#they belond together

[sunniiiiii]

Dumb Sunman and his dumb Mossman

[vargnir]

world & lore masterpost.

here’s a whole drop of lore, monsters, magic, humans & various other things in fenrirs main canon for those interested. mostly it just serves as a guide for me to orient on.

all art here was created on artbreeder and doesn’t belond to me because while i can generate i definitely can’t draw.

THE WORLD OF ROTWELSCH.

the world itself is split into four different continents; anvel, halmel, nimdal & mucuri.

whereas anvel and nimdal prosper, halmel has been ravaged by war and famine and mucuri struggles against a neverending influx of darkness & monsters terrorizing it’s people. 

anvel lies on the northern parts of the world and is filled with plentiful rivers & seas, water plays a major key in the continent and it’s countries have unified to form the northern kingdoms. it’s people know all there is to possibly know about water and its inhabitants, they live with the sea and prefer to worship water-related gods. the northern kingdoms are more secluded from the rest of the world and prefer to live their lives privately. though certain countries within their unions are slowly starting to open trades with other nations across the world more and more.

nimdal lies southern of the world, its kingdoms have the most varying climates; countries like stanlow and aynor are plagued by heat and deserts but rare and sought after plants and animals that enables them to afford wells and water supplies. countries like claethor, tranmere or strathmore are rich of vegetation, filled with large forests and jungles alike, a plentiful fauna enriching their nations. northern countries like wolfden and glenarm are filled with snow; cold and ruthless but bringing mountains over mountains filled to the brim with minerals and precious materials and gems with them. 

halmel lacks population and resources across the formerly glorious continent in total; a war between itself and a long since vanished fifth continent left it in ruins all across its formerly rich environments. its countries have long ceased to exist and halmel at this point is considered one big kingdom in itself. bandits have easy play here and terrorize poor village people. to top it off monsters from mucuri have slowly begun finding their ways over and have begun making the vast, empty lands of halmel their homes. halmels general climate is a foggy, almost ceaselessly rainy and gloomy one.

mucuri used to be the most prosperous continent amongst them all, as well as the centre of all of rotwelsch. though it is unsure of what happened all that is known is that once, a long time ago, a man who called himself the harbinger of the gods stepped foot onto mucurian land and eventually monsters began flooding from everywhere, creatures of such malevolence and hatred that ever since the world has only called the man, who revealed himself to be a cursed wolf, tortured by cruel humans and craving to bring forth the end of the world, demise. ever since the cities and nations have been living in fear, trying to live a somewhat normal life at daytime and locking themselves closed and in at nighttime, praying to whichever god will hear them that they survive another night of slaughter around them.

CREATURES OF ROTWELSCH.

HUMANS.

humans are the primary race of rotwelsch, though certain nations or even continents live peacefully amongst other people ( such as anvelians live peacefully with certain oceanic inhabitants ) whereas others live in fear of creatures not humanoid in nature. humans born under special circumstances may have an affinity for magic whereas others may have a special connection to nature. those born with special abilities oftentimes are shunned by their kin and live in villages or towns of their own amongst their kind.

TIEFSEA.

a humanoid race of fish originated creatures adapting to life further away from deepsea. having made a deal with humans tiefsea are usually found lurking near port towns and occasionally even found sitting in bars. they are capable of surviving short amounts of time without water ( when trained up to a week ) but will dry out over time. they take on differing forms inspired by several animals found in the oceans. their appearance usually resembles fish more than humans in skin and facial features, though their body structure usually is more human. imagine zoras from legend of zelda but a tad more monstrous.

THE BROKEN.

former mortals corrupted by darkness and turned into husks of their former self and forced into submission by demise. while groups of them will attack villages and towns singular ones will target homes on the outskirts to either kill or find more suitable subjects for demise. some of them retain a sense of self somewhere deep within and it is not a rare occurance to hear the desperate cry of a broken fighting against its own instincts and mind. their appearane usually is vaguely humanoid with their bones and skin growing and hardening into sort of an armor.

THE PLAGUES.

creatures of unknown origin, some more humanoid than others. there are vast differences within plagues, some are small and fast while others are hulking brutes with raw power. the only similarity is that they seem to be able to communicate with each other and that each time they get cut their limbs and wounds can regenerate. their blood is acidic in nature and can burn through human flesh like it is nothing; because of that they are more feared than the broken. it is not uncommon to find a giant plague accompanied by a smaller, fast plague which turns them into deadly duos you have to be on the lookout for at the same time.

THE PREDATORS.

predators are a deadly kind; humans who are still completely capable of thinking but have lost all will of their own, incapable of making decisions for themselves they have been turned into deadly assassins by the darkness and make formidable foes. while it is assumed that their appearance is largely unchanged they are covered from head to toe in what appears to be dark coloured robes made completely out of void mass and pure corruption. one touch from them can prove poisonous to most, should they choose a quick death for their victims. their ability to think makes most of them unpredictable and causes them to be the most feared out of all the races in rotwelsch.

THE CURSED.

the cursed are beings like fenrir who have been wounded by magic and whose animalistic nature was meant to be subdued in favor of a humanoid nature. their appearance is mostly human though part of their animal origins is retained; for fenrir it is his ears and tail, for certain others it could be their antlers or even fins. the cursed are rare, incredibly so to the point they are mostly considered legends. but a handful of them exist, and while not all of them possess demonic blood like fenrir they still possess more abilities than the average human, all granted by their origin nature. cursed will usually live in isolation, though very few select ones will live among humans as their own, disguising their animal traits with magic in order to fit in.

OTHERS.

there is a vast amount of races within rotwelsch that have yet to be known by the majority of the world; even the tiefsea have only recently created contact with humans and with the current abundance in magic there is no telling what other beings are out there.

MAGIC IN ROTWELSCH.

magic is highly frowned upon in rotwelsch; it is considered the origin of demise and the reason darkness has befallen the world. people born with magic abilities are often abandoned at birth or taught from an early age to suppress their nature. fearing the power it bears most of humanity has dedicated itself to eradicating all magic from their lives whereas others, more powerhungry, cruel beings have taken it upon themselves to seek out people with magical properties to turn them into a part of their armies. 

with all different kinds of magic it is almost impossible to keep track of all of them, and yet the gods know. they give and take magical abilities as they see fit and design the powers as they wish. in certain areas in the world humans with magic and cursed live together in peace, both shunned by a world too fearful to see the beauty in their existence. 

THE END OF THE WORLD.

from prophecies long foretold three children will bring the end of times upon the world; 

one cursed from birth, meant to grow until it can swallow the sun from the sky and devor the king of kings before it releases eternal darkness upon the world.

one born from death, meant to command the forces of the dead to end the lives of all creatures wandering the earth.

one born from betrayal, whose rage will be the catalyst to the worlds end until it swallows everything that is left to destroy.

