#if I want a five dollar burger these days I gotta go to fucking BURGER KING AND I WILL NOT. FUCK THAT.

[essektheylyss]

wearing a california bear baseball hat in arizona to assert my dominance

#listen here's the thing. there's only one thing worse than a californian. A ZONI #anyway I have to wait another hour before I get in n out and I NEED ITTTTTT #do you understand how dire it is trying to get a good cheap burger in the seattle metro area is. it's so dire. #the biggest sin of regional food discourse was trying to claim that five guys is in the same market area as in n out. it is nOT #it is a DIFFERENT PRICE RANGE. #if I want a five dollar burger these days I gotta go to fucking BURGER KING AND I WILL NOT. FUCK THAT. #five guys sells TEN DOLLAR BURGERS AT LIKE. MINIMUM. #they are NOT COMPARABLE. anyway #back to my woe

[katie-writes24]

Five Of A Kind

Pairing: Poly!Hamilsquad x reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, opinionated comments towards the Spider-Man movies, I guess some things are implied, but barely

Just something I came up with. I’m a sucker for Poly!hamilsquad :) Takes place at the start of their relationship. Uh, shoutout to Pinterest for giving me prompt ideas ig? I’m going to start working on more requests after this. Enjoy!

She sat in a booth in the corner, watching through the window the busy streets of New York. The sun had been replaced by heavy clouds, and it was obvious it would rain any minute.

She tapped an impatient finger against the handle of her mug, looking at her phone once more before the seat across her was filled by John and Lafayette.

“About time,” She raises a brow and John looked back sheepishly.

“At least we’re not the last ones here,” Just then a waiter came over and took their drink orders. When he left, Laf took her hand into his.

“How are you, mon ange? We have not seen you in a while.” Y/N felt a pang of guilt hit her. She had been absent from the past months movie and game nights, missed out on a couple of dates, all due to school work piling up.

“I know, I’m sorry. Just had a lot of work to do. I swear, I won’t cancel again.” She smiled and Laf kissed her knuckles, only to be startled when Hercules threw an arm around him, pulling him into a kiss.

“Ce qui ne va pas avec vous? You scared me!” Laf put a hand to his heart while John snickered beside him.

Hercules chuckled and sat down next to Y/N, placing an arm at the back of the booth and kissing her cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Alex is last, as usual. Give me my ten dollars,” He nudged Laf who rolled his eyes, but pulled out a bill from his wallet. The waiter came back with their drinks and took Herc’s order, as well as a coffee for Alex.

“Has he been working this late the whole week?” She asked. Though she has been doing the same recently, they all knew college classes and his job were totally different. Alex working late would only bring more tension, stress and sleep deprivation to them all.

“Just the past two days,” John shook his head, looking out the window as the rain came. “Dude doesn’t even think time exist anymore.”

“Speak of the devil,” Hercules nodded towards the front of the cafe, and they all watched him walk over.

“Fifteen minutes? That’s a new record, man.” Y/N said bitterly, but not really meaning it.

“Water falls from the sky and people don’t know how to drive.” Alexander sits next to Laf and takes off his jacket. “I’m sorry, I’ll buy this time.”

“Bribery will get you nowhere,” She sipped from her mug, but willingly ordered her meal carefree.

~~~~~

“So...it’s one character?”

“Correct.”

“But three different actors?”

“Right.”

“In three different...worlds?” Lafayette tilted his head as he watched the screen.

“Well...kinda. It’s basically in the same universe, but just different stories. Like the last Peter Parker is set in the same timeline as the Avengers.” Alex shoves more popcorn in his mouth as Laf narrows his eyes.

“I do not get it.”

“You don’t have to get it, babe,” John smiles and runs his hand through Y/N’s hair.

“Uh, yes, he does have to get it if we’re going to binge all of the Spider-Man movies,” She looked up at John as if he was crazy. He giggled and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“All you have to understand is Andrew Garfield was the worst Spider-Man,” Hercules said, earning agreeing hums from Alex.

“But he is the cutest one,” Y/N smiled as she watched said actor on screen in his suit.

“Oh, I can totally fight with you on that!” Alex gave her an accusing stare.

“Non, I think he’s pretty cute!” Laf snuggles further into John, and the latter tilts his head up and gives him a peck on his jaw.

“You haven’t even seen Tom Holland yet, your opinions aren’t valid right now!” Alex throws popcorn at his head from the other couch.

“Shhhhh, this is the best part...” Herc put his finger up to Alex’s lips, and he quickly took it into his mouth, causing Hercules to groan in annoyance.

~~~~~

The bell above the door jingled, Hercules looking up from the suit he was working on. His concentrated frown turned into a warming smile as he saw her walk in with a plastic bag in her hand.

“Tell me there’s something edible in there?” He leaned his arms against the counter and smirked as she froze in her steps.

“Are you saying my presence isn’t enough for you?” Y/N scoffed and set the bag down next to him. “But yes, I might have some food in here.”

“I thought you had class?” Herc smiled as she pulled out two containers of burgers.

“I just finished, thought you’d be hungry. I knew you had to come in early, and from John’s drunk text last night, it seemed like you didn’t get enough sleep.” She laughed as he rolled his eyes.

“I got maybe four hours. I don’t know how Alex does it,” He munched on a fry and intertwined their hands together. “Thanks for the food.”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled and the two ate in comfortable silence after that. She could see the different types of fabric thrown across the back tables. It was an obvious sign of stress, it looked like Herc’s office at his apartment. When they finished their meal, she cleared her throat, “Hey, don’t stress yourself out okay? I know you guys are understaffed, but that doesn’t mean all the work has to be thrown on you.”

“I know, but I was the only one on shift today, which means I get all the new orders.” He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I should probably get back to work.”

“Sure,” She started to leave, but his hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his chest. She leaned into the embrace and smiled.

“You can stay if you want? I could use the company,” He kisses her head and leans back to look into her eyes.

“I guess I could work on some essays,” She leaned up and kissed him soundly. “Thanks.”

~~~~~

She knocked on the door as she tried to shake off the snow sticking to her coat. It opened a moment later with a relieved looking Aaron on the other side.

“Thank god,” He sighed and stepped to the side to let her in.

“Still hasn’t been out of his room?” Y/N stripped out of her jacket and looked around the messy apartment.

“Not since this morning, and it was only to get another coffee. I’m surprised you guys didn’t check on him sooner.” Aaron raised a brow as she chuckled.

“We talked to him two nights ago, and he seemed fine. Trust me, this isn’t the worse it’s been.” She knocked on his bedroom door, and after not receiving an answer, she opened it slowly.

Alexander was sitting at his desk, back to the door and typing away on his laptop. She sighed as she looked around the room. Cans of energy drinks and candy wrappers had been thrown hazardously near the small trash can in the corner, along with shreds of paper. His bedsheets were thrown carelessly and different documents laid on top.

Y/N shook her head and walked towards where he was seated at his computer chair. She wrapped her arms around the him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You are freezing,” He winced, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken in days.

“How long have you been sitting here?” She asked, eyes roaming over the paragraphs he was typing.

“Today?”

“Alex!” She tutted disapprovingly, reaching for his laptop to close it, but he was quicker, grabbing at her hand.

“No! I just need to finish this real quick!” Shoving her hand away, he leaned forward and typed faster.

“You’ve been in here for hours, for all I know days,” Y/N’s hands wrapped around his, and squeezed them. “When’s the last time you ate something? Or showered? Or walked around?”

The silence was enough to fill her question.

“You’re not taking care of yourself, Al. And do you remember that we had plans tonight? We were all gonna go ice skating.”

“Fuck, it’s already Saturday,” Alex ran a hand over his face and grumbled. “I’m sorry.”

There was frustration in his voice, and she would be lying if Y/N said she didn’t feel bad for him. He has been stressed about work lately, picking up a lot of other people’s slack and working late hours. She held him closer and kissed his neck softly, his own hand coming up to her arm and rubbing a soothing thumb across it. They stayed like that, until he eventually leaned forward and started typing away again, saving the document once again.

“When’s your deadline?”

“Tuesday.”

“Are you kidding me?!” She slammed the computer closed and pulled him away from the chair.

~~~~~

“What the hell, John?” Hercules slammed his cards against the table as John laughed.

“You guys suck at this game,” He smirked and laid his cards out.

“You’re cheating, its so obvious that you’re cheating,” Alex walked away from the table, Laf smirking at how easy it was for him to get mad.

“It’s just a game, mon amie,” Laf chuckled as Alex flipped him off.

“I’m turning in, I gotta work the early shift tomorrow,” Hercules stretched his arms and yawned.

“You are all welcomed to stay the night, there is plenty of space,” Laf offered, hope in his voice. He liked when he didn’t have to go to sleep alone, which is something that hasn’t happened in quite a while.

“I can’t Laf, I got an early meeting,” Alex frowned as he put in his shoes.

“Me too, and I got to be early or Lee will never let me hear the end of it,” John kissed the top of Laf’s head and walked towards Alex.

“I can stay, I don’t have class tomorrow,” Y/N grinned as Laf turned from disappointed to excited.

“Don’t have too much fun, you two,” Hercules smiled and kissed them both goodbye, Alex and John doing the same before leaving the house.

Laf wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk at her, which she pushed his shoulder and walked upstairs to his room. He soon followed and gave her a pair of pajamas to change into.

They fell into bed easily, Y/N cuddled up into his side as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. She could hear his heartbeat and sighed with content.

“What are you thinking about, cherie?” He whispered, not wanting to disturb the quiet.

She hesitated before answering, “How great this all has been...all of us, together. It’s pretty amazing.”

“That it is,” Laf kissed her forehead and smiled. “I wouldn’t trade these past months for anything.”

Y/N leaned forward and captured his lips, not moving until he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He held her cheek with care, pecking her lips a few more times before pulling away.

