module-15kv-high-frequency-transformer-kit-23061367.html

When the Naivasha-ksm rail is completed then many will opt using rail than roads same as with Tanzania-Rwanda railway cutting jobs 4 truck drivers and killing many restaurants and hotels by the roadside.

The Diaspora remittance 40% gets into Nairobi county to build it out of research, when many deported will affect the growth of the county a billion times, think on that b4 u say u r rich dude yet u siphon money from outside as in the link below as many agencies take people to such nation remitting the same using the online money payment method as PayPal where it is calculated from though many send money on courier not well counted 4 if so could be more than the 1 shown in the link below

https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/business/article/2001353065/diaspora-cash-tops-kenya-s-foreign-exchange-earnings

With electric tricycle and motor bikes which are cheap, kills the gasoline powered 1 to effect the economies of OPEC as in the link below

http://siristar.com/product/Electric_Passenger_Tricycle_1.html?gclid=CjwKCAjwxqX4BRBhEiwAYtJX7UvV8WNzeFMR5376waARVvw-d-MzKsG6C-5CHLONm1XJp4mO0vTRERoCqEAQAvD_BwE

http://siristar.com/product/VENUS-SRLZX-H1.html?gclid=CjwKCAjwxqX4BRBhEiwAYtJX7Xivw8JkO9_DRWwBoWxR9z341LyrY7JPG85fYokhukEhTCR7dKaB9xoCegYQAvD_BwE

Horticulture earnings will drop significantly when, usage of flowers are well known as making of soaps in the boom process where in the cut flower solution u insert ripe banana or cassava and boom ya soap and more,it was high down in the link like cause many did not know it usage as many thought it was 4 picnics, valentines and burials but later it was alas!

https://www.pulselive.co.ke/bi/finance/horticulture-earns-kenya-sh115-billion-to-become-third-foreign-exchange-earner/mkqmb89

https://af.reuters.com/article/kenyaNews/idAFL8N29F0JQ

http://www.worldstopexports.com/kenyas-top-10-exports/

The live trees which forms the bulk of export are made in boom process but where not known to the importing nations which now they know as well as with insecticides like pyrethrum which can be made in boom process known to the importers like Uganda which now opt using the Tanzania-Rwanda transit and see 4 ya self how Kenya is poor out of big population base. Vegetable, tobacco, fruits and ores now once ya export as well can be made in boom process with importers saving that money 4 something else.

Kamba now living got the bad Arabic saudi character of being mean and wanting from ya by force while the Canadian or Gabon people are kamba blooded of no such character they are trying to evade as it was that kamba gene without being interfered with the Saudi Arabian blood and that’s the difference dude.

School teachers are paid by the government and to maintain school we can ask how many workers are employed with their salaries and now they know how to make laboratory chemicals and tools in the boom process they save that cash which have been allotted and even if they did not know how to make such, still we can take inventory and sea how much is spent in a year plus with the above wages and minus from the total the kids pay, which is to-much not well accounted 4 and question is where it goes to, dude, politician gimmicks, it builds cities within the nation like Big towns if u did not know 4 ya information and that’s why school fee and even 4 colleges should be reduced and online classes encouraged to avert the same where lectures are placed online even 4 primary and secondary schools where u simply pay 4 the exam fee and that’s it dude. When the above done Nairobi or Mombasa, Kampala collapses a big time, exploiting parents to build cities that as much as built out of huge population slums aint eradicated dude, tantamount to zero-work. Reasons 4 too much fee hike and forced marriages 4 the same if u don’t know.

Now everything has shifted to Tz,now don’t force am with u that am from tz as u claim, leave me all alone the luo blooded, i can live even in the most poor nation not as u locating good things dude.

From Argentina/Chile side u can place detonators like electric poles then detonate at once placing forth ice breakers where water will pour out to the outer crust to reduce the land under water and increase the coastline to create much land to build our cities as increase coastal situated city lands as i read it dude.

Click the links below to see made in Botswana, Philippine airplane

http://www.dailynews.gov.bw/news-details.php?nid=27305

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLWqf-aYuC8

https://adobochronicles.com/2013/08/19/philippine-airlines-launches-worlds-first-open-deck-passenger-aircraft/

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fi.ytimg.com%2Fvi%2FTtN7t32pY5k%2Fmaxresdefault.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DTtN7t32pY5k&tbnid=E5MaTnoLoeDTNM&vet=12ahUKEwj8x7jnisfqAhUY-hoKHQP8BgMQMygBegUIARCoAQ..i&docid=lWiJraGF-SRFZM&w=1280&h=720&q=airplane%20made%20in%20philippines%20images&client=firefox-b-d&ved=2ahUKEwj8x7jnisfqAhUY-hoKHQP8BgMQMygBegUIARCoAQ

Kenya can buy e-train that has the battery inside like the E-car not necessarily running on e-wires as in the link below to replace the head side of the current they have to compete Uganda, as UG 1 will be cheap and most opted 4 as well as 1st, electric train without electric traction power

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&sxsrf=ALeKk01LulGTKrXx-VnjEYNgGqjR4Mu01A:1594537111520&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=electric+train+images&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiu0PPQkcfqAhWD2eAKHenuAvUQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=625

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE883KE883&sxsrf=ALeKk02H7CidSk6hipAvTF5SzIhmlLS2Vw:1594537368843&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=images+of+comeng+electric+train&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwinus3LksfqAhVoBGMBHdStA7kQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=625#imgrc=g_Uil7p5R7FdqM

[aceofstars16]

Trapped in the Past (Chapter 5)

Fifth Chapter of my Timetrapped AU inspired by @artsycrapfromsai

When Mabel and Dipper fight over a time machine, they find themselves sent back thirty years in the past. Now it’s up to the younger versions of their great uncles to get them home.

Chapter 5 - Scam Artists 

Mabel helps Stan with a small con job and Dipper runs into something unexpected...

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 6 - 7

AO3

Mabel watched as the landscape passed by, her face pressed up against the cool window. She glanced at the floor, where she had placed the time machine, and barely managed to hold back a sigh. Every time she looked at it, she felt a knot of unease and sorrow grow in her stomach. Was she really doing the right thing? Or was there even a right thing to do in her circumstance? If only she had a way to make sure Dipper was okay, or to figure out where he was, or…something…

“You okay kiddo?”

Stan’s voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked over at him. He glanced at her for a moment before looking back at the road, but in that second, she saw concern on his face. If only she could tell him…

“Yeah it’s…fine…” Pulling her sweater up to her ears, Mabel tried to believe it. To remind herself this was the only option - the only real solution she had.

“Thinking about your brother, huh?” There was a heaviness to Stan’s voice that made her pull the sweater down so she could see and hear clearly again.

“How did you…?” She sighed and looked at the time machine, touching it with her foot. “Yeah, I just hope he’s okay…”

“I’m sure he’s fine…he’s a smart kid, yeah?” Something in the way Stan spoke made her wonder if he was really talking about Dipper or his brother. Ford. She still wanted to know more about him, but her thoughts were divided between that and her own worries.

“Sometimes…though he’s not the most social person. I usually helped him with that…”

“Oh…”

Looking at Stan, Mabel felt a question rising up in her mind, and since she couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about, she took a shot at it. “Were you and uh…Ford, close?”

If Mabel hadn’t been looking at him, she might not have noticed the tiny wince on his face, but she did. And she immediately regretted it. Opening her mouth, she was about to take it back, but Stan’s voice stopped her.

“Yeah…he was my best friend you know? I…it’s a twin thing I guess.”

“Wait, he’s your twin?!?” Shock coursed through Mabel. How in the world did she not only know that Stan didn’t have another brother, but that said brother was his twin?

“Eh, yeah. Had some fun times pretending to be each other. We even mastered each other’s voices. Heh, we messed with a lot of people back in the day.” A lightness overcame Stan as he spoke, a genuine smile growing on his face. Which disappeared as soon as Mabel asked her next question.

“What happened?”

A shadow passed over Stan’s face and he sighed. “I…oh look at that.” Stan pointed at a cliff outcropping that was being highlighted by the sun. It was pretty but not something Mabel thought he would normally point out. Man, what had happened between him and his brother?

“It looks like a big mouth.” Mabel tried focusing on the outcropping, but it was hard to do when she really just wanted to talk about Ford more. Or figure out if there was something else she should be doing instead of going to Gravity Falls. Both questions were weighing her down, and it wasn’t fun in the slightest.  

Silence grew between them, and despite knowing Stan wouldn’t want to talk she had to know. Or at least try to find out… “Was it a fight?”

Stan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he was pretending he hadn’t heard her – he had done that in the past. Or future if she wanted to be technical.

“Dipper and I fight sometimes.” She didn’t really know what else to say, or if there was anything she could say to get Stan to tell her what had happened. But just mentioning fights brought up guilt over the Waddles incident. “…we…we fought before we got separated.” And maybe none of this would’ve happened if I had just let him have his day with Wendy. She didn’t voice the last bit, but she thought it. The thought had crossed her mind a lot the past few days…

A sigh. “Sorry about that, kiddo…I…I’m sure it’ll all work out.” Though the words were comforting, they sounded more depressed then encouraging, as if he wasn’t even thinking about her and Dipper. Okay, so a fight was probably the reason behind him not wanting to talk about Ford. But it must have been a big one. She couldn’t imagine any fight would ever make her not want to talk about Dipper. Sure, sometimes he could be stupid after a fight, but that only lasted a little while. And they usually laughed about it later. So what kind of fight could break up twins?

“You getting hungry?”

Stan’s voice shook her out of her thoughts – though they still lingered at the back of her mind – and she looked out the window. There were signs lining the roadside, advertising a few different restaurants. Now that she thought about it, she was pretty hungry. But she wasn’t stupid. She had seen how little cash Stan had, and how he had sped away from a gas station without paying.

“I’m good.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, a frown on his face. “Sure you are…”

They stopped at a small food chain that Mabel had never heard of, so it must only be a chain in Utah or something.

As Stan pulled in, Mabel glanced worriedly at him. “Really, I’m okay…”

“I’ve heard your stomach grumble three times since I mentioned food, kiddo, now come on.” He opened his door and Mabel hesitantly followed suit. But as she walked around the car, she saw him frowning at the few coins in his hand.

Upon hearing her shoes crunching on the gravel of the parking lot, he looked up and shoved the money in his pocket again. “Say…how’s your acting?”

Oh this was the Stan she knew. And while Dipper didn’t approve of Stan’s schemes, Mabel found them fun and usually somewhat harmless. Besides, maybe doing something familiar would help ease her mind about this whole mess. “I’ve been in every play my school has put on.”

As she spoke, she grinned and he matched it.

“Great, now, here’s the plan…”

“Oh this one is much cleaner than the last one!” Mabel practically shouted as she hopped around, looking at each of the pictures hung up on the wall of the restaurant. Normally she didn’t pay too much attention to them, but it fit into the plan and they actually were interesting. People cooking burgers, cartoon characters sharing burgers. Kind of silly but hey, there was nothing wrong with that.

“You’re right, these floors look recently swept. That will give them some extra points.” Stan said, bending down to examine the colorful tile.

“Um…can I help you?”

An employee was looking at them from behind the counter, confusion written all over his face.

“You sure can! I’m a scout for the Best Burgers contest, and we’re here to judge this fine establishment!” The words rolled easily off of Stan’s tongue, a grin punctuating the end of his sentence.

“Uh…Burgers 4 U is a chain…” The employee – Steve – said, looking at Stan, confusion still lining his face.

“We are judging all burger joints, chain or not. Every place has a different manager and staff, right? So it’s only fair to judge them all!” As he spoke, Stan tossed his hands up in the air and looked around, still grinning.

“And yours is one of the best ones we’ve been to so far!” Mabel piped in, pointing to the cartoon painting. “This looks original!”  

“Umm…” Steve looked at Mabel and at Stan. “Why did you bring your daughter with you to judge restaurants?”

Stan stared for a moment, as did Mabel. Saying he was her uncle wasn’t hard at all since he was her great uncle but there was something a little strange about having someone assume he was her dad. Though it kind of made sense in a way. They did look related after all.

“Gotta have the kid’s perspective too, right? ‘Sides, her mom couldn’t watch her this weekend and she loves burgers.” Mabel was surprised how quickly he came up with a cover, but this was Stan, quick covers seemed to come easy for him. Though it did sound a little more strained than some of his other lies, but Steve just shrugged, so it was still a win.

“Okay, so uh…you want to order or…?”

“First things first! There is a small entry fee.” As he spoke, Steve frowned, but Stan rushed on. “Only to expand the prize money of course. The winning restaurant gets it all, and just between you and me.” Stan lowered his voice and bent closer to Steve as if to make sure they were the only ones who could hear the next words despite there being no other costumers in the building. “Your establishment is already better than most of the places we’ve been to this week.”

“Umm…okay…uh…” Steve looked around, biting his lip. “My boss isn’t here right this second, maybe we could wait till he gets back-“

“Making the customer wait on the manager. Sweetie why don’t you write that one down.”

Mabel froze, because she didn’t actually have anything to write notes down on. But after a second, she stuck a hand in her skirt pocket. Act like you have everything you need, even if you don’t. That was one of the lessons she remembered from her play rehearsals.

“Wait, wait, um…how about I get you your food first? He should be back by then.” Steve tried for a smile, and Mabel felt a little bad for scamming him. She was pretty sure he was just trying to do his job and not pass up something his boss would be interested in. But her and Stan needed food, and he would be okay…right?

“Sure thing, I’ll have a number three with extra fries and, Mabel sweetie, what do you want?”

The question caught Mabel off guard for a second, mainly because she hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. But she narrowed her eyes and tried quickly skimming over the kid’s meal options. “I’ll have the Jr. Deluxe kid’s meal!”

Steve nodded as he turned his attention to the screen in front of him and pressed a few buttons – some of which seemed to stick because he hit them a few times. “Alright, that will be-“

“Hmm, charging the judges for their meals, make a note of that.” Stan stage whispered to Mabel, effectively cutting Steve off from saying the price.

“Umm…” Steve glanced at the screen, then at Stan and Mabel. “You can have as seat; I’ll get this out soon.”

Stan nodded. “That’s what I like to hear. Got some points going for you.” He winked then grabbed the cups Steve had pulled out for their sodas and confidently strode towards the drink dispenser.

A few minutes later, Mabel was sipping some sort of off brand soda while munching on fries and a somewhat bland burger with tasteless toppings that didn’t add much flavor. But she was so hungry she didn’t even care. Food was food. And as she glanced up at Stan - who was tearing into his burger - she was pretty sure he felt the same way.

As she took the last bite of her burger, Mabel saw Stan looking at the counter, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Alright kiddo, let’s see if we can get that ‘entry’ money…and maybe a milkshake if you want it.” As he spoke, he reached out and ruffled her hair before picking up the tray and making his way to the trash.

Mabel quickly got up and followed him, trying to push aside the guilt as she glanced at Steve. It wasn’t that much money and they really did need it. Especially because she didn’t know if Stan would be able to get away with not paying for gas again. At least not without getting into trouble.  

Making his way back to the counter, Stan grinned at Steve. “Your boss back yet?”

Steve glanced around nervously. “Not yet…”

Stan made a tsk sound. “Well, I can just pay and we can be on our way. After all, I can’t enter you without the money.”

It was a bluff. Mabel was pretty sure Stan didn’t have enough money to pay for the food they had just eaten. And if Steve took the offer…Mabel prepared herself to run.

“I…well…How much is it to enter?”

“Twenty dollars.” Stan came up with the amount so fast, Mabel couldn’t help but wonder when he had come up with that number. It didn’t seem like a lot to her but she vaguely remembered Dipper talking about how money had been worth more a few decades ago…maybe that had something to do with it?

Despite the amount sounding very low to Mabel, Steve looked worried. “I’m not sure if I can…”

“Well, I guess we’ll just scratch this one off of the list and be on our way…”

“Wait! I…let me just…” Steve opened up the cash register and started counting out a few bills, worry furrowing his brow. As he looked up, he hesitantly handed it to Stan.

Stan took it and counted it carefully. “That should do it! And your odds of winning are looking pretty good.” He winked and grinned, then turned to look at Mabel. “Ready to go, pumpkin?” A questioning look grew on his face, and somehow she could tell it wasn’t because he actually wanted to leave. Milkshake. She remembered what he had said, but despite loving sweet things, Mabel could see the uncertainty on Steve’s face and she just smile and nodded.

“Yup, ready!”

Stan frowned at her, but let her lead him out of the restaurant. After all, she was pretty full and…leaving while they were ahead was the safer route. Plus, skipping out on scamming someone was something Dipper would approve of. Not that he was here but…she didn’t want any little thing to get between them. Not a pig, or a milkshake, or anything else. So, she led Stan to the car and hopped into the passenger’s side without a word.

She could feel Stan looking at her, but she focused on a loose stitch on her sweater.

Then the car rumbled to life and they were on their way again.

Stan leaned back in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but deep down he didn’t know if he would actually sleep at all.

Looking at the backseat, he saw Mabel curled up, his bag under her head as a makeshift pillow. As he watched, she shivered and without really thinking, he took off his jacket and draped it over her. It was the least he could do since he couldn’t afford a hotel. Or at least, not if they wanted to keep some of the money they had managed to scam out of that kid at the burger place. Getting a hotel room would take most of, if not all of the twenty bucks and Stan was pretty sure he would need to fill up a few more times before they made it to Oregon. So, sleeping in the car was the only reasonable option. After all, he didn’t want to be flippant with the money Mabel had helped him get.

The thought brought a small smile to his face. Mabel had been great. He was surprised how well she had played along. Almost like it was a game. Part of him felt bad for dragging her down to his level, but she hadn’t seemed to mind too much. Apart from the milkshake. She seemed to have more of a conscious about scamming people than he did. Though once upon a time he might’ve been a little more hesitant about it too. But now it was the only way he could survive so…he did what he had to do.

Letting out a breath, he caught sight of the tape measure that was still sitting in the front seat. He hesitantly picked it up and turned it over in his hand, frowning as he saw some circuit boards and other things that he didn’t think tape measures normally came equipped with. Maybe it was a toy or something…but his gut told him otherwise. He looked at Mabel again and couldn’t help but wonder what she wasn’t telling him. But he couldn’t force her to tell him. He would just have to be patient, or hope that her great uncle would be able to help her. And her brother.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Stan felt a small stab of worry and pain. He didn’t know what had happened between her and her brother. But he sure hoped it would work out better than him and Ford…But then again, Ford had asked him to come so…maybe there was still some hope for them too. Though he tried to tell himself not to get his hopes up. There was no telling why Ford had called on him so suddenly, it might not have anything to do with their broken relationship…  

Placing the measuring tape back on the passenger’s seat, Stan pulled the postcard out from the armrest and flipped it over to look at the writing. Please Come was the most prominent part of it, and everything looked normal for Ford. Then again, Stan didn’t really know what was normal for his brother anymore. But as he looked closer, he couldn’t help but notice a few ink splatters on the corner, and a few lines that looked a little shaky. Anxiety grew in his stomach and all he wanted to do was turn on the car and drive all night till he got to Gravity Falls. And for a second, the idea took hold and he stuck the key into the ignition, only to stop as he realized how hard it was to move his arm even that short distance. His body was exhausted. After all, he really hadn’t slept much last night.

With a groan he pulled the key out and leaned back again. A few hours and he would be good to go. Though as he tried to find a more comfortable position, he couldn’t help but wonder how well he would actually sleep. Anxiety didn’t really aid in falling asleep. But he had to try. Because he needed rest to drive safely. And he needed to drive safe, for Mabel’s sake. Plus, he wouldn’t really be able to help Ford if he got into a wreck either. Just a quick nap. That’s all he needed. Give me that, just two hours or so. He pleaded with his brain as he closed his eyes and tried not to think about all of the worries and uncertainties crowding his mind. It seemed an impossible task, but eventually his exhaustion won and sleep overtook him.