FENRIR THINGS FROM MY OLD PINNED POST.

fenrir is known in his world / his main verse. a fourty feet wolf that devours monsters big and small while keeping most humans relatively unharmed? yeah, that’s a pretty big conversation topic around the world he lives in, especially given he travels everywhere.

but it is not necessarily a good thing; even if he leaves humans unharmed he is a monstrosity; a beast. most people fear him and those who see the form he uses to walk among people for what it is in it’s entirety usually shun him.

fenrir doesn’t like interacting with people in any verse; he’s so used to being mistreated that he’d rather help silently and disappear without talking to anyone

he hates being thanked; he doesn’t think he deserves it and he generally dislikes the thought of people thinking that what he did to help them was anything but natural.

usually the only words he does speak to people are actually “don’t thank me.” before they even open their mouth

his voice is hoarse and rough because he barely talks. the most he can do without his throat burning is a short sentence, so never expect him to be very engaging in conversation.

because of that he’s made up his own little sign language --- most people don’t really get it unless they know him a bit better

there is a special guild trying to hunt him down because they know more about his curse than fenrir himself does

one of their “members” (he’s pretty much independent but relies on them for information) is a young man from the village fenrir saved when he lost his arm. he doesn’t necessarily want to kill fenrir but he does want to stop his curse from breaking free

he tries to befriend wildlife and smaller animals but they’re usually scared of him, except for one bird that follows him everywhere because he saved its life once.

it’s a robin!

he doesn’t keep food on his person other than some bread slices so he can feed his little bird companion

he thinks he’s not a good person --- nor even a person at all; it’s why he tries so hard to better himself, why he helps everyone.

he’s very harsh on himself, too

while his human form has a metallic prosthetic for his lost arm his wolf form actually has black matter to replace it; it’s more slimy in texture and practically radiates bad energy --- it comes from his curse

he’s ashamed of his ears and tails

he’s also ashamed of his scars

he gets flustered and embarrassed by even the most vague compliments

if you ever manage to break through his shell he’s very soft.

this is a wip and will be reworked over time to come !

[rainhalydia]

Author Interview

Thank you, @wynafryd-manderly, lovely!

Name: Thaís

Fandoms: mostly ASOIAF right now, but also Teen Wolf and GOT

Where You Post: ao3

Most Popular One-Shot: In the eyes of the beholder (Throbb), for asoiaf; Plenty of fish, one great catch (Sterek), for Teen Wolf. Only have the one for GOT, and into the night, (Theonsa), but it’s my most popular one-shot in all fandoms, by kudos.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: In the Company of Wolves (Sterek), for Teen Wolf. It’s my only multi-chapter story so far, and my most popular story overall. It’s also my “debut” using Ao3 and writing in English :)

Favourite Story You Wrote: Take this apple and give it a bite (Throbb), an opinion no one else seems to share XD It needs some editing, though

Story You Were Nervous to Post: I get nervous about all of them, but excited too. Maybe the night belonds to lovers (Braime), which is very out of my comfort zone.

How You Choose Your Titles: I go for song lyrics when in doubt, but usually I try to take something from the story? Though sometimes the lyrics inspired the fic, so it all works out.

Do You Outline: Most of the time, no, unless it’s a multi-chapter fic or very, very long one-shot. When I do outline, I inevitably stray from it and go in other directions, so it’s a very broad outline to begin with.

Complete: 12

In Progress: about 15. Not sure I’ll ever finish some of them.

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: Some prompt fills for Throbb and Sterek.

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes, but be warned that the filling of them is very slow and I’ll probably take a lot of liberties with it.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: The WIP of Doom, a throbb getting together fic that’s already over 50k long.

Tagging: @lordhellebore, @togglemaps, @cafeleningrad, @distractedbylife, @janiedean and any other writer that wants to!

[marshmallow-fireside-keith]

@electricprincess888 asked for a sequel. Merry Holidays <3 to you and everyone reading. You’ve all given me a place I belond. This fandom is a family to me. No matter any disagreements, I have nothing but love for y’all. Thanks for this fantastic year and have a blessed set of end-of-year holidays, fam.

Part one (minus the spaces): http s://marshmallow-fireside-keith. tumblr.com/post/181383762650/shiro-cant-wrap-for-shit-good-lord-does-he-try

Mild N.ot S.traight F.ucking W.ater

—————

”Here, you first, Big Guy,” Keith’s eyes are reflecting the sparkles of the lights strung around the tree, a flat, oblong package large in his small hands, he never quite grew as much as he’d hoped, ”So, there’s- it’s a, uh, long story.”

Shiro leans in to take the package and leaves a firm kiss atop Keith’s head. The two sit down. He works quick on the wrapping paper and peels off the lid to the box beneath it. In it is a fuzzy scarf that looks like, ”Is this cashmere?” He removes it gingerly, letting the rest of the box tumble to the floor. He’d know that feeling anywhere, ”My mom had-”

”-a coat made of cashmere. Passed down the Shirogane matriach?” The lights twinkle off Keith’s smiles.

”I- When did I tell you that?”

He winks.

”Ok, I’ll bite, then. What’s the story?”

Keith launches into the tale. When he’d visited his mom in Korea earlier that year they’d gone hiking together. On the trail they ran into an elderly woman who recognized Keith, ”It was so strange,” he recounts, but the woman told him that she’d purchased one of his paintings. ”I looked over at mom and she reminded me that I’d sent her some pieces to sell,” he continues a bit tangentially about going back to the woman’s house and how the house was decorated. Shiro laughs quiet.

”So, it turns out, she’s a crafter and she just had this cashmere lying around that she had always meant to use but, yknow, never found the time,” Shiro loves this man. His man, hopefully. But there’s only so much he can listen to at any one time. Besides that the nerves are starting to buzz all over his body. ”-And so she helped me knit this for you. Uh, anyways. That’s my gift. Hope you like it.”

”I love it, thank you,” he gently pulls Keith towards him and rests their foreheads together. He hums and closes his eyes, ”I love you.” He’s faced monsters before but he’s never felt the kind of terror he feels in that moment. Their house is cool, the morning cooler, but sweat is gathering at his brow. His hands are trembling. The next few moments are a risk, one he’s fought himself over taking, but the elation of hearing, ”Yes,” and later, ”I do,” are too sweet, too tempting, for Shiro to never take the leap.

”You’re scaring me here, Muscles.”

He wants to say something reassuring but his throat feels like he’d used the scarf to strangle himself. He’s really glad that the tag has a joke.

Keith snorts as he reads it, ”Ok, Space Dad. You’re a two-for-one special, Daddy.”

If all goes well he’s gonna have Keith screaming that last word as Shiro shoves him down into the mattress and gives him a good pounding. Something something about Keith being a naughty boy this year. But that’s if he says yes.

Oh God, please say yes.

He can forgo the sex- Well, no. That’s not true. Sex with Keith is wonderful and tender and stupid. It’s laughing at accidental farting. It’s making silly noises. It’s the occassional cry because it’s so good. And the occassional cry because it’s just that everything else is bad, but don’t stop, please, I need this. It’s the sweet snuggles afterwards when they’re both spent and all they can do is enjoy each other’s body heat in the quiet of their room. It’s certainely part of it.

”Calm down, I’ll unwrap *that* present later,” he smiles all smarmy like, ”Daddy.” Keith unfolds the paper at the tape.

Whether or not he means to, the pace is driving Shiro nuts. One part of him is imagining how handsome Keith will look in his white tux. His hair will be groomed back into a ponytail and it will be the one time anyone sees Keith look neat and tidy. His cheeks will glow pink after they enjoy a glass of the champagne. Damned Asian Glow. Damned if it won’t look beautiful on Keith.

Keith snorts as he opens the first box, ”I’ve always wanted a box.”

They’ll approach Allura. They’ll tell the queen how honored they’d be to have her as the surrogate to their child. Well and truly. Whomever their kid becomes they’ll be strong and compassionate, loyal and humble, and, just like their mom, a gift to anyone that knows them.

”And another box?” Keith turns the package over and over, nose crinkled, as he inspects it.

They’ll grow old together.

Keith pries it open to reveal another box.

Shiro will stay strong and fit to help Keith, even in their golden years. Even though Keith has been and will always be stronger whether he’ll show it or not.

”Ok, dude, it was funny the first few boxes. This is- it’s getting really small. Is there anything even in it?” He huffs.

Shiro’s surprised by Keith’s patience thus far. But it’s held out as long as it’s needed to.

Keith opens one more and inside is the ring box. He goes quiet. He looks to Shiro and then away.