“Get some sleep, Y/N. For all I know you could be schemeing with all this kissing.” She chuckled and kissed him one last time before turning over and leaning into his chest. He kissed the back of her neck before wishing her sweet dreams.

~~~~~

Classes had finally ended for the semester, which meant Y/N was making plans to catch up on sleep. Yet, despite her wishes to stay in her dorm for the break, the boys offered for her to switch between their homes, saying that it would allow them to spend more time together, and, let’s face it, they all didn’t like going to sleep alone.

The first weekend, they all wanted to celebrate her successful school semester, and while they wanted to go out and party, she was perfectly content with ordering take out and being lazy on Alex’s sofa.

Y/N was spread out across John, face buried in his chest while he ran his hand up her back comfortingly. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, startling between an explosion on the TV and Hercules loud laughter.

She was almost asleep when she felt John’s fingers begin to move across her spine. He had a pattern, going back and forth and up and down, almost like he was writing something. A couple minutes later she went to turn over so her face would be towards the cushion, before she figured out what he was writing.

“I love you, too,” Y/N mumbled, barely giving it a second thought before she knocked out completely.

John stared at her in shock, eyes wide and a blush across his cheeks. Even though the volume was loud, the other boys could hear her clearly, looking over in amusement, shock and adoration.

John swallowed and embraced Y/N, nuzzling into her neck and smiling as she snored.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!!

@dontblinkumightmiss @wwaywardwinchester

#hamilton #hamilton imagine #hamilsquad #hamilsquad x reader #poly!hamilsquad x reader #polyhamilsquad x reader #john laurens x reader #alexander hamilton x reader #hercules mulligan x reader #marquis de lafayette x reader #lafayette x reader #hamilton fic #hamilsquad fic #ohhh the soft boys #brings me joy #my writings #uh this is like my third fic of referencing superhero movies? #and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon #sorry not even remotely sorry

[entitycradle]

A Tree Without Wind

Content warnings: mention of, discussion of, threats of, and plans to commit suicide. Panic attacks, disassociation, and paranoia are described, sometimes in detail. An eating disorder is alluded to. Characters are horny for each other but there’s nothing sexually explicit.

I promise the ending is hopeful. I genuinely am not trying to trick you, I know what this sort of thing is like, I want to respect your capacity while still being truthful to the experience and allowing tension in the story. If you’re in the right place for it, click that button.

A TREE WITHOUT WIND

I was nine years old the first time Phoenix told me he was going to kill himself. Is that too brutal? Sorry. It's where this starts. We were outside, in the morning before it got too hot, kicking around a ball in the scrubby grass. We used the long shadow of the I34Q tower to make the rules--you can't use your hands if you're in the sun, that sorta thing. It was fun because the boundaries of the shadow were always moving with the shape of the tower, and because the tower was a little scary. Phoenix lost a game and just said it, frustrated, "I'm gonna kill myself." I laughed.

When I was that age I loved looking at the shadow of the tower, because it made so much more sense than the real thing. You'd look at the dark, fuzzy stain on the ground and you could imagine it was some sort of antenna, or house, or marker. But then you'd look at the structure itself and your eyes would glaze over trying to figure it out. Unevenly rotating, stacked polyhedral structures, dark gray but covered with a rainbow film like an oil slick. Irregular pieces would be transferred between different sections with no apparent pattern. It smelled like someone you'd never met. The tower was doing something but no one was ever clear on what. That's how it is with I34Q stuff, I think.

I'm stalling. It was some stupid shit, he must've picked it up from some awful caster or something. As a kid Phoenix liked that sorta thing. He'd watch videos of mean people cursing and laughing and he'd laugh with them. I preferred my cartoons, or the I34Q casts, as weird as they were. Later I repeated what he said when I found out my dad was making squash for dinner, "I'm gonna kill myself," and my mom told me off pretty hard. Kept me from saying it again, at least in school and at home. Phoenix kept at it though.

- = -

Phoenix and I got put in the same dormitory when we went to T-school. Do they call it T-school in other places? It's the thing where 4Q tanks (as in I34Q) come and take a bunch of eleven-year-old kids to stay at "training" facilities. No one I've asked knows what T-school is actually for, same as the towers, same as all the 4Q stuff like I said before. An organic shape attached to the ground heads a classroom, gibbering except for the occasional english sentence (Phoenix said he also recognized some Cantonese). Mrs. Lough, who apparently also lives in the facility, tries to teach "formalist english," which is like english but the rules contradict themselves. You take notes on the behavior of a tank filled with inky fluid for four hours a week. One day a three-legged machine packs up your stuff and shepherds you to the gate.

I was ejected a year and a half after Phoenix. I went home on the bus and met him at burger king that afternoon. I caught a glimpse of him from outside. His hair was in long, tight braids. I felt self-conscious about the uncontrollable smile growing on my face. "Aco!" he said through a grin as I opened the glass door. A green poster advertised a meal made from "water beads," an I34Q plant thing.

"Dang," I said, grinning as I sat down. "Dang."

"You make it out? Fuck you to 4Q?" He'd stopped eating to greet me. His grin looked as uncontrollable as mine. Phoenix's nose was wide and flat, also like mine.

"Fork you, 4Q." I still felt nervous about cursing. I was fourteen. "How ya doing, Phoenix?"

"I'm good, I'm good. High school is interesting."

"Oh, man..."

"It's actually like, fucking nice to understand what's happening. But now there are actual smart kids and you actually get punished when you, y'know, mouth off. I'm like, I gotta get around to--" He swiped with his hand, bent his neck, and made a cracking sound with his mouth. I laughed. "Don't worry, I'll show you around. Maybe we'll have a class together."

- = -

We did have a class together. High school with Phoenix was fun, because I got to have a proper crush on him. Pining, sexuality, youthful obsession, yards and yards of it. It was weird, we kinda drifted--Phoenix hung out with kids that I was afraid of, I hung out with kids who played too many videogames. As our familiarity waned, I started seeing him differently. A foreign, adult desire began to penetrate me, replacing childish affection. It took me a while to realize that's what was happening.

It was a shame our familiarity waned, though, because Phoenix was really struggling, and I didn't see it. His friends were mean, when they weren't outright abusive. Not a lot of people liked him. I learned later that he started hurting himself when he was sixteen. Little cigarette burns, and then cuts. He got put on meds at seventeen--the wrong meds, for a year. He went to a psych ward when he was nineteen. His family did not have the money to pay for an extended stay. I still don't know exactly how that worked out. I do know he went into debt after his second stay two years later.

I wasn't doing too well myself, after I hit twenty-two. Something in me broke I guess. So when Phoenix told me he was going to travel to the Santitos digger and throw himself off a cliff, it didn't take me very long to ask if I could go with him.

- = -

"I... I didn't..." He paused for a long time. Ten seconds of silence feels unbearably long in a conversation, and I was quiet for fifteen. My teeth held each other tightly as his thoughts whirled. "I didn't..." He looked me in the eyes. There was an intensity to both our gazes. He'd stuck his jaw out, just a little. "I guess I did. I was, kinda, hoping you'd say that."

"Fuck," I said, looking away and down. "Fuck." I put a hand over my eyes, gripping my face as tears came.

"I'm gonna die," he said, beginning to smile and looking up. I felt the discomfort I'd felt since we were nine.

"Yeah, I wanna go, I wanna go," I said, pulling my hand away midway through and looking back at him with a force I didn't recognize.

He looked back at me and said, "I'm gonna die, and you're gonna die with me."

- = -

The Santitos digger is in northern California, in the Redwood national park. People have figured out the basic idea of what the digger is doing, unlike the towers or the T-schools: the digger is making a big hole. I'd heard that in some places it had dug more than a mile, almost straight down. Don't ask me how the digger would've done that. Don't ask me why it's called Santitos, either, since it's pretty big and not very saintly. Maybe it was the name of a town. Getting to the digger from Prince George County was about fifty hours.

"I figure we could do it in three days if we really fuck-you-pushed-it. But I'm planning on five." I craned my neck to look at Phoenix's cracked phone screen, where he'd pulled up the route.

Gas is expensive because 4Q takes most of it. Basically no one flies. Even in Phoenix's hybrid, it would be a thousand dollars to get to the west coast. But it's not like we'd need the money afterwards.

"We'll eat along the way," he continued. I bit my thumbnail. "I'm not picky, we'll just stop at wherever they won't run us out of town."

We'd sleep in the car. It was April, so temperature wouldn't be a concern. I packed a change of clothes, a water bottle, my meds, and a box cutter I'd stolen from my last job.

The next morning, he pulled his blue, dented '38 prius in front of my apartment building. I saw the car arrive out the window. There was an anxious pit in my stomach that deepened when I opened my front door. I didn't want anyone to see me. This is it, I thought, this is it, this is it. I repeated that phrase down the stairs. My landlord could fucking charge rent to my corpse, I could give a shit. This is it, I thought. That final T stretched to enrobe me. The sky was gray and wet. The sensation wasn't enough to rip me from my inwards reverie. I was about to get in the back of the car when Phoenix spoke. "That ain't it."

He was leaning out the window, regarding me coolly. "Morning. Shall we go?" I walked around the car and got in the front seat.

- = -

Virginia is beautiful once you get into the mountains, forested and rolling. I told Phoenix, "Once I read the Appalachians are millions of years old, and used to be taller than the Himalayas."

"No shit. Was there like an Everest? Where's the old Everest?"

"I don't know, I never heard anything about that. But yeah the continental plates looked totally different. And then things changed and the rain and wind and plants broke them down."

"Hah. Fucking awful. Just being broken down like that. I mean, it's better than what 4Q did to Everest."

I was quiet for a moment. "That's... the worst thing they did, right?"

"I dunno, dude, I think taking kids from their families is worse."

"No, right, right. But like... Everest was like... like everyone knew about Everest. When I was really little I had this big book about mountains and I read the bit on Everest so many times. And now it's like... they made it about them. And people lived in the Himalayas before 4Q came! It forced everyone out and carved a bunch of nonsense into it. A forever reminder that we're below them."

"Hah, literally. Hmmm. I still wouldn't say worst, but, I get what you mean. I'm so numb to it. It's good some people still care." Phoenix shrugged. "I mean I dunno. It doesn't matter much to me, at this point. But from an outside perspective it's good."

That first evening was alright. I drove Phoenix into a beautiful sunset. You hear the phrase "rode off into the sunset" and you think, what a nice ending, but it's not really an ending. If you're the cowboy you keep riding, and eventually the sky darkens and you have to set up camp and eat and sleep and wake up the next morning and eat and go riding again. A feeling of dread and desperation fills me when I think of surviving alone like that. Maybe I'd get used to it. The trip to Santitos was an attempt to write a story with a proper ending.

We didn't stop until we crossed into Illinois. We parked on the shoulder of a country road. I used the light in the car to look at the atlas we'd bought for when we didn't have cell service, and laughed. "We've been in five states today. Pretty good. Keep it up and we'll have visited every state by June."

"What the--?" Phoenix snorted, laughing. "You mean if we visit five states a day. Asshole."

I always giggled when he snorted and called me an asshole. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"Fucking dumb. Doesn't even work. You'd have to wake up in a different state than you fell asleep in." He caught my eye. The smile felt intimate, mutual. Born of sleepy exhaustion from a shared journey. I looked at the divot between his nose and upper lip.

I realized something. "Shit, I forgot to bring a blanket."

"Poor baby. You cold?"

"Hmm. I guess not really."

"Oh, you know what I do have..." He leaned towards me and reached toward the back seat. I watched his shirt stretch over his chest. Phoenix retrieved a big gray sweater. "Feel free to stretch it out."

My fingertips touched the back of his hands as I took the bundle. I did that on purpose. His skin was warmer than I expected, as skin always is. We tipped our seats back. Not the most comfortable, though the sweater would help, hopefully. I checked out Phoenix to see him on his side, looking at me and smiling. I let my own smile relax into me as I watched his eyes. His irises were a rich, beautiful brown. His skin was the color of cardboard in your childhood memories. I loved the way his smile wasn't symmetrical, wider on one side than the other. I carefully resisted scanning my gaze down his body. I actually saw his eyes flick down my form, instantaneously. His eyelids half-lowered, and then, horribly, what seemed to be a great tide of sadness overtook him. I watched him hold it back. I watched his smile mix with growing grief and fear, then bow to neutrality. He covered his gaze with his eyelids, breathed in, breathed out. "All right," he whispered, then opened his eyes. The gaze was gone. "Time to sleep." He sat up and turned off the light.

The sweater had a very particular, subtle smell to it. I guess it was his smell. I was desperately horny, yet blasted to pieces. A heady mix.

"I think I could fall in love with you, if things were a little different." He broke the silence, fifteen minutes later. "I probably would. But I'd cling to you like a fucking baby. And you're here, right?" He paused. For a response? I didn't give him one in time. "That's what I mean, codependent hell. I'd only be alive for you, and you'd only be alive for me, and then the second anything goes wrong we'd be right back here except I'd, fucking, direct all my shittiness at you... and you'd blame yourself."

I was quiet. "Ain't... ain't being codependent better than dying?"

"Hah! But that's what I'm saying, it doesn't change anything, it just leads us back here."