The ceiling was so clean, at least compared to what Dipper was used to - though there were still some stains here and there. Not nearly as many as there were in 2012 though. He tried seeing if any looked like an animal or something but that was really more Mabel’s forte. It was better than thinking about his current situation, though it wasn’t doing a very good job as his mind kept coming back to Mabel, and Ford, and what the heck he was supposed to do. What he wanted to do was go back to the attic and see if he could find some answers. But he wasn’t quite sure where Ford was and he didn’t really want to risk any more backlash even if Ford had given him food and actually seemed interested in his findings. Crap. Had that been smart? Would that create inconsistencies in the future? Well, he couldn’t really take it back now. It wasn’t like he could wipe Ford’s memory or anything. Hopefully it would be okay… Maybe Ford wouldn’t even think about it too much, he did seem kind of…odd. Off his kilter or something. Even more so that Dipper would’ve expected.

Closing his eyes, Dipper wondered if he could actually fall asleep. It would be more like a nap than anything. After all, he wasn’t really that tired, but there was only so much he could do while pretending to be asleep.

Or maybe…trying to tune out his thoughts, Dipper listened closely. The only thing he could hear was the wind outside and the heater working furiously to keep the room warm. No stairs creaking, no muttering, nothing to indicate that Ford was nearby. If he was quiet, maybe he could sneak up to the attic.

Sitting up slowly, Dipper looked around, but didn’t see any sign of Ford either, and it was still quiet too. Pushing the blankets aside, he slowly made his way out of the parlor, keeping an eye out for Ford as he went. So far so good.

One step, then another. Stepping over a spot on the ground that was known for creaking, at least in the future - just in case. Ducking behind a wall because he thought he heard something. Continuing onward a moment later when everything seemed clear. Almost there.

“Well, well, well! Whacha up to kiddo?”

Dipper jumped straight up at the sudden sound before fumbling to turn around.

Ford was staring at him, a huge grin lighting his face. That was…odd…

“Uh…I was just uh…getting some water…” Dipper came up with the excuse on the spot. If Ford was even more out of it than before, he really didn’t want to risk upsetting him.

“Don’t let me stop you, I’m just on my way to the lab, hahaha!” Ford’s grin didn’t falter once while talking, and as he spoke, Dipper noticed something even stranger. He blinked with one eye, then the other…and it almost looked like one eye was bloodshot.

Turning on his heels in a very jaunty way, Ford started making his way towards the gift shop. But as Dipper watched, he felt a growing sense of unease in his gut. Something did not seem right. Sure, Dipper didn’t really know Ford, but…what he had just witnessed did not line up with how Ford had been acting the last few days. Had he finally cracked under some sort of pressure? Or had he just lost it completely?

Whatever it was, Dipper couldn’t help but feel that Ford wasn’t really in shape to be working in the lab, especially after the warning he had given Dipper a few hours ago.

“Wait!” Trying not to pay attention to the fear growing in his chest, Dipper raced after Ford, reaching him just as he opened the bookcase.

“Oh look who’s back. I thought you were getting a drink of water Pine Tree.”

“Pine Tree…?”

“Go on, I have lots of important equations to fix!”

Dipper stared at Ford, watching as he blinked again, one eye at a time, just like before. A chill ran down his back.

“Are you…are you sure you are up to it?” It was the first thing that Dipper could think of, and as soon as he said it, he winced. That sounded very rude.

But Ford’s only response was a laugh, a very loud, long, laugh. “I’ve never been better! Just got work to do!”

Not reprimand, no yelling at him to leave. And laughter. Dipper hadn’t heard Ford laugh more than a chuckle…Maybe he had been off of his game before and now he was actually back to normal but…it didn’t feel right at all.

“Could you help me find a water cup?” Dipper didn’t know what he was doing, but every inch of his body was telling him to do something, to make sure Ford really was okay. Because this was Gravity Falls, and anything was possible in Gravity Falls. There was no telling what kind of things could mess with people here.

“Ha, good one. You can find it yourself, kid. Now, I’m off to work!”

Fear pulsed through Dipper, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that he could not let Ford get to the lab. And before he knew what he was doing, he bolted forward, barring Ford’s way into the secret hallway.

“Hey, what are you doing Pine Tree?”

For the first time since this encounter started, Ford actually growled. He seemed very annoyed, which was more normal for him…Maybe he was just-

A flash of light caught Ford’s eyes and Dipper froze. Because they did not look right, they looked like…cat’s eyes… Wait, wasn’t there something in the journal about…?

“Out of my way!” Ford shoved Dipper into the wall, pushing his way to the elevator.

Dipper didn’t know what was going on, his brain was blanking on the exact details of the creature he had read about in the journal. But there was one thing he did know. The machine in the basement was dangerous, and if some creature was trying to get to it…he had to stop them. And if Ford really was just crazy well…he’d deal with the consequences of that.

Scrambling to his knees, Dipper dove forward, grabbing Ford’s legs and making him stumble.

“Hey, what the…?”

“I don’t know what you are or if you are just losing it but I’m not letting you into that room!”

“Get OFF ME!”

Ford kicked Dipper, hard, slamming him into the ground.

Pain radiated through Dipper’s body and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Fear engulfed every inch of his body as he tried to get air into his lungs. The elevator doors rolled open. Ford grinned at him.

No! Dipper scrambled forward, his vision going blurry as he rolled into the small enclosure. Opening his mouth, he tried desperately to breathe again, and his lungs finally complied.

“Not a smart move, kiddo.”

Gasping for a moment, Dipper forced himself to look up at Ford, only to press himself up against the wall at the murderous look in his eyes.

Terror gripped every inch of his mind and body. What was he doing? He couldn’t stand up to an adult, he was just a kid. Ford was much bigger than him and he didn’t have anything he could use to defend himself besides his hands.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you one more chance, Pine Tree. Stay on this elevator and pretend this never happened. But if not well…”

He should take the deal. His brain screamed at him to just stay still, to do nothing. But…

“…you might make a good pawn for Sixer…or your sister.”

Anger cut through the fear. Mabel. He brought Mabel into this. There was no way Dipper was letting this thing hurt Mabel in anyway. Especially if it knew where she was…

The doors swung open and Ford strolled out. Taking a deep breath, Dipper lunged at his back.

They both fumbled to the ground.

“THAT’S IT!”

Ford kicked Dipper again, sending him flying, but unlike last time, Dipper still had his breath. He jumped again, trying to pull Ford away from the machinery, doing anything he could to stop him. Kicking, biting, tripping, anything.

“ENOUGH!” Ford kicked Dipper away again, murder glistening in his eyes.

Everything hurt. Dipper didn’t know the last time he had ever felt this much pain. He could barely look up, let alone keep trying to hinder Ford.

But this time Ford wasn’t stalking towards the machines, he was coming towards Dipper.

Crap…was this it? Would…whatever thing controlling Ford actually kill him? Just to get to the machine?

All of the adrenaline that had been fueling Dipper was dying. Fear came back full force as tears started forming in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Not here, not without making it up to Mabel, not at the hands of his hero. But what else could he do?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wrench on the floor. It was a few feet away, but he fumbled forward. Maybe if he could get a good hit in, he could do…something…?

A lunge for the tool, a growl from Ford as he tried to reach it first. Feeling the weight in his hand as he wrapped his fingers around the metal tool and swung, right at Ford’s head.

The clang echoed around the room as Ford fumbled and fell to the ground.

Breathe coming in gasps, tears fell from Dipper’s eyes as everything sunk in. As his body almost shut down from sheer shock and exhaustion.

“Wh…wha…?”

Ford’s voice sent a spike of fear through Dipper’s body, but he could only look at Ford as he felt his head, then looked up at Dipper. Blood was dripping from his right eye, which was shut tight. Confusion flicked on Ford’s face for a moment, but then he touched his eye and as he pulled it back his expression was one of utter terror.

“Oh no…”

[prodicalviews]

Untitled

About a year ago I started writing this fic I was pretty tipsy (maybe even drunk). I remember laughing my head off like I was funny lol.

Please don't take this seriously, I mixed my drinks that night I was a mess the next day.

Feel free to call this drabble what you want.  In the meantime, I’ll be updating all the fics this week.  (yes all)

power to fanfic writers, may the new year grant you creativity, no writer's block, and clear skin.

I never understood why the landlord never warned me whenever we had a new tenant.  Specifically when there’s a vacancy next to me.  It shouldn’t be hard, the guy lived two doors down from me.  Though I wasn’t going to say anything to that big burly man.

Three.  Three people in the last 5 months went through this apartment.  And of course being the nice genuine person I am I’d give them a welcoming pan of cake or cookies.  I’d also befriend them, despite my loner tendencies. It never hurts to have someone watch after your cat when you go on a shopping trip.

No thanks to Abe, also known as the landlord.  I found out we were getting a new tenant from Carol.  My other neighbor.  Honestly, I understood why those girls moved out.  One, these condos were expensive.  Two, shopping sprees daddies money didn’t fully cover were more important than rent.  Three, everyone living here was either, doctors, lawyers or some other hotshot.  So holding a conversation without sounding like an idiot was damn near impossible.  Unless of course, you were talking to an actor or my downstairs neighbor, Jessie.  Bless her heart.  I can’t count how much celebrity’s I’ve met just walking to the dumpster.  Just taking out some trash the other day and hey would you look at that, Nicholas Cage.  Well, most of them were old time celebs but they were still famous, right?

As I was saying, right when I got to know these girls well enough.  They went and left me.  I’d ask Carol to watch Mike but she’s allergic to cats.  Morgan was always busy with his son. Glenn and Maggie, well they wouldn’t even bother feeding him.  I’m pretty sure Daryl would just throw him in the trash.  Negan would watch him, but of course, that came with a sizable price and Jessie?  I’m positive she’d kill him by accident.  Sasha watched him before but now she’s always missing since she became chief of staff at the hospital.  Abe would just have him testing landmines in the desert during my absence.

I stared down at my furless cat.  His big brown doe eyes called to me.  Yes, he was ugly.  Everyone made sure to tell me this.  But I loved him.  He’s my little muse.  But a girl needed new underwear, shoes, and blouses.  I don’t know how I managed to survive this long, I haven’t gone shopping in a year.  A whole year.  And if that meant sucking up to whoever was moving boxes of their shit into condo 7 then so be it.

It wasn’t long before Mike started mewling for his morning breakfast.  His stretchy skin rubbed against my bare legs.  His meows only seemed to get louder.

“Don’t worry Mike, momma’s going to get your kibbles.  You want kibbles don’t ya?”  He meowed in response.  I was positive on some level Mike understood me.  He’s been with me for eight years now.  Through thick and thin he stuck by my side. He was two when I lost my job at Atlanta’s art gallery.  I decided to take a leap of faith, the money I made from the paintings sold over the years was meeting its end.  Mike and I were barely surviving, with my last bit of funds I made a tedious treacherous journey down to LA in my small KIA.  It wasn’t long before I lost hope.  Selling paintings on the roadside didn’t pay the bill for that trash motel we stayed at.  Eventually, I took a job waiting at a restaurant.  It was a sight to behold, I earned my degree in the Arts yet I was waiting tables for the hillbillies, hippies and con artist of LA.

But I didn’t give up.  After getting the green light to display my paintings in front of the diner I worked for.  Things started to look better for me.  I sold a few pieces, enough for me to relocate to a different motel.  One that was more inhabitable.  Dale never asked for compensation if I sold an art piece.  He was a genuine man that wanted the best for me, along with a few of the other waitresses that were trying to get through school.  So when he told me about an inquiry on my pieces from a man in a not so modest suite I knew he wasn’t lying.

One can say I’ve made a name for myself, six years later I supplied work for some of the biggest Galleries in the city.  And a year since I had a stable neighbor in Condo 7 after Noah died.  He was a young up and coming actor with a boisterous personality and a genuine smile.  After dying in a head-on collision we all mourned his death.

Pulling open one of my cupboard, I grabbed the bag of overly expensive catnip along with Mike’s bowl.  He nudges my leg urging me to hurry and serve his food.  I loved him to death but his attitude needed an adjustment.

Pouring food into his bowl and I watched as he made a dash for it.  It evoked a chuckle from me.  We were living well.  I admit we gained weight, his pudgy stomach touched the wooden panels of the kitchen floor and those five-star dishes went straight to my hips.  It was Saturday, which meant I was due a visit from Carol shortly.  Yes, Mike gave her allergies but it never stopped her from urging me out of my shell.  Art has always been my safe haven.  A man-made solace of the sort.  I’ve never been one for an abundance of company, which is why, as my work became more popular I sold anonymously.  My first name, Michonne, was still attached to everything I’ve painted but no one actually knew how I looked or my gender.  Unless you count the assholes back in Atlanta, but I haven’t heard any news of them releasing images of my face.  After all, Michonne wasn’t a common name.  Along with my longtime neighbors and the folks who bought my work in the early stages of my career my secret was safe.

As if on cue, Carol’s signature knock sounded against the door.  I rolled my eyes at the clock hanging over my stove.  Nine o’clock sharp as always.

I took my time answering the door, we always had the same conversation. Like clockwork, so I wasn’t in a rush.  Releasing my locks and turning the doorknob I was greeted by a smiling face equipped with a pan of chocolate cookies.  My mouth was watering, my weakness.  I returned her smile and relieved her of the pastries.

“That thing hasn’t sat on the couch yet as he?”  She asked a bit weary.  For Carol’s sake and peace of mind, I was sure to spray the couch and keep Mike away from her designated spot.  I waved her off removing the plastic covering her pastries.

“By thing I assume you mean Mike.”

“Oh yes, him.”  I could hear the humor in her voice.  I shook my head and started the coffee maker in the kitchen.

“I thought you’d want to reserve some treats to sway our new neighbor with.”  Oh shit, I almost forgot about them.  This was my secret, I gave them baked goods, that Carol herself baked.  Normally she’d bring in anything left over from her bakery.  But this was different, these were chocolate cookies.

“They’re not even moved in yet.”  I mentioned from the kitchen.

“Oh sweetie, where have you been for the past seven hours?”  I was sleeping no doubt.  “Last I check they were just moving the last of their furniture.”  Carol was a dear, out of all my neighbors, we exchanged the most words.  I’ll even go as far as to say she’s my closest friend.

“I don’t need to schmooze the new neighbors this early, it’s only nine o’clock.  I’ll let them settle in first.”  After the coffee maker screamed in wake of its completion I grabbed two mugs.  Mine and Carol’s permanent Saturday morning mugs.  I know.  She literally bought a mug for my place that she uses.  I poured us coffee adding sugar.  I walked in the living area balancing our coffee and a plate of cookies.

Uncrossing her legs she took her mug from my hand and watched as I sat down.  I took a careful sip of my coffee, it was hot and the scent from the beans was strong as I inhaled, just how I liked it.

“You wouldn’t have to schmooze them if you’d just buy your clothes online.  This is the 21st century after all.”  She is 40.  Exactly ten years my senior, so her words were more than ironic.  It made me feel decades old.

“Carol we’ve been through this too many times.  I prefer to buy items that are my size exactly.”  I wasn’t lying when I mentioned that Mike and I gained weight.  Living the good life put me up a cup size and made jeans stop to my thighs when I squeezed into them.  It wasn’t as if I wasn’t working out.  There was a gym downstairs I utilized constantly, but once my hips and breast got bigger they decided to stay that way, despite all my effort and time.  “So I buy them in the flesh.”

She just waved me off.  “You don’t need to take a flight to buy clothes, Michonne.”  She was right, but it was one of the perks hard earned money bought you.  I clucked my tongue to the roof of my mouth deciding to change the topic of conversation.

“So how is Ezekiel doing?”  And just like that her blue eyes glazed over.  For as long as I knew Carol, they’ve been together.  I even gave him a few pointers on how to grow his locs.  I was glad they stuck together so I could watch his locs flourish past his shoulders.  I was also elated for Carol.  Ezekiel was a B list actor, one of my favorite actors since he played Victor on ‘The Last Knights’.  It was among many of my TV favorites.  Technically they lived together, but during filming season he had to go to a different state but they kept in touch.  As to why they’ve been together for years without getting married was beyond me.

“He’s doing just fine.”  Her cheeks were tainted pink.  She still swooned over him like a lovesick teen.  I smiled at her.  “Instead of diverting to the man in my life let’s talk about your love life.”  She sported a devilish smirk behind her gray flower mug.

Somehow I fought the urge to roll my eyes.  I knew I was attractive, in fact, most of the men I met found me alluring.  But since no one ever saw me with a man publically they assumed I was a lesbian.  Obviously, since I didn’t want the hassle and stress of a relationship I welcomed the notion.  Even Carol seemed on the fence about my sexuality.

“It’s nonexistent. I don’t get out much to meet anyone, hence another reason I need this shopping trip.”  I told her taking big bites out of the cookie.

“If you’d just go out with me and the others that would change.”  Yes, the monthly ritual they established.  Once a month everyone would get dressed and have dinner usually followed by the night ending at a posh club.  On more than one occasion Negan asked me to come.  He was handsome. I’d go as far to say he was sexy, with dimpled cheeks, a wide smile and a nice head of hair.  But my goodness was he a player.  My guess is that he was juggling about 5 different women right now.  Most lawyers I’ve met had multiple women.  Of course, that didn’t stop him from wanting me.

“I’m not one for outings with packed crowds,”  I mentioned.

Carol shook her head.  “I have a feeling your life will change, Michonne.  And soon too.”

“Are you hanging out with Gabriel again?  My life changed six years ago.  And for the better too.”  Gabriel was a pastor and Morgan’s brother.  He always stopped by to use our gym and Abe allowed it.  He was even gifted with an ID for the front gate last Christmas.  At this point, it wouldn’t be surprising if he moved into Morgan’s Condo.

As much as I complained about needing personal space, I loved everyone living here, in my own way.  Jessie was questionable.  I knew more about everyone’s personal life than they knew of mine.  On occasions, I’d even give them advice and water their plants when I’m not working.  I even parked bikes courtesy of Daryl Dixon.  After Morgan’s nasty divorce I held down the fort and watched his son, Dwayne, when he was on call at the Hospital.

Of course, I was happy to do it.  Dale’s good deeds rubbed off on me.  Because of that, they’d help me in return.  It wasn’t that no one wanted to watch Mike, they were eager to.  But I couldn’t trust them to care for him, especially since they didn’t have the advantage of living next door to me.  Where I held all of his emergency medicine.  He had cancer, which explained why he was bald.  Call me picky.  I just prefer the person next to my condo to watch him if need be.

A loud horn blared from outside.  My eyebrows furrowed silently questioning Carol.  She shrugged and moved toward the window, I simply followed suit.  There we were mugs still in hand peering through the open creases of my wooden blinds.  I squinted trying to make out the face of a brunette.

“That must be her,”  Carol whispered.  “Wait I see a man in the car...”  She paused.  “He looks homeless.”  I scowled in confusion.  Abe always did background checks.  He didn’t have connections to the military for nothing.  I didn’t blame him for wanting to make sure people were able to pay their rent.  Abe also offered a deal to share land, once you’ve paid a suitable size of money you were able to live in your condo without monthly rent.  It was a choice he’d offer and it was cheaper in the long run.  Of course, household bills still had to be paid.  Some people like Daryl and Carol chose that from the start.

“Why are you whispering, it’s not like they’ll hear us through the window.”

“It’s more polite.”

“Like the action of peeping can be softened with whispering.”  We both laughed before Carol shushed me.  I caught a glimpse of the man, he was still inside the sleek black Porsche.  He had quite the beard on him.  He also wore a ratty baseball cap which probably caused him to be called homeless.  It hid his face well so I couldn’t make out his features.  The brunette went back to the window leaning in close to the bearded man.  “Oh looks like they’re a couple.”

“What do you think they do?”  I asked Carol still staring at the couple, mug in hand.  I had no shame.

“I have no idea.  But I’m guessing the woman’s a model.  Though Abraham didn’t mention there would be two of them.”  She did look like a model.  Her silky hair reached past her shoulders, leading down to a trim tight body.  Hopefully, she wasn’t another Jessie.  Jessie did something to deserve my spite, she may not remember but I do. Oh, I remember very well.