It’s hard to convince his voice to work so it comes out somewhat raspy, ”Keith, I- All this time. You’ve been here for me all this time. Through everything. You’ve been here. I- I love kissing you in the mornings, even with morning breath. And I laugh when you fart during sex-” Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s fucking this up, ”-uhm, I mean. You know. I also fart. It’s ok to- Fuck. Shit. Keith will you marry me?”

Keith’s head is tucked forward and his bangs are shielding his face. His shoulders are shaking. When he looks up, there’s tears running soft down his cheeks. He’s laughing, then he’s sobbing, then he’s laughing again.

Shiro can’t move.

”You-” he sniffs, ”- are so dumb. I fucking love you. I love you and your stupid fucking farts and your horrid breath in the morning. I- Fuck- Shiro, yes. I should be asking you that. I’m the one who should be worried and unsure. Marry me, Shiro.”

Keith throws himself at Shiro.

They weep. And weep. And weep. Shiro can’t tell what the wetness on his face is, tears or snot, much less who it came from. But it’s wonderful and beautiful and if this is the price to marrying Keith than he’ll gladly take a face full of the man’s snot.

”Come on, Daddy. Let’s go get cleaned up. I still have a present to unwrap.”

Damned if that hand doesn’t look so much better around him with that ring on it.

[hotcocoandmarshmallows]

Brave New Centuries- Jack, Crutchie and Davey

(Remember the e in Davey)

Edititing: Spellcheck

Wordcount: Who tf knows it’s like 7 pages

Warnings: Death, polio, war

Jack ran down the cobbled sidewalk. The world rushed past, ladies in their huge skirts and puffy sleeves, men in suits, children smiling and playing. He smiled, he was winning the race with the other boy.

“Jack! Slow down! I ain't that ugly right?” Someone yelled from behind him.

“No, you'se twice as ugly!” Jack yelled back,laughter filling his words. He flew over the streets, dodging a horse and buggy and almost running into one of those new automobiles. He waved cheekily as he dashed past. A grubby newsboy, waving to the upper crust of the city.

He heard the boy behind him stumble onto the sidewalk. “Fine you bastard, you win!”

“Racetrack don't fitcha no more eh Racer?” Jack called mockingly.

Racetrack came up next to him, huffing and glaring. “An’ they outta call you Asshat Kelly.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “C'mon, we got papes to actually sell.”

Race sighed and shouted, “GOVERNOR ROOSEVELT MAKES STATEMENT ABOUT SUFFRAGIST MOVEMENT!”

And then Jack woke up in his bed. He looked around frantically, there was the band poster he'd lugged around the country, there was the guitar, there was his pile of half full or unused sketchbooks, there was his pile of filled ones. He was home, in his own room. He was okay.

He flopped back in bed and ran his hand over his face. Why did he keep having these dreams? What did they mean? He could always remember bits, but never faces or names he was so certian had been there.

His only saving grace was the late dormmate. The guy, someone named David Jacobs, wasn't here yet. The semester hadn't started yet, thankfully. Jack was enjoying the remainder of his free time. Blissfully roommate-less.

Even if he didn't want to have to share a room with the guy, he also felt some kind of memory attached to the name. Like a childhood memory. Fuzzy and broken. Jack was sure that when he'd been younger, he could have talked all about David Jacobs, much like most childhood memories. But now it was lost.

Jack lay, thinking, for a hour. The dirty grey cap on his bedside table looked especially grimey. He remembered that it had once belonded to another artist, which explained the paint stains and grey smudges. The tattered brow showed it's age, and it was anything but pretty. But Jack loved it. He'd saved for two years as a kid to buy it.

He smiled a little. Maybe he'd go for a walk, find some inspiration. The hat was his lucky charm for finding it.

Tossing it on, he started his walk of the campus. It was almost 6 in the morning, the sun was up and a few early risers were also up. The sunrise was beautiful, he should paint that!

He took out his phone and found a good angle. He could be a photographer if he wanted. But he preferred painting the scenes.

He found a few more good shots before he decided to head back. Now it was almost 8, and the campus was alive with people.

And he knocked into someone on the sidewalk. Someone with crutches. Mentally he smacked himself. How stupid was he? “Oh shit, are you okay?”

The other boy, a blond, didn't seem phased. “I'm okay-” He said, looking Jack in the eyes. Whatever he said next, Jack didn't hear. Memories filled his head, clear as day.

A wooden crutch whacking him in the shin. A smile that spread like butter. Brown eyes like chocolate. A voice louder then the ruckus of New York. Leaning on the rail, watching the stars of New York. The constellations being the only whitness to their first kiss, and their second and third and so on. Cuddling in a bunk in winter, relaxing in the sweet breeze of the rooftop in summer. Spending every day together. Watching him waste away as the polio came back worse. Saying goodbye in 1918, forever.

“Crutchie.” Jack whispered. It was him, all of him. He was clean, his face fuller but his eyes just as bright. His smile just as sweet.

“JACK!!” Crutchie yelled, launching himself into his arms, laughing and crying and clutching Jack like he would disappear if he let go. Jack held him up, relishing holding him again. He was so much bigger! He smelled different to, sweeter. Like candy instead of soot. It was a good change. All the changes were good. Jack only hoped Crutchie could say the same about his.

“You still smell like paint.” Crutchie muttered quietly into Jack's shoulder. Jack couldn't hold in a laugh, a real honest to God laugh. And Crutchie joined. Two boys, laughing and relishing seeing each other again for the first time in 100 years.

“Come back with me?” Jack asked after a few minutes of holding each other.

“Of course.” Crutchie said, taking his hand before grabbing his crutches. They were forearm crutches, and one leg was in a brace. Just like before. What if he died so soon again? Crutchie had only been 35 when he'd died, and he couldn't be more then 18 now. Jack could have 20 years with him at best.

Well, Jack thought to himself, if that was what he had, he'd make the most of it. He had to. He may loose Crutchie again, but he didn't have to waste the time he had worrying.

Crutchie also turned out to be surprisingly speedy on his crutches. He kept pace with Jack and they had a conversation about nothing as they walked. And it felt natural. It felt the same.

He knew he'd loved Crutchie back then. He knew that his heart had belonged to him. But did it now? Were old feelings still applicable? Because he knew they did for him. Seeing Crutchie again ignighted something in him, something he hadn't known existed but had since that faithful night in April, 1898. The night he realized he was in love.

Once they got back to the dorm, still without it's other occupant, Crutchie was the one who posed the question. “Do we.. Keep what we had? Or start over?”

Jack didn't even need to think. “Which means I can kiss you again?”

Crutchie smiled. “The first one. Now shut up.” And he leaned in to kiss Jack. And it felt perfect, almost. There was a sense of something missing, but he couldn't place what. He didn't want to. He had Crutchie back. He could shout it from the rooftop now, he could take him out for coffee and kiss him in public without fear. They could be in love without threat.

Jack started crying at the thought. Before he'd never considered what the world was like today. But he couldn't be happier.

Crutchie however was worried. “Jack? What's wrong?” The concern in his voice made Jack react quicker.

“Happy tears, happy tears.” He said hurriedly. “I can't believe I have you again. And even in this time.”

It didn't seem to have crossed Crutchie's mind until that point. But it hit him and he smiled so so wide through the tears.

No words were needed. They simply held each other and relished having each other back.

Crutchie spent the night. They wedged themselves into the twin bed and cuddled close just like they used to. They talked most of the hours between. Crutchie was trying engineering, how stuff worked was something that delighted him. Jack had watched with a smile as Crutchie told him all about how a train worked. He really loved trains, and Jack filed away the information. He'd make something for him with a train.

And Crutchie listen to Jack talk about the fine sciences of paint and that he was sure there was a course for jewelery making and cartooning.

And he listened when Crutchie talked about how he would trick out his crutches. And how he was going to do it. And Jack fell more in love with the sheer detirmination and confidence on his face. He could and would do it.