I fumbled for something. "Yeah but if it could... like stave it off..."

"Why is that good? The world is fucked, Acoatl, totally and truly fucked. Things don't get better from here, for me, for people. Should I beg? Stay here in misery out of some misplaced sense of morality? We're doing the only thing that makes sense."

I stayed quiet, not unconvinced. Sleep came, eventually, uncomfortably, anxiously.

- = -

The International Astronomical Union provisionally called it 8I/2034 Q1. I had to look that up. The eighth interstellar comet discovered, identified in 2034. I don't know what Q1 means. The name was briefly changed to 8I/Pasarati, for the research group that had discovered it, but by that time I34Q was clearly accelerating non-gravitationally and on an Earthbound trajectory. 8I/Pasarati is still in orbit, technically. You can see it through a telescope, it's like five miles across. But I34Q is the name for all of it, the craft that came to the surface, the life it brought with it, the structures it built, the war, all the consequences. No one can make any sense of it, except the one thing everyone knows: something else controls the world now.

- = -

I just barely remember waking up to switch seats in the morning, and then desiring nothing more than to return to sleep. Eventually Phoenix nudged me awake. "Hey." We were parked somewhere in Missouri. I'd slept all the way through the night and Phoenix's turn to drive. At least twelve hours, depending on when I actually fell asleep last night. I'd missed the big arch in St. Louis.

Phoenix was curt and reserved as I drove. I thought he was still thinking about last night, or angry at me for leaving him alone on his drive. Then he tilted his head back and began to gag. "My... heart..." Tears streamed down him face.

"Phoenix." I glanced back and forth between him and the road. There were abandoned cars on the shoulder; I couldn't pull over. "Phoenix, Phoenix, um."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop." He bent, heaved, and emitted a yowling, harsh retch. Nothing else left his mouth. "My heart..." He was breathing hard. A panic attack, I realized, stupidly too late.

"Do we have..." Panic attacks can be interrupted with certain intense sensations. The general goal is to increase awareness of the environment, focus the mind on the current moment rather than the future or past. Holding an ice cube can help. There were no ice cubes. I reached into the back seat for my water bottle, which would at least be cool. A truck behind us laid on the horn. I swerved back into my lane. "Sorry." Phoenix dry heaved again. It was a uniquely distressing sound.

I searched for the hazards, feeling useless. Far too much time passed before I found them and started slowing down. A different truck laid on a different horn. I was able to slip in a gap on the shoulder between an abandoned pickup and a rusting minivan.

I led Phoenix onto the tall grass beyond the asphalt, where he collapsed onto all fours. His torso flexed as he heaved. I put a hand on his back. "Phoenix, look at the trees." There were bushy, broken trees lining the sides of the highway, a vibrant green against the blue and white sky. "The, listen to the road." No, the road was stressing me the fuck out. "Listen to the grass waving, feel it." Stalks crumpled in his fists. I twisted my head and saw the tip of an I34Q tower peeking up over the treeline. "Look, a tower, just like when we were kids." Over the next few minutes, his breathing slowed, his heaving stopped. But the tears stayed. He sobbed away the panic. I read somewhere that tears actually contain different chemicals depending on the emotion causing them. Something to do with hormones I think.

He apologized to me. I would've done the same thing. I've done the same thing. So I got it, but felt indignant at having understood--he didn't need to apologize!

We got back on the road and listened to static on the radio. Sometimes the edge of a station would pass by, and we'd get fuzzy country, or christian rock. I changed it whenever there was a sermon. Sermons always come back to 4Q and they're always awful. The 4Q broadcasts are actually better than sermons about 4Q. They're kind of like static, anyway, totally unintelligible. We encountered more of them than I expected. Maybe static itself is a 4Q broadcast. I don't think that's right, I think static is like cosmic background radiation. But maybe 4Q has changed it somehow, like it used to be white noise and now it's blue noise, a different random distribution but still random.

"I'm off my meds," he said, as we rolled into darkness. The moon was a crescent, low on the western horizon. He spoke flatly and calmly. "I didn't even bring them with me. I thought you should know."

I hesitated. I wanted to voice this diplomatically. But then, we'd be dead in four days, anyway. "Is that why you had the attack?"

"No. I panic even on meds." That made sense. I remembered a few times in the past year when he'd canceled an event with little notice, or left early. "But I'm not a person right now, and that's definitely because I'm off my meds."

"You're not a person right now?"

"Yeah. It's called depersonalization. Also derealization, which is when nothing is real. Or that's how it feels, as I'm told. It's pretty freaky if I'm honest. You don't get the same emotional reaction from stuff. It feels like you're watching from somewhere else." He wasn't looking at me. He was looking down. "You're not you. You're not even real." He whispered. "Pretty freaky."

"Can I--do you--"

"Ahh, I'm coming out of it. Some of it is just recognizing that you're in it." He drew a knee up to his chest and shook his head. "Uhh, could you. Could you hold my hand. Touch helps."

I gripped the wheel with my left hand and held his palm with my right. It was warm and sweaty. I wish I could say that was okay. I felt miserable. I wanted to feel happy, holding his hand, comforting him. I didn't.

Sleep came quicker that night, though still uncomfortable, still anxious.

- = -

I slept late, again. I hadn't touched the chicken sandwich I'd gotten from a drive-thru last night. It had awful 4Q stuff on it anyway. I hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours, so I was pretty hungry, but I had no actual desire to eat. I'd deal with it later.

My own panic attack must've seemed similarly unbidden to Phoenix, though I felt it coming about an hour beforehand, and tried to stave it off. We were on I-80, driving through the hypnotizing flatness of Nebraska. Every ten or fifteen minutes I kept seeing this scarlet structure. It was like a giant, bloody caricature of a water tower, a skinny, triangular column maybe ten feet across and at least two hundred feet tall, supporting an enormous squashed sphere more than twice as wide as the column was tall. I'd watch it rise from the horizon, far too big. I'd never seen them before but guessed they must be 4Q. I started thinking we were somehow traveling in a loop, that my sense of direction was faulty and we were passing the same structure in the same field over and over again. Then I started thinking about how crazy that sounded. But I couldn't stop the thought.

I wanted to pull over but I couldn't stop anywhere in view of the structure, because it was watching me. Of course it wasn't, but I couldn't stop the thought that it was. Hell, maybe it was. Maybe only the mad can decode the purpose of I34Q stuff. I felt how hard I was breathing and glanced over at Phoenix, wondering why he hadn't said anything. He was staring down. He was probably disassociating again, I realized later, but at the time all I knew was that I was alone.

I get angry at myself after my attacks. I feel so stupid. Phoenix apologized to me that night, which made me feel even stupider. I couldn't wait to get to the Santitos digger.

- = -

The next day was bad. Quiet, lonely, and frustrated. A further reminder of the reasons. I saw patches of 4Q purple grass climbing up the Rockies. We both took long shifts and entered Redwood park just after midnight.

- = -

I read a story once about a man that was falling in the dark. He was falling so far that he would die instantly when he hit the ground. He realized that his brain wouldn't have time to process the impact, or even the few moments before. And he couldn't see the ground. He couldn't see anything. All that was left in the world was him and his death. I wondered if Phoenix had read the same story, and was hoping for a similar effect, coming here at night. Of course, we got it wrong. There were clouds, burgundy with light pollution, and every few minutes a star would gaze through; an unearthly glow was cast up from distant pieces of the digger.

Some parts of the digger looked like the towers, spinning and shifting. Some parts looked like exposed microelectronics, cables sutured to shiny terminals of minute complexity. Some parts were just made of asphalt blocks, cream-, gray-, and lime-colored pebbles tightly embedded in dark tar. Distant redwoods, many damaged by fire, ringed the horizon. The Santitos digger was less an object and more a place.

I felt wordlessly close to Phoenix as we scrambled over asphalt, looking for a pit. We touched each other frequently in our effort, to assist, to communicate. We'd have to give each other boosts, lift each other up, look for alternate routes. This place was not made for people.

Finally we came upon a deep canyon. I had half a mind to walk off the edge immediately. But both Phoenix and I stopped to regard it.

I couldn't tell if the rumors were true. You could only see maybe a hundred yards down before the walls of the abyss disappeared into ink. Or, not ink--not blackness, either. People are black. This was something else. The most prominent features were the semi-perceivable red blotches left on my optic nerve after gazing at one of the digger's glowing sectors. The unknowable told me nothing. It just revealed the flaws of my being. Maybe we would achieve our effect after all.

"This is it," I said, elliptically. The beginning is the end. If you take out the 'h' that phrase is a palindrome. "That was the first thing I said out of the door before I got into your car on Saturday. If you take out the 'h' the phrase is a palindrome. The beginning is the end. This is elliptical. This is it."

"That ain't it." He was regarding me coolly.

I laughed.

He was angry. "Are you fucking kidding me? The point of this thing, the whole fucking point is you do it in your right mind. You're letting your madness make the decision for you. You have to make the decision!"

I found that extremely funny. I laughed harder.

"Shut up! Fuck!"

"What's a right mind?" I asked, still grinning. "There's no such thing anymore. Even when it was a thing, all it meant was the most socially-acceptable, capital-promoting mind. Now? The world doesn't fit us anymore. The human condition is inconvenient to its purpose. 4Q can't even train us. The right mind is a dead one. You want a right mind, go ahead." I gestured at the abyss. That's what I did.

He stepped forward. He stepped forward. A foot hung above the end.

I don't know what I would've done if he had lowered that foot, changing his balance, tipping him forward. Jumping in after him wouldn't have felt right. Maybe I'd have gone back to those red eyes in Nebraska and begged for them to torture me. Maybe his idiosyncrasies would have been repelled by the unknowable, flowing away from his body and into me, and I'd be lost forever in a derealized paranoia. Maybe I'd have gotten in the car and driven back home.

His foot remained, hanging, the edge a gallows. "Suicide is about pain. It's the ultimate response to ongoing distress. I never wanted you to be normal. I just didn't want you to be in pain. In a twisted way, I guess I thought, if this was your way of dealing with pain, I wasn't going to stop you. That is your right. I feel like that has to be your right." His balance was incredible. He remained still, a tree without wind. "But you can be abnormal, you can be a bad fit for the world, you can be utterly broken, and you can still live without pain." We're both crying. Tears descend into the pit.

| ' , |

I do think madness is the right way to understand I34Q. I feel this mysteriously. I wonder what it would be like if I tried going to T-school while embracing my altered states, living in them. I suspect Phoenix would have more success, being more comfortable with unreality. Not that either of us would participate in whatever hegemony 4Q perpetuates. More that we'd figure out what it wanted, and how to resist. I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe other people are, too. We need to find each other.

Phoenix and I wandered north. We found this incredible queer community in Oregon, with actual traditions and mechanisms to deal with communal trauma. I can't say anything about the world, the world is unknowable. But I think there's hope for us.

Phoenix and I are together, now, in a way I can't quite name. We did finally make love. That was beautiful. But we don't live together. I make love to other people, sometimes, and he does the same. Sometimes I'll go a week or two without seeing him, without notice. Sometimes I'll go a few days without even thinking about him. I love him, and I tell him that, and he says the same to me, though both of us have admitted that we don't know what that means.

We still panic. I still get paranoid. Phoenix disassociates. He's been using the state to make art. I think about I34Q and write down what I think. I'm pretty good at eating regularly, even if I don't feel like it. I don't know if we're living without pain. I think maybe that's a pretty tall order. But I don't want to kill myself anymore. So I think that's pretty good.

[Ed.: have this little treat. It takes me about the length of this playlist to read the story.]

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VD5lJJqNUJsITPj3Rg8Sn?si=d262096479104d4f

#fiction #short fiction #science fiction #aliens #madness #suicide #panic attack #disassociation #paranoia #eating disorder #hopeful ending

[allicekitty13]

In 1987 Jasper and Alice meet at the local country club. With all the cards stacked against them can they find their way to happiness? 

Read On Ao3

Read On FFN

                     Let em' say we're crazy, I don't care about that.                  Put your hand in my hand baby, don't ever look back.                              Let the world around us, just fall apart.                       Baby, we can make it if we're heart to heart.

"Don't you have a shift today Whitlock?" The voice rousing Jasper from his sleep was accompanied by a dirty shirt being thrown at his head. The man opened one eye squinting against the bright sunshine currently streaming through his window to look at his best friend Peter leaning against the doorframe of his currently open bedroom door.

"Pete," The twenty-one year old groaned. "The fuck did we do last night?" Jasper remembered they'd decided to go out. He remembered Peter and Charlotte going off to do god knows what. Well, the man had a pretty good idea of what but preferred not to think about it. He definitely remembered the line of shots he'd done with his favorite bartender, Mara. But anything after his seventh Alabama Slammer was either extremely fuzzy or a black spot in his memory entirely. Judging by the way his head was pounding, the sick feeling in his stomach, and the intense craving for a nice greasy burger from McDonald's, it was really no wonder why he struggled to recall the events.