The last person to move in was, in fact, Jessie Anderson, so in our defense, we did the same thing to Jessie when she moved in four years ago.  Along with the three women who moved in over the last few months, if they counted.  When Jessie modeled her way to her condo but couldn’t figure out how to open her own door. Bless her soul. We figured she had a sugar daddy or was a model.  We were right on both counts.

“Oh goodness, we can’t have another Jessie.”  Even Carol understood.  After a moment the woman pulled away from the car and it drove off.  She was heading this way. Shit!

We tried our best to scramble away from the window without spilling the remnants of our coffee.  I switched on my TV opting to settle on a random station.

“You think she saw us?”  She asked me.

“We’re inside unless she has a third all seen eye that’s impossible,”  I told her taking in gulps of caffeine.  I was quite sure we were in the clear so when a knock bounced off my door it caught me off guard.  I spilled coffee on my capris night pants.  A frustrated moan left my throat, these stains were hard to get rid of.  I was forced to answer the door with a stain the size of a black hole on my white pants.  I still had my locs gathered on top of my head, I decided against letting it down.

The door swung open and I was greeted by another smiling face for the second time this morning.  It was the brunette.   Up close she was actually quite stunning.

“Oh, I’m sorry I was actually looking for the landlord.  I’m Lori by the way.’’  She stuck her hand out towards mine her nails gleamed with a clear coat of peach polish.  I took her hand after a moment of silence.

“Michonne.”  She was nice.

Her eyes lit up upon hearing my name.  “You’re not Michonne the painter are you?”  Her tone held curiosity.

“Umm, no.  I’m not.”  Although she seemed nice I didn’t know her.  If the painting on my living room wall wasn’t any indication of who I was then she really didn’t need to know.

She rolled her eyes and dropped my hand.  “Of course, she’d have enough money for better…uhh apparel maybe even a house.”  Bitch! Her eyes darted to the stain on my pants. I wanted to scream ‘but bitch you’re living here too!’ I held my tongue.  “How silly of me.”

“It was an honest mistake.”  I had to suck up to this bitch?  I think not.  Funny how first impressions left a lasting mark.  I’ll mourn the loss of new undergarments later.  My only hope was that her boyfriend was nicer since her ring finger was bare.

Lori nodded lacing her hands together.  “Like I said earlier, I was looking for the landlord.”  Her tone was short all of a sudden like she didn’t want to stay by this door a minute longer.  I pointed to the left.

“He’s two doors down.  But if I were you I wouldn’t bother him this early on Saturday’s.  If Sasha answers you’ll be in luck.”  Abe didn’t have a knack for Saturday mornings, any time after eleven was better for him.  I learned the hard way after the pipe in my bathroom burst.  I ran to Abe banging on his door.  By the time he answered, he was red-faced and shirtless.  He fixed my plumbing problem but I was left with feeling that I interrupted something.  He didn’t speak to me for a week.

Lori thanked me, clearly ignoring my warning and made her way to Abe’s door.  I placed the locks back to their original position and turned to face Carol.

“Well isn’t she a dime.”  Carol mentioned sarcastically.  A dime indeed.  I rubbed the stain on my pants although it didn’t do anything to fade it.

“Now I’m hoping she does catch Abe at a bad time.”

“Just take my advice Michonne, order clothes and have it delivered here.  It’s what I always do.”  We were back to that conversation again.  We passed the time sitting together discussing neighborhood changes, our TV shows and of course neighborly gossip.

“Have you noticed that Maggie gained some weight?”  Only Carol would notice these small things.

“So? I’ve gained weight.”

Carol shook her head, exasperated with my line of thinking.  “Michonne, you weren’t having sex nonstop for the past two months.”  I was a tiny bit offended.  In fact I hadn’t had any sexual exploits since leaving Atlanta.  That was years ago.

“How would you know this?  You don’t even live next to them to hear anything.”  She scoffed at me.

“I’ve seen enough displays of affection between them to light up a cow.”  Maggie and Glenn had been married when I met them.  They actually gave me hope that there was a forever.  They always said they’d wait to have kids, both being in the drug research field.  They wanted to focus on their careers before adding a little addition to the family.

“So you think she’s pregnant?”  I bit into my cookie.

“I know.”  Her eyes twinkled.

The infamous horn made its appearance again, prompting Carol and I back into peeping.  Lori had a scowl on her face as she made her way to the sleek car.

“You think Abraham made her angry?”  I questioned though I could care less.

“Oh, I’m sure they exchanged some words.  Or her boyfriend said something to upset her.”  She added when the heavily tinted window on the Porsche didn’t roll down.  Carol was onto something there.  Lori marched to the vehicle and tapped the glass.  The door to the car opened revealing a strong arm that held it.  Lori stepped in the open space successfully blocking our view.  The suspense was killing me.

“I need to get a good look at the man, can she just move.”  I felt the same way as Carol.  This Saturday was more entertaining than just chatting about the mystery around Daryl.  Except there wasn’t a mystery surrounding him, he was just a mechanic that owned a bike store.  The vibe he had was mysterious though.

Lori moved and he was just about to exit the car when my landline rung off.  What are the chances?  I huffed and told Carol to give me a play by play.  I dashed for the phone, promising myself to invest in something cordless.

Caller ID: Simon

I groaned knowing exactly what this call was about.  I clicked call and greeted him sweetly.  “Good morning, Simon.  How are you?”

“Something tells me you’re not working on your piece since you answered this phone so quickly.”  He knew me so well.  Simon was the one who picked up my art and delivered them to galleries amongst other people.  Technically he worked for me.  It was rare for me to do my work on site.  That usually required complete discretion and a sizable check.

Carol waved her arms around drawing in my attention.  “Good lord Michonne, he isn’t homeless!”

I tried to split my attention between both Carol and Simon but it didn’t work for me.  So I focused on Simon.

“When creativity hits me I’ll be sure to text you, Simon.”  Whenever I lost momentum Simon always reminded me that I was working on a time frame.

“Be sure to.  I forgot to mention the last time I made a pick up some guy name Gregory phoned me.  He seemed adamant on talking to you.  Said it was urgent.  He sounded crazy so I shrugged it off.”  The only Gregory that rung any alarms was the ‘Atlanta Gallery’ owner who fired me with little to no remorse.  Last I heard business for him went down the drain.

“Thanks, Simon, if he calls you again let me know.”

“Sure thing.”  I hung up and made my way back to Carol who was no longer peeping out the window.  Disappointment filled me.

“I thought you were going to give me a play by play.  Did they leave?”  I checked outside the window again noticing the black car was absent.  Just my luck.

“I did but you were in the deep end of your conversation on the phone.”  She gazed at me expectantly.

Sighing I told her “Simon was just talking about my old boss calling him, said he sounded crazy.”

“Simon himself looks crazy.”

“In an artistic way Carol.”  I defended him.

The thoughts in her head were clear on her face.  It didn’t make any difference what I said.  Anyone with messy hair and an array of paint covering them looked crazy unless it was me of course.

Mike made his grand entrance, he waltzes in and rubbed himself against my leg.  Carol coughed beside me putting space between us.

“That’s my cue to leave, be sure to leave some cookies for the new neighbors.”  It wasn’t as if I was going to devour the entire pan of cookies. After closing the door behind Carol I pulled my silk night top tighter around my body.

My place was vibrant due to some of my work being hung on its white walls.  When I first moved in I wanted something modern.  I also wanted parts to remain a canvas for my doings.  I actually came across this place by accident.  It had security and it was discreet.  There was a twenty-minute drive before you came across another building.  In total there were nine occupants in the building.  Morgan, Daryl, Jessie, Glenn, and Maggie along with Negan lived on the lower level.  Abe and Sasha, Carol, myself along with the new couple lived on the second floor.  Despite the number of occupants, my place was a spacious two bedroom two bath.  I used the extra room for my work.  I was still on edge about moving in here permanently, Atlanta taught me nothing good last forever.  Sighing, I turned on my speakers and headed for my safe haven.  I worked until nightfall.

[elastigirl72]

Day 22: Librazhd>Kastoria (Greece)

Greece: 473km to go, 3 nights, 4 days riding

Kastoria: 06:19am

Yesterday to me was emotional. During the ride, I likened it to an astronaut looking back at the earth for the first time from space or landing on the moon. THAT emotional. The last Albanian miles rolled by, and as Eva Cassidy sang my favourite version of “Over the rainbow”, I decided that Yip Harburg who composed it, in fact was a cyclist, who also discovered this part of the world.

When I set off from home on 17 April, I had a loose plan as to where I might cross the Alps and that I definitely wanted to see Venice if the mountain crossing took me in that direction, and the Dalmatian Coastline, and that I needed to finish in Athens. Although I plotted and downloaded a set of routes all the way to Athens, in the end, I didn’t use any on my Garmin, relying only on Google Maps when required. So research for the route largely took place every evening for the next day. Crossing Albania filled me with nervous anticipation, as most people who knew I was going seemed also to feel, but whether I went coastal or mountain, it was difficult to avoid. My biggest fears about Albania were being a single female, dogs, and some historical record of it not being a safe country for tourists. I’ve had questions in a touring bike group about the people and country, and Albania has a reputation that is far reaching, global, in fact.

On reflection, my summary of Albania is this. In 1991, I rode blindly into northern Spain, a novice cyclist, tourist, alone, female, and with no technology. I got into trouble on my first day that could have ended very badly. On my second day, and many subsequent days, I had many heightened experiences, but on balance, I mostly experienced incredible kindness from strangers. The mountains felt untouched, and young female touring cyclists back then were as common as rocking horse poo. ETA were very active, and I was in an area where if something went wrong, communication with home or anyone would be difficult, and let’s face it, my parents didn’t know where I was - nor did anyone I knew. So, when you then consider Albania or similar countries today, how can this be any more challenging than a country such as Spain in 1991? As it happens, and unbeknown to me until I reviewed my route on Strava, I covered some of the Trans Continental Race route of 2018. If big events such as these are going through countries such as Albania, then I think it’s ok. Different, challenging, undiscovered, will definitely get you looking at the world and your part in it from another perspective, but that has to be a good thing. I fell in love with Albania and Albanians. I have high hopes that in years to come, it will have a reputation such as Italy or Greece. Fortune favours the bold. It’s waiting. Maybe it’s the new type of cyclist that can revive the crumbing restaurants and hotels along the SH3...I’m just glad I got there early. My view? Here is a country that is proud, wants to please and has a beautiful culture. Thank you, Albania.

Coming back to Earth for a moment or two, and having no clue what lay on the road ahead yesterday (as to repeat, I’d not planned this route before leaving so only knew it would be hilly), within 5km of leaving my hotel, I came across, ah yes, the old “Dog Ambush” again. Wise to my normally beloved 4-legged friends and their dead dog routine, I spotted them again, the triad, two watching, one playing dead as I started the first climb of the day. Being fresh from food a rest possibly saved my life, as this little pack of bastardos were like a hit squad. As they chased me at full pelt and into the middle of the road, I confess to hoping that some truck would come up behind and squash all three. As it was, my Usain Bolt effort won my escape, and for the whole day, this was my highest heart rate and is clearly visible on my chart 😆

The gods were on my side on this day to top all cycling days. As I rode through my first mountain town of Prennjas, I received so much roadside encouragement, I felt I was doing a stage of Le Tour. I hit my biggest climb of the day shortly after, and crossing this, was presented by a view that left me dumbfounded. This is what happens when you don’t do any research. I knew there was a lake near Pogradec, but lakes can be anything: sometimes they’re just a reservoir and this is all I expected. What I got was Ohrid Lake, one of Europe’s deepest and oldest lakes, framed by National Park Galichica, North Macedonia and it’s snow-capped mountains. Roadside traders became lakeside fishermen and Pogradec, whilst still chaotic, felt smaller, charming, warm. For the first time, I stopped to pick up a picnic lunch from a lovely weather-beaten old man, of succulent cherries and a packet of crisps, devoured without ceremony after my next climb. The roads were pristine and quiet, and all around, in the mountain’s alluvial plain, cycling or horse and cart driven farmers, working the fields by hand. A little further down the road, I also made my first stop for coffee, and was equally charmed by the elderly owner and his family. He enjoyed guessing my nationality, and in Albanian, guessed Italian (this was normal), German, but was delighted when I told him I was English; perhaps I was the first English cyclist to stop there! He got the rest of my Albanian Lek as I left for a tip and we parted with a jovial “High 5!” 😆. All Albanians that I met that could speak English also told me they had a close relative working in the U.K. This supports the fact that there are more Albanians living outside of Albania than there are in Albania.

Leaving that coffee stop and heading towards Greece, my emotions couldn’t have been more heightened. Crossing the border into my final country on this trip, I felt like I’d suddenly been teleported to Canada, and in particular, Route 99, heading towards Mt Currie. I saw no cars at all, an eagle, the crickets tune louder than my squeaking chain, and alarmingly, warning signs for bears and wolves! I just wasn’t expecting that in deepest Europe! I didn’t slow down or stop, and prayed with 100 miles in my legs that I didn’t bonk before arriving in Kastoria.

I made it, as if I’d done only 70 miles. I’d crossed a time zone but had been completely oblivious to time all day. My accommodation, a small guest house, had a balcony that overlooked Kastoria’s stunning lake, where there were rowers, pelicans, and as I lie here writing, countless other fauna I have no clue what they are, but the chorus is delightful. The town has many derelict buildings, but here, it only adds to the charm. It seems there are only locals here, and no tourism. Another complete surprise: Kastoria. A cyclist’s nirvana.

Maybe I am a drama queen, did have self-realisation and maybe I have had equally incredible days on a bike, but if I have, I’m struggling to recall a point in time when it all came together in one ride as it did yesterday.

So today...473km remain, 3 nights, 4 days riding remain between here and Athens. My quads are like concrete, my knee a little sore, but holding up, and when completed, this week is the toughest cycling week I will ever have completed. Multiply that with the just short of 3 weeks leading to today, these last few days are going to hurt. My chain is squawking and pretty much dead, but my heart is louder and stronger. I might even ditch the leg warmers and overshoes today...steady on 😃...

[oldsalempost-blog]

THE OLD SALEM POST

Our Local Salem SC News each Monday to be enjoyed and shared!

Volume 3 Issue 1 Week of January 7th 2019 Contact: theoldsalempost@gmail.com Distributed to local businesses, town hall and library.

EDITOR: I hope the Christmas message is alive in your heart as we begin a new year. New Year, new begin- nings. Christmas lasts through Epiphany at our home, the Twelve Days of Christmas. I enjoy the Christmas tree and the Nativity and never feel rushed to take it down. Our tree this year has special meaning because it was cut on our own property. It is like a really big Charlie Brown tree, but I think it is one of our prettiest trees ever. Each special ornament can be seen more purely, hanging between un-crowded limbs. Simple, pure, un-crowded and focused: Sounds like a good new year resolution. **** On another note I urge Salem residents to contact your Council candidates Jimmy Barker and Tony Grogan to know more about them and their thoughts and plans for our town. It is important for voters to know their candidates and feel confident when casting a vote for your voice in our small town. ***** THANK-YOU to some private individuals I have seen picking up litter on the road sides! I saw one on Lake Cherokee Road and another at the corner of Alexander Road and Hwy 130. Clean roadsides equal the same joy as a clean house! I****Please send me any news you would like shared.*** Share your joy! Share your faith. Share love in your community,! LRM

KJV Genesis 1:1 “ In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” A New Year Thought: Put God “in the beginning” of everything you do this year.

EPIPHANY: The manifestation of Christ presented to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi. Also know as Three Kings Day that celebrated God incarnate as the Christ child. A moment of sudden revelation or insight. The Twelfth-day of Christmas.

TOWN OF SALEM: January 15th upcoming election for a vacant council seat. Tony Grogan and Jimmy Barker are vying for the position. Town Council meetings held the 2nd Tuesday each month at 6pm. We will be honoring Jeff and Julie Pierce for their community service as outstanding individuals in our community who have had a positive impact through hard works and selfless acts of kindness.

TAI CHI on Tuesdays and Thursdays for beginners and advanced offered by Howard Lewis.Deep Healing Qigong CLASSES CANCELLED FOR NOW. Stay tuned for further notice.SISTER’S Restaurant will be closed for vacation Jan 7th-16th.

SALEM LIBRARY: Jan 14th Book Signing for Hot Coffee and Cold Pizza by Elaine Cameron. Please come and bring a friend. Tuesdays Jan 15th, 22nd, 29th at 10:30am Story Time, Rhymes, Songs and more and at 3:30pm Steam Ahead Story Time. All Thursdays 2:30pm Painting for Fun, Free in the Community Building. Bring your materials and have fun! Jan 18th T(w)een Time: Paper Affirmation Bracelets. Create a bracelet as a reminder to stay positive. All month: Android Device Help and Word Processing Help Time.

JVBC– JOCASSEE VALLEY BREWING COMPANY this week see FB for more details to come: Special Open Mondayat 5pm for the National Championship Title Clemson vs Alabama. Bring an appetizer to share if you like. $1 off pints.Wed- 5-9pm $1 off all pints, BYOF (food). Thurs 5-9pm BYOF. Fri- 4-10pm. Tuba Gin music. Sat- 2-10pm Mark Queen and Owen Grooms music. Sun- 2-7pm. BYOF.

HEALTH TIP: Try a soft scarf around your neck the next time you are cold. They are easy on, easy off and attractive. For soft skin, use extra virgin olive oil on your skin after you shower, or anytime of the day. It is a natural oil and easilyfound in your kitchen cabinet. Remember to add many “steps” in your day, even if you are standing still. Step in place.

DO YOU HAVE A FAITH STORY? Faith stories are meant to be shared. I have heard so many won- derful and meaningful stories of how God works in our lives. If we let our stories die, then our faith is not shared to a greater audience or even to our own family generations to come. Thinking of the things that are important in my own life, makes me want to reach out to help others see the impor- tance of sharing with present and future generations, your stories. If you have a story to share, please contact me through theoldsalempost.com. LRM

EAGLE RIDGE SCHOOL NEWS

EAGLE RIDGE BOOSTER: Because of faculty, parents, friends, and community, we are able to “boost”our athletes in every way. We would not have an athletic program without volunteers and this wonderful community. Thank you for your support!

BASKETBALL THIS WEEK : Jan. 10TH Eagle Ridge away game at Oconee Christian Academy. Middle School and Varsity games start at 5pm. Next week Eagle Ridge will host Highlands on Jan. 17th starting at 5pm with Middle School followed by Varsity games. Eagle Ridge will host Whitmire on Jan. 18th start- ing at 6pm with Varsity games.

TAMASSEE DAR TALMAGE AUDITORIUM: We would love to invite families in the Salem community to bring their children and enjoy this performance of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer with us on Sunday afternoon, February 17th. The performance begins at 2 p.m. and will last an hour. Admission is FREE! This will be the 6th time this troupe has visited campus and performed for the staff and students. I believe the families in the community will have a great time and we would like to extend the invitation for them to join us this year. Please tell your friends to promote this performance!

CHURCH NEWS

THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO HELPED MAKE THE LIVING NATIVITY A BLESSING TO OUR COMMUNITY!

COMMUNITY FOOD BANK: Local churches provided food for 122 families in our community last year! No one should be hungry! Please contact James and Teresa Barker 944-0258 if you need food or to donate.

BOONES CREEK BAPTIST CHURCH: 261 Boone Creek Road Salem (Toward Jocassee.) Regular Services Sunday School at 10am, Worship at 11am, Sun- day evening services. CALVARY BAPTIST CHURCH: 235 E Main Street Salem. Sunday morning and evening services. Wednesday evening services. CHARITY BAPTIST: located on Sunset Drive, Salem. Pastor Carl Dockins Sunday School at 10am. Preaching at 11am/ Sunday night at 6pm. Wed.night service.

KEOWEE FALLS CHURCH OF GOD: 131 Salem Church Rd. Salem. Sunday School 10am, Worship 11am, Sunday night 6pm, and Wed night at 7pm.