Then they had a heated debate about bannanas. That was fun and light hearted.

As they fell asleep, Jack finally let the words leave his mouth. “I love you.”

Crutchie smiled and kissed him. “I love you to.”

Jack and Crutchie fell asleep together, and they woke up together the next morning. And they both collectively agreed that it was amazing. But the small feeling of something missing nagged Jack.

It still nagged him when two days later, at close to midnight after Crutchie went back to his own dorm, David Jacobs entered the dorm while Jack was painting.

Jack had looked up when the door opened. “Didja forget somethin’ darlin’?” Jack was surprised when a tall, dark haired person with his back to him opened the door with a huge box in his arms. “Whoa, buddy, you sure this is your room?” Something about him nagged Jack, not 'something is missing’ level. More 'David Jacobs’ level.

“I'm sure. 349, right?” That voice bumped the nagging feeling up to 'I forgot something I should know’. Like pizza in the oven you forgot about.

“Sure is. You need any help?” Jack figured it was only polite to ask.

“I'm no charity case. I can do it.” The guy who was persumably David said.

Jack shrugged and got up. “I'm helpin’ anyways. 's midnight.” His accent, made from a lifetime in New York, was made thicker by exhaustion and a new lifetime of lower class New York. He'd had to stop himself from using various bits of slang around anyone but Crutchie.

David huffed but let Jack help. And then their eyes met after the box was put next to David's bed.

Meeting the tall Jewish boy and his little brother. The strike. Falling in love a second time. Watching Davey grow. The conversation with Crutchie months after they met. The agreement. Watching them fall in love with each other. Kissing David. Stargazing with him. His lazy smile. His smarts. Watching his tear stained face as Jack left for the war, only a month after Crutchie died. Never seeing him again.

Jack felt tears stream down his face. His Davey, here. And Davey was giving him this utterly amazed look. And Jack was the first to speak. “I'm home.” Words he wished he could have spoken then, words he had to say now.

David jumped over the box and clung to Jack for dear life. He was shaking so bad, Jack was sure he'd shake apart.

It was a small while before Davey spoke. “When they told us you died… I don't think I ever cried harder.” His voice was on the edge of tears now. Jack held him tighter, wishing he could apologize so many times over. David didn't deserve any of what he'd gone through.

When Davey was no longer in danger of shaking his monocules apart, Jack decided to tell him about Crutchie. “I found him to.” There was only one he he could be talking about.

Davey looked up, confused. “Who's him?”

Oh. Oh yha… David probably didn't remember Crutchie like how he and Crutchie hadn't remembered him. He could handle this. Introduce them to each other and it'd all be fixed.

“One sec, I gotta text him.” Jack said quickly, whipping out his phone to text Crutchie. A hurried 'get here now, ill explain later darlin’.

Crutchie responded quickly. 'Sure thing, see you then :)’ That little smiliy face made Jack smile so big. David looked over his shoulder in the nosy way Jack used to when he was reading something.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Stealin’ my moves Jacobs?” He asked jokingly.

“Always.” David replied, putting his hands around Jack's waist. It felt natural, something they'd alwaysed used to do. “You have a belly now. And I can't feel your ribs poking me. Take me to whoever fed you so I can thank them.”

Jack stifeled a laugh. “Lotta nice foster families you're gonna have to thank.” Families brought another question to mind. “How's Les? An’ Sarah?”

David smiled in that way he always did when he talked about his family. “They're good. Les is as impressinoable as ever, don't you dare chase him off school again.”

Jack faked a affronted look. “Me? Discoroging going to school? Never.”

David gave him a deadpan look. He was right, and Jack's humor didn't amuse him this time. Jack tried his most goofy smile to get David to smile back, and it worked. David's smile was more beautiful then Jack remembered, no memory could do that smile justice.

David also did have a box to unpack. So while they waited for Crutchie, Jack helped David unpack. To no one's surprise, most of his belongings were books and homemade blankets and a quilt. A few scattered newspaper clippings were scattered between the books and the surprise. A video game collection.

He looked between David and the video games. “Did Les sneak something in here?” Davey and video games didn't seem compatible. Davey and board games were a common sight, but video games?

“They're mine. I like the more strategy focused ones, but Viva Pinata is mindless fun.” He smiled in the most Davey way, and Jack swore his heart melted.

Jack helped Davey set up until Crutchie got there. He figured that there probably wouldn't be much unpacking once he got here. Jack wanted cuddles in all honesty. It'd been far too long since he'd had both of them in his arms. He couldn't wait.

Crutchie arrived 30 minutes after David. Crutchie was barely in the door before Davey met his eyes. Jack had never seen the realization from the outside. It looked like a really long, intense staring match.

After five minutes, Crutchie launched himself at David and David caught him, crying and holding him as close as he possibly could.

Jack stayed away until they were ready. They would want a moment for each other, David had lost Crutchie the same way Jack had. They deserved a interruption free reunion.

It took a few minutes for them to acknowledge him and Jack didn't mind one bit. He smiled when they turned to him. He had them back. The two people he loved most in the world.

Davey nestled into Jack's side and Crutchie leaned over both their laps.

None of them would have it any other way.

[btsboysenthusiast]

HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY TO BTS’ LEADER RM!!!!!!

The man deserves the best life can offer from his career to his personal life, as he does the title leader justice and does so much. Not only for the other BTS members, but us as army, the people he works with at Bighit, talk show hosts, and everyone in between. So many people tell stories of how kind, humble, and polite Namjoon’s been in a number of interactions.

I admire his ability to be honest, vulnerable, and beyond creative with his art. espescially in terms of self identity and the path of loving yourself. Art like that can encourage positive growth in those impacted the most by it. From his work for bts and his solo work, it’s as clear as day that he puts everything and a little bit more into everything he does and makes. Some of my favorite work of his includes Reflection, Do You, Trivia Love, 4 O’clock, his cover of Fools by Troye Sivan with Jungkook, What am I to You, and last but not least Spring Day. I heard he wrote the song in one sitting, and idk if that’s true but either way it’s still easily my favorite BTS song. It speaks so true to feelings I’ve felt consistently throughout my life.

You can tell he cares so much for each and every member with that big ass heart of his. They all truly have their own special relationship with one another. BTS wouldn’t be BTS without him and his leadership skills, as he holds the group together, provides support, and represents them on an international level as a fluent English speaker. 

He’s also just so damn handsome and cute. Like honestly the people who have the a u d a c i t y to say he’s ugly can fist fight me for real. I espesically love the duality he possesses. He can go from this

To this

Happy Birthday to this intelligent, hardworking, talented, creative, handsome, adorable, and thoughtful man. He deserves the world. Namjoon has the best dimples in the world and this is a f a c t 

all content belonds to resspective owners !!!