"We got drunk." Peter shrugged. "You know, like we do every Friday. But really man, you gotta get up. It's after noon."

"Haven't you any sympathy for the hungover?" Jasper rolled over as he spoke to lay on his stomach wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep the condition off. Maybe to venture to the living room couch at some point and watch re-runs of sitcoms from the 70's on the sole TV in the apartment.  

"Not when I know you have to be at work in an hour. Rent doesn't pay itself, dude." With that, Peter left his friend alone to the misery of a bad hangover. Daring to open one eye, flinching at the still too bright sun, Jasper spared a glance to the digital radio/alarm clock sitting on the messy bedside table next to him. Although blurry, he could faintly make out the time of 2:13pm. That information caused him to awaken, fully sobering up in an instant.

Peter was right; he did in fact, have a shift soon. In approximately forty-five minutes soon. He would have to skip a shower, something his co-workers wouldn't be too happy about operating in such close quarters without air conditioning. That was nothing compared to the fancy customers he served at the country club who didn't exactly need an excuse to complain. Luckily it was Saturday afternoon, and most of his interactions would involve nothing more than shoving cans of Coors or Tab into coolers for the members to take out to the tennis courts or golf course.

Jasper threw on the polo style shirt he kept around specifically for the stuffy dress code required at the establishment and his cleanest, least beaten up pair of jeans. He quickly brushed his teeth and hopped into his beat-up 75' Gremlin hoping to make the thirty-minute journey in twenty.

Fate, as always, wasn't in the man's favor and he ended up being late. Only by about five minutes, but the glare Angela shot him when he finally arrived to take over the bar caused Jasper to feel as though he'd shown up hours tardier than expected. Once the irritated Angela rushed off to god knows where Jasper busied himself with making sure glasses were clean and everything well stocked for when the night shift arrived in five hours.

Of course, Angela being exceptionally organized and great at her job had, as usual, left very little for Jasper to actually take care of. He often wondered why she spent her time working at the club rather than going to college, but at the end of the day, they weren't really friends. The way Jasper saw it, her personal life was none of his business. If she didn't want to share, he wasn't going to ask. So with everything taken care of, the man figured he might as well venture over to the kitchen for a chat with the equally bored cook Emmett.

Jasper liked the slightly older man; he was a pretty solid dude. Emmett was trying to save up enough money to buy his girlfriend, Rosalie, an engagement ring. So a few months ago picked up a side gig working at the club as a fry cook. Emmett was hard-working, funny, and one of the most genuine people Jasper had ever met. They'd butted heads at first, having vastly different upbringing and thus outlooks on life. Still, over the past few months of working together at the establishment, Jasper found himself looking forward to Saturday shifts exclusively for their engaging talks.

Once he'd double checked to make sure there were no more menial tasks to take care of, Jasper swaggered into the kitchen and plopped upon an empty counter, ignoring the way his friend shook his head at the antics. They had a usual back and forth. Emmett warning the other man that if their boss were to walk in, not only would Jasper receive yet another meaningless warning about cutting his hair. Both parties would be lectured on how inappropriate it was for anyone, let alone an employee, to be acting so unprofessional in the workplace.

Of course, Jasper being reckless had received countless amounts of these warnings. The truth of the matter was that employees were hard to keep. High schoolers could only work so many hours, and most adults willing to take on such a job were quickly worn by the entitled attitude the customer's attracted to such an establishment possessed. Needless to say, turnover rates were high. Management couldn't afford to lose anyone for something like a haircut or unconventional seating choices.

So, as always, Jasper kept his place on the counter, chatting with Emmett about their respective weeks. Rosalie had recently taken a job at The Gap for an excuse to spend more time at the mall that her father couldn't argue with. Emmett had needed to replace yet another part on his frequently failing vehicle setting him back yet again on those engagement ring plans. And Jasper's band had finally scored an opening gig at one of the better-known bars in the area. Sure it wasn't headlining, but for the unknown musician, it was a big deal.

After just short of an hour of conversation, Jasper was in the middle of excitedly going rambling about his dreams of getting away from the California suburbs. Of how he wanted to pack up and head down to Los Angeles and the fabled Sunset Strip, when the bell at the bar counter rang, signaling a customer was waiting for his presence.

What he expected was another irritated woman, upset that she'd had to wait more than thirty seconds for another Tab. Possibly even a man who would chastise him because he paid hundreds of dollars for his families club membership. A fact that the members assumed meant they should somehow receive instant service. What he hadn't anticipated was the absolute goddess waiting patiently at the counter.

She was short, with permed chin-length black hair that she teased her fingers through as she leaned against the counter, talking animatedly with a younger girl. When he stepped behind the bar, she looked over at him with a bright, breathtaking smile. The girl uttered only four words, "Two Coke Classics, please." in her high pitched musical voice.  They were spoken pleasantly, and her attention had been redirected to him entirely, in stark contrast to what he was used to. Typically customers would bark their orders in the mans' general direction before immediately resuming conversing with their companions.

It could have been the breath of fresh air that her attitude brought. Potentially the reason may have been how entirely simple Jasper found it to get lost in her clear blue eyes. In either instance, Jasper must have stood frozen, staring for too long as the girl frowned slightly, her eyes glancing up at the nametag clipped to his shirt collar. "Jasper?" She spoke again, concern lacing her words rather than annoyance.

His name on her lips sparked him into action, "My apologies, ma'am." He finally spoke, reaching into the belly cooler behind him for her order with butterflies beginning to swarm in his stomach.

#Jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #Twilight #twilight fic

[ashhdolll]

One Semester

Part One

Have you ever made love before? Not that quick, rough, pumping sex you have after a night out and the high from that “You up?” text has got you going, no I’m talking about real love making. The love is writhing and rotating between the two of you, I mean you can FEEL it being created as your bodies do that familiar dance. You want more, they want more, because what you’re creating isn’t just physically pleasurable, it stimulates your whole being... See I’ve done that just once in my life before and it has fucked everything up for me every since.

Senior year of college in Greensboro all you want is a fucking blunt, a paycheck and your degree. That’s it. If you haven’t joined an organization by now don’t even worry about it, you’re officially almost nonexistent on campus and that’s how you wanted it to be.

While a good majority of my friends had graduated in May, my senior year had extended to the fall semester so I would have to wait until December to turn my tassel. The fall graduation also extended my living situation another year that I had not planned nor saved for and why would I? There was weed to buy nigga!

To help my parents pay for my rent I decided to return to my old fast food job, I won’t say which one but if you have four dollars and some change you had a nice meal that could hold you for two hours. It was my second go round working there (I had previously worked there my sophomore year) and the manager, Ms. B was just as much of a crazy pastor’s wife looking bitch as before. Just imagine Shirley Caesar 5’9 with permanent shoulder pads and Shenehneh’s wig-you see it? Okay, that was my manager, she was loud, mean, blunt, and still one of the best women I know. She was the type of grandmother that my sensitive soul couldn’t handle so God sent her to me in another way-every reprimand stung for me and I had to learn not to take it personally. She was strong and I loved that about her and she loved me too. I was great with the customers inside and even better with them when I worked the drive thru, coming back to that job was like riding a bike. Listening to an order with four number 3 meals, two large and two medium. Oh and can one of the drinks be a half and half vanilla/chocolate shake? She loved how I would shove the ice in the cups, pour drinks and begin taking another order all before the former car has even paid for their meal. I had to be like that or Ms. B was going to bitch me out in front of everyone and loudly too. Her voice was like the crack of the whip, almost everybody would jump or got into their respective places when they knew she was around or heard her coming. She noticed everything which always annoyed me when I would be trying to sneak a four piece nugget in my pocket to snack on so that I could soothe the hunger pains stabbing my stomach.

I worked five days a week and also had class five days a week so morning shift was my friend. Waking up at 7:30am just barely making it to the 8am shift was a real struggle for me, especially since my shift was supposed to start at the time I got up. But, I had gotten used to it, and at eight in the morning my work started. Slicing tomatoes, breaking up red onions, opening fresh packs of mayonnaise (six containers of each) and also making bacon.

Now the bacon was the hard part. In the morning it was a bit easier since we opened at 10am. If I had gotten to work at my scheduled time I may not have been so overwhelmed but it was my senior year and if I didn’t want to be in my class I needed to graduate what the hell did I look like rushing to work for less than $9 an hour?

There was a process to the bacon that is simply too long to explain. In verbatim, there are six sheet pans you use to cook the bacon in the oven at a time. Six pans = one tin container of bacon. Before morning shift starts, Ms. B wanted ten containers of bacon ready. Two for each sandwich maker and then another six on the side over a warmer filled with a a bit of boiling water-to keep it hot. It was a tiring process, bacon got too burnt? Put another six in, start again. Bacon not done yet? Keep it in for another three minutes then it’ll be perfect. But shit, I haven’t even starting putting the fucking mayo in smaller tins, gotta go to the free- ‘JADA DID YOU CUT UP THEM TOMATOES YET?’ Ms. B would yell that from her office, she knew I forgot. Lemme get these tomatoes. Slicing, slicing, slicing, putting them in the tin containers. Slicing, slicing slicing, more containers. Slicing, slicing, cut your left pointer finger. Red drips down and the pain is almost not there but at the same time you can feel it. “JADA IS THAT BACON BURNING??”

Got to start another six pans.

These were my mornings from May to December. It would usually just be me, Ms. B and another older lady, Ms. Lydia who for some reason enjoyed being Ms. B’s bitch although they were around the same age and same height. Always “yes ma’am”-ing her like a house slave. By 10am the orders started and I was always the one taking orders until about 11 or 11:30, making my job duties change to taking orders and money, washing dishes, cutting bacon to put in the fridge so that it’d be ready for whoever my replacement was and trying not to burn my final six pans of bacon.

Either Jessica or Devon would come in and take over taking orders while I rushed finished my other duties before 1:30pm which was when I was off because at 2pm, I had class. If Jessica was coming in, it was definitely going to be a giggle fest. The customers loved her and so did I. She was five foot even, had beautiful caramel skin was just a naturally beautiful woman with brown playful eyes. All types of men wanted her affection but her girlfriend was the apple of her eye, she couldn’t be swayed. From the moment I met her we clicked. From jokes, to relationships, to marijuana we meshed. It was like I was meant to be there with her to survive this job because she sure as hell made coming to work a lot easier. She had my back at work and outside of it and I always spoke up for her whenever Ms. B made a slick comment about her (She would always say “I don’t know why you and Jessica have to always be talkin’ back” ‘because you always talkin’ hoe’ was my telepathic response).

When Devon would come in, it was a “hi” and “bye” situation. I had avoided that particular burger joint my senior yet to hopefully wipe of greasy memories from working there as a sophomore so to come back was a little embarrassing. There were a few people I knew that were still working there but they weren’t in school. The Locals is what us college kids called them. The Locals weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Most had kids and were in their late 20s or early 30s. Making my stomach drop and forcing me to think “What’s next? What happens when December ends?”

Devon was A Local, born and raised in Greensboro and had went to college for a year before withdrawing-he was an In-Betweener. He was three years my senior but didn’t work there when I did previously yet he was an amazing worker. Always on point, always clear and fast too. He was about 5’10 and had a very strong build, but you knew he also indulged in an extra slice of cake or two. Not chubby but solid. A man. Skin the perfect walnut color with a full low black beard, not that scraggly at all. Devon wore glasses, black frames and square and his work hat covered his completely shaved head. I’ve always liked guys that knew having a shaved head was much better than sporting a barely there hairline or premature balding. Completely shaving it all off told me that that particular man was realistic and in touch with what is. I like people like that, who don’t live in a fantasy and know how to accept things how they are.

Devon was attractive, plain & simple. But was he my type? The hell if I knew, I didn’t think I had a type. After a break up with my boyfriend of two and a half years I didn’t give a fuck about a “type”. Give me liberty or give me dick. But I had gotten tired of the random, late night fucks. It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but having someone that loves you after he orgasms is the thing I missed the most. I was tired of dealing with men in general and my focus was on graduating and paying my rent. Everything else in between that was a distraction. 

Anyway, Devon was a dweeb for sure. When he’d take orders sometimes he’d change his accent. Going from a terrible ‘English’ accent to an even worse ‘African’ accent. He mostly took orders in his normal voice but on occasion when he was extra bored he’d switch up to entertain himself. His Johnny Cash impression was pretty good though.