SALEM FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH: 151 Crestwood Dr. Salem. Regular services, Sunday School 10 am, Worship 11am, Sunday. Wednesday nights.SALEM SEVENTH-DAY ADVENTIST CHURCH: 240 W Main Street Salem. Services Every Saturday 9:30am Preaching, 11am Sabbath School. Prayer Meeting every Wednesday at 7pm. Located 240 W. Main St., Salem. Fellowship dinner every Saturday at 12:00. All welcome! SALEM UNITED METHODIST CHURCH: 520 Church St. Salem. Breakfast every Sunday 9am with Sunday School at 9:30. Worship at 10:30am. Casual Wednesday service each week at 6:30-7:15.

ST. JOHN’S LUTHERAN CHURCH, ELCA, 301 West Main Street, Walhalla. A very friendly church welcomes all visitors to service . Sundays at 10:30 a.m. Rev. Dr. Rachel Connelly, Pastor. WWW.STJOHNSWALHALLA.ORG

SCRIPTURE: 2 Corinthians 5:17 If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new ishere!” Happy New Year!

Are there any missionary groups who can use recycled Christian literature? Email theoldsalempost@gmail.com if you would like the paper via email each week. Printing by Town of Salem.

Pats’ Cash and Carry, great home town gathering to read The Old Salem Post and to get the best hot dog in SC. Listed as #7 in Places to visit in SC! 864-944-1445

[sunshineoptimismandangels]

Not Another Ghost Story - Chapter 1

Pairing: Klaine Status: WIP Author: sunshineoptimismandangels Summary: When Kurt Hummel began an online ghost investigation show with his best friend and his step-brother he never expected to find himself alone in an abandoned and reportedly haunted hotel, but one stormy night Kurt finds more than he ever expected in the derelict and chilling Whispering Wolf Hotel. In fact, Kurt may have found exactly what he’s has been looking for. A story of romance, comedy, and sinister plots. Author’s Note: I named this “Not Another Ghost Story” because anyone who has read any of my other stories knows I like to write about magic, and ghosts, and otherworldly tales. This story isn’t that… not exactly at least. FF.net | AO3

Parked in front of a timeworn and abandoned roadside hotel the pale blue pickup truck looked out of place; the only sign of life for miles and huddled under the flickering light of the lone street lamp as if it was seeking warmth against the howling wind outside. Years ago, the Whispering Wolf Hotel was a bustling high-end establishment, wealthy guest, important businessmen, and fashionable ladies stayed here. It was gorgeous, elite and pricey… and then the interstate was built a few miles west of the hotel. The whole landscape of the area changed as traffic was diverted elsewhere and slowly, in time, no one came to the Whispering Wolf anymore

Of course, that was why Kurt Hummel was here. Hunched down in the front seat of the blue pickup and grumbling under his breath as the wind beat into the side of the truck. Kurt glared at the text message that'd just came in from his supposed "best friend".

We're on our way! Set up without us. Be there soon.

"Damn it, Rachel!" Kurt growled glancing outside at the hotel. To say the hotel had seen better days was an understatement. Most of the windows were busted out, the paint on the siding had long faded away, and the roof sagged causing Kurt to worry about the safety of the entire structure. Watching the building it almost seemed to sway with the harsh wind and Kurt wondered even if his friends got here soon if it was safe to go poking around a building that looked like it could collapse as easily as a house of cards. He had certainly never planned on going into this deserted and decaying building alone. Kurt's long-time friend Rachel and her boyfriend, Kurt's stepbrother Finn, were supposed to be here with him. Then Rachel got held up at her day job and Finn said he'd pick her up and bring her when she was done. They asked Kurt to pack the equipment and head out there himself, Rachel swearing they'd be right behind him. Now it was nearing nine o'clock, the sun had set, and Kurt was left outside a creepy old hotel by himself while the wind wailed and the damn street lamp flickered as if it was a dying soul about to be snuffed out. To top it all off, if the rumbling in the air and the heavy clouds above were any indication it was about to start pouring down rain.

Kurt wasn't a naturally fearful person. In fact, out of the three-person Ghost Investigators team, Kurt was typically the unflappable one, but here alone, looking out at the looming and decrepit Whispering Wolf (and who named a hotel something so menacing anyway?) Kurt felt a bit apprehensive… and very frustrated.

You owe me big after this. Kurt texted Rachel back. And you better actually be driving here on your way, not I'm thinking about getting to the car soon on your way.

Kurt slipped his phone into his back pocket before Rachel had a chance to answer and hopped out of the truck before he could change his mind. At least he could get inside and set up before the rain started. He was having a particularly good hair day and there was no point in messing that up by getting caught in a downpour. Especially when he was about to be in front of the camera.

Kurt lifted the cover off the bed of the truck and started taking out what he needed. A generator and a couple collapsible set lights. He would grab the big camera if Rachel and Finn were here, but without them Kurt would probably only need the hand-held steady cam. He'd let Finn haul in the heavy camera when he got here. Which had better be soon. Kurt may be an amateur ghost investigator, but he did not sign up to wander around a building that could topple down on top of him all on his own.

"This was Finn's idea in the first place," Kurt grumbled under his breath as he lugged the heavy generator towards to the hotel. "It will be fun! We can post videos online. We could become famous!"

Rachel had jumped on board at the word "famous".

Kurt had only agreed because his school and his part-time job working the switchboard for a car dealership was boring as hell and there was little interesting to do even in his time off around Lima, Ohio. With Finn's wild idea of starting a ghost hunting show, there was at least a small opportunity for acting. Kurt was at his best when performing. Besides, he was only doing this until he was done with his second year at the University of North Ohio and then he was transferring to NYU and getting out of Lima for good.

The Whispering Wolf wasn't the first 'haunted' sight Rachel, Finn, and he had explored. They filmed episodes at a couple old houses in Ohio and their last exploration had been an old abandoned restaurant, where purportedly someone had died a few years back. Rachel had declared they been murdered! Poisoned by some deranged cook that used to work there… though the information Kurt dug up said heart attack.

 Of course, when they investigated, they found nothing, no ghosts or otherworldly apparitions. They never did – but as she did with everyplace they investigated, Rachel had acted scared and enthralled and had faked a few ghost sightings. Finn was easily impressionable and swore he felt a chill every time they turned a corner. Kurt went along with it all for the acting challenge. After some editing and some music and sound effects were added, the episodes weren't so bad. They might not be believable exactly, but Kurt could at least say they were entertaining. The Ghost Investigators even had a decent online following.

Kurt lugged the generator and his backpack to the front door of the dilapidated old building and tried the rusted metal handle. The door only opened half an inch before jamming. Kurt sighed and placed the heavy generator on the ground before shouldering the door a couple times, it took all his strength to get it to swing inward wide enough to grab the generator and slide through.

It was pitch dark inside the hotel of course. Kurt turned on his handheld camera, mostly for the small beam of light projected in front of it and swung around the light. It was a typical hotel lobby. If Kurt used his imagination, he could almost picture how it must have looked once upon a time, plush red carpet, blue and gold damask wallpaper, polished wood check-in desk, and a sweeping staircase to the second floor. Now it was nothing more than a sad monument of a forgotten golden era, the carpet was ripped up in parts leaving the rotting wood floorboard beneath, the wallpaper peeled off the wall and hung lifeless like the petals of a dying flower and the check-in desk was covered in dust and cobwebs. Worst of all, the entire place smelled of mildew and decaying wood.

All in all, Kurt had to admit, it was the perfect location for a hunting. Rachel and Finn would be thrilled.

If they ever got here.

Kurt sat the generator down and began shooting some b-roll of the lobby – first just with the attached flashlight and then in night vision mode to get that green eerie lighting that was a hallmark of a good ghost hunting video. Thunder rumbled outside and Kurt's spine tingled as he was reminded of the impending rain. He went back outside to grab the lamps he'd left leaning against the truck and made sure the bed cover was secure so none of the remaining equipment would get wet. He glanced up at the sky as he headed back in, dark storm clouds covered the moon and the wind was picking up. It was going to rain any second now; he really hoped Rachel and Finn got here before it started.

Kurt took a few minutes setting up the lights and hooking them up to the generator. If Rachel wanted some shots of herself in the lobby before the lights were set up, well then she should have gotten here on time. After that, Kurt did a few takes of himself standing in the lobby and introducing the hotel, his camera on a tripod in front of him. "Built in 1921 the Whispering Wolf is a protected historic building, which is the only reason the whole place hasn't been torn down. It hasn't been in use since 1970." Kurt had actually enjoyed looking into the history of the old building.

The Whispering Wolf was on the outskirts of Westerville, Ohio. A couple hours' drive from where Kurt lived in Lima, but he'd heard about it before. Of course he had, since its closure in 1970 it had been a hangout for teenagers, a place for transients to lay their head, and most of all – the center of ghost stories and urban myths. The story was that someone had been murdered here and their spirit still-hunted the hotel even as it sat empty all these years. The story had very little continuity, some said it was a 1920s mobster killed shortly after the hotel opened, others said it was a 1960s hippie girl murdered after running away from home, and there were many other claims as well. The only thing locals seemed to agree on was that the hotel was definitely haunted.

 When Kurt did some research, looking at old newspaper articles and police reports, what he found was that someone had been killed there. Not a hippie or a mobster, just some unnamed young man killed at the Whispering Wolf in the 1950s. Kurt was happy with just finding out that, it was a lot more than Rachel, Finn, and he usually had to go on when exploring a 'hunted' structure. His research also uncovered that at one point in the 1950s the hotel had been used as a convalescent home. Rachel and Finn had been ecstatic about that fact.

"Holy crap! It was a loony bin?"

"You can’t say 'loony bin', Finn." Rachel chided him. "It was an insane asylum."

"Mental hospital." Kurt corrected with an eye-roll, "Not that it matters, because it wasn't one. It was more like an upscale spa for rich people recovering from minor surgery or illness."

"Kurt you have no imagination. For our purposes, tortured mental patients and the spirits of malevolent doctors roam the halls of that hotel! That's way scarier."

"But there was a murder-"

"Malevolent doctors, Kurt!"

"Oh yeah, the crazy house spin is perfect." Finn had agreed and Kurt didn't fight them on the idea even if he thought the killing in the 1950s made a better and more accurate story. It wasn't as if anyone took the show seriously anyway. People didn’t watch for historical accuracy.

Now that Kurt was alone in this god-forsaken hotel, he was glad to remind himself that it had never been a mental hospital and he tried very hard not to imagine anyone being killed here - or dying here in any way.

It was just an empty building. It wasn't scary, haunted, or sinister. It was just… old. The howling sound was just the wind outside, and the creaking sound was just an old building's shifting foundation, and he did not believe in ghosts.

Kurt pulled his phone out, no messages from either Rachel or Finn. Traitors.

You better be here in the next five minutes or you're dead to me! Kurt texted them both.

There was a loud boom of thunder outside followed almost immediately by the bright flash of lightning through the windows and the hair on Kurt's forearms stood on end. "Shit," Kurt swore as he fumbled with his phone in surprise.

Even with the light provided by the lamps he had set up the lobby was still dim and ominous, he looked around the empty room, the few pieces of old furniture and the check-in desk casting long shadows in the light of his lamps. He gasped as he thought he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye and spun to face a broken window, there was nothing there, nothing outside, all he could see was his truck sitting alone under the fading streetlamp.

Kurt shook out his shoulders; he was letting himself get spooked over nothing. Maybe he should just go sit in the pickup until his disloyal ghost hunting partners finally arrived. He started towards the front door when, with another crack of thunder, the storm clouds finally opened and sheets of rain came roaring down. Water splattered in from the broken window frames, but it was still far dryer here than it would be racing out to the truck in this torrent. Kurt chewed on his lip. Fine. He'd wait inside. At least until the rain died down a bit and at that point he might just pack up and leave. This was becoming more of a fruitless endeavor by the minute.

He glanced at his phone again, caught between anger and worry that neither Finn nor Rachel had texted him back yet. He had a couple options here; he could wait in the lobby until the rain lessened, or he could make good use of his time and actually go exploring a little, taking some shots and seeing if there was anything here for a good episode of Ghost Investigators. Kurt sighed, he was Kurt Hummel and the Hummels didn't just sit around on their hands and wait.

 He grabbed the handheld cam off the tripod and slowly crept past the check-in desk, the stairway looked solid enough, it wasn't going to give way under his feet at least. He could probably poke around some empty rooms upstairs. The rain rattled against the side of the hotel and the wind wailed, Kurt's spine tingled and he had to let out a long deep breath before he started for the stairs. This was silly; he was not scared of the dark. He turned the camera on and pointed it towards the staircase. "I'm going exploring while I wait for the untrustworthy Rachel Berry and her bumbling boyfriend. ‘We're on our way!'” Kurt rolled his eyes as he whispered to the camera, “Yeah, right." He started up the first few creaky steps. "No reason not to get a look around just because my partners have become completely undependable."

Kurt smoothed down his designer button-up shirt; it was midnight blue with little white crescent moons all over it. It had seemed appropriate for ghost hunting, besides, Kurt knew he looked really good in it and he never passed up a chance to look good on screen. Kurt turned the camera to face him as he paused on the stairwell."Rumor has it that the  Whispering Wolf is haunted by the spirit of a young man who died here in the 1950s after being shot and killed by a jealous ex-lover. James Doyle was barely older than me when he met his grisly death."

Rachel and Finn had forfeited their right to fight him on the main story for the Whispering Wolf episode when they hadn't even shown up. The made-up mental hospital was out. The real-life murder was back on.

Kurt looked up the long staircase not able to make out the second floor in the heavy darkness. He licked his lips nervously, the camera still trained on him. It was okay to let some of his nerves show on camera; it built suspense, as long as he didn't let himself actually get too scared. He was a professional after all. "I guess I should go up there?" Kurt said into the camera before turning it around to view the dismal staircase that led up to utter blackness. He did not want to go up there.

There was a loud crash and a bang from behind him, Kurt spun around with his heart in his throat. The set lights had crashed to the ground, light bulbs popping as the curtains on the front windows flew outwards floating in the air like luminous specters. Kurt let out a startled shriek and then barreled up the rest of the staircase.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Kurt panted once he reached the second floor and rounded a corner so he couldn't even see the lobby anymore. He leaned up against a wall and caught his breath turning the camera to face him again. He covered his mouth with a hand and laughed nervously through his fingers before letting his hand drop and taking a deep breath. "I better have gotten that on camera." He joked with his future viewers as he tried to breathe and calm the beating of his heart. "Did you see that? Sure it was probably just the wind, but you would have freaked out too if you were here alone while your co-conspirators are safe and warm somewhere probably making-out having forgotten all about you."

Kurt gently smoothed back his hair and took a deep breath, time to be brave. "I guess I'll check out the second floor now that I'm here." He turned the camera around to face the long dark hallway in front of him. "This is where the murder is said to have taken place. In one of these guest rooms." Kurt looked from the hallway down to the image of the hallway on his camera, "If there is a spirit haunting this place it-" Kurt stopped talking, his throat going dry and a cold chill running down his spine.

There was something in the hallway ahead of him. Just out of sight, he was sure he'd seen something move.

"Hello?" Kurt called out, but his voice was barely above a whisper, "Is… is anyone there?" In the back of his mind, he was just starting to think that if this was a prank by Rachel or Finn he was going to murder them – when something in front of him in the darkness moved again.

"Oh god." Kurt glanced back at his camera; the night vision making out more than his eyes could in the darkness, just as something stepped into frame. Kurt took a stumbling step backward, a scream choked in his throat, as the green night vision revealed the grainy outline of a young man.

Kurt gasped audibly and looked up from the camera to the form standing in front of him, donned in slacks, a snuggly fitting button up shirt, suspenders, a bowtie, and looking like he'd just stepped out of the 1950s to personally haunt Kurt.

Kurt screamed.

The ghost screamed back.

 [Chapter 2]

[vantemei]

seokjin has known he wants to marry taehyung since their their second anniversary. taehyung had had to leave early to film for his ongoing drama of the time, hwarang, and he'd been gone before seokjin had even been awake but he had left a note. "i love you, i hope you dreamed of me - your taehyungie". the same note he always left when he had to leave early.

seokjin had had a slow day, one of his few days off to spend lazing around in their shared penthouse in gangnam. seokjin hadn't really planned to do much for their anniversary on the actual day knowing that taehyung would be exhausted when he got home from filming in the cold all day. taehyung took him by complete surprise when he showed up with a dozen roses and a beautifully wrapped customized gucci coat. seokjing had felt bad about not getting taehyung anything because they had agreed not to but taehyung had taken his hand and pulled him close and told him 'as long as i can keep waking up with you by my side for the rest of my life, you don't ever have to give me anything else.'

seokjin had cried and realized right then and there he was going to marry kim taehyung.

it's been two years since then and seokjin is finally ready to propose. they're both finishing their last few press events for separate dramas and movies since their both actors and they'll have enough time off to plan their wedding and take a nice long, relaxing honeymoon.

the only problem is, he keeps getting interrupted. the night he made reservations at their favorite restaurant he was about to pull out the ring when a camera flash had gone off and they both froze, heads whipping around to see a caught looking woman with her phone out. they had smiled politely at her and left, taking their orders to go and they spent the night re-watching descendants of the sun.

the next time was during taehyung's birthday. they had planned a nice small party with their close friends and seokjin had pulled taehyung aside to give him his first gift, an expensive shirt he had been eyeing during paris fashion week that seokjin had pulled a few strings to get before it was officially released. he was about to go down on his knee and propose when a drunk park jimin had burst their little bubble to give taehyung a celebratory birthday lap dance. seokjin didn't even have time to be annoyed between giggles and full blown laughter as his boyfriend tucked shiso leaves into the band of jimin's boxers.

if only he knew, taehyung was having the same problem.

kim taehyung had known he would marry seokjin since their fifth date. taehyung had been at a complete loss for what to do when the restaurant he had been planning to take seokjin to had been closed and seokjin had easily smiled and directed him somewhere else. they ended up at a small roadside food tent where seokjin proceeded to order to 'monster bowls'. a challenge meal with two two liter bowls of budaejiggae that would be free if eaten in under twenty minutes. seokjin finished his in fifteen and taehyung had looked at him wide eyed and red cheeked and decided right then and there this was someone he could spend his life with.

he had worried whether the restaurant he had chosen would be good enough, if his hair looked alright, if his clothes weren't fancy enough. sure taehyung was a popular up and coming actor but at the time he had been nowhere near the status of the famous worldwide handsome kim seokjin and after nervously being set up on a date with him by their mutual friend ken, and seeing seokjin speak familiarly with the elderly woman running the tent and smiling so freely, puns being told rapid fire and laughter filling taehyung's heart, he knew he was halfway to fallen and ready to dive headfirst the rest of the way.

he had only just worked up the courage to buy a ring, a beautiful simple silver band with their names inscribed on the inside, but every time he had tried to propose he had been interrupted by something.

the first time was when they were in hawaii on a short vacation between schedules. he had planned to take seokjin on a beach picnic only to be thwarted halfway to the beach when a massive storm warning had been issued and they had to book it back to their hotel where they stayed for the last three days of their vacation, completely rained in.

the second time had been a much simpler plan. he would wake seokjin up with breakfast in bed and the ring would be right on top of the tray, unavoidable.

taehyung had just finished pouring seokjin's coffee when a horrible choking noise had made him drop everything and taehyung had run in to the living room to find yeontan choking on something small. he had woken seokjin up and they had hurried off to the vet, hastily dressed with taehyung crying and holding his whimpering dog in the passenger seat.

apparently yeontan had found one of odengie and eomukie's small toys and tried to eat it, only to get it lodged in his throat. luckily he was ok but taehyung had completely forgotten about his plan to propose and became hyper vigilant of yeontan for the next three weeks.

neither of them have had a chance since. in fact, their schedules both became very full of press conferences and interviews for seokjin's new drama and taehyung's new movie.

they don't have a day off for two months until winter is almost over and by the time they both get home from the gala they attended together, they're too tired to do anything.