[stone-man-warrior]

October 19, 2018: 2:44 pm:

October 19, 2018: 1:46 pm<br><br>The URL&#39;s below are associated with read... StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-10-19T17:44:29-0400 - Updated: 2018-10-19T17:44:29-0400

October 19, 2018: 1:46 pm The URL's below are associated with readers of this page, who read about real terrorist activity, they read about the StingRay listening devices that are use to prevent me from using my telephone to reach help, they read about mass killings, they read about US American Citizens that are being held in captivity, they read about how I have killed intruders in my house in self defense, they read about the use of poison gas as a weapon against US Citizens, they read about all of the things I report here, because there has been no responses to official reports of the terrorist activity that was reported. These people, and other lists of people are all part of the terrorist activity. These people only come by here at this page for the purpose of putting a "plus-one" on the daily entries I make. They read it, they "Like" it, thereby acknowledging what they put a "plus-one" on. These "plus-one" readers are often the terrorist soldiers that are being exposed in the daily entries. If these readers, and others were not terrorists, and indeed were American Citizens, or Citizens of other countries who are not part of the terrorism that I write about, then they would provide some help. These people could make the phone call that I am unable to make, they could help. My email address is available to find here on this profile, it would be simple to say "hey, I read what you wrote, I am going to try to help". That is so easy to do, but none of these assholes are willing to help anyone other than the other terrorists who belond to their cells, or other terrorist cells that support them. Today, Freeburgs of 535 "MyStreet" are actively engaged in attempted murder attempts on me. They, and/or members of their extended terrorist flock are staging at the Monroe's and at the Nathan Phillips terrorist training center at 520 "MyStreet". The Freeburgs are the Generals, or Commanding Officers, of the terrorist Air-force. This terrorist Air-force is big, covers a lot of area, has fixed wing and helicopter aircraft and they control the Grants Pass Municipal Airport. ============================================== Last night, I encountered Safari in my yard. Safari is a terrorist cell that uses African Lions to kill American Victims. Learn more about Safari by studying this page. Last night, the terrorist Lion handler was moving the lion on foot, on a short leash, with a black cloth bag over the Lions head. The bag over the Lion's head allows the handler to keep the Lion under control by introducing Nitrous Oxide airborne gas into the bag on the Lion's head, and the Lion stays controllable as the handler walks the Lion into the desired position. I killed the Lion handler. The Lion was not hurt, but went to the fence line between my property and Monroe's property and layed down there with the bag still over it's head. There was another terrorist soldier armed with a firearm with red laser, and was hiding behind one of the houses on my property. One shot was fired. The red laser dot was visible in front of where I was standing just before encountering the Lion and handler. I do not often encounter terrorists using guns with a laser. Fake police use guns with laser. Terrorists use either twenty-five caliber very tiny two shot custom made guns, and the terrorists associated with Pacific Power Corporation use Thompson Sub Machine Guns. However, ninety percent or the vast majority of killing by terrorists is done with other means, such as swords. The sword is the preferred weapon for "finishing" the Victims and is only used after the Victim is exposed to the Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas. The Lion, last night, caught someone, it may have been Sandy Monroe and if so, I will celebrate somehow, and you should too. The Monroe's are part of some of the most publicized, world-wide terrorist activity that has ever happened anywhere. Nice France, when all of those people were run over, and in the State of Virginia when a grey colored charger ran into another car and those two Virginia State Police were killed in a helicopter crash, and the Las Vegas (fake) shooting where what really happened was the Desert Springs Hospital was ambushed by the Universal Studio's Screen Actor Guild terrorist cell. Those are three examples of how deeply involved and centrally important the Monroe Screen Actor Guild Vatican Cannibal family terrorists are, and they live right nect door to me, and have a StingRay Surveillance equipment, and have a radio  receiver that picks up the frequency of the dental implant in my jaw that broadcasts every word I say, and has been since 2011, and, they have recording equipment and editing professionals who make edited mocked-up recordings pieced together from a variety of sound bytes of my voice and they use that to cause more problems than I am aware of. With the equipment mentioned here, the Monroe's make extremely dangerous conditions for any real public safety officers that might come to help. These people actually do live performances where they are able to capture the sound of my voice, rebroadcast that signal from my voice, and into the equipment of a terrorist who is having a conversation with someone, the terrorist uses body language, and lip-syncs the motions of speaking, when in reality, I am the one doing the speaking, while on a telephone call, about 500 feet away from where the live version is happening. This is complicated to explain, basically, Jeff Monroe appears to be speaking, and sound is coming from him, but the sound is my voice, rebroadcast, in such a way as to make Jeff Monroe appear to be me. My voice, Jeff pretending to speak. When this happens, usually, there is an incoming phone call on my phone from someone that I want to speak with, I answer those calls only. What this means, is, that when public safety people come to investigate, they encounter Jeff, that is when the impostor police arrange that I get a phone call at the exact time. If it does not go as planned, then Jeff just makes himself unavailable or pretends to be someone else... Screen Actor Guild members are people who's pay increases along with their skill of deception. This is a very difficult subject to explain in writing. I think Sandy Monroe was eaten by the African Lion that Safari terrorist cell brought last night. I think the Lion handler was either Andy Wright, or Dewey Gasper, however, Dewey Gasper seems too old to handle the Lions to me. I heard someone say Dewey Gasper's name last night, he could have been the one with the red laser and firearm. While the Lion was being walked into position, the Dietricks Screen Actor Guild heroin distributor white Ford pick-up truck was moving very slowly towards 601 "MyStreet". The truck moving slowly at night is a bait that is designed to get me to be curious, walk out there, and into the Lion's path. Instead, I walked through the Lion handler, and left the Lion alone. The Lion killed someone later on. <https://plus.google.com/u/0/114039602521843268706> <https://plus.google.com/u/0/103769642768075721016> <https://plus.google.com/u/0/+PAIRFUM> <https://plus.google.com/u/0/+DownsPropertyMaintenanceColumbus> <https://plus.google.com/u/0/+LowPolyLab>

Shared with: Public

+1'd by: Red Velvet Rope, Luxury Revealed, Goto Dotmu

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-10-19T18:27:13-0400

October 19, 2018: 3:05 pm: Last night I called my auto insurance company, The Hartford, part of the AARP family of brands and controlled by the Screen Actors Guild, I wanted to make changes to my policy. I spoke to a representative who said her name was Sarah. In reality, my phone call to Hartford Insurance was hijacked, and rerouted to a terrorist representative who is skilled at deception and is able to portray insurance company representatives. The call was hijacked, rerouted and I actually spoke with someone at the Fred Meyer Pharmacy. I dialed the number to my insurance company, but actually spoke with a terrorist operative by the name of Mariah who is part of the Fred Meyer Pharmacy terrorist cell and is associated with "Club-Med" variety of terrorist activities. Mariah of Fred Meyer Pharmacy, pretending to be Sarah of The Hartford Insurance. It happened with the use of a StingRay that belongs to the Oregon State Police. Part of the reason this kind of rerouting is done, is because the people at the National Security Administration do not do field work. The NSA is so proud of themselves, that they actually believe all that is necessary to protect the USA from harm is to listen to phone calls from far-far-far away. The terrorists know that the NSA is so proud, and only will listen rather than actually go to the areas that are being raped and pillaged and attacked by terrorists, The terrorists know because they provide all kinds of fake terrorism that is designed to be found out, and the terrorists allow the NSA to solve some crimes this way, and that feeds the pride of the NSA. Meanwhile, the phone call I made last night to my insurance company was probably being listened to by NSA, while the terrorists at the Fred Meyer Pharmacy were making arrangements that make the circumstances appear as though I called the Pharmacy requesting medication and making me look like a drug addict. If that is so, then there was also a second and maybe a third phone call done simultaneously with other actors who portrayed a variety of roles that I am not able to determine. I have been a victim to this bullshit for a long long time, and the Fred Meyer Pharmacy is serious Bullshit terrorism and they are very, very powerful. Meanwhile, the NSA got stroked somehow because all they want to do is listen to phone calls, they don't think they need to actually go out in the field and do work. All they want to do is call on the State Police to do the work. And, it's the State Police who are providing that the NSA stay busy, listening to mocked up phone calls that at the end of the day, only produce an innocent victim who did not do anything wrong, and probably did everything right. In this way, the fake State Police terrorists successfully weaponize the agencies such as NSA, FBI, and ICE against the US American Public, while the terrorists rape and beat into submission the victims that are produced as a result of the NSA being too fucking proud to get off of their asses and solve problems separate from the State Police. The NSA will not perform their duties on their own, they need a babysitter, so, the terrorists babysit them.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-10-19T19:08:15-0400