We had been working together for about two and a half months. By that time I stayed away from almost every side conversation that came my way if it wasn’t from Jessica. I just wanted to work these measly six hours and go the fuck home, nothing more, nothing less. I’d speak to Devon in passing. (“Can I get some ice please?” “He says his burger was supposed to have no ketchup, not no mustard” “Can I get a small fry please?” ) and he was always so helpful. I appreciated it immensely. When things were busy we’d bump into each other at the fry station-it was very tight over there no more than about three feet of space. Everyone was always squeezing, knocking and prodding into one another’s rib cage. Devon would fill up a carton of fries while simultaneously elbowing my tit as I waited to stand over the hot bulbs and get my carton of fries. Other days I couldn’t wait and I’d have to force myself to get there, if he was standing there I’d lightly touch his back to let him know he was about to get pushed out of the way. I couldn’t wait to go home and smoke.

When we had slow moments we’d chat. Or rather they’d talk while I eavesdropped and cleaned my area, because if you weren’t cleaning or stocking something Ms. B would ask you why. Now you standing there looking lazy and stupid. I learned in life that it’s best for you to do what you know needs to be done without someone telling you to. I was cleaning around front counter after the lunch crowd cleared out. The lunch rush is what you fear and also what you thank God for because it allowed three hours to go by and you were really working. No jokes, no kikis, straight up labor.

As I was cleaning up, Devon and the sandwich maker that day Ahmad were joking around like guys do and ended up on the subject of Spongebob Squarepants, which then leads Devon into a ballad of ‘Striped Sweater’.

‘What in the fuck...’ I think to myself. I had to turn away to keep from laughing in their faces. These grown niggas singing a song from a cartoon. Graduate me please. It wasn’t so silly that I was annoyed but it was silly because I hadn’t seen that type of carelessness and vulnerability before from a guy since my break up. A lot of men in college I surrounded myself with were professionals in training. Already thinking about what they were going to do next when I myself hadn’t even started to think about what’s happening right in front of me. But that also made them stiff to me-as if they cared too much about how the world was going to perceive them once they left the university world. I’m sure Devon was not attempting to portray himself as carefree, he was just singing a song from memory. He was just being himself, a funny and unapologetic square who loved Christian hip hop. But that’s when I finally noticed him. He was watching me think because when I turned his way he quickly looked around and pressed on his headset-oh he’s just taking an order. No words come out. Yeah, he was watching me.

The days went by and we would talk more and more. Little bids here and there. His quirkiness & sweetness made me feel good. I didn’t know it then but that’s how I felt. One day, during our shift while it was slow and we were talking he asks “Do you have a Facebook?”

“Yes.” I answered.

“Okay type your name in and then I’ll add you”

And so it began. So not only was I able to see Devon at work, but I’d come home, take a shower and see what post he’d tag me in, reactions to my statuses. I’d see comments on my pictures “You think you cute” “Lips!!” It was fun. Playing that little game. See I’m not stupid, men are men. He looks good, I look good, I mean come on. As fun as this was I knew we were going to get down to business-real business. Grown business. He was still living with his family on the other side of Greensboro and I had my own place. ‘Let me know when you’re ready for me because I am’ was the aura I was beginning to give off to him. I knew he wanted it but didn’t know what to say or how to initiate it properly. He was treading lightly and I appreciated it so I decided to take the reins and invite him over.

The first time he came over I wasn’t nervous. It was going to be my own research project as to why or why not he deserved to be inside me. We were just going to watch something on TV, snack, talk about work and then he’d leave and I’d make my decision from there. I had been off that day but had already showered a crowded library and the gym stench from my tired body. I very much wanted to reschedule his presentation but it would’ve been my third time rescheduling with him and I knew he wouldn’t have came over at all if I pushed it to another day-a guy has his limits. Plus I figured the visit would be short, no more than an hour then back to my blunt and Netflix. A modern romance.

A text then knock at the door alerted me of Devon’s presence. My roommates were gone so I had the apartment to myself for a while with no distractions so I could really make my decision. I opened the door and there he was, fresh off work in his all black uniform. The stench of grease and old meat filled my nostrils and apartment making my stomach turn. I smiled.

“Hey how are you?” I asked motioning for him to come in further.

“I’m good, just tired.” He said while coming in and standing over me. Devon was inches away and I could smell the nuggets he ate on his breath. I looked up at him and realized how much taller than me his when I don’t have my work shoes. I felt little, but safe. He give me a nice warm hug I lowkey didn’t want because now my Dove body wash was getting mixed with grease. As he pulled away he took off his book bag and work shoes and his height fell two inches-that’s better. I looked down as saw three holes in his socks but didn’t say anything, nor did he. He was tired and took the bus to faithfully to make it to work and home every day. ‘I’ll buy him some more’ I thought to myself.

I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, “You want some juice?” I ask. I had bought some just for him because he loves sweet drinks. Sodas, juice, ICEE’s, whatever. As long as it had some type of simple syrup in it, that nigga was gonna drink it. No answer. I turned and looked back at him and caught him looking at me. Like it was the first time he’d really seen me. And technically it was, he’d never seen my outside of work or outside of a picture on whatever social media account. No, he was looking at me now. The at home Jada. The Jada that very rarely wears a bra or panties at home and who has much more under her work uniform then he guessed. Whose skin shines with moisturizer instead of sweat from work, the tattoos he didn’t know she had on that pretty brown skin. He was seeing me for the first time and I knew he liked what he saw. I liked that he liked it.

“Huh” he said.

If you can ‘huh’ you can hear. “Do you want some juice?” I asked again.

“Yea that’s cool”

I dipped my head into the fridge to cool my face and pretend to look around for the one juice that was sitting in front of me. The heat from my face was matching the heat downtown where my second brain (aka vagina) was located.

He sat on the couch and patiently waited as I poured his drink. Talking about some sports notification he got on his phone-like I gave a fuck. As I brought him his cup of juice he reached into his book bag and pulled out a bag of food from our job and traded me. I opened I sat next to him and I saw that it was filled with four chocolate chip cookies from our job. It costs ninety-nine cents to add to any meal and customers rarely took advantage of it. I picked up the slack for their obliviousness and stole cookies whenever the coast was clear. Devon would help and drop them in my bag when I’d be leaving for class. He knew they were my favorite.

I smiled again. Two smiles in less than five minutes? Yes it’s a wrap. “Thank you, I appreciate it” I told him.

“You’re welcome big heed”

I rolled my eyes, this nigga is so corny I love it. “How was work today?”

He sucked his teeth, “Man you know how it is, Ms. B yelling, hungry construction workers, annoying college kids like you.” He smirked at the end and looked at me out of the side of his eye.

“What the hell ever.” I softly nudged him.

The TV was turned to Family Feud and he seemed interested but I was not. Steve Harvey and his constant disbelief at outlandish answers was getting old but I put up with it for the sake of nostalgia.

We chatted, watched TV and showed each other things on our phone. Devon gulped down his juice and set it on my mama’s wooden coffee table. “Your place is nice”, he observed, “You don’t stay by yourself do you?”.

“No”, I answered “I have two roommates but one is moving out in a couple weeks.”

“Are they here now?”

“No”

Silence. Thinking. Thinking about us here alone together. Wondering.Things could happen, they should. Back to reality.

“Do you wanna watch anything else?” I asked him and handed him the roommate.

He took it from me and put it back on the coffee table. “Nah I don’t mind watching this”, he says and he wrapped his arm around me.

Ahh shit. I hadn’t been this close to a male body fully clothed in a minute. Although he smelled like an air fryer he felt so soft and firm. I relaxed but still squirmed under his arm. Not out of being uncomfortable but to give some sort of relief to my pulsating lower brain. This moment had been brewing since we started talking outside of work. The slick comments, innuendos and fake eye rolls had all lead up to this. As soon as Devon pulled me to him, the faucet turned on. Baby she was ready, begging, yearning almost. She needed it. Now.

“You good?” He asked and looked at me. We were so fucking close I could smell the last of the sweet juice on his breath. His pouty full lips were inches away. So no my nigga, I am not good and I would like your lips on both sets of mine, please and thanks.

“Yea, I’m fine” I croaked out. Perfect now I sound like a twelve year-old.

“Mhm okay.” He said still looking at me. Or in me rather because he was looking deep into my eyes. As if my eyes were going to give him the answer to a question he just thought of asking. With his left arm around me he held my face with his right and kissed me deep but gentle (that’s how all of our encounters would be...). Firm enough to let me know he was a grown man but also soft enough to let me know he knew how to take his time. It was like kissing a plump cloud, very soft and I needed more. The kiss went from sweetness to straight up lust in a flash. I pushed myself up to give more mouth and he pressed right back into it. Opening his mouth slightly I went in for the kill and slipped my tongue into his mouth. Tracing it and he held on to my face. He tasted so sweet. The kiss continued and an electric shock went down to the middle of my green sweatpants. I moaned in his mouth. He moaned back. The front door swung open.

It was my roommate that was moving and her boyfriend. And here I was in her couch pre-best orgasm of my life sucking face. Welcome home. Me and Devon quickly separated out of embarrassment and also gratefulness. Had they come five minutes later we would have been much more than roommates, definitely family.

“Hey how are y’all doing?” I asked sweetly. I know we looked nuts, my shirt was twisted, we’re breathing heavy, it smells like fries in here. She’s gonna call the fucking cops on me. We had only been leaving together for a few weeks. We barely spoke or saw each other because she was in nursing school. Gone early in the morning, coming in in the evening and going straight to bed. She didn’t even use the kitchen. A quiet girl who never interfered, I hope she’s doing well. Devon and I scooted away from each other slightly to look more comfortable and less like humping rabbits.

“Good, you?” She said with some surprise in her voice and eyes. Her boyfriend glanced quickly then looked straight ahead making a beeline for Jordan’s room. I didn’t answer and watched as she shuffled behind him. Good, hurry up and get the fuck in your room. I wanted to turn the desire up a few more notches in here. It was early September and in Greensboro the breeze begins to get crisper in the evenings. The cold air they brought in when they opened the door turned the heat down that we had generated.

Bruce Banner was back.

As the door closed to Jordan’s room I looked at him and smiled. He kissed me again and held my face. “You’re so pretty with those dimples.”

I cheesed harder. Marry me.

Devon released my face and checked his phone. “I gotta go lil mama.”

My heart broke. Not really but the one in my vagina sure did. If the sex was like the kiss it was definitely going to give me what I needed, and wanted. 

‘Just ask him if he wanna fuck you from behind in the doorway real quick’, my Lower Brain whispered.

‘Calm the fuck do-well that’s not a bad idea, I don’t think my other roommate is going to be home for a -no. Stop, just relax.’ my Actual Brain decided.

“Oh, well alright. Can you come by again tomorrow?” I asked him hopefully. He stood up and walked to put his shoes back on and I followed. As I walked it felt like a puddle of lust was in between my legs. Send help.  

Devon turned and looked down at me, pulling me close to him by my waist. I could feel the hardness in his pants slowly depleting.

Lower Brain, “Girl that’s just how he gon look when y’all fuck’

RB: Bitch, I know I can’t wait, shut up!’

He kissed me deep again, but quick, so he wouldn’t get us both started again. “I can’t do tomorrow, but Tuesday after I get off at five I can come by.”

LB: Tuesday is a day and a half away, you sure you’ll be okay?

“That’s perfect”, I said looking up at him. “I’m out of class out 4:45.”

And it really was perfect. I’m always out of class around 4:45, he’s off at 5pm but when you work in fast food, you’re never really going to get off at your scheduled time. At five is when you begin to have an attitude because your replacement is taking their time getting to your position to relieve you or they haven’t shown up at all yet-oh and people are still ordering because they have no idea there’s a shift change taking place through the intercom. Then the complaining to whatever manager on duty starts which is when they realize they have to let you go. After stocking up your replacement, stuffing burgers, cookies or even a salad into the bag you brought with you to work and getting your complimentary drink it was finally time to clock out. See by that time it’d be around 5:45pm, Devon would let me know he was on the way or outside and I’d already be showered, shaved and ready to finish what we started. 

“Perfect.” I love the fast food industry. 

#ashleysimonee story #ashleysimonee #ashhdolll #ashhdoll story

[bethhxrmon]

All I Ask of You Pt. 26

“Take a look at that town, take a look at how far I’ve come” - “I Can Do Better Than That” from The Last Five Years

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female OC

Word Count: 2,481

Summary: Everyone’s together, everyone’s happy

Warnings: None, I think I used the word fuck?

A/N: I’m super hyped for what’s coming next! All the character interactions and new ideas I’m getting are great. As always, I love hearing from you guys so please feel free to message me or send me an ask or anything at all!

The masterlist can be found in my bio so these chapters can show up in the tags!

“Okay, it’s official, there’s nothing in all of Nebraska,” Harper stated, staring out the window.

It had been hours since anyone had seen anything aside from the open road and the yellowing prairies. There wasn’t anything interesting to look at, leaving all four teenagers with nothing to do aside from find every single possible way to be the most annoying people on the planet.