"bath?" seokjin looks at taehyung as they both kick their shoes off inside the door and the younger groans out a tired yes, tugging his jacket off slowly to throw it over the couch.

seokjin doesn't have the energy to tell him off for throwing his clothes everywhere as taehyung's tie soon follows and he just tosses his jacket there too. they trudge into their bathroom and stand side by side in front of their mirror as they take off their makeup. seokjin finishes first and presses a kiss to taehyung's shoulder before he walks down to their bedroom to change into his bathrobe. as he's grabbing it from their massive walk in closet he glances down at his shoes, the only clothes he and taehyung don't share and eyes his rarely worn white dress shoes.

without really thinking about it seokjin reaches in past the strategically placed sock and grabs the small black velvet box and slips it into the pocket of his robe before heading off to the kitchen to grab the champagne and strawberries. taehyung had been the one to invent 'treat yo self' nights after he had seen seokjin overworking himself and had called in to cancel his schedule for the whole day and made him stay home, pampering and loving him all day. seokjin had never felt more well rested and content in his life. the champagne is something seokjin added because it's the only alcohol taehyung really likes and it makes them feel extra fancy and the strawberries are a comfort food.

while soekjin is in the kitchen taehyung is back in their bathroom, having changed into his bathrobe (a matching ocean blue to seokjin's forest green one) and is lighting candles around their bathtub and watching the lavender bath bomb fizz away in the slowly filling tub. he feels the weight of the small rose shaped velvet box in his pocket from where he hurriedly placed it after grabbing it from beneath his large collection of berets on impulse.

the sound of seokjin coming down the hall makes taehyung smile, already able to tell seokjin is in a noticeably better mood than earlier from the sound of his soft humming. it also reminds him to grab his phone from the counter and scroll through his music until he finds the playlist labelled 'rosey cheeks' because he's cute like that and soon gentle music is filling the room.

"bath ready?" seokjin sets two champagne flutes and the bottle down on the large rim of the tub, the strawberries right next to them. taehyung just hums in response, turning to face seokjin and reaching for his hand. no matter how many years pass seokjin's heart will always flutter from the way taehyung's looks at him as he pulls him close; like seokjin hung every star in the sky and breathed life into the world. he said as much once and taehyung's response had been 'no star in the sky could shine brighter than you do in my eyes and every breath you take is my world alive a little longer'. taehyung has a tendency to say things like that and seokjin would normally blush and slap the arm of someone making cheesy comments like that but the way taehyung says it, knowing he means every words of it, reduces seokjin to a love struck mess, heart beating wildly and hands shaking until they can pull his lover into his arms.

it's what he does now, taehyung's hand in his, the other landing on his waist. seokjin does the same, one hand on taehyung's waist and the other intertwined as the soft notes of chet baker ring out.

"my funny valentine, sweet comic valentine, you make me smile with my heart," taehyung's voice is deep and soothing, seokjin has always thought he would make a wonderful idol or singer. it's just as soft as his hand in seokjin's as he sways the elder along to the slow beat, eyes brighter than they've been all day and smile soft and loving.

it's moments like these that make seokjin really, truly understand how people would die for love. seokjin can't imagine a moment of his life without taehyung in it anymore. when he thinks of the future, five, ten, even twenty years from now, all he can see is taehyung by his side. seokjin used to be afraid of growing old. afraid of being forgotten or dying alone but now all he can imagine is taehyung with him.

taehyung with little crows feet in the corners of his eyes from so many years of smiling. taehyung with salt and pepper hair that will still be so soft to run his hands through. taehyung with years of love and laughter etched into his face and his hands, just as strong and just as big, still fitting just perfectly with seokjin's. taehyung who will still love seokjin with all of his being no matter how many years pass and seokjin who will love him just the same.

taehyung's hand pulls away from seokjin's waist and instead cups his cheek, thumb running over his cheek in such a fond way. seokjin's lips are soft and taste of peppermint tea and taehyung can't resist another slow peck before he moves to turn off the water.

they take their robes off and drape them next to the tub, climbing in on either side and stretching out across from each other, legs brushing together.

they talk about their days, taehyung massages seokjin's calves because he knows he's been on his feet most of the day. they trade silly stories from set and taehyung ends between seokjin's legs, back to his chest as he leans against his broad-shouldered lover and presses a soft kiss to his jaw. their hands are tangled and seokjin feed taehyung a strawberry with a smile and kiss to his cheek, closing his eyes as he leans down to press a few soft kisses to taehyung's neck. it's nothing passionate, just a soft brush of lips on skin that makes taehyung melt into his chest.

minutes pass like that. ten? fifteen? their bathwater is still warm. not the steaming hot it was at first but still nice enough to stay. they've made it through a good third of the strawberries and a glass of champagne between the two of them. taehyung reaches to refill the glass and seokjin suddenly remembers the ring in his bathrobe and he knows now is perfect. he grabs it quickly, back in his place before taehyung moves back to rest against him and he wraps his free arm around the younger's waist. taehyung shoots a smile over his shoulder and turns slightly so his legs are over one of seokjin's, nosing along his collarbones and presses soft kisses to his smooth skin.

"tae, i love you."

taehyung seems a bit caught off guard at how serious seokjin sounds but he stays relaxed, sitting up slightly to look at seokjin before he gives a soft smile. "i love you too."

"i love you so much tae, you make me so happy and i want to make you happy too. i just want to make you the happiest person in the world, you deserve that- god, you deserve so much more. but i want to make you as happy as i can for the rest of our lives."

taehyung seems to know seokjin has more to say because he stays quiet, his hand still linked with seokjin's giving a little squeeze.

"taehyung," seokjin slowly unclenches his fist where he's been hiding the ring, a beautiful golden band with the day they met carved into the inside, and holds it up to the wide-eyed boy. "will you marry me?"

taehyung is completely silent for a few moments, his mouth dropping open as he stares between the ring and seokjin. seokjin doesn't move. he isn't nervous really, just worried that maybe taehyung expected a better proposal.

taehyung is suddenly scrambling to reach over the side of the tub and he's reaching into his robe pocket and pulling out a box and it's seokjin's turn to gape as he opens it to reveal a beautiful silver ring.

"is that- were you-?"

"yes!" taehyung's voice is amused and disbelieving as he pulls the ring out and holds it up beside seokjin's. "i was going to ask you the same question."

seokjin laughs and then so does taehyung, bath water splashing up a bit as they cling to each other and laugh through tears.

"i love you so much jin, i would love to marry you." taehyung is the first to pull himself together and he holds his left hand up, ring finger extended. seokjin is still giggling giddily as he slips the ring over taehyung's finger and presses a kiss to it.

"and i love you taehyung. i would love to marry you too." taehyung is the one sliding the ring on this time and he copies seokjin, pressing a kiss to the silver band before reaching up to cup seokjin's face with his right hand, left intertwined with seokjin's and rings clinking together, and he pulls him in for a kiss.

the next day they make the official announcement to their friends and tell them the story, laughing at the disbelieving faces of their friends as they tell them they proposed at the same time after both being interrupted multiple times.

the tell the story at their wedding, and again when they renew their vows. they tell it to their children and to their children's children and the story gets passed down through their family for years. taehyung does get those crows feet wrinkles by his eyes and seokjin kisses them every night before bed. seokjin's hair line does recede a bit but taehyung tells him that it's easier to kiss his forehead that way. and they live their lives they way they always wanted to. together.

[roxywashere]

Neon

Sequel to “Eighth Wonder”

Rey Walker recuperates after an intense battle.

Rey Walker’s first fight as a member of the most prestigious superhero group in the world had been a hard-fought victory. Though there had been considerable civilian loss of life, the death toll had been a mere fraction of that of the last time the group, much younger and unprepared then, had faced this same villain. Once the Demon King had been hauled off by the Archangel to be imprisoned somewhere beyond the bounds of this world, Astra’s League had immediately transitioned to providing disaster aid to the people of New York.

Rey wasn’t very good at this part. Her plasma-manipulation based superspeed had no real use outside of a fight. Her friends Hilda and Shailene, on the other hand, were very useful. Hilda, who could duplicate herself and anything she holds effectively infinitely, and Shay, who had an almost unparalleled telekinetic strength and skill, were very easily proving their utility to the League, by shifting debris and caring for injured survivors. Even Elle, with her fulgurkinesis, found use stop-gapping broken electrical lines and keeping the power on in the area.

Rey sat on top of a building and watched as the rest of the 42-person Superteam did their work.

One of Hilda sat next to her, futily trying to comfort her friend. “Look, Aradia tells me that her father was never of much use during the clean-ups either, and everybody still loved him anyway.”

“Aradia’s father? Isn’t he the one who mysteriously disappeared and everyone assumes died?”

“Uhhh...” Hilda stalled while one of her other bodies asked Aradia. “Yeah...?”

“Shows how great he was.” Rey sighed. “I’m gonna head home.”

“What, you’re just gonna fucking walk all the way back to Danesville? You’ve never even gone a fifth that in one go before, you’re gonna completely wipe yourself out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stop to catch my breath when I need to, maybe grab a drink somewhere.”

“Well, be careful. Call me if you don’t think you can make the whole trip, I’ll ask Aradia to swing by and take you home.”

“You’re not my mom.” Rey activated her plasma-propelled superspeed, and ran down the wall to what remained of Times Square. She looked around, tried to orient herself, and then ran south a couple blocks, and then west until she hit the Lincoln Tunnel. She followed the highway west for fifteen minutes, and by then she was well into Pennsylvania.

She was also, as expected, exhausted. She pulled off to the side of the road, panting. She looked around at nearby signs, illuminating the late night with her rapidly depleting collected plasma, and saw one advertising a quaint roadside dive a few miles down the road. Rey shook off the sluggishness, and slogged the short few seconds it took to get there. It was still open, fortunately, a flickering neon sign advertising this fact.

Rey pushed through the front door of Baby’s Diner and saw a retro-styled red-and-white tiled interior, and for a second wondered if she had stepped 140 years into the past, to the 1950’s. She slumped into a booth, the neon sign hung up in the window next to it, and picked up a menu. She stared at it idly for a minute, before looking around the restaurant, wondering where the staff were. She spotted an old-fashioned plasma screen TV in a far corner, showing a news report of the fight back in New York, and spotted glimpses of herself in the footage they were showing on loop.

She realised something, and then then patted herself down looking for her phone. She pulled it out of one of her pockets, and quickly scrolled through her contacts. When she found the one labelled “Mom”, she double tapped it.

Rey silently cursed when the call went straight to answering machine.

“Hey, this is Trip’s phone, I’m obviously not here right now, but if you wait a while I might pick up before you’re done leaving a message.” Beep.

“Hey, ma. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news yet, but in case you did and saw me I just wanted to make sure you knew I was fine. Um... speaking of news, I’ve got some pretty big to break to you. I was inducted into Astra’s League, about an hour ago, and I’ve already helped save the world. So, that’s pretty cool. And it wasn’t just me. Hilda, Shay, and Elle were inducted too. Aradia Furst called me to her tower, and all of the League was there when I got there. I...”

Rey was interrupted by her mother picking up. Without even saying hello, she immediately asked “The Archangel, did she see you?”

“The- wait, what? How do you even know about her?”

“Did she see your face, Rey?!” Trip demanded.

“Well, I mean, yeah.”

“Goddess be damned...”

“Mom, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Now she knows we’re here, Rey. I risked my neck escaping her wretched clutches and you went and handed yourself to her on a golden platter!”

“Mom, what the fuck are you talking-” Rey was interrupted by her mother hanging up on her. She stared at her phone in confusion and incredulity. “What the hell was that all about?” She put her phone down on the table, frowning. She looked around some more. “Where the hell is the waitress?” She sighed, and glanced towards the neon “Open” sign, which was still flickering. She briefly activated her power, and traced her finger along the tube that was flickering, until it returned to a strong, stable glow, though in doing so she drained herself of the last of her plasma, making her powerless until she could restock. She quietly smiled to herself.

A woman wearing a disheveled uniform walked out from the back of the diner. “Well I am so sorry,” the woman, whose name tag read Debbie, apologized. “We didn't hear your car pull up. How long have you been sitting out here?”

Rey peaked past her into the kitchen and saw another woman with a pocket mirror cleaning up her noticeably smeared lipstick. “Just a couple minutes. Did I interrupt something?”

“Hm?” While Debbie merely feigned ignorance, the woman in the kitchen scowled at Rey. “Would you like something to drink?” Debbie asked, forcing the conversation forward.

“A Sprite’ll be fine.”

Debbie turned to the other woman, and motioned her towards the soda fountain.

The other woman grumbled and stopped fixing her make-up, and then went to pour a glass of Sprite.

“Would ya like anything to eat?” Debbie asked Rey.

“A burger will be fine. Just cheese, I like them plain.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Debbie went back into the kitchen to start making the burger, and the other woman walked up to the booth with Rey’s Sprite. Her nametag read Felicia. “I was gonna get laid tonight,” she whispered. “I hope you’re happy.”

Rey pulled out her wallet and counted out a $10 advance tip in ones. Felicia raised an eyebrow. Rey counted out $10 more. Felicia subtly nodded. Rey handed over the wad of ones and took her Sprite in return. She had also slipped in a scrap of paper with her name and phone number on it, one of many she kept in her wallet so she could hand them out like business cards.

When Felicia double checked how much she had been tipped, she scoffed at the forwardness of the gesture.

“Just, keep it in mind,” Rey explained. Felicia shook her head and walked back into the kitchen. Rey’s phone started ringing, and she answered. 

“Great, you're still alive,” Hilda said.

“Did you expect me to have died walking home?”

“Honestly, I never know with you, Rey. You're always pushing yourself harder and harder and I always gotta be there to carry your unconscious ass home. Anyway, Aradia said she's going to be holding a press conference in Danesville right after the new year ticks over there, which, need I remind you, is in like ten minutes.” 

“Shit, really? I'm definitely not going to make it back by then.”

“Ya don't say. Where are you, Aradia is just gonna cast a portal and pick you up.” 

“I don't know, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, just off of Interstate 80, called Baby's Diner.”

“Alright, she's casting the spell, she'll be right there.”

Rey glanced out the window, and saw the glowing sigils indicating an incoming portal appear in the air in the middle of the parking lot. They were shortly followed by the portal itself, a circular rip in space outlined by a dark violet glow. Aradia stepped through it as soon as it opened, and it closed as soon as she did, only having been open for a second total.

She walked up to the diner and silently pushed open the door, and smiled warmly at the old-fashioned stylings of the place. “So,” she said to Rey, “You ran out of plasma, didn’t you?”

“I used the last of it to make the open sign stop flickering,” Rey told her, indicating said sign.

Aradia took her seat in the booth with Rey. “How kind of you. How far does a ‘full charge’, for lack of a better term, get you?”

“I don’t know, actually. I’ve never been able to reach ‘full charge’. I don’t know about you, but it’s pretty hard for me to get my hands on large quantities of high-quality ionized plasma. Cheap stuff, sure. I got a supplier that just just ships me tanks of gases that I can pump through electrodes and ionize myself, but it’s real low-quality.”

“Well, that’s where I think I can be of great use to you. Because, in fact, I do have a source of high energy plasma. The Archangel is a divine craftswoman of the highest order, and she has built for me fusion reactors that consume no fuel and are small enough that they can be carried in a backpack. If you were to have such a device, I believe your capacity would become effectively infinite.”

“I want to say such a thing is impossible,” Rey started, “But that’s a dumb thing to say in this day and age, so I’m not gonna. But I will ask: What’s the catch?”

“All that I ask of you is that you keep in close contact with me. Keep me updated with the goings on of the street-level crime, and keep fighting it.”

Rey considered the offer for a moment, and then held out her hand to shake on it. “Alright. Let’s make this happen.”

Aradia shook Rey’s hand, and at the same time Felicia walked out from the back with Rey’s burger.

“Oh, my, god,” Felicia exclaimed. “Deb, get out here, Aradia Furst is in our diner!”

“What?” Debbie replied. She poked her head out of the kitchen and likewise exclaimed “Oh, my god.”

“Would you either of you like a photo?” Aradia asked. “Or an autograph perhaps? Both, even.”

“Yes!” Felicia said. “Could you sign my phone? I know it’s not the latest model, but you make them so reliable I haven’t needed a replacement in like 7 years.”

Aradia, summoning a gold sharpie from seemingly nowhere, replied “Never a finer endorsement than one from somebody who hasn’t needed to buy everything I sell. What's your name?”

“Felicia Kyle.”

Aradia took Felicia’s phone and signed it with one of the most ornate and complicated signatures Rey had ever seen. “Now, don’t worry about it wiping off, this ink is specially formulated to bond perfectly with the material of the phone. The only way it’s coming off is by belt-sanding the entire back of the phone off.”

Debbie then stepped in with her own (non-FursTech manufactured) phone, and took a quick selfie with herself, Felicia, and Aradia, with Rey in the background.

“Now, I believe Rey and I have a press conference to attend,” Aradia said.

While Aradia started casting another portal, Rey dug in her wallet to pay for the burger, pulling out $7 and slapping it down in Debbie’s hand, and then taking the burger from Felicia and slamming the rest of the Sprite.

“You two,” Rey told Debbie and Felicia, “Keep an eye on the news.” Aradia finished casting, and a portal into a dark room appeared. Aradia stepped through it, and beckoned Rey in after her.

Rey stepped through, and the portal shut. Rey heard only a low rumbling, and then Aradia snapped her fingers. Holograms started appearing across dozens of workstations, showing gauges and binary status lights, and then a spotlight illuminated a metallic orb bristling with copper pipes, sitting on a pedestal.

“This,” Aradia explained, “Is a recreation of the first Holy Device the Archangel ever built. She called it The Heart. Unfortunately, I cannot give this to you, because it is too delicate in its ancient state to function. However...”

Aradia turned to a human-sized flat disk of gold embedded in the wall. With her finger she traced upon it a wide circle with a pentagram inside it, and inside the pentagram traced the Kabbalah Tree of Life. The disc on the wall split into seven fragments that irised into the surrounding wall. Within this vault was shelf upon shelf of stacks upon stacks of large golden coins, and in the middle of the room was another pedestal with another orb on it, except this one was a plain sphere glowing from within with a powerful white light.

“This Heart is sturdy enough to be worn, even by a superspeedster.”

Aradia then used her metallokinesis to draw from the golden coins, and constructed a backpack around the Heart, and a coil of flexible metal pipe.

“Go ahead, put it on.”

Rey hesitantly walked into the vault, and up to the backpack, and slowly slid it on. Aradia walked up behind her, and slid the pipe under her collar and down her right sleeve, coming out just below her palm.

“Do you feel the plasma, writhing within its containment?”

Rey shut her eyes, and focused, and felt the dense mass of energy on her back. She tried to draw from it, and she felt it snaking its way through the pipe, until she felt the bare heat of it in her palm. She opened her eyes and saw the bright white sphere of plasma, and then absorbed it into her veins.

She had never felt so energized in her life, and struggled to keep her superspeed from activating on it’s own, her fingers twitching and the rest of her body vibrating slightly. She clenched her fist, and stilled herself, halting the overcharge from overtaking her.

“I think I found my practical full charge level,” Rey confided. “It’s not a hard limit, and I’m sure it will go up as I gain mastery, but I think that’s it for now.”

Aradia summoned a small hologram of a clock, which indicated that it was a handful of seconds from passing midnight in Danesville. When the New Year ticked over, Aradia quietly said “Happy New Year yet again, Neon. Now, we must be getting to that press conference.”

Aradia cast yet another portal, and the pair stepped into the front lobby of one of the four FursTech buildings across America. But Rey noticed that they weren’t in the Danesville FursTech building.

“Why are we in New York again? I thought you said the press conference was in Danesville?” Rey looked back at Aradia, who had silently cast one last portal and stepped through it.

Aradia turned to Rey, and said “I did indeed. I’ll be introducing you in about five minutes. I hope to see you there!” Before Rey could snap out of her bewilderment, Aradia gave a small wave goodbye, and closed the portal.