October 19, 2018: 3:43 pm: When a US American Citizen reports terrorist activities to the NSA, the terrorists will take over, they have ways to make the US American Citizen who is doing the right thing by reporting appear unreliable, The person doing the reporting, more importantly than any other thing, is crying for help desperately, has information that is good and useful, is accurate and can be verified. The NSA is too proud though, they think they are good at what they do, the terrorists laugh at the pride of the NSA. The terrorists actually built the NSA National Pride out of the raw materials that are dead, American Victims. The NSA is equally responsible for the killing of millions of US American Citizens as are the terrorists who actually did the mass killings. Because, the NSA does not think they need to do any work other than listen to a phone call or read an email that someone wrote. The NSA really does believe that they ARE doing a good job. They SUCK! Millions of dead US American Citizens will verify that. They won't do their job. Instead, they take the bait, and they just go along with what the fake, mocked-up, phony, manipulated phone calls and emails suggest, that the US American Citizens are drug addicts, that they are excessive alcohol drinkers, are people who have a learning disability, are criminals who cannot be trusted... they do this because it is easy. It is far easier to just point at someone who is reporting terrorism, and say that he or she must be on drugs, must have drank a lot of alcohol, must be a retard, or must be a criminal who is reporting bullshit to hide their crimes in. That is real easy. No one wants to do the hard work, and the terrorists are professionals at making things easy, so, the terrorists of the Screen Actor Guild provide that it will be real easy to discount the threat of national security, and blame the lies that are fed to them. It helps feed the pride of the NSA when they are able to easily point at a US American Citizen calling for help and say "what a retard". "Must have down syndrome". "This person reporting has a mental condition". The terrorists paint the picture, the NSA gets to name it. The result is dead American babies. And the NSA remains proud that they are able to easily call the American people retarded while the Screen Actor Guild provides the signed hats and tee-shirts that make them feel so good, you know the ones, made in China with an American Flag printed on it, and a signature of Ted Nugent and the letters NRA... No NSA agent can resist that kind of bribery. ============================ Mariah is the petite blonde girls who wears a pharmacy assistant uniform at the Fred Meyer Pharmacy. She will offer NSA a blow job, then when the officer accepts, she will turn around, and blow... Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas at the officer, make him fall over, pictures will be taken and sent to the officers wife, and the officer will be killed, the excuse will be Mariah acted in self defense against the advancing NSA officer. She is far more dangerous than she looks, and has fifty-thousand terrorist soldiers ready to respond to her commands. Mariah dos not speak English very well, she speaks English with the help of a "Partner" an the magic of concealed communication devices. The "Partner" is an American Citizen who was kidnapped and is forced to behave as Mariah demands. Asshole NSA agents won't do their job, they are too fucking proud.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-10-19T22:06:23-0400

October 19, 2018: 5:46 pm: Grommets. The Seventh Day Adventist Vatican Cannibal variety of terrorists are some of the strangest, most twisted and weird, ritualistic and superstitious people on Earth. Black cats; Horse shoes; salt; Mirrors, both broken and unbroken; Ladders and how to walk when near them; Rabbits feet; Blue moons; Wishbones; Crossed fingers; Menstruation; Medication; Lettuce; Hot dogs; Tomatoes; Grapes; and on, and on, and on... are some things that are absolutely harmless the vast majority of the time for people world-wide under the vast majority of circumstances, until a Seventh Day Adventist shows up. If national Security Agents ever were interested in learning about who is a Seventh Day Adventist, after they were to know and accept that these people are hard core terrorists, then, just gather up the items listed here and arrange them someplace publicly. Watch what happens when people walk by, or look at the items. Listen to what they say about the items. Watch how the people in public places in Josephone County Oregon behave when these items are all arranged in a place where many people could see them. The learning will come, and understanding will follow. Grommets. This is a subject that is exemplary of that which is not possible to convey. I am going to try. The term "Grommet", is a term used to describe a female Seventh Day Adventist terrorist soldier. Not just any soldier, but one with a particular bodily mutilation done intentionally in favor of terrorist activities. The bodily mutilation is that of a "gauge". Most people in the USA, I think, have heard of the term "gauge" for describing that a person has a large piercing someplace on their body. Typical examples of a gauge are done on earlobes. I have a gauge on my earlobe that is currently unoccupied. Many people from all social strata have gauges. Gauges have become acceptable, normal, and customary. Gauged ears are a popular way to adorn ones self with colorful, fun, exotic, decorative jewelry, and the adornments are inexpensive. A female terrorist Seventh Day Adventist Vatican Cannibal soldier has a gauge. The gauge is located on the septum between the vaginal cavity and the rectal cavity of the female body. The gauges very in size. The vaginal/rectal gauge is filled, or plugged most of the time. The plug itself is a grommet. The name of the term "grommet is derived of the rubber, or plastic inserts that are used on electric appliances where a electric cord exits the appliance. The electric cord appliance grommets are there to prevent the insulation of the electrical wire from becoming frayed, cut, cracked, or compromised and thusely are a safety feature, while also being aesthetically pleasing. Have a look at some of the appliances you have nearby you, such as lamps, toasters, blenders, drill motors, and a billion other different applications, they all have a grommet. The grommet that is used by a female terrorist soldier is similar to that of an appliance, and the individual terrorist soldiers choose which type of grommets will provide the desired result when in use. Grommets with holes, grommets without holes that are more like plugs are used for different activities. A grommet with no hole in it that fits snugly into the gauged opening in the body is used for daily wear, it helps to prevent feces from contaminating the vaginal cavity. Grommets with holes in them provide a variety of desired results when used for terrorist activities, and completely removing the grommet will also provide a unique result for terrorist activity. The terrorist activity associated with the Grommet soldier is the releasing of the Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas. The terrorists I expose on this page use rectally holstered rubber tanks that are filled with the gas and have a hose with an adjustable valve for controlling the rate of gas release. When a Grommet soldier uses the gauged opening in her septum between the vagina and rectum, and particular placement of the hose is done, or a customized release valve associated with the grommet insert is installed, then, the release of the Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne poison gas mixture will produce a sound upon exiting the vaginal cavity. The purpose of the grommet insert, or the purpose of the removal of the gauge plug, is to make a variety of different sounds upon release. I said this would be impossible to explain, and it is not impossible to explain, in fact, explaining this is easy to do. Finding someone who will use this information to stop terrorism is what is impossible. This information is actually something that can be verified. Suspects need only be subject to s brief vaginal or rectal exam. The use of the grommet for producing a desired sound is many and varied. One particular use happens regularly on my property during an attack on me when the release of Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas is done outdoors, and the breeze is used to carry the gas in a direction that will bring it towards me so that I will become unable to make good, life saving decisions, or will breathe enough of the gas that I will fall over. Also, breathing and being exposed to the Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas causes those exposed to it to behave in ways that are unusual for that particular individual. The gas provides a painless feeling. For those who suffer from painful injuries or painful health conditions, pain is eliminated as a result of exposure to the gas. When pain is gone or reduced, people tend to feel better, and in turn, will do activities that are otherwise not possible. Also, painless feelings accompanied by a ambient feeling of well-being, while also experiencing a sense of security, or even a sense of bravado, or willingness to physically dance, jump around, or otherwise become physically animated happen as a result of exposure. Seriously, I once witnessed a group of victims who were exposed to the gas, told to climb up a ladder and onto the roof of Baldini's Pizza in Merlin Oregon, and then, about ten Victims, were simply instructed to run along the rooftop of the building and leap off of the edge. The people were told to jump off of the building, and they lined up, and jumped off of the building... willingly. Movies were taken as the fell to their deaths and were gravely injured. The noise of the grommet. When a Grommet terrorist soldier hides in the creek area, for instance, in my yard, they do so with camouflage that is far more illusive to see than even the very best US Military uses. These people make camouflage that is invisible to see. The camouflage used by a female terrorist Grommet soldier is such that someone looking for the soldier is more likely to trip over the camouflaged soldier than seeing her. It really is that good. So, the hidden soldier is there is the creek area, there are a number of other gas releasing terrorists who also hide nearby in a variety of camouflage, and they use the direction of the breeze and communication between them to determine when to release the gas based on where I am located in my yard. The Grommet soldiers use the noise of releasing gas as audible camouflage. If I notice that something is moving around in any particular direction, the Grommet will make the sound by releasing gas, the sound of a frog. And, from other directions, more frog sounds. When I look around, and hear the frog sounds, well, everything is normal, it's just a frog, and in fact, there are a whole bunch of frogs... so, there is nothing to worry about, and no need to keep looking over to where I saw movement in the creek area. Everything is just fine. It's just fine because the Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas provides that I will feel a sense of security. That is what happens, I hear frogs, feel no pain, have a sense of security, and go about whatever activity I was doing outside in my yard, such as auto repair, splitting firewood, reading a book, mowing my lawn, or other activity that prompted the terrorists to know that I would be outdoors for an extended amount of time and because of that, I am a target, so they don their camouflage and begin sneaking into place to take advantage of the breeze for an attempt to kill me. This is just one application of the use of a Grommet female terrorist Seventh Day Adventist Vatican Cannibal soldier. There are no limits to the use of the Grommet soldier. Terrorism knows no boundaries, it has no age, nor gender... terrorism knows no boundaries. Fight terrorism with  Bic Lighter. The gas is flammable, lite the bastards up and watch them burst into bits, or launch into orbit!