Annie was trying to get through War and Peace, though she was doing better than trying. She was around two hundred pages in. Granted, that had more to do with her not sleeping than anything else. If she slept on the drive at all then she wouldn’t have been nearly as far as she was.

Harper had given up on sketching around halfway through Missouri. There were too many bumps on the interstate for them to get anything done. Not to mention that Tony had already put a cap on how many times they were allowed to cuss at the road. So naturally, they were left with nothing to do.

No one let Peter do anything except sit and sleep after he got car sick the day before, and it was for the best. Deep down, Peter had to know that, but it also meant that he couldn’t really do anything except talk about different stuff with Ned.

Meanwhile, Ned was easily having the time of his life. Sure, the drive was definitely a bore, but having everyone in that minivan was easily the best part of it. Getting the chance to go all the way across the country while seeing everything along the way was great. And he never missed a chance to point that out.

“I think if I had a dollar for everytime you said that, I’d be a trillionaire,” Tony replied, “And if it’s any consolation, we’re about to stop in Wyoming.”

Annie raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t that in Canada?”

“No, it’s above Colorado and under Montana. Definitely America,” Ned said, shaking his head.

Peter gasped, “Oh, yeah! It’s that Area 51 place that’s actually not real. Mr. Stark, are you taking us to get abducted by aliens?!”

“Are you kids being serious? First singing Wizard of Oz all the way through Kansas and now this?”

Pepper laughed, “Come on, they’re just having fun. At least, I hope so.”

“Well yeah, I might be a dumb actress, but I at least know all fifty-one states,” Annie deadpanned.

Harper smirked, “I’m telling you, Ned, we gotta dye her hair blonde!”

“Oh hell no! I might actually kill you if you do that,” she exclaimed.

Everything went oddly silent. The only thing that could be heard was the car and the faint tones of classic rock.

Annie rolled her eyes, “Come on, it’s a joke. If I don’t joke about it now then it’s gonna be a touchy subject for a really long time.”

“M-maybe it should be,” Peter said.

She shook her head, “No, because as far as the rest of the world’s concerned, I did nothing wrong. Anyways, um… what’re we getting for dinner?”

It was hard to not get worked up over the situation. Annie figured that right then was the perfect time for her to get over everything. Plus, she hadn’t thought about what she’d said. But if she could make light of it, then everyone else should have too.

They didn’t have to deal with thinking about what she’d done periodically. That by all rights, she should be getting thrown in prison or into a juvenile detention center. Or somewhere that people went when they killed someone else.

Except, what was she supposed to do if it was an accident? Wasn’t it supposed to be different since that guy was a criminal? But then she couldn’t help reminding herself that she had let him go months ago. That if she had just listened to Peter, all of that could have been figured out months ago. In a way, it really was her fault, but she didn’t know how to even begin to talk about it.

“Not sure, you do you kids feel about McDonald’s?” Tony asked.

Harper huffed, “I swear if we have to go to another fast food place, I’m gonna scream. You’re literally a billionaire. The least you can do is take us to a Denny’s or a diner or a burger place.”

“Harper… isn’t that a bit much?” Ned asked.

They shook their head, “Nah, he’s a billionaire, do you know how much money that is? Because I definitely do. And in case you didn't know, its kinda a lot."

           "But you don't have to be a jerk about it," he muttered.

While Ned and Harper started to get into an argument, Peter and Annie began laughing. No one seemed to question Annie and Peter periodically using each other as pillows. Though Peter ended up sleeping on her more often than the other way around. And while Annie wasn’t about to say so in front of everyone else, she liked playing with his hair as he kept drifting off. Or feeling him leaning against her shoulder and kissing him on the forehead when no one was looking. At least, when she thought no one was looking.

“Seems they’re getting along great,” Annie said, smirking a bit as her eyes darted between the others and Peter.

Peter shook his head, “They’ve been doing this for the whole day.”

“Oh, that’s just Harper. If they’re not being a smartass then that’s when you should be worried,” she assured him as the minivan was cut off by a huge semi truck.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” Tony exclaimed.

Pepper chuckled, “Language, honey.”

“What?! I’m the adult here!” he responded incredulously.

“Look, all I’m saying is that a million seconds lasts twelve years, one billion would last for almost thirty-two years, it’s fucking wild!” Harper pointed out.

Peter laughed, “So… this isn’t too crazy to you?”

“Oh, not at all. Trust me, I’d take this over walking on eggshells with my dad for months on end. This is way better,” she told him.

While they kept watching the grass and cows pass by, Peter wrapped an arm around her. There was only so much left of the day, and the sun was just starting to set.

“Awww, look at the happy couple!” Harper cried out, seeing Peter just about to kiss Annie on the cheek.

“There better not be any funny business back there,” Tony warned.

Pepper rolled her eyes, “They’re in a minivan with you, I don’t think anything would be happening.”

Annie felt her face heating up and she buried her face in the crook of Peter’s neck. Why couldn’t she just catch a few more minutes alone with him? Just enough time to curl up to him and hold him without anyone pointing it out and making a huge deal out of it.

At the same time, it was huge. She’d been wanting to be with Peter for months. And then there was that point where it was hard to tell if she liked him or Spider-Man more. She really wished that she had just gotten over her worries and just went for it earlier. It would have saved her so much time, but she couldn’t think about what would have happened if things were different. If Peter wasn’t Spider-Man and if he wasn’t as honest with her as he was being.

Maybe it was obvious that Annie was thinking about something, or Peter was just being really affectionate, but he hugged her close. It made her lean up against him and she rested her eyes for just a little. Though, all she could really remember was Peter gently playing with her hair.

“Oh, come on, she barely slept at all last night, just let her rest for a little while,” Harper pleaded.

Tony huffed, “I’d let her sleep, but we need to get into the hotel rooms.”

“Seriously? I’ll get everything for her,” they insisted.

“No, no, I’ll get it for her, I can take it super easy,” Peter said.

It was Peter shifting slightly that had woken her up. Though she kept her eyes shut for just a bit longer before opening her eyes. The last thing she wanted was Peter feeling bad for waking her up.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, “You know, you guys aren’t good at being quiet. Where are we anyways?”

“Some place in Wyoming. And it’s kinda late, so you know what that means? We gotta go get dinner!” Harper exclaimed.

“It’s more than just some place in Wyoming, it’s the state capitol! We should stay and tour around,” Ned said, getting out of the minivan to grab his luggage.

Pepper laughed, “You know, we need to get all the way over at a decent time. We can do more touristy stuff in Tahoe.”

“Yeah, besides, there’s not much to tour here anyways. Come on, what is there here?” Harper asked, gesturing around.

“Well, there’s a nice sky. Haven’t seen that in awhile. Seriously, Peter, you gotta see this,” Ned practically pulled his friend out of the minivan, Annie following right behind.

Once in the room, Harper couldn’t stop teasing Annie. Pointing out that they definitely noticed that she was constantly cuddling up to Peter. That they couldn’t understand why she hadn’t done anything sooner.

Annie pulled her brush from her suitcase, raking it through her wavy hair, “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured out what?”

“Why it took me so long… come on, you know that I can’t just ignore all the shit with Greg. I mean, I could for awhile. Like, until I moved away, but when I first started liking Peter, well, come on. I couldn’t just make the same mistake twice,” Annie said, yanking her brush through a rats nest that had formed in her hair.

Harper frowned, looking at the sketch they had been trying to do earlier, “You’re right… I didn’t really think about it. While you’re at it, you should probably tell Peter about your baggage.”

“You can’t be serious. It’s been over a year, and no. No don’t look at me like that. What happened with Greg and what he ended up doing wasn’t my fault,” Annie insisted, setting the brush on the nightstand.

Harper closed the book, “But he deserves to know anyways. How many things did he tell you about that he was scared of telling you?”

“But it means nothing now!” she exclaimed, sitting on the bed.

They shook their head, “It means a lot now. With Carnival running around New York. You know what he’s capable of and what he can do. Peter deserves to know too.”

“I know… but can’t it just wait? Things are already difficult, I just want a little more time with him. Well, more time for things to be as normal as they’re gonna be. Please, this is the best things have been in weeks, Harper. I’ll tell him at the cabin or wherever we’re going. It’ll matter there more anyways.”

“Fine. But if that ends up hurting you-”

“It won’t. Greg’s not even around anymore. You know that. Carnival is, but he isn’t, there's no reason for me to make a big deal of it. Especially when it won't make much difference."

Right then, there was a knock at the door. There wasn't supposed to be anything to worry about, but what if someone heard? She just wanted more time to keep things normal. However, if she had been overheard, then she wasn't so sure how that was going to work out.

Although, it was obvious that Harper did not hold the same worries that she did. When they opened the door, it was only Peter and Ned coming to get them for dinner. Which was supposed to be at an unspecified location.

Harper huffed, “I swear, if it’s McDonald’s, I might actually kill this guy. Enough said.”

It ended up with them going to a burger place in the downtown part of Cheyenne called Two Doors Down. Something which Harper was quick to voice their relief over.

“Oh, come on, some chicken nuggets never hurt anyone!” Ned protested.

They rolled their eyes, “So you say, but I even look at another chicken nugget, I’m gonna throw myself out of the minivan.”

Annie slipped an arm around Peter as they sat in the large booth, “See? Told you they like him.”

“Yeah, so Harper’s always like that?” Peter asked.

“Hey! I can hear you two talking shit!” Harper snapped.

“I thought I grounded you from cussing,” Tony said, taking his seat.

Harper grinned, “Well, actually, you said I was banned from cussing at the road. I’m cussing at my dear friends. They’re not the road.”

“We’re friends?!” Ned exclaimed.

“Um… yeah? You’re a chill dude, a um, hoot and a half if you will,” Harper replied, as Tony rolled his eyes.

The man sighed a little, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Okay, fine, Harper, you’re grounded from cussing for the rest of the night.”

“What?! This is a violation of my first amendment rights,” they scoffed before messing around with the napkin around their silverware.

Annie laughed, “Actually, it’s really not, but whatever you say, Harper.”

“No one asked you!” they snapped, crossing their arms.

When the waitress made it to their table, which was full of laughing and chaos mainly thanks to Harper. They were the first to order, getting a burger that was supposed to have a few slices of pineapple on it. Ned went for the spiciest burger that they had, asking for them to try and make it as spicy as possible. Peter asked for the burger that had avocado on it. And Annie, wanting to continue the trend of odd toppings went with a burger that had an egg on it. Getting to the adults, Tony got a blue cheese burger, also wanting to continue the odd pattern. However, Pepper unintentionally wrecked it by ordering a normal cheeseburger.

Tony shook his head, “I’m disappointed. I thought you were gonna get that tortilla burger and keep this trend of funky burgers.”

“Oh? That was supposed to be a thing? Well, sorry about that,” Pepper responded, giving a shrug.

It was easily the most relaxed things had been in Annie’s opinion, and she couldn’t help smiling a little bit as she felt Peter’s hand reach for hers under the table. Everything that had happened was still on her mind, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling like things were falling into place. She had her closest friends and she was finally with Peter.

For just a little bit, she had a chance to really forget everything from earlier. No one knew aside from everyone at the table. And they weren’t holding anything against her. Annie knew that everything was going to get fixed. It had to.

Taglist: @flushings-here / @gaypanda / @parkerpuff / @gryfinpuffs / @ijustdontknowsometimes / @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy / @buzzinglee / @lcy-thot / @twilightparker / @dolphinsarecuteandstuff / @moonstruckholland

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x oc #peter parker fanfic #spider-man #spider-man x reader #spider-man x oc #marvel #mcu fanfic #mcu #fanfic #writing #original characters #all i ask of you fic

[platonic-plots]

I thought you were someone else.

Request/Summary: After living in alleyways for months on a case, you were tired of living off of next to nothing. When a stranger leaves his wallet unattended, it almost seems like fate.

Pairings: sam x platonic!reader, dean x platonic!reader

Words: 1,729

Warnings: swearing, brief mention of death

Specific time/Important info: this is my entry for @waywardnewcomer​ ‘s writing challenge, with the prompt “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

You wiped the dirt from your forehead as you took a step into the diner.

“Salt and burn?” the owner asked you as you met her at the counter. Flo was a retired hunter, probably in her late 60s, who’d opened this place a while back. After being in the business for so long, she could spot a hunter from miles off; that’s how she’d gotten to know you. Usually, she’d treat hunters like any other customers (although, she would throw in a free beer or pie every once in a while if she felt like they needed it). You were a little different, though. You guessed that your young age was the reason she always let you clean up in the bathroom, or cooked you a hot meal on the house every now and then, or made sure you knew she was there for you if you needed anything. You’d been in this town for a few months at this point. Initially, you’d arrived for only one case, but you quickly became side-tracked by lots of smaller ones. After all, you had a big heart - you wanted to do everything you could to make sure everyone was safe, even if you were only a teenager. You still hadn’t solved the main case, but you were close.

“Yeah, but this one did not want to leave,” you gave a small chuckle at the end.