Rey, half seething and half laughing, shook her head. “Well, let’s see what a full charge of top-quality plasma does for me.” Rey activated her superspeed and bolted through the city, feeling a rush of speed that she hadn’t felt since she first started experimenting with her power.

[valentineheaven]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside (Harry Styles x Reader) Part of “The Book Of Christmas” Series

Christmas is coming, so I decided to write a small series of imagines with each actor from «Dunkirk» movie. "The Book Of Christmas" series – it will be six imagines stories about how you can find love in Christmas eve and also how to preserve this love. I hope that you will like it. This is the first chapter of this Christmas series.

Summary: It seems that in Christmas eve can't happen anything wrong. Everything breathes joy and beauty. But not from her. All the bad things in her life happening on that day: her boyfriend brake up with her, then he's in his car crashes into her car. How can a long Christmas road home bring two strangers together?

Song: Dean Martin – Baby, It’s Cold Outside

It would seem that on Christmas eve can’t happen anything wrong. After all around and breathes magic and comfort, overflowing with bright colors of lights and store signs. After all, everyone go around happy and calm, waiting for twelve hours. But not everyone today feels as it should.

Way beyond the city is actually empty and you understand why. All people have long been sitting at the Christmas tables, talking about plans for next year and sharing interesting life stories and delicious Christmas recipes. And children quietly sitting by a warm fireplace in their red Christmas sweaters, related his beloved grandmother. On their faces shines the purest smile, the one that only children has. Their little hands one by one open the gifts, throwing wrappers all over the living room. They are happy and they aren’t what gets in the car and go somewhere.

The road was deserted, and only your car was rushing for the mute night road. You want to get into the city, to your cozy apartment on the outskirts of London to quickly fall on the bed, wrap yourself in a blanket and forget that damn Tyler.

What could be worse than a breakup with a guy right on Christmas Eve? For you, nothing. You were hoping that this would be the best Christmas ever, because you will spend it together in a cute country house. But when all your wonderful plans fell through, you got in the car and drove back home.

You're going to have a half-hour, but now you don’t think about time. You just want to go home. You already forgotten that today is Christmas and only Christmas songs playing on the radio, occasionally reminded you about it.

Not to hear your tears and sobs to forget about what happened earlier today, you turned on full blast the radio and start to sing along with songs. At first it was something from Frank Sinatra about Christmas, then you changed the radio station and got to melodious howls of Selena Gomez about love, but you now don’t care for the damn love. Switch the wave again and get on the super energetic song that immediately made you forget everything.

"It's getting me crazy, I think I'm

Losing it, I think I'm losing it

I think she said "I'm having your

Baby, it's none of your business

I think she said "I'm having your

Baby, it's none of your business"

(Kiwi by Harry Styles)

You moved behind the wheel in time to the song, it just makes you move and sing along. This song could dispel you and your thoughts. As if it was something from the 90s that played in discos in schools and clubs. The voice of the singer was nice and beautiful, and you wanted to hear him perform live and rock out at his concert.

"I think she said "I'm having your

Baby, it's none of your business

I think she said "I'm having your

Baby, it's none of your, it's none of your"

(Kiwi by Harry Styles)

On the screen of your phone displayed "Incoming call - Tyler". You reached to remove the phone from the stand and answer, but your movements were so vigorous that the phone just slipped out of your hands and fell to the floor. As the road was deserted, you turned the volume down and stopped. Right in the middle of the road. You've almost got your phone, but...

Blow. The car rolled a little forward. You quickly jumped, hitting your head on the steering wheel. You were too confident when think that you're alone on the road.

Jumping out of the car, you saw that on your bumper flaunts a decent dent. Near with your car there is a guy examining the front of your car. He was tall and very cute. The cool evening wind played with his tousled hair. He was dressed in all black - black skinny jeans and a black leather jacket, which sported a burgundy shirt, unbuttoned several buttons. He looked like a real biker or a bad boy.

He crouched a little to see the dent in the bumper. He gently ran his hand along the bumper and thoughtfully looked at you, then at his car.

“Did you not see where you're going?!" - you walked up to him, he was still sitting on his haunches, raised his blue eyes on you. "Though sometimes you can wipe your glass?!" - continued you.

The guy stood up, adjusted his jacket, looked at you. "It's your fault" - softly with a smirk he said.

«What?» - you protested and started to pace back and forth. «I didn’t crashed into my car, I didn't leave the dent there, on the restoration which I have not enough money!» - you looked at him, and at the forest surrounding you on the one hand, and into the glade, surrounding you with the other hand.

«You know, at least I didn't stop in the middle of the road to tint my lips!» - he said loudly.

«I'm not tinting my lips! I tried to raise my phone, you idiot!»

«Please don’t call me, young lady» - he grinned.

«Fuck you, asshole» - you turned away from him.

You're not in the mood to respond to his jocks. The guy was still standing around your car, probably not knowing what to expect. You stood with your back to him, removing the hands in the pocket of your bomber jacket, and in your mind, was just thinking about how to get rid of this unknown and in a hurry to go home. From the minute you were silent.

"So we gonna stand in the middle of the road?" – he asked, but you stood silently with your back to him. "We are lucky that there are no cars, but it would already have created a traffic jam" – he smiled and you knew it.

You got into the car to pick up the phone and call someone. Yes, someone. Getting out of the car, you paid attention to the amount of gasoline in the tank; the arrow showed that you can hardly drive to the nearest gas station.

«Damn» - you said, slamming the door and holding your head.

«Wow, what else happened?» – a guy came up to you.

“Gasoline a little, can’t even get to the gas station» – not looking at him, you said.

«How about I take you to the city and the car will send a tow truck?»

«Yeah, so I have and  sat in the car. No...» – you moved away from him, and he grinned. «I'd rather wait for a tow truck and leave with my car»

«Whatever you say, stranger. But I'll also stay here» – he leaned on the hood of his car. «Let them come and record the scene of the accident and damage caused, write checks» – smiling, he continued.

«If they will write a check, then only for you» – you said and went to call a tow truck.

Has passed an hour, but the tow truck had not arrived and was not. The night also enveloped the deserted road, which at this hour drove all three cars. Today’s Christmas night was especially wonderful. On the blue canvas of the festive scattered shining stars, like a thousand fireworks lit up the silent heavens. Today was new moon, so the moon looked like on the big canvas of the night sky made a small incision through which oozed a silvery light.

You looked at the whole night canvas, as a spellbound. You have studied every piece of it, as the creators of art studying painting in the gallery. Though everything was great, the wind was getting colder and colder. You're already wrapped in your bomber, but the warmer you become.

The guy was still sitting on the hood of his car, often looking at you. His amused that you were so passionate about this starry sky. He often checked his phone, reading messages from friends and family with Christmas greetings.

All around it was quiet and peaceful. All this was interrupted only be the sounds of songs from the radio, coming from his car. Now all this cold silence was melting from soft notes of Silence Night, Holly Night by Frank Sinatra.

«It may be enough fooling around» – he said, striking his hand on the hood. «You’re shivering from the cold. Of course, I understand that you like the starry sky, and that dead silence, but one can fall ill» – he grinned.

«What do you suggest? I can't call and hurry the damn tow truck» – you walked up to him.

«Baby, it's cold outside. Drive your car on the roadside, a tow truck will pick it up tomorrow. And get into my car, I'll drive you to town, you'll miss all the Christmas in this wilderness» – he said with a smile and got in the car.

You drive on a dimly lit road, on the right side flicker then the little houses hung with garlands and figurines, then deserted forests, shrouded in the blanket of night. Sitting next to him, you feel a pleasant smell of his perfume that envelops everything in the car. Men's perfume always smells good.

«There must be a reason why you're so sad» – he quickly smiled and looked at you.

«Everyone today sitting at home or in restaurants and happy celebrate Christmas with those they love. But I wasn't so lucky. Tyler, my boyfriend, had planned to celebrate this Christmas together in a country house of his parents, but when I arrived, he found a better company» – with your head down, you said.

«Who is she?»

«Some friend» – you smiled at him. «What are you doing on a day like this on the road? You hasten to someone?»

«I'm never hastening. I was driving from a friend who needed to pick up some document» – he said, rarely taking his eyes from the road and looking at you.

«Oh, you're the business guy» – you both laughed.

«What's your name, beautiful?» – with a gentle smile he asked.

«My name is Y/N. And you?»

«Harry» – not looking up from the road, he said.

Radio continued to delight you with the different range of songs: from the quiet confessions of love by Taylor Swift to the voice of Louis Armstrong. You communicated with each other, shared interesting stories and interests; sometimes he quietly sang his favorite songs that made you smile. On the radio sounded this legendary voice.

"I really can't stay

But baby, it's cold outside

I've got to go away

But baby, it's cold outside»

(Baby, It’s Cold Outside by Dean Martin)

«One of the best Christmas songs» – adding volume, said Harry. «Every Christmas I hear it on the radio and it's like tradition»

«I'm not a big fan of Christmas music»

«Maybe you still don't like Christmas?" – with feigned surprise he said. «How can you not love such songs? You're nuts» – he laughed.

«I'm not nuts. Just don't like these songs. There are a couple good but most of them are the same».

«How could he leave you, Y/N?» – he ask, looking at you. «How this moron could leave you?» – he, not looking up from the road, pointed to you.

«Apparently he found someone better than me. Someone who can better prepares him a cup of coffee; someone who is always ready to respond promptly to his messages; someone who will listen Frank Sinatra with him all week before Christmas» – smiling, you said.

«You're obviously better than the one you described. So he broke up with you. He's just not worthy of you» – he looked at you with such tenderness in his eyes that you sheepishly turned back to the window.

«I don't know...» – you whispered.

The magical voice of Dean Martin and his song came to the end when a warm Christmas melody was replaced by explosive drums. Did you know this song.

"She worked her way through

A cheap pack of cigarettes"

(Kiwi by Harry Styles)

Harry reached for the radio to switch it, but you took his hand, not allowing him to do this.

«Hey, don't touch, this is a good song» – you looked at him, and he smiled pleasantly.

«You're really like this song?» – he asked carefully.

«Yes, this one is nice and energetic, all better than your Dean Martin» – smile fell from your lips.

«I'm glad you liked this kind of music» – with a grin said Harry.

Harry’s song continued to post strong sounds in the car when you are surprised and a kind of contempt in the expression of your face turned to him. Harry looked at you first with incomprehension, and then realized what it was. You recognized the voice. His voice.

«You're a singer» – rolling your eyes, you said. «And I like your song»

«Yeah, babe, exactly. And I’m very glad that you liked it before you knew that I sing it" – he pierced you with his blue eyes and smirk.

«Initially I thought that this song from some school disco in the 1990s» – you laughed.

«Wow, thanks for such an unusual comparison»

Just to drive two hours, till Christmas remained about an hour and a half, so Harry has sped up a bit to quickly get you in the Christmas coziness of your apartment.

The car raced on the snowy road under changing radio tunes. Harry turned on a CD with his favorite Christmas songs, in the hope to inculcate you a love for this music.

«I'll give it to you. This CD» – he said with a smile, stretching you still an empty box from under the CD. "This is my Christmas present to you. I’m confident that you will love these songs»

You drove to London, which began to blow holiday, even long before you arrived. All the way Harry looked at you when you looked out of the window or on the dashboard. He was afraid to meet your eyes, which struck him with its softness even then, on the road. He was unspeakably glad that at Christmas he is not alone. Harry even took your encounter for a sign, explained him that in the coming year, he won’t stay one.

You liked him. Yes, at first he seems rude and arrogant, but, knowing him better, you realized that in the inside he is kind and calm. In his arms want to wrap yourself like in soft blanket, and forget about everything. That's where is confirmed by the phrase "don't judge a person by his outer shell".

«Outside he's all cool and arrogant,» – thought you, looking at him in your compact mirror. «But inside he has unicorns and in his heart blooming violets» - from these thoughts, you even smiled, what attracted his attention.

After breaking up with Tyler, this guy was like a breath of fresh air, which helped to forget you about everything and remember about Christmas.

«We came, beauty» – genuinely smiling, he said.

Harry turned to you, the last time to give you his radiant smile with the cute dimples you have ever seen.

«How a man with such a cute smile can be the bad guy?» – you asked yourself.

You didn't want to leave him, wanted to go back to that silent road to get back in his car and go to town.

You already came to the entrance of your house, as something suddenly stopped you. You stood rooted to the spot, holding the handle of the door, still hearing the growl of the motor of his car behind you. He was still here.

Was it a feeling of sympathy or loneliness, is not clear. But you quickly returned to his car.

«We both know that a Christmas spent alone is boring» – you said with a smile.

He immediately realized where this is going. So, with a kiss a smile, Harry turned the engine off and got out of the car to meet you. But your meeting and the truth was a sign to both of you.

At Christmas there is always a place of magic and miracle. Here it is. Here it happened.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Food, It Turns Out, Has Little to Do With Why I Love to Travel 

It’s the people that make a place — but these days, human interaction is hard to come by

I used to love to travel. I’d wander through new cities for days on end, eating and drinking (but mostly eating) in four-seat izakayas, farm-driven pizzerias, southern seafood halls, and boat noodle cafes, talking to locals and walking for miles. Restaurants have always been my joyous entry point to a place and its people. The food, I thought, was what made me love to explore the world.

That slowly fading memory — what it felt like to discover a new city, stomach first — is what excited me about going out on the road again, which I did a couple months ago, driving from Los Angeles to Corsicana, Texas and back, stopping to eat in places like Albuquerque, Amarillo, El Paso, and Phoenix.

Let me be clear: I absolutely would not and do not recommend frivolous travel. In my case, a looming publishing deadline on The Bludso Family Cookbook is what sent me on the long, not-so-winding road to Texas in the midst of a global pandemic, where I would be staying with my longtime friend, mentor, colleague, and big brother Kevin Bludso. Once there, we would be cooking, writing, recipe testing, interviewing, living together, and, in all likelihood, drinking a fair quantity of brown spirits at the end of each night (please, someone get that man a Hennessy sponsorship).

I’ve spent the better part of the last 15 years working in the food industry in one capacity or another. I’ve been a bartender, server, chef, culinary director, restaurant consultant, cookbook author, and food writer. My plan since last year had been to continue writing and consulting on the side, but also to finally open my own restaurant. Nothing extravagant. Something small and intimate. A humble, comforting place of my own — clean and well-lit, a true neighborhood restaurant where people can get to know each other, where the food and the service is unassuming and genuine, something with no desire for expansion or duplication. I consider myself unbelievably lucky that I didn’t open a restaurant right before the pandemic hit.

Instead, I’ve spent the last several months at home, making a quarantine cooking show with my wife called Don’t Panic Pantry. It’s been a good distraction, but I thought a work-related excuse to drive through the American Southwest and its expansive desert would be a cleansing, meditative, soul-resetting break from what I’d begun to think of as perpetual purgatory.

I took every precaution. A nasal-swab COVID test right before I departed. I also hopefully still had antibodies (my wife and I both had COVID-19 way back in March). It was, at the very least, the polite thing to do: Get tested before joining someone in their home for two weeks.

I had planned on driving straight through Arizona from LA, avoiding anything except gas stations until I made it to New Mexico, surviving on a sturdy mix of cold brew and air conditioning to keep me awake. I’d never been to New Mexico before. I’d pored over Instagram photos of chile-drenched Southwestern Mexican food, enchiladas oozing with melted cheese, their red and green chile sauces popping with Instagram photo-editing exposure. My usual pre-trip Google map was loaded with thoroughly researched restaurants along my route. In earlier times, I’d have peppered each map point with essential info like hours of operation and must-order dishes; now, I was looking up intel like outdoor seating, takeout quality, and, most crucially, whether or not a place had managed to stay open at all.

I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger.

I left with a bullish heart. But each stop to fuel up took away a notch of my optimism-fueled excitement and replaced it with caution. Each person in a mask made me a little more depressed; each person without, a little angrier.

Ten hours in and I had made it to New Laguna, New Mexico. I stopped at Laguna Burger, an iconic mini-chain inside of a gas station. It’s a fast-food place to be sure, but according to old photos online there used to be stools set up against the counter, and even a couple of tables and a few chairs. Those are, of course, gone now — pushed to the side of the room and leaving in their place a vacuous emptiness, even for a gas-station dining room. The staff was nice but appropriately wary. I did not partake in the self-serve Kool-Aid pickle jar. I got my food and then sat in my car, emotionally deflated and no longer very excited to eat my first-ever green chile burger — something I had wanted to try for years.

Ordering a burger at a place like this was supposed to be a tiny gateway into the culture and personality of the place, however small that sampling was going to be. There is an emotional atmosphere, a vibe, that’s specific to each and every restaurant, and I had perhaps never been so truly aware that such a thing existed until I noticed it had been zapped entirely from this one. In its place was a blanket of nervous, sad precaution — added to, I’m sure, by my own nervousness.

So I sat in my car with my sack of food, gloomily disappointed even before the first bite. They forgot to salt the fries and it felt oddly appropriate. In this moment, to no fault of the restaurant itself, the food didn’t matter. It couldn’t have. I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger, wanting it to justify a 12-hour drive and to somehow soothe an anxious mind. But the food, it occurred to me, wasn’t what I was after at all.

Later on, in Albuquerque, I picked up a four-pack of beer from Arrow Point Brewing and received the now familiar and appropriate treatment: measured, cautious polite gratitude. It was a transaction, appreciated by both sides, but with a higher degree of precondition from both sides as well. I followed it up with a takeout bag of enchiladas and a taco from the beloved and iconic Duran’s Pharmacy, taking them back to the motel room I checked myself into earlier. It was 5:30 p.m. The enchiladas had sloshed in the bag. I took a bite and understood: It was comforting, but not nearly enough. Like being single and reconnecting with an ex, only to both immediately discover that there’s nothing there anymore — two empty vessels with no connection beyond a memory.

I took a sip of beer and fell asleep for an hour. When I awoke the city had turned dark and I knew there was no point in going anywhere. The world felt dystopian and deflated. I’d left my redundant, loving, comfortable bubble to experience life alone on the road, and all I wished was that I was right back there with my wife and my dog.

When my wife and I had COVID-19, we lost our sense of smell and taste for a bit. It was, as my wife put it, “a joyless existence.” Now I had my taste back, but somehow the joy of eating was still gone.

The enchiladas, in a box, alone, on the floor of my motel, were just enchiladas. Because here’s a thing I’ve come to understand of late: context really does affect flavor. A place, its atmosphere, the people within it, their mood (and ours) genuinely change the way things taste. A restaurant lasagna has to be twice as good as your mother’s — or that one you had on that trip to Italy — for it to remind you of it even a little. A rack of smoked pork ribs will never taste as good on a ceramic plate atop a tablecloth as it does from within a styrofoam box on the hood of your car, downwind from a roadside smoker. I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

So as it turns out, when it comes to my lifelong love of food and travel, the food might not have mattered — not to the degree I thought it did, anyway. Not without everything that goes along with it. The surly bartender in the dark room who fries your chicken behind the bar at Reel M Inn in Portland while a guy two seats down makes fun of you for being from California is a huge part of why that might be my favorite fried chicken in the world. The friend of a friend who abandoned his family (thanks Marc!) to drive a stranger, me, around Toronto for two days and show off the city’s outstanding versions of goat roti (from Mona’s Roti) and bún riêu cua (from Bong Lua) makes me realize that yes, the food is outstanding, but that it’s the people — excited to show off their hometown, its restaurants, and their community — who make travel worthwhile.

Would Tokyo be my favorite eating city in the world if my now-wife and I hadn’t befriended two total strangers in a six-seat dive bar, knocking back cocktails until we both threw up, only to come through to the other side fully bonded over late-night grilled pork skewers with another stranger who gave me his business card and said that he had been eating in this stall for over a decade? What is a bar without a bartender? It’s just, well, being home.

The restaurant business can be both horrible and wonderful. It pays poorly, it requires incredibly long hours, and in many instances, you are going broke while making food for people who complain that it’s too expensive. But it is, as Anthony Bourdain often said, the Pleasure Business. It has always been a place for camaraderie, human connection, and community. Those were the things that made the nearly unbearable parts of our business worthwhile — and that connection, when you can have a genuine one between staff and customer, is what I think everyone really, truly wants out of the transaction. Those things still exist, I suppose, but all at arm’s length, or across an app.