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-10-19T22:39:47-0400

October 19, 2018: 7:36 pm: Kierstjen Nielsen, Heather Nuart, Nikki Haley, Sarah Huckabee-Sanders; Kellianne Conway, are Grommets in Government. They keep everyone around them tranquilized, and unable to make good decisions, while feeling safe, and painless.

[itsworn]

TROG Brings Street Racing to Drag Racing’s SoCal Birthplace

Back in 2012, a small drag-oriented event held on the East Coast called the Race of Gentlemen (TROG) shook the hot rod scene. Although it gathered only 15 hot rods and 15 motorcycles, it still captured the imagination of gearheads the world over. It was organized on the beach and featured aesthetics reminiscent of faded pictures glued in a 1950s photo album.

Over the years, other TROGs have come and gone, including one in 2016 that tread the sand of Pismo Beach, California (unfortunately plagued by stormy weather). Promoter Mel Stultz and his crew traveled back home afterwards, thinking another race was unlikely to take place on the West Coast. Yet, surprisingly, officials from the scenic city of Santa Barbara contacted Stultz in 2018 and asked him to have an event in town! They made it clear racing on the sand would not be an option, but how about using a street along the beach?

Willys Window: Hot Rod Ranch’s Gil Muro provided this unique perspective of Santa Barbara’s staging lanes through the tinted Plexiglas of his survivor Willys Gasser. Photo: Gil Muro

Stultz loved the idea, and so was born the TROG Santa Barbara Drags. He came to town with the support (and members) of his club, the Oilers, which had been established in Carlsbad, California, in 1947 and was revived a few years ago. The Oilers, with help from local enthusiasts, transformed Cabrillo Boulevard in front of Santa Barbara’s Hilton Beachfront Resort into an eighth-mile dragstrip, where 30 motorcycles and 70 pre-1935 cars entered grudge matches, with no trophy spoiling the fun. As a bonus, an exhibit called Customs by the Sea welcomed a selection of fantastic pre-1959 traditional custom cars.

Want to see more TROG action this year? The city of Wildwood, New Jersey, will have another can’t-miss sand-slinging event on October 4-6.

First in Line: Jimmy White, the owner of Circle City Hot Rods in Orange, California, hasn’t driven his well-known ’31 Model A much in recent years, but he decided to get it ready for the event. This old hot rod, found in Riverside, California, runs a nasty 334ci Hemi equipped with a 6×2 Weiand manifold. It had the honor of making the first pass of the day with Muro’s Willys, the cover car for our latest Gasser-themed issue (“Willys Fever,” May 2019).

Ex-Stocker: Roseville, California’s Jim Luke bought a 100 percent stock ’29 Model A, right down to its mechanical brakes. It had been restored decades ago. Over the course of a year he morphed it into this jalopy, keeping the original rails but installing ’40s hot rod specifics: juice brakes, a ’39 Ford gearbox, a 21-stud flathead, Sharp heads, a Thickstun intake manifold, an Isky cam . . .

Another Bird: We showed you Lynn Bird’s blue ’32 Ford three-window coupe back in March 2019 (“Distinctive Deuce”). Always the tinkerer, his latest endeavor is this great-looking ’25 Model T. It is motivated by a ’49 Mercury flathead that’s assembled with Offenhauser heads and an Edmunds intake. The body sits on heavily modified ’34 Chevy framerails. Bird won most of his races.

Raging Orange: One of the fastest cars running the eighth-mile, the historic Orange Crate (now owned by Steve Gilligan) wowed the crowd with its good looks and performance. Brothers Bob and Terry Tindle bought the ’32 Ford Tudor already chopped in 1959 and went on to transform it into a fast strip contender. It features a tilt body along with a Hilborn-injected 417ci Olds motor with a Potvin blower.

Bad to the Bones: Rolling Bones member Dick Deluna drives and races his ’34 Ford five-window (which has been chopped 6 inches) all over the nation. Check out the unusual grille from a Canadian Cockshutt tractor. Behind it resides a ’49 8BA flathead now displacing 284 ci. It received Stromberg carbs, Navarro heads, an Offenhauser two-carb manifold, and a Vertex magneto.

Heavy Chop: Back from making a pass, this is Tom McIntyre’s ’32 three-window Ford from the Rolling Bones crew. It performed well, courtesy of a ’54 Dodge Ram Hemi bolted to a five-speed ’box for long-distance journeys. The coupe additionally uses a Halibrand quick-change and an aluminum bellypan.

Pretty Penny: Alex Carlos struggled a bit to see the flagman behind the wheel of his chopped Penny Hemi Model T. Spectators loved the car’s track antics, watching as it flew down the eighth-mile thanks to a 354ci Hemi fed by a Weiand intake manifold and six carbs. A four-speed BorgWarner transmission gets the power to the ground.

Sushi and Louis: Team Throttle Racing from Japan entered the field with this (near lane) narrowed modified driven by TROG regular Atsushi “Sushi” Yasui. Behind it sits Louis Stands’ 1927 Ford roadster equipped with a 327ci powerplant from a ’63 Corvette.

Little Zip: A recent Craigslist find, this 1927 T owned by Reno, Nevada, resident Rory Forbes appeared to have been a California circle track racer as far back as 1949. On the dash resides a plaque stating, “Participant NHRA National Drags-1959 Detroit, Mich.” The roadster hasn’t changed much in the last 60 years, still featuring its Joe Bailon paint and Tommy the Greek striping.

Hot Rod Lady: Diana Branch owns both a colorful ’29 Ford roadster and this ’32 Tudor, running a Studebaker V8 bored to 299 ci, a Chevy five-speed transmission, and a Chevy ’57 rearend. The sedan’s good looks should be attributed to the 4 1/2-inch chop and 5-inch channel. The Glacier Blue Chrysler metallic paint does not hurt either.

Stude Study: Traveling with his wife Diana, Tom Branch joined the mayhem with his real steel ’32 Ford showcasing a 304ci ’63 Studebaker V8, hopped up with four Stromberg carbs. Fabian Valdez at Vintage Hammer Garage helped build the roadster, which is fitted with ’50 Pontiac taillights, 15×4 and 15×8.5 American Racing mags, and Inglewood slicks in the back.