“I can tell,” replied Flo as she threw you the key to the bathroom. Smiling in response, you hurried to clean yourself up and change into a spare set of clothes you carried in your backpack, not wanting to waste anyone’s time. 

You came back out the bathroom and gave Flo her key back. As you did, she slid a bottle of water across the counter. You quickly unzipped your bag, doing your best to round up the few coins in the bottom of it, hoping you could scrape together a dollar. 

“Don’t worry about it, hun.”

“No I-”

“Y/n.” She used her grandma voice on you. 

“A-are you sure?” You appreciated everything she did for you but, at the same time, you didn’t want her to know that you didn’t have much to call your own. 

“It’s a bottle of water, y/n, I don’t think it’s going to bankrupt me.”

You smiled gratefully: “Thank you, Flo.” The harsh reality was, the only times you didn’t have to scavenge or steal food and drinks were when Flo gave them to you.

After saying goodbye, you left the diner and turned the corner to find the outdoor seating area. You looked around. It wasn’t busy, but there were a few people scattered about. Two men caught your eye.

“Hey, Dean, come look at this,” the taller one called over to the other. You watched carefully as the second one, ‘Dean’, took his burger from the table and met with the other man. He’d left two drinks unattended, as well as… You craned your neck slightly. Ah, his wallet. On the one hand, you usually had a heart of gold. On the other hand, he shouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave such a valuable possession just out in the open.

A girl’s gotta eat. Hell, a girl’s gotta survive. That’s quite a difficult task without money. Checking the two men were both looking the other way, you made your way past their table, swiped the wallet as subtly as you could, and carried on walking.

You held your breath.

“Hey! Kid!”

Shit.

Without thinking twice, you took off running. At least, you thought, you knew this place better than they did. With every twist and turn through almost forgotten roads, you regularly looked behind you – the two men weren’t letting you get away that easily. It had been merely minutes, but you felt like you’d been fleeing from them for an eternity.

You’d subconsciously betrayed yourself; the next thing you knew, you were nearing the back of the alleyway that you’d adapted to be your ‘home’ since you’d arrived at the town.

‘Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.’ These men were complete strangers. They could’ve been murderers for all you knew, and you’d led them straight to where you resided. ‘Great idea, y/n,’ you thought to yourself.

They’d been a fair few meters behind you as you ran, so there was a slim chance that they hadn’t seen the exact turn you’d taken. Not wanting to take any chances, you hid behind a few boxes and began to look through the wallet – the men seemed overly eager to get it back, after all.

As soon as you’d emptied its contents, one word returned to ring around your head: ‘shit.’ There were about five IDs stuffed in one of the pockets, all depicting different aliases, mainly just of John Doe names. Not to mention the abundance of credit cards, all under a variety of names. You’d pieced the puzzle together – this, plus the whole ‘rolling up to a new town for the first time in pristine suits’ thing. From your experience, it was enough to set alarm bells ringing.

They were hunters. They were the Winchesters.

You’d never met them before, and you’d only glimpsed at pictures, but your parents had worked a lot with John in the past, and even been on a few cases with the brothers themselves. They were the best in the business – they were not people to mess around with.

You barely had time to think about it as you heard footsteps approaching.

“Sam, I think that’s her.”

You messily shoved the items back into the wallet before standing up to face them, sliding the wallet across the floor, back to the man you knew was Dean.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Hey! You don’t steal peoples sh- wait, excuse me? What’s that even supposed to mean?” He was far past angry, and you were approaching terrified.

“Dean, she’s just a kid.” Sam had been looking around at where you’d been living for the past few months – there was an unrolled sleeping bag, a couple of blankets, two rucksacks and a small tattered suitcase, all tucked behind a dumpster. He looked at you with sympathetic eyes and continued to speak, ignoring the protests from his partner. “My name’s Sam and this is my brother Dean.” He took a small step forward before speaking again, “you shouldn’t be out here alone – there’s something going on around here, it isn’t safe.”

You quickly reached over and took the notebook from inside one of the bags and flipped to the right pages, handing it to the friendlier of the two.

“I-I know, at first I thought it was changelings, but th-then I realised it couldn’t have been,” you paused as your shyness was getting the better of you.

The men looked at you in shock, and Dean broke the silence: “You’re a hunter.”

You gave a small nod in response.

He didn’t think before he blurt out “Aren’t you a little young? Where are your parents?” You watched his face physically drop as he realised that he could almost definitely guess the answer, and there was a touch of empathy in his gaze.

“I turned sixteen a couple of months ago. My dad was killed by hellhounds, I think it was just over three years ago. My mom committed suicide about a week later.”

Over the years, you’d learnt that you weren’t very good at talking about yourself or talking to strangers – you wanted to change the topic back ASAP.

“Um, at first, it was only the kids and mothers who went missing. There were a few moms who I interviewed a couple of days before anything happened to them, but they didn’t have any bruises on the backs of their necks. And now whole families have gone – I-I think it only went for kids at first because they were easy targets. I’m certain it’s a shape-shifter, because I’ve saw its shedded skin around the alleyways a couple of times, a-and it’s hiding out in the forest on the east of the town. I haven’t killed it yet because I’ve never been up against a shifter before, and it’s kinda hard to get enough information when almost nobody knows what they are,” you smiled slightly.

Sam had been looking through the notes you gave him with an impressed look on his face, and he was looking at his brother in a way only siblings could – you were watching a silent conversation unravel.

“Y-You can take the notebook with you.” A voice in your head told you how stupid you sounded – these hunters were fully grown adults, they didn’t need your help. Hell, these were the Winchesters. By your logic, if they needed your help, they were well and truly fucked. “I-I mean, if you want to, bu-but it pro-“

“That’s kind of you to say, uhh…”

“Oh – um – Y/n, I’m Y/n.”

“Thank you, Y/n. But we won’t be needing it.” ‘Oh,’ you thought, ‘I was just trying to help.’ Sam turned to Dean, who continued from where his brother stopped.

“We think it’d be more helpful if you came with us. We teach you all you need to know about fighting these guys, and you could tell us everything you’ve found since you got here.” He paused momentarily: “And maybe if you don’t end up hating our guts, we could go get some pie after it, and maybe you could stay with us for a little while. You seem like a smart kid – a good kid, Y/n.” Dean looked around at your belongings. “We could help you get back on your feet, y’know, give you some support.”

“Wow, oh, uh, thank you. That really means a lot, but I couldn’t do that to you. You barely know me; I don’t think you’d want this much baggage trailing after you.”

Sam got down to your level. “And you barely know us, yet you’ve just told us everything you’d spent months trying to research and figure out, so I think there’s already some trust between us, don’t you? Hunters are there for hunters, we’ve been in your position before. You don’t have to come with us, but you also don’t have to keep living behind a dumpster.” You shared a smile. Although you’d taken a few seconds to think about it anyway, your mind was already set.

“So what type of pie do you guys like?”

when i was writing this i got into one of those moods where every word that i type is awful and stupid but i don’t 100% hate the final outcome???? i hope you guys enjoyed it :)

forever tags: @phonegalhelp @pointlesscasey @unicorn-sparkles123 @pinapplequeen16 

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #SPN #SPNFamily #spn imagine #platonic!reader #platonic reader #platonic fic #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #Sam Winchester #sam winchester imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #supernatural fic #platonic!reader x dean winchester #platonic!reader x sam winchester #i thought you were someone else

[theliterateape]

Requiem for a Bartender

By David Himmel

When I was growing up at summer camp in Decatur, Michigan, I would overhear tales of a mystical place called the M-40. The camp counselors—men and women of drinking age and those close enough—would gather at this M-40 after long days in the summer sun wrangling rambunctious children. In the mornings, huddled over Styrofoam cups of coffee from the mess hall, they’d reconnect the pieces from their nights. Some wore M-40 t-shirts purchased from the bar. Kids with a few bucks cash could find the right counselor to buy them a shirt. They would wear it with pride until the camp owners caught wind and banned the t-shirts. After all, you can’t have alcoholism advertised by thirteen-year-old kid billboards at a summer camp designed to churn out intelligent, diversified members of society.

I never had the scratch for a t-shirt, but I was determined to one day go drinking—whatever that was—at the M-40. And when I could do that, I’d get me a t-shirt.

It wasn’t the beer that I was so drawn to. It was the camaraderie the counselors seemed to share because of this place. The M-40, I’d come to learn, was the closest thing to reattachment to the real world beyond the bubble of a summer spent in ignorant bliss. Because of the way legend takes form, this little bar in this little southwestern Michigan farming town transcended drinking. It was a mecca of love and good times.

✶

I’m struggling to write this. It’s almost a year since we went in to pandemic lockdown. I’m struggling to write this in the same way I’ve struggled to write anything over the last year. In short, I’m tired of sitting. Tired of typing. Tired of completing almost every interaction through a computer screen. But right now, the struggle is comfortably different. Right now, I want nothing more than to be at a bar, slouched over the wood engaged in deep conversation and debate over the most importantly trivial of matters, drinking beer—lots of it—from room temperature mugs that began frosty while pumping five dollar bills into the jukebox stacking the playlist with ’90s grunge and alt-rock with the occasional disco, Motown, or Credence Clearwater Revival slipped in for spice.

Specifically, I want to be drinking at the M-40. The M-40 before the fire. Before it was gutted and cleaned up. The M-40 with the gently tilted pool table and the low lights and the bathroom doors that don’t latch. The M-40 where we could smoke and dance on the banquet chairs. The M40 where all our summer friends were together all at once and where Steve the bartender kept the good times rolling by taking our money and filling our pitchers, feeding us quality burgers and the most perfect mozzarella sticks to ever grace a taste bud.

That’s all I want to do now. That’s the only place I want to be. And I have Steve to thank for this kind, nostalgic struggle.

 ✶ 

Steve McIntyre, who died February 17 at 47 years old from complications of diabetes, wasn’t the first bartender I met. He wasn’t the first bartender I befriended. But Steve was the bartender that was most impactful. I learned to drink in Decatur. First, as a teenage camp counselor where three cans of Miller Lite would put me on my ass like I was leaving Las Vegas. I graduated to Jim Beam and Coke on picnic blankets late at night down at the Lake of the Woods Public Access boat ramp. And then, finally, when I was twenty-one and old enough to saddle up to three foot of wood in front of a mirror and a rack of snack size potato chips, I drank pitchers of beer at the M-40.

As camp counselors, we were a ragtag group of kids from mostly midwestern states. The rest of us were Australians, Brits, Israelis, Dutch, Germans… A global economy with collective goals—drink, laugh, dance, play pool, maybe screw, try not to puke.

The Decatur Townies didn’t like us. We were the “Jew counselors” from that “Jew Camp” down the road. It was far from an accurate description of us, but the feeling was palpable. We always tried to make friends with Townies—an affectionate and accurate term for the year-round regulars. Despite the stinkeye that came from those select townies, we camp folks thrived. And, while I’ve never seen the M-40 books, it’s impossible to assume that our time there did anything other than help feed the bottom line with delicious American USD.

Steve ran the joint. Tending bar was the family business. His father, Tom, ran it the generation before mine. Steve and I became fast friends. That’s the bartender’s job, after all—to befriend their loyal patrons. But I was also young, boiling over with energy, and thirsty to learn the ways of drinking legally in public. Steve gave me, gave so many of us that arena.

The drinks were cheap. The food was good. The company was always preferable to any other. There were the big nights out where twenty of us counselors would make the short drive from camp to the M-40 and join the twenty or thirty Townies for loud dancing and heavy drinking, but there were the quieter nights, too.

I shouldn’t, but I do remember the night I, along with Jorg Stender, my counterpart back down at the sail dock, saddled up at the bar. Jorg was in the mood for Beam and Cokes. Steve happily obliged. A few Townies were at the other end of the bar as Jorg and I drank and talked, drank and talked, drank and talked. Every other drink, as if he were a finely tuned Swiss watch, Steve would come by, join us for a few minutes of casual conversation. He slid perfectly into and out of the deep, drunken nonsense Jorg and I were churning out.  

I worked at the camp only one summer while old enough to drink at the M-40 but I kept in touch with Steve over the winters and the years. He (and the bar) was on my Holiday Letter mailing list. On occasion, when drinking on my own, I’d pick up the phone and (drunk) dial the bar just to talk to Steve. It wasn’t out of loneliness, it was out of a desire to have a drunken conversation with my favorite bartender. He’d always say, “When you come back out here, Dave, we gotta go fishing.” I would have liked that. But distance and other silly excuses kept that fishing trip from happening.

A few times we made our way to The 40 to see Steve during the winter months, again, long after I had stopped working summers there. So, sometimes, it’d be years from when we last saw Steve. The surprised but welcoming look on his face when we’d walk through the door felt better than even that first cold beer.

In early 2001, a small group of us headed to The 40. I was home from college in Las Vegas. Dan Bates, Doug Bates, James Boulware, and Jeff Miner all made the few hours’ drive to meet at the M-40 for a single night of revelry. The bar was mostly empty. We had Steve all to ourselves. The six of us got good and loaded falsely accepting invitations to go fishing with Steve, but desperately wishing we had the availability that coming summer to cast a line and crack a beer in Steve’s fishing boat on that summer lake of ours in the woods.