I still eventually want to open my own restaurant. I think. But maybe I just want to open my memory of what it would have been in a different, earlier world. I don’t want to be a dinosaur, yearning for the good old days. But I also don’t want to live in a world where a third-party tech company stands between the restaurant and its customer. I don’t want someone to visit my city and think that a robot delivering them a sandwich is the best that we have to offer. I don’t want to have to download an app to order a cup of fucking coffee. Human connection, it turns out, is essential too, and we need to find a way to make it a part of our essential businesses again.

So what, in the midst of a health and humanitarian catastrophe, can we do? Well, we can decide where we spend our money. We support human connection and small businesses. We pick up takeout with our own hands from the places and the people that we love (safely, responsibly). We know that it is just gauze pressed against an open, oozing knife wound, but we try anyway.

So we travel because we have to, whether for work or as a needed break from monotony, and we reset our expectations, we open ourselves up to receiving that connection, we seek out the places that are adapting and we smile through our masks, and ask each other how we are doing, if only to show that somebody cares.

When I eventually made it to Corsicana, Texas, hoisting a large bag of dried red New Mexico chiles, I was greeted with an engulfing hug by Kevin Bludso; it was the first truly comforting thing that happened on the whole trip. I melted into the arms of my friend. I was back in a bubble, connected to something.

I spent two glorious weeks in that bubble, taking turns doing Peloton workouts and then drinking vegetable smoothies, before recipe-testing dishes like Fried Whole-Body Crappie and Ham Hock Pinto Beans; researching Kevin’s family history and then, true to form, sipping rye (me) and Hennessy (him) before I had to head home. Kevin’s food was outstanding, but it was made all the better by the time spent together cooking it. So when I readied myself to get out on the road again, my expectations had changed. I knew the food alone could only do so much.

This disease has been a reflection and amplifier of all of our weak points — and the restaurant business is certainly no different. This industry was already ripe with flaws. It has been teetering on the brink of a seismic shift for years — COVID-19 just accelerated it, and all the platitudes, Instagram stories, and false optimism won’t fix anything. But there have always been bad restaurants as well as good restaurants. I suppose it’s no different now. Yet it is maybe just a little bit harder to give and to be open to receiving the human connection that makes the whole experience worthwhile.

I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

I hit the road early, and after about 10 and a half hours, fueled by caffeine, Christopher Cross, and Bonnie Raitt — with one depressing pit stop in El Paso at the famed H&H Car Wash, where an old curmudgeon out front insisted I take off my mask before going inside — I arrived in Las Cruces, at La Nueva Casita Café. I called ahead, hoping not to have to wait so I could just grab my food and get back on the road. My guard was still up, but then the woman on the other end of the phone was so charming and kind that I was immediately disarmed. She graciously steered me toward the chile relleno burrito (“it’ll be the easiest one to eat in the car”). A few minutes later I came inside to pick up my food and the two women behind the counter were, frankly, a delight. I paid, and was promptly handed my food and thanked with genuine, casual appreciation for coming in. The burrito was excellent.

Bolstered by the kindness of strangers, I drove another five and a half hours into Phoenix. As a bit of an obsessive pizza maker (I had the tremendous fortune to train with Frank Pinello of Best Pizza in Williamsburg, and also had a hand in helping to open Prime Pizza in Los Angeles), I was here to try the new 18-inch New York-style fusion pie by the great Chris Bianco at their Pane Bianco outpost on Central.

Just as at La Nueva Casita Café, the staff was friendly, genuine, helpful, and kind. In retrospect, it took so little but it meant so much. When I expressed a need for caffeine, they sent me next door to Lux Central for a large iced coffee, where the barista talked to me from a responsible distance, wished me a safe drive, and gave me a free blueberry muffin. Even eaten in my car, Chris’s pizza was truly outstanding — crisp, thin, and pliable, successfully pulling off the New York-modern Neapolitan (ish) fusion that, in lesser hands, turns into an 18-inch bowl of soup.

I drove the last six hours home, finding myself encouraged by these final two restaurant experiences, excited by what the best in our industry are still somehow capable of in spite of everything. It was, frankly, inspirational to find genuine interaction, care, and kindness in this new reality.

It reminds me of my mother, actually. I remember when I was a kid, she would pick up the phone to call a restaurant, or Blockbuster Video, to ask them a question. I would always hear her say something like: “Hi Randy! How are you today?” and I would say, “Mom! Do you know him?” and she would shake her head no. Then she would say, “Oh that’s great to hear, Randy. Hey listen, what time do you close today?” My brother and I used to make fun of her for that — for forcing this connection with someone she had no real relationship with beyond an exchange of services. Now, I plan to do exactly that, whenever and wherever I can.

Noah Galuten is a chef, James Beard Award-nominated cookbook author, and the co-host of Don’t Panic Pantry. Nhung Le is a Vietnamese freelance illustrator based in Brooklyn, NY.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34Oc66Q https://ift.tt/34RJ8TD

It’s the people that make a place — but these days, human interaction is hard to come by

I used to love to travel. I’d wander through new cities for days on end, eating and drinking (but mostly eating) in four-seat izakayas, farm-driven pizzerias, southern seafood halls, and boat noodle cafes, talking to locals and walking for miles. Restaurants have always been my joyous entry point to a place and its people. The food, I thought, was what made me love to explore the world.

That slowly fading memory — what it felt like to discover a new city, stomach first — is what excited me about going out on the road again, which I did a couple months ago, driving from Los Angeles to Corsicana, Texas and back, stopping to eat in places like Albuquerque, Amarillo, El Paso, and Phoenix.

Let me be clear: I absolutely would not and do not recommend frivolous travel. In my case, a looming publishing deadline on The Bludso Family Cookbook is what sent me on the long, not-so-winding road to Texas in the midst of a global pandemic, where I would be staying with my longtime friend, mentor, colleague, and big brother Kevin Bludso. Once there, we would be cooking, writing, recipe testing, interviewing, living together, and, in all likelihood, drinking a fair quantity of brown spirits at the end of each night (please, someone get that man a Hennessy sponsorship).

I’ve spent the better part of the last 15 years working in the food industry in one capacity or another. I’ve been a bartender, server, chef, culinary director, restaurant consultant, cookbook author, and food writer. My plan since last year had been to continue writing and consulting on the side, but also to finally open my own restaurant. Nothing extravagant. Something small and intimate. A humble, comforting place of my own — clean and well-lit, a true neighborhood restaurant where people can get to know each other, where the food and the service is unassuming and genuine, something with no desire for expansion or duplication. I consider myself unbelievably lucky that I didn’t open a restaurant right before the pandemic hit.

Instead, I’ve spent the last several months at home, making a quarantine cooking show with my wife called Don’t Panic Pantry. It’s been a good distraction, but I thought a work-related excuse to drive through the American Southwest and its expansive desert would be a cleansing, meditative, soul-resetting break from what I’d begun to think of as perpetual purgatory.

I took every precaution. A nasal-swab COVID test right before I departed. I also hopefully still had antibodies (my wife and I both had COVID-19 way back in March). It was, at the very least, the polite thing to do: Get tested before joining someone in their home for two weeks.

I had planned on driving straight through Arizona from LA, avoiding anything except gas stations until I made it to New Mexico, surviving on a sturdy mix of cold brew and air conditioning to keep me awake. I’d never been to New Mexico before. I’d pored over Instagram photos of chile-drenched Southwestern Mexican food, enchiladas oozing with melted cheese, their red and green chile sauces popping with Instagram photo-editing exposure. My usual pre-trip Google map was loaded with thoroughly researched restaurants along my route. In earlier times, I’d have peppered each map point with essential info like hours of operation and must-order dishes; now, I was looking up intel like outdoor seating, takeout quality, and, most crucially, whether or not a place had managed to stay open at all.

I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger.

I left with a bullish heart. But each stop to fuel up took away a notch of my optimism-fueled excitement and replaced it with caution. Each person in a mask made me a little more depressed; each person without, a little angrier.

Ten hours in and I had made it to New Laguna, New Mexico. I stopped at Laguna Burger, an iconic mini-chain inside of a gas station. It’s a fast-food place to be sure, but according to old photos online there used to be stools set up against the counter, and even a couple of tables and a few chairs. Those are, of course, gone now — pushed to the side of the room and leaving in their place a vacuous emptiness, even for a gas-station dining room. The staff was nice but appropriately wary. I did not partake in the self-serve Kool-Aid pickle jar. I got my food and then sat in my car, emotionally deflated and no longer very excited to eat my first-ever green chile burger — something I had wanted to try for years.

Ordering a burger at a place like this was supposed to be a tiny gateway into the culture and personality of the place, however small that sampling was going to be. There is an emotional atmosphere, a vibe, that’s specific to each and every restaurant, and I had perhaps never been so truly aware that such a thing existed until I noticed it had been zapped entirely from this one. In its place was a blanket of nervous, sad precaution — added to, I’m sure, by my own nervousness.

So I sat in my car with my sack of food, gloomily disappointed even before the first bite. They forgot to salt the fries and it felt oddly appropriate. In this moment, to no fault of the restaurant itself, the food didn’t matter. It couldn’t have. I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger, wanting it to justify a 12-hour drive and to somehow soothe an anxious mind. But the food, it occurred to me, wasn’t what I was after at all.

Later on, in Albuquerque, I picked up a four-pack of beer from Arrow Point Brewing and received the now familiar and appropriate treatment: measured, cautious polite gratitude. It was a transaction, appreciated by both sides, but with a higher degree of precondition from both sides as well. I followed it up with a takeout bag of enchiladas and a taco from the beloved and iconic Duran’s Pharmacy, taking them back to the motel room I checked myself into earlier. It was 5:30 p.m. The enchiladas had sloshed in the bag. I took a bite and understood: It was comforting, but not nearly enough. Like being single and reconnecting with an ex, only to both immediately discover that there’s nothing there anymore — two empty vessels with no connection beyond a memory.

I took a sip of beer and fell asleep for an hour. When I awoke the city had turned dark and I knew there was no point in going anywhere. The world felt dystopian and deflated. I’d left my redundant, loving, comfortable bubble to experience life alone on the road, and all I wished was that I was right back there with my wife and my dog.

When my wife and I had COVID-19, we lost our sense of smell and taste for a bit. It was, as my wife put it, “a joyless existence.” Now I had my taste back, but somehow the joy of eating was still gone.

The enchiladas, in a box, alone, on the floor of my motel, were just enchiladas. Because here’s a thing I’ve come to understand of late: context really does affect flavor. A place, its atmosphere, the people within it, their mood (and ours) genuinely change the way things taste. A restaurant lasagna has to be twice as good as your mother’s — or that one you had on that trip to Italy — for it to remind you of it even a little. A rack of smoked pork ribs will never taste as good on a ceramic plate atop a tablecloth as it does from within a styrofoam box on the hood of your car, downwind from a roadside smoker. I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

So as it turns out, when it comes to my lifelong love of food and travel, the food might not have mattered — not to the degree I thought it did, anyway. Not without everything that goes along with it. The surly bartender in the dark room who fries your chicken behind the bar at Reel M Inn in Portland while a guy two seats down makes fun of you for being from California is a huge part of why that might be my favorite fried chicken in the world. The friend of a friend who abandoned his family (thanks Marc!) to drive a stranger, me, around Toronto for two days and show off the city’s outstanding versions of goat roti (from Mona’s Roti) and bún riêu cua (from Bong Lua) makes me realize that yes, the food is outstanding, but that it’s the people — excited to show off their hometown, its restaurants, and their community — who make travel worthwhile.

Would Tokyo be my favorite eating city in the world if my now-wife and I hadn’t befriended two total strangers in a six-seat dive bar, knocking back cocktails until we both threw up, only to come through to the other side fully bonded over late-night grilled pork skewers with another stranger who gave me his business card and said that he had been eating in this stall for over a decade? What is a bar without a bartender? It’s just, well, being home.

The restaurant business can be both horrible and wonderful. It pays poorly, it requires incredibly long hours, and in many instances, you are going broke while making food for people who complain that it’s too expensive. But it is, as Anthony Bourdain often said, the Pleasure Business. It has always been a place for camaraderie, human connection, and community. Those were the things that made the nearly unbearable parts of our business worthwhile — and that connection, when you can have a genuine one between staff and customer, is what I think everyone really, truly wants out of the transaction. Those things still exist, I suppose, but all at arm’s length, or across an app.

I still eventually want to open my own restaurant. I think. But maybe I just want to open my memory of what it would have been in a different, earlier world. I don’t want to be a dinosaur, yearning for the good old days. But I also don’t want to live in a world where a third-party tech company stands between the restaurant and its customer. I don’t want someone to visit my city and think that a robot delivering them a sandwich is the best that we have to offer. I don’t want to have to download an app to order a cup of fucking coffee. Human connection, it turns out, is essential too, and we need to find a way to make it a part of our essential businesses again.

So what, in the midst of a health and humanitarian catastrophe, can we do? Well, we can decide where we spend our money. We support human connection and small businesses. We pick up takeout with our own hands from the places and the people that we love (safely, responsibly). We know that it is just gauze pressed against an open, oozing knife wound, but we try anyway.

So we travel because we have to, whether for work or as a needed break from monotony, and we reset our expectations, we open ourselves up to receiving that connection, we seek out the places that are adapting and we smile through our masks, and ask each other how we are doing, if only to show that somebody cares.

When I eventually made it to Corsicana, Texas, hoisting a large bag of dried red New Mexico chiles, I was greeted with an engulfing hug by Kevin Bludso; it was the first truly comforting thing that happened on the whole trip. I melted into the arms of my friend. I was back in a bubble, connected to something.

I spent two glorious weeks in that bubble, taking turns doing Peloton workouts and then drinking vegetable smoothies, before recipe-testing dishes like Fried Whole-Body Crappie and Ham Hock Pinto Beans; researching Kevin’s family history and then, true to form, sipping rye (me) and Hennessy (him) before I had to head home. Kevin’s food was outstanding, but it was made all the better by the time spent together cooking it. So when I readied myself to get out on the road again, my expectations had changed. I knew the food alone could only do so much.

This disease has been a reflection and amplifier of all of our weak points — and the restaurant business is certainly no different. This industry was already ripe with flaws. It has been teetering on the brink of a seismic shift for years — COVID-19 just accelerated it, and all the platitudes, Instagram stories, and false optimism won’t fix anything. But there have always been bad restaurants as well as good restaurants. I suppose it’s no different now. Yet it is maybe just a little bit harder to give and to be open to receiving the human connection that makes the whole experience worthwhile.

I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

I hit the road early, and after about 10 and a half hours, fueled by caffeine, Christopher Cross, and Bonnie Raitt — with one depressing pit stop in El Paso at the famed H&H Car Wash, where an old curmudgeon out front insisted I take off my mask before going inside — I arrived in Las Cruces, at La Nueva Casita Café. I called ahead, hoping not to have to wait so I could just grab my food and get back on the road. My guard was still up, but then the woman on the other end of the phone was so charming and kind that I was immediately disarmed. She graciously steered me toward the chile relleno burrito (“it’ll be the easiest one to eat in the car”). A few minutes later I came inside to pick up my food and the two women behind the counter were, frankly, a delight. I paid, and was promptly handed my food and thanked with genuine, casual appreciation for coming in. The burrito was excellent.

Bolstered by the kindness of strangers, I drove another five and a half hours into Phoenix. As a bit of an obsessive pizza maker (I had the tremendous fortune to train with Frank Pinello of Best Pizza in Williamsburg, and also had a hand in helping to open Prime Pizza in Los Angeles), I was here to try the new 18-inch New York-style fusion pie by the great Chris Bianco at their Pane Bianco outpost on Central.

Just as at La Nueva Casita Café, the staff was friendly, genuine, helpful, and kind. In retrospect, it took so little but it meant so much. When I expressed a need for caffeine, they sent me next door to Lux Central for a large iced coffee, where the barista talked to me from a responsible distance, wished me a safe drive, and gave me a free blueberry muffin. Even eaten in my car, Chris’s pizza was truly outstanding — crisp, thin, and pliable, successfully pulling off the New York-modern Neapolitan (ish) fusion that, in lesser hands, turns into an 18-inch bowl of soup.

I drove the last six hours home, finding myself encouraged by these final two restaurant experiences, excited by what the best in our industry are still somehow capable of in spite of everything. It was, frankly, inspirational to find genuine interaction, care, and kindness in this new reality.

It reminds me of my mother, actually. I remember when I was a kid, she would pick up the phone to call a restaurant, or Blockbuster Video, to ask them a question. I would always hear her say something like: “Hi Randy! How are you today?” and I would say, “Mom! Do you know him?” and she would shake her head no. Then she would say, “Oh that’s great to hear, Randy. Hey listen, what time do you close today?” My brother and I used to make fun of her for that — for forcing this connection with someone she had no real relationship with beyond an exchange of services. Now, I plan to do exactly that, whenever and wherever I can.

Noah Galuten is a chef, James Beard Award-nominated cookbook author, and the co-host of Don’t Panic Pantry. Nhung Le is a Vietnamese freelance illustrator based in Brooklyn, NY.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34Oc66Q via Blogger https://ift.tt/314xEef

[all-alone-he-turns-to-stone]

Family Don’t End with Blood

Summary: Stiles discovered his mom’s family side might not be just normal hunters. They’re actually Campbell, but the only remaining family are his cousin, two Winchester, Sam and Y/N. Stiles decided to go look for them but not just to meet them. He wishes to make them understand not all monster do monstrous things.

Crossover of: Teen Wolf and Supernatural

Paring: Stiles x Lydia, Scott x Kira

Requested by: @horsiegirl998

Word count: 2254

A/N: I took too long to post this, I’m so sorry I’m a very bad person. But I never got satisfied with it. It stayed finished and untouched for a couple of days or weeks and I don’t want to touch it more. I think it’s the best I could do with this story. I still hope y’all like it! The reader is the female version of Dean Winchester, as requested and none of the gifs are mine.

“ Who is it?” A curious boy wearing a red hoodie and black jeans asked his father by pointing at an old yellowed photograph he had found in a dusty photo album shortly before. It was the spring cleaning.

“Ah,” his father answered by dropping the boxes he held in his hands to get closer to his son. Noah’s eyes settled at the spot where Stiles’ forefinger pointed and nostalgia invaded his sweet gaze. “It’s your mother’s family,” he finally answered, sitting down beside him. He pointed at each of the people in the picture. “Claudia’s mother, Deanna, her father, Samuel, and here’s her sister, Mary,” Noah continued sighing, a little sad smile on his lips.

“They look happy …” Stiles commented, having the same nostalgic look as his father. “Were they all Campbell?” The curious boy asked.

“Yes,” the sheriff continued. “Claudia was a Campbell before we married, as you know. Mary was her older sister. If I remember correctly, she married a man named … John … John something. His family name is quite special, a gun name… ”

“Winchester?” Stiles offered and his father slapped his fingers as he recognized the name.

“ Yes! And they had two kids, a girl and a boy, Y / N and Sam. ”

“I hope they’re happy,” Stiles commented, imagining the whole family gathered at a Christmas party.

“Unfortunately a tragedy hit them…” Noah continued and Stiles raised his head, his eyes now sad. “Mary died when Sam was six months, it made the newspapers. John raised his kids alone until his death in 2006 or 2007. ”

“But … my cousins, are they alive? ”

“At the last news, yes. But since John died, I haven’t get any news from them. And now that I think about it …” The sheriff mumbled for himself as he got up, massaging his few days beard. Greedy of his words, Stiles stood up as well to follow his father’s footsteps who circled in the room, lost in his thoughts.

“ Yes?” Stiles tried, licking his lips with impatience to know what would happen next.

“Claudia told me she came from a hunter family. At the time I thought they were hunting deer… but now that I know for the supernatural, I wonder… ”

“You wonder …” Stiles began, knowing what was coming.