The British Are Coming: These 1960s-styled Deuces are owned by two U.K. expatriates. In the near lane is Nostalgia Ranch’s Jay Dean with his 331ci Cad V8 five-window coupe, chopped 3 1/2 inches. In the far lane is Dice Magazine’s Dean Micetich with his three-window, which was painted in 1964. It relies on a ’55 Cad motor and ’57 Olds rearend. Dean dropped the driveshaft during this run, but got it fixed to participate again later!

Spirit of ’47: We introduced you to Paul Gommi in HRD’s Sept. 2018 issue (“The Way We Were”). The competitive racer brought his supercharged ’32 Ford roadster, which was built in 1947 and ran 129 mph at El Mirage shortly after. All eyes were on Gommi, who won his class at the 2018 RPM Nationals, but issues with the flathead’s block didn’t allow him to perform as well as expected.

Local Racers: The Hanssen family are the caretakers of these two racers built by Willis Baldwin of Santa Barbara. On the left is the ’49 Baldwin Special, and on the right, the bare aluminum C/Mod ’51 Baldwin Special used from 1954 until 1957 in SCCA competition. The ’49 Special runs a ’46 Merc flathead with a full-race Clay Smith cam, Edelbrock heads, and triple Strombergs; the ’51 Special is also powered by a Merc flathead, this one fitted with Ardun heads.

Welcome Back: It was good to see Gene Winfield in Santa Barbara, looking none the worse for wear after his European ordeal last year. He was attending a car show in Finland in September when he broke his hip in a bad fall. During recovery, he came down with pneumonia; that and other health complications made it impossible for him to fly commercially back to the States. A GoFundMe page set up to get him home reached its goal in just a few days, and he was back in the U.S. by late October.

Colorado Rods: The Lucky Tramps Car Club out of Colorado presented a couple of fine rides driven by an equally fine couple. Brooke Dolan drove the Deuce coupe with S.Co.T. supercharged flathead power and Navarro heads, while husband Daniel competed with a ’34 five-window Ford with a flathead V8, too.

Fun T Time: Tegan Hammond had a ton of fun racing the Hammond family’s ’27 Ford roadster. The powerplant of choice is a rare 1927 HAL double-overhead-cam four-cylinder. By the next decade, few utilized that engine, as it had been surpassed by Ford’s flathead V8.

Grandpa’s Headers: The exhaust on the banger engine in Jenny Boostrom’s ’23 Model T roadster was fabricated by Jesse Belond, grandson of famed exhaust maker Sandy Belond, using a vintage photo they found as reference. So far it’s the only one, but Jesse hopes to make more, “trying to keep Grandpa’s name out there.” Arch Gratz built the motor with a rare Thomas intake and head, and two Stromberg 81 carbs. Clayton’s Hot Rods in Santa Cruz, California, put the car together, which Jesse bought for Jenny as a Christmas present.

Barnes’ Find: A ’32 Ford coupe with the Pacific Ocean and Channel Islands National Park in the background—what’s not to like? The chopped Deuce belonging to John Barnes had been drag raced around 1951-1954. Lack of hood allowed spectators to admire the supercharged flathead V8 with Fenton heads.

Lake Refugee: Racing against Daniel Shircliff’s orange A is “Hudson Joe” Buffardi’s ’29 Ford roadster, prepared with an uncommon ’49 337ci Lincoln flathead. It is fed by dual Merc side-draft carbs on an Edmunds intake and runs a Potvin cam and Mallory dual-point ignition. It seems that the car raced at El Mirage in the 1950s through the mid 1960s. When Buffardi bought it in 2004 it was “just a body.” He fabricated the hood, nose, and grille. Notice the neat aircraft-inspired exhaust system.

Wheeler’s Wheels: David Wheeler is a regular racer, having competed at the TROG Pismo race and the 2018 RPM Nationals (see our Mar. 2019 issue). He made a handful of passes with his stout Model T.

As the Flag Drops: Tom Franzi of Germany is ready to hammer the throttle of his Model A, which was built in the mid- to late-1950s. He bought it about a week before the race. Seemingly painted metalflake in the 1960s, the 6-inch-channeled roadster with sectioned ’32 grille received a ’56 324ci Olds Rocket V8 at some point.

Harley Alley: The event wasn’t only about cars, as 30 vintage bikes made a ton of passes all day long. Incidentally, Harley-Davidson was a major sponsor of the Santa Barbara Drags.

Wayne’s World: This nice lineup of healthy motors is led by a not-so-common Wayne head-equipped 235ci Chevy six motivating Cedric Meeks’ ’34 Ford coupe. Cedric is the son of Russ Meeks, who won the Grand National Roadster Show’s AMBR award in 1972 with his well-known tilt-body, rear-engined Model A roadster.

Bronze Flame: Lars Mapstead is just the third owner of the Bronze Flame, a real-deal survivor of 1950s hot rodding that still wears its original lacquer flamed paint job over a steel (not aluminum) track nose fabricated by Sam Barris. Original owner Ed Donato raced the car at the lakes and the Santa Ana drags before putting it in storage for some five decades. The car is no museum piece, as Mapstead has run it at the RPM Nationals and the TROG beach race in New Jersey.

By the Sea: TROG Santa Barbara wasn’t only about hot rods. The Hilton’s rotunda also the terrific Customs by the Sea exhibit. It actually called for additional vehicles to be displayed on site, but regulations forced promoters to park a bunch of cars on the other side of the wall, facing the ocean. The two ’36 Fords belong to Alan Windard (Throttlers CC, Salt Lake City) and Jon Fisher (Burbank Choppers CC).

Refined ’50s: It was great to see two of the most elegant chopped customs built in recent years. Scott Roberts’ 1954 Mercury (foreground) cruises thanks to a 292ci Y-block. It features a bunch of traditional alterations: shaved door handles, frenched headlights, rounded corners on the hood and doors, and more. It kept company with Kelly and Mark Skipper’s ’51 Ford with ’53 Chevy teeth.

Buick Beauty: Steve Pierce selected what some might consider an unlikely candidate for a custom project, a ’40 Buick coupe. Among the most noticeable modifications: a top chopped 4 inches in front and 5 1/2 in the back, ’39 Ford headlights, and ’41 Cad bumpers. The color is reminiscent of Ford’s famous Washington Blue.

Grapevine Redux: Back in the day, spray gun extraordinaire Larry Watson prowled the boulevards of Kustomland in a ’50 Chevy that was first painted black and silver. He later resprayed the car in lavender, which is when it acquired the name Grapevine. John Denich owns this clone built with accuracy in mind, from the ’55 Olds headlight rings and side trim to the ’53 Chevy grille and ’54 Merc taillights.

Deuce Duo: The Burbank Choppers Car Club had a handful of rides on site, including this pair of Deuces. Jack Carroll drove the painted example to Santa Barbara. The 5-inch-chopped body shell sits on a chassis assembled by Lynn Bird. Unlike Carroll’s coupe, Deron Wright’s 283ci three-window (right) wasn’t channeled. He also drives it with five-spoke mags compatible with a 1960s hot rod appearance.

The 1,000-Mile Trip: Yep, Daniel Shircliff traveled in his daily driven Model A from Phoenix for the weekend, adding a thousand miles to the odometer. His Craigslist find was apparently built around 1961-1962 and last driven in the 1970s.

Antique Vibe: Blessed by beautiful weather, the staging lanes remained packed all day long. With 70 cars registered, each participant had the opportunity to make several runs. Palm trees as far as the eye can see contributed to the fantastic vibe of this inaugural get-together which, we hope, will return to the West Coast in 2020.

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