“The things they were hunting were perhaps not only deer.”

“Okay, so you say: not only do you have cousins ​​you didn’t even know before, but maybe they’re hunters too? ”

“No, I said surely hunters, there’s a difference, Lydia,” Stiles corrected his girlfriend by raising a finger in front of him to defend his point.

“Whatever,” the strawberry blonde muttered, rolling her eyes.

“If they’re really hunters … they may want to … well, you know, hunt us?” Kira asked in a small, uncertain voice behind them.

“That’s exactly why we should go,” Stiles continued. “Knowing I am their cousins, they should listen to me, right? And they’ll see we’re not dangerous. ”

“So, if I summarize,” Scott spoke for the first time since the start of the meeting. “You want to find your cousins ​​who don’t even know you exist and who are maybe …” Scott stopped when he saw Stiles’ expression, his hands raised, outraged, “surely, hunters hoping they don’t kill us, to kindly ask them not to kill all the nice wolves and other creatures who live in Beacon Hills and to help us if we ever need help? ”

“Exactly,” Stiles replied, an immense smile stamped on his face.

Wanting to find the Winchester was one thing, finding them was quite another. The hunters were known to be discreet and never leave a trace. Fortunately, the pack had a very useful element for research: Stiles’ cousins ​​were driving a showy car. A black 1967 Chevy impala. Hearing the name of the car, Stiles had jumped, excited. He loved cars and was eager to see the vintage model.

Finally, with somewhat reliable information, the pack got to San Fransisco, where the hunters were last seen. The jeep traveled the city’s roads for most of the day and the passengers on board were getting hungry, so it was decided to stop in a small restaurant on the roadside. Everyone ordered something, Stiles hesitated between bad food and health, and opted for both, commanding a salad and French fries in accompaniment. Scott took a cheeseburger and Kira picked the same thing. After rolling her eyes, Lydia decided on a club sandwich.

While they were eating, very quiet, the brilliant body of an unusual car attracted the attention of Stiles. It was his mouth full of French fries that he exclaimed incomprehensible words before rushing out of the restaurant, running toward the vintage car.

“Son of a bitch!” Echoed on the table behind them. Someone was obviously unhappy that a hyperactive boy seemed to be interested in this car and soon the pack left their meal to join their friend.

“Wow!” Stiles kept repeating by turning around the car, totally impressed.

"Get yourself away from my baby!” A harsh, female voice rang out behind Stiles, who stepped back with his hands in the air.

“I’m sorry I only wanted to watch, uhhh, admire the beauty of this rare and quite magnificent specimen!” Stiles stammered without taking his breath and those words seemed to calm the girl because her face relaxed.

"Yes I agree, it’s a beautiful model,” she commented, giving Stiles a boost of energy.

“Chevy Impala 1967, the most beautiful model was made that year.”

“I totally agree,” the girl mumbled with a smirk. “This beauty is called Baby. ”

“ Oh! Me, my car … it’s not as luxurious as yours, of course, but it has tremendous sentimental value,” Stiles continued as he pointed his jeep. “Roscoe was given to me by my mother before she …” He didn’t finish his sentence, his eyes sad.

“My father gave me this car. He had entrusted it to me before he left and was never able to recover it because he died too,” the girl confessed to him. “The important thing is not the cash value of the car, but the sentimental one."

“I totally agree,” Stiles smiled.

Stiles was so focused on talking about his passion that he didn’t notice the man who had arrived near the girl shortly before, nor his friends behind them. He only noticed that something was wrong when Scott began to gesticulate in all directions by pointing at the two people and then the car.

“Oh Lord,” he jumped, staring at the two people in front of him, the girl wearing a leather jacket and another green jacket underneath and the man wearing a plaid shirt. “You are my cousins!"

“What?” The man finally spoke.

"Sam and Y / N Winchester!” You are the children of my mom’s sister! “

"Mom had a sister?” Y / N asked his brother by raising an eyebrow under Sam’s confused look.

Stiles rushed and showed the famous picture.

“Well! Nice to meet you, cousin …? ”

“Stiles!” He exclaimed, shaking Y / N’s hand, then Sam’s. "It’s super important I need to talk to you about something!” “

"Did you go all the way to talk to us?” Sam asked.

“Well to meet you too, you are my family and I don’t have much left …”

“I see …” Y / N mumbled. “At the moment we don’t have much time but …”

“ It’s urgent!” Stiles jumped up and down. "I must know what sort of hunter you are!”

“What my hyperactive boyfriend tries to say,” Lydia stepped forward to try to calm Stiles by placing her hands on his shoulders. “It’s if you’re a simple deer hunter or something else.” The redhead accentuated the pronunciation of the words.

"Ah,” Y / N sighed. “That’s the something else,” she replied, imitating Lydia.

“So we really need to talk,” Scott insisted, also taking a step forward, followed by Kira.

Y / N pointed in turn to the friends of Stiles.

“Have you brought all your friends?”

“That’s what we should talk about …”

“Y / N,” Sam started looking at his cell phone. “We have to go before there’s another kill.”

“Kill…?” Stiles blinked.

“Let’s go hunting a psychopathic ghost,” Y / N smiled as she walked toward the impala. “We’ll talk after. Hey, what about you all come with us! ”

“Y / N …” Sam groaned, discontented by her proposal.

“ What. Stiles is a Campbell. He has to learn one way or another. You come, you look and you stay away. Everything’s gonna be fine, Sam."

“We follow you!” Stiles hastened to answer as he got into the jeep, ready to follow them.

It was probably a very bad idea to follow them in order to find themselves deprived in front of an empty old house and probably full of new species of insects that no one wanted to discover. And above all ghosts. Since when did ghosts exist? Y / N had clearly specified not to enter the house. Stay ahead, wait, that’s it. Sam had convinced her it was too dangerous. But the pack of Beacon Hills doesn’t know the word danger and Stiles is known for his unhealthy curiosity. That’s why, when bored to wait, the hyperactive young person suddenly decided to go inside without saying anything. Lydia called, but in vain and Scott sighed, giving instructions to follow him before the poor man managed to hurt himself alone.

It was so dark in the house despite the light filtering through the holes and broken windows. Stiles felt the need to be reassured and grabbed his phone to get some light. Each of his steps made the floor squish under his feet, making him grimace as he passed.

Then suddenly and without warning, a shrill sound made him jump. Stiles turned just in time to see a rather large and imposing piece of furniture rushing at him at full speed, probably killing him on the spot. His breathing cut in his lungs and he held out his hands in front of him for the unnecessary purpose of protecting himself, but he didn’t need it. A scream tore the silence in front of him, scream he recognized and when he opened his eyes he saw Lydia not far away, her hands placed in front of her, her hair falling around her face. The furniture, as for it, was in a thousand pieces against the wall. She had just saved him again.

“Lydia …” Stiles muttered, still trembling at what had just happened.

“The next time you are told not to come in, do not go in!” The redhead sermon him before taking him in her arms, relieving to have intervened in time.

“What was that?” A female voice rang behind them. Y / N had seen everything.

And she didn’t seem happy at all.

The ghost had been defeated. Sam had burnt the object attaching him to earth and everyone was now in the restaurant, the same one where they had met to pass to the confession.

“So that’s what we wanted to talk to you about …” Scott started, as a leader. Ashamed, Stiles kept his head down and was holding Lydia’s hand under the table.

“It’s a banshee,” Y / N grunted as she stared at Lydia, who swung her head to the side before answering.

“Yes. I predict death. Something against?”

“We’ve already faced a banshee,” Sam spoke. “Let’s say she didn’t give us a very good first impression.” He finished by glancing at his sister who rolled her eyes as she took a bite out of her hamburger.

“Lydia never hurt anyone,” Stiles defended the girl he loved. “And that’s not everything.” He took a deep breath before continuing. "Scott is a werewolf. And Kira a kitsune. A lot of supernatural creatures live in Beacon Hills without ever caused any problems. Most live in fear of hunters and spend their lives hiding. That’s why I’ve been looking for you everywhere. To ask you not to hunt the people of Beacon Hills and… ”

“On many occasions we let creatures go. The one I think most about was this girl, Kate, a werewolf.” Sam began by laying down his fork. "I understand your point, Stiles. But if a job involves this city, it will be our duty to come and see what happens… ”

“But …” Stiles tried but got interrupted.

“…In order to protect the innocents of other hunters,” Sam finished with a smile. They were going to protect the town from other hunters. Everyone at the table sighed in relief, then Sam turned to Y / N who was quiet and staring at her hamburger. Her eyes squinted as if she was trying to find the secret of the universe.

“Y / N?”

“What the hell is a kitsune?”

The rest of the evening was spent with laughs and jokes. Stiles and his cousins ​​exchanged phone numbers and they promised to drop everything to come and help Beacon Hills if the need arose. After enjoying a good cherry pie under the wide-eyed Y / N, it was the farewells. A few hugs, goodbyes and the pack returned to Beacon Hills, satisfied and relieved. The impala grumbled, heading to their next destination: Illinois, Chicago, with a background music that good old Warrant was and the scraper voice of Y / N singing over the singer as a bonus.

[sweettoobad]

An English Idiot Abroad - Trips in Scotland

Foreword, Leaving Rawdon & the Status

When you are leaving them, I suppose you do not actually appreciate a person or location as much as. This was extremely a measure of the way I felt after choosing to up sticks and take a trip the globe. This was something I had frequently fantasized about, had actually been saving for, but not yet had the spheres to really go ahead and do it. The fact that I had actually been made redundant after seventeen years of taking the very easy alternative of sticking to the status quo was the kick up the arse that was needed. Yet quite scary as well!

I had actually gotten on numerous walks north Leeds last summertime as well as was impressed by exactly how little time it takes to obtain from my front door into the countryside. The River Aire is 15 minutes away and also the Invoicing 10 minutes, where one can get panoramic views of Leeds as well as Ferrybridge power station to the south as well as eastern, and also Ilkley Moor and also surrounding moors to the north and west.

The sundowns here were constantly astonishing. I'm mosting likely to miss living on the side of a hill in Yorkshire - yet the globe awaits!

Hawick & Great Bike Racers

I started my foray right into the stunning country north of the boundary with a browse through to my old companion Chris. He stays in Hawick, which is a handy first quit being put bang in the centre of the Scottish boundaries, and also Chris likes to consume alcohol lots of beer like I do!

Hawick's most renowned boy of years gone by was Jimmie Guthrie. Birthed there in 1897 he began as a send off biker in France during the fantastic war and also joined Hawick Bike Club on returning. They entered him into his very first TT in 1923 and the rest is history, as they claim.

This statuary was put up in his honour in Wilton Lodge Park by the river in Hawick beside the gallery where there is an exhibition featuring a few of his race bikes and prizes. There is a list of his significant success in TT, Northern Island road races and numerous 350 and 500cc GP' s and 6 titles in Europe - nearly 50 wins in all! Unfortunately, he fatally collapsed whilst leading the European GP in Germany at the age of 40. The funeral procession in Hawick stretched for three miles. There are various other memorials to Jimmie Guthrie: the Guthrie Rock at the Sachsenring, where he died, and also one more at the roadside spot, The Cutting, where he retired in his last Senior TT.

An additional great bike racer from Hawick, as well as one closer to my heart, was Steve Hislop. Sadly taken from his household and also all bike auto racing followers in a freak helicopter accident, which has still not been adequately examined in many people's eyes. Steve was one of the fastest superbike bikers worldwide. When he was on the pace and riding leading level machinery he was unequalled.

He won 11 Island of Male TT titles, 3 North West 200s as well as Macau GPs, the Ulster General Practitioner, Le Mans and also Bol D'Or 1 day races and was British 250cc champ and also British Superbike champion twice. In 1989 Steve came to be the initial motorcyclist to top 120 mph with a TT lap at 121.34. This document was beaten 3 years later by WSB champ Carl Fogarty, but he would certainly still just come second to Hislop that was riding a rotary Norton in that race. Foggy's record was to stand for 8 years until ultimately bettered by David Jefferies in 2000.

Steve was really a fantastic guy who I still miss on the racetrack.

A life-sized bronze sculpture stands in the park at Hawick, and also one more the same one has been set up in the Isle of Guy.

Kingussie and also Dunnet Head

My only set destination in Scotland was the furtherest northern point of mainland Britain, Dunnet Head which exists in between John O'Groats and also Thurso. This was simply since I had actually never ever gone better north than the Island of Skye prior to.

I decided it was time to stop when regarding half way to Thurso from Hawick and wound up in a nice little town on the A86 called Kingussie. It is close to Aviemore and for that reason a preferred area to stay for winter months sports fans.

My viewpoint on finding great, reasonably-priced holiday accommodation is fairly easy - find a neighborhood bar that's open, go in and have a pint or a shot of the local mixture (if possible) and also, when you have actually remained in there for a while, try to strike up a conversation with one of the residents or a participant of the bar staff, or property owner, and also ask where you can locate the sort of room you require.

This method has never stopped working for me, it defeats vacationer details as well as also the web pass on. In Kingussie I chose a pint in the Celebrity Resort on the High Road and got talking to a regional client who directed me past the more expensive resorts to The Silverfjord Hotel on Ruthven Road near the railway terminal. As well as the restaurant as well as bar, there is a small public bar at the resort with really friendly citizens where I took pleasure in a number of neighborhood brews. The area was respectable, big, with en suite and TELEVISION for the handsome sum of 27.50 sterling. I actually dined at the Star Hotel as well as the food was exceptional.

The following day was bright as well as great - best for the 200 approximately miles drive I had to the top of the nation. What attractive landscapes it was too. The Cromarty Firth bridge was the highlight of the trip, being over a mile long with quiting areas and also superb sights both inland and also towards the sea and, as you can see (in my blog), the weather can be great in Scotland in December!

The drive to Thurso was quite lengthy as well as, as I'm no early bird anyhow as well as we're talking about a British Winter months where it goes dark in the mid-day, nightfall was coming close to as I drove along the deserted headland to Dunnet Head. The only various other signs of life of any type of kind were the Highland cattle grazing on the moorland.

There is a light home on the cliff there which is some 105 meters above the sea, yet in stormy weather water and stones still sprinkle over the top of these cliffs!

The previous night in Kingussie I had been suggested to remain in Wick as opposed to the a lot more evident choice of Thurso. Utilizing the trusted "Johnny" technique of finding holiday accommodation, I discovered someplace to park near the harbour and after that entered into the nearest club - Sinclairs on The Shore. It was a little on the rough side, however the team were friendly and sent me to a cheap B&B overlooking the sea. Regrettably the location was full but the woman there guided me to one more location simply above. This held true British Bed and Breakfast as it was just an area in someone's house - really felt a little bit unusual truly but I got on a budget and simply intended to get something to eat and drink great deals of beer! I wound up having a "curry as well as a drink" unique at the JD Wetherspoon club on the market square. I do not typically go for chain bar food, however this was really wonderful really (although they are prepared surprisingly swiftly ...). After numerous more beverages I wound up in a bar in the very early hrs where, as nearly almost everywhere in Scotland, I was warmly welcomed as a foreigner. If there was an excellent neighborhood malt and also was provided a massive measure which would certainly have put a Spanish barman to pity, I asked! They would not allow me put water or ice in it however. After a number of these the next thing I bear in mind is getting up in someone's home (my B&B) - hope I really did not make excessive noise when I startled back in!

After requiring the required morning meal down the following day I headed south towards my only various other dealt with destination which was Ballachullish where my Mum had actually invested 2 summertimes in the 1940's when a schoolgirl with my uncle Ken and auntie Maureen, as he was working there as a researcher, I think at a plastics place in Kinlochleven. I also intended to stop elsewhere, probably Loch Lomond en route back to England.As I drove down the north-east shore I determined to stop for a stroll in a location called Skelbo Wood near Durnoch simply off the A9. There is a path which runs dow n to Skelbo Shed with some great old trees in addition to the extra typical young broadleaves planted by the Scottish Forestry Compensation to be their followers. The only wild animals I saw, though, were the sculpted wood pets developed by neighborhood children which are dotted around the course! After following a kind of round course round the woods, I came to a crossroads with no markings. Thinking I knew roughly what direction my car was I made a decision to turn left at the crossroads. This must have been the upside-down as I obtained totally lost and wound up drifting off the track to take a "short cut" with the trees in the instructions I believed the parking lot would certainly be. At some point I concerned a fence, so had to re-trace my actions to go back to the track I had been on. It was rather bad underfoot with large clumps of grass - occasionally with previously fallen trees beneath, so I had to be very careful as damaging my ankle joint "off the beaten track" similar to this can have been extremely dodgy - particularly as I had no signal on my mobile. Kid, was I soothed when I eventually saw my automobile!

Drumnadrochit & Glencoe

After a longer than anticipated walk at Skelbo as well as driving numerous miles heading in the direction of Loch Leven, I determined it would be a great suggestion to stop when I got to Loch Ness. This is the longest as well as (I think) inmost loch in Scotland, so a good location to explore. Whilst driving along the north side of the loch I stumbled upon the town of Drumnadrochit which looked O.K. - in addition to the jokey, Flintstones-like, "Nessie" indicators for monster trips! The huge resorts looked a bit expensive at the road joint in the centre however, and none of the bars there were open mid-afternoon, so I drove around for some time trying to find an open bar. After overlooking a couple of roads I saw a sign by the side of a junction for a sports bar. The excellent old Johnny technique came great once again as I asked the locals at the bar for a resort there, as well as a neighborhood man actually drove in advance of me to reveal me the method to a nearby hotel - and also what a locate it was hidden where you would not really find it on your own. The Benleva Resort was an exceptional location to remain and very affordable at 25 extra pounds sterling for a nice room en collection with a breaking hearty breakfast of complete Scottish or cereals and also, of course, gruel.

Bench stocks outstanding genuine ales from the highlands, usually with a minimum of one Island of Skye mixture which is wonderful stuff. The Benleva was elected the CAMRA Highlands & Islands Club of the Year 2005, for the second time in 3 years. The proprietors began having an annual beer event a couple of years ago and also this is currently the largest in the Highlands, flaunting over 50 barrel conditioned ciders and also ales last year. The following one is 22 to 30 September 2006 and I wish to be there if I remain in the UK then. Bench meals are scrumptious too, varying from conventional Scots fayre to more fancy things. You get a really pleasant welcome from the resort proprietors Allan, Steve as well as James. Brothers Allan as well as Steve are usually behind bench and also James, the chef, producing cooking indulges in the kitchen area. I appreciated my stay below greater than any other hotel I can keep in mind.

Drumnadrochit has some terrific strolls close by and also I ended up on top of the rocky crag where tale says that the viking prince Monie pulled away after a neighboring battle. There are expected to be remains of an iron age fort also, however they need to have been too refined for me! There are 3 'proper' pubs in the village including The Benleva as well as they are collectively known in your area as "The Triangle". The other two are the Smiddy Bar and also the Blarmor Sports Bar. The Sports Bar usually opens up later on as well as has a nightclub at weekends. It was at this nightclub that I satisfied an Australian man called Paul that operates in Edinburgh. He was partying at Loch Ness for a holiday with his companions and we had a right excellent laugh - G'day Mondzy!

I actually saw the Loch Ness Monster whilst driving along the loch one day, however it had actually just returned under the water by the time I could take a photo and also quit - darn it! I appreciated my time here so much that I decided to remain for the rest of my Scottish journey as well as not remain in Ballachullish or at Loch Lomond as I had meant to do. I did drive past the unnoticeable Ben Nevis (concealed in the clouds for 9 days out of 10 right now of year) and also looked where Mum made use of to stay in Ballachullish and also parked up at Kinlochleven to opt for a stroll in the hills. The walk begins on part of the West Highland Way and also rapidly goes up the north side of Loch Leven.

I needed to stop a few times en route up to take care of the old 'ticker' as I had not been really fit - and also look what happened to Robin Chef! After climbing up regarding 2,000 feet I saw 'Am Bodach' up in advance which increases to 1,005 meters. I decided at this moment that the distance I had actually already climbed up was enough! Continue reading about Glencoe in Scotland.