We brought an even bigger gang of summertime friends in October of 2004 to celebrate Miner’s fortieth birthday. Miner was the elder of the group and about thirteen of us old camp pals traveled in from all over the country to celebrate Miner’s advanced age at the most appropriate place possible: the M-40. This celebration even gave me and one of the great loves of my life an opportunity to reconnect as part of the party planning committee. No romance was rekindled, but we hadn’t talked in more than four years proving that Steve’s M-40 was the Great Uniter. Would everyone have flown in to celebrate Miner if the party were at a Dave & Buster’s? I’d like to think so, but probably not.

✶ 

During the summer of 2000, there was a second bar counselors would frequent on nights out called BT’s located a town over in Sister Lakes. BT’s was easy on fake IDs, so the underage kids preferred it to The 40. One day, my seventeen-year-old brother asked if he could borrow my ID to get into the bar. Despite him being a few inches lankier than I am, we could easily pass for one another.

“Yeah, you can use it tonight,” I told him, “but do not take this to the M-40. Steve knows me. You won’t get it. It’ll be a bad move. BT’s only.”

The instructions were simple. My brother did not follow them. The next night, I went to The 40 not knowing what my brother had tried and the first thing Steve said to me was, “Dave.” He was disappointed. “What’s this bullshit with your brother using your ID to get in her last night?” I was embarrassed, apologetic, and furious.

The following morning, I caught up to my brother walking back from breakfast in the mess hall. “Eric!” I shouted to him as I ran to catch up. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“You took my ID to The 40. You did the one thing I asked you not to do.”

“So? I didn’t get in.”

“I know! But you pissed off Steve and made me look like an asshole. And you put the rest of the counselors in a bad light. Steve’s my friend and you tried to pull one over on him.”

Eric got more defensive. I got more angry. Then Doug and James had to pull me off of him and remind me that beating my younger brother to a pulp in front of campers was an even worse idea than trying to get one past Steve. But was it?

As the years went on, the M-40 lost its status as the bar for counselors to go to. The next generation didn’t have the affection for it, didn’t see its charm, didn’t appreciate how Steve and his bartenders wouldn’t let nineteen-year-olds drink. And after too many of-age counselors causing too much trouble, the M-40 unofficially closed its doors to those counselors from that “Jew camp.” And I get it. These kids ruined a good thing they never took the time to understand.

✶ 

The news of Steve’s death came to us via the M-40 Facebook page. Dan Bates texted a small group of us the link. I quickly shared it in a larger text then a Facebook message. Through our phones, these old camp friends had our own little memorial for Steve, the lovable bartender, the best Townie in Decatur, the man who wanted to take us fishing.

Today’s M-40 doesn’t look or feel like it does in our memories. It’s brighter now, fresher. A fire a few years back cleaned the place up a bit. I think it lost the charm in the smoke and flames, but Steve was always there. And like any bartender worth their salt-rimmed glasses, that was enough to keep me charmed.

#M-40 Bar #Decatur Michigan #Steve McIntyre #Lake of the Woods Camp #Greenwoods Camp #Bar Stories

[luna-verse]

Chem Trails (My 'Howl')

I. It started in Middle England with stagnant thoughts and incestual friendships- It was bleak wet skies that smelt of burning rubber, rotten souls and home- It was busy stale beer pubs full of laughter and cocaine and Irish accents and men are always too drunk to go home and see their kids- It was houses joined on to houses joined on to houses joined on to houses joined on to corner shops where the immigrants were forced to live and work and die- It was backyard grass forcing it's way through concrete slabs to meet the summer parties and twenty degree barbeque excitement- It was once your feet got cold they were cold for six months unless you were lucky enough to have someone in your bed to warm them up against- It was one cold muddy festival a year for screaming at rock bands you list interest in ten years ago and drowning in the weather and rum and Carling- It was small business pubs with gone off ale for one pound a pint and drowning in odd company and rum and Carling- It was Wetherspoons and ecstasy and treats and dreams and walking everywhere cause everyone was too poor and too drunk to drive- It was Sunday family beef pork lamb Yorkshire pudding roast potato grandma's hugs and sleeping grandad, hungover naps on the sofa and red red wine- It was everyone's parents splitting up except yours cause you were adopted and went to private school- It was White Lightning big bottle pills poker and coats in the park to the tune of skateboards and fist fights- It was art degree false friendships smashing plates, juxtaposing mattress forts, white wine and Smallville- It was selfish political statements badly represented by still performance and pornography and skipping lectures to sleep and play Pathfinder- It was Nottingham and Coventry and Birmingham and punks and gigs and fake hair and not going home- It was falling in love in hammocks and getting your heart broken in portaloos It was MySpace and Facebook and FOMO and anime conventions- It was jealousy over boys and girls and perfect snippets of their perfect lives abroad and fear of being trapped in this dry concrete for the rest of your life- It was part time jobs in pubs which dominated your social life and every penny you earnt went straight back into that till, serve one, drink one, serve one, drink one, can't pay the rent- It was memories and friends and cocaine addictions and alcoholism, lovely souls with sad eyes, kinky sex, cups of tea, sweet smiles and deep hugs- It was tearful goodbyes and googly eye stickers and hope and fear and need- It was not being capable of being happy in the cold, seasonal affective, drunk, smells like coke, smells like rain, smells like envy- It was all this that pushed me away yet pulls me back, push me away, trap me back, can't ever leave a good home, get lost.- II. So I left. - I left for the hot sand blue sky sunset Seaford forty degrees beach just across the road and the road is ninety one kilometres long- I left for the mattress on the floor share a room share a bed share my secrets money doesn't last long here- I left for the hottest Christmas of my life followed by selling my body on Boxing Day I left for Deck bar cocktail oyster Australian accent still got a drinking problem but now it costs more- I left for not having access to Cocaine anymore thank God, but do you want to buy Meth instead?- I left for lingerie high heels, secrets and lies, hundreds of dollars, no dollars, star signs, starry skies, stars in my eyes, can't keep secrets, gotta tell someone, don't fuck it up- I left for an hour and a half on the train and forty five minutes on the tram and a ten minute walk to work- I left for five am possum attack man attack park, kookaborough screaming dawn, parrot party in a tree all night, shit all over the cars- I left for inner city whorehouse sweat hair waiting room chair pizza crackheads WWE TV, girlfriend experience porn star extra thirty, no natural don't you know that's legally rape?- I left for Munchkin Azul Catan chessboard Scorpio rivalry comedy nang don't give me that spiritual crap!- I left for Somersby sunny day vegan scrambles Mercedes Champagne, broken glass laugh, piano washing up - never alone- I left for not having my own bedroom but being welcome in everyone's bed - I left for queer identity if you want one, choose a gender, choose a partner, want two? Want what you can't have, never want again- I left for best friend wedding VISA, do you want to stay forever? Marry me, emerald glee, indecision but love forever- I left for crack secrets, stay hydrated, look after yourself, dopamine shortage, Vitamin C, taco burger cider beer mdma ketamine acid- I left for bush doof LSD lose your mind, every time's a silly time, tell your friends, will this trip ever end?- I left for van life, pattern curtain, three in a bed, winter beach, sandal tree, never in your life have you felt this free- I left for more self esteem and a harder shell against the harsh insults of the world- I left for hard smashing my box twenty rubber dicks lights on peep show early morning thrush for minimum wage- I left for toothaches broken collarbones sliced fingers ripped breasts urine infections, please expand the NHS, I can't afford to get out of bed- I left for salty sea rainy season Pad Thai hundred kilometres per hour scooter no licence, can't see, get in the sea, Arrhoy Makh Mah island life paradise is cheap but doesn't last forever- I left for forced holidays VISA runs plane food sim card swimming tuktuk airport homelessness freedom and not being able to afford my safety but I can always afford a beer - I left for choice and freedom- I left cause the good outweighs the bad, and while the bad is much worse, for lack of pubs to drown in and doctors for the poor, the good will be my Paradise.- III. OH acid you opened my eyes- OH Emerald you opened my heart- OH Katie you gave me the world- OH Lachlan you helped me keep it- OH Thailand you set me free- OH England you patch me up for free- OH Great Prostitute in the Sky, you shower me with riches - OH Great Alcoholic in the Gutter, you keep me in poverty, you humble me. - OH to the Great Avocado, the humble noodle, the sacrificial egg. - OH to never being alone, to always being home- OH to every great home, to Coventry, to Nottingham, to Frankston, to Melbourne, to Koh Phangan, to Wellington, to Pai, to all these noble strongholds of my life. - OH to every choice I've made, without one I would never be here as I am today And OH to knowing this long poem will never truly end.

[radioactivedelorean]

Human Sample #6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Chapter 6: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Ford was surprised to find that Rick stuck to his word. They worked for six hours straight without eating, the whole time the scientist helping Ford construct the engine. With the pair working together all morning and part of the afternoon, the engine was completed by four PM. By this time, both men were covered in grease and oil and were starving. Ford hadn’t eaten since five that morning, Rick since nine thirty. The engine sat on the workbench, fully assembled and ready to be fitted into the ship when it was constructed.

Ford wiped his forehead with an oily hand. He was exhausted and looked as though he was about to collapse. “Right, now what?”

“Now,” Rick stated, leaning against the workbench and doing a final check over the blueprints to make sure they had built the engine properly. “We go and - uurp - get cleaned up and go out for something to eat.”

Ford looked at him. “So you’re not ordering takeaway this time?”

“Nope,” Rick pushed himself up and started heading out the garage. “We’re going to the bar in Millbrook street.”

Ford looked concerned. “I don’t drink. You might, but I don’t.”

Rick gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t be such a p-uurp-pussy. One beer won’t kill you. ‘Sides, I’ve seen you sneak drinks from my flask before.”

Ford couldn’t argue with that. “Fine, one beer.”

The pair left the garage and walked back around the corner to the apartment block. Outside, standing around the dumpsters by the side of the building, there were several young men smoking something Ford knew weren’t cigarettes. They had numerous cans of alcoholic drinks with them. Ford stuck his hands in his pockets and kept his head down as he passed, picking up the pace and sticking close to Rick. He recognised one of the men as the one who had hit him with the bottle the other day. The group stared at them as they walked past.

Ford breathed a sigh of relief once he and Rick stepped into the elevator. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He had grease and oil stains all over his face and his clothes - ones that would have likely ruined the fabric. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows all day and his forearms were coated in the black liquid too. Rick wasn’t much better - the man’s grey-blue hair streaked with oil and his labcoat marked with dirty handprints. They both needed to get cleaned up and changed.

Rick was the first to use the shower, while Ford scrubbed at his arms and hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink. The old shirt he’d been wearing was ruined, so he tossed it aside to use it again the next time they worked on the ship. His jeans had miraculously escaped the oil stains and had remained quite clean. As soon as Rick was out of the bathroom, Ford took the opportunity to get himself cleaned up. He washed his hair several times until he was convinced all the oil was out of it. He changed into a clean, fresh shirt and a pair of smart trousers, his hair combed to the left. Rick was wearing quite possibly the smartest thing he owned - a crisp blue button-up shirt and dark jeans. Ford could have sworn the man had tried to tame his wild mess of hair - it looked slightly less mad for once.

The pair exited the apartment and Rick drove them across town towards the bar. Ford thought it was slightly amusing that they had at least tried to dress smartly, yet they were still driving in the heap of old junk that barely qualified as a car. It made this awful rattling noise whenever it went above thirty, which - considering Rick’s driving style - was all the time. Ford briefly wondered if he would have to be the designated driver of the night, since it was practically guaranteed that Rick would be shitfaced within an hour. His limited experiences of bars and drinking in general had taught him that when people said they would go for ‘one drink’, one drink led to three, which led to ten which eventually led to them being taken into police custody for being drunk and disorderly. Ford suspected that Rick would end up getting into a fight tonight with at least three of the bar’s patrons.

Rick screeched to a halt in an empty space in the bar’s parking lot and got out, locking the car as soon as Ford had climbed out. Ford still thought it was a miracle he hadn’t died yet with the way Rick drove. The bar wasn’t as run-down as Ford had expected it to be. It was an old building which must have been refurbished at some point, judging by the distinct difference in brickwork halfway along one wall. Half of the windows were stained glass, depicting scenes of field and mountains, while the other half were covered by shutters. Three large chimneys stood on the roof, spewing smoke out into the evening sky. The main entrance was a large, solid wood door with a huge, old-fashioned doorknob on the side. Rick pushed the door open and went inside, Ford following closely behind.

The bar was alive with chatter, most of the booths along the sides of the walls packed with people. Several small, round, wooden tables filled the main floor and the bar itself ran along the opposite wall to the door. A couple of people turned to look at the newcomers, but they were ignored for the most part. Ford looked over to see Rick already standing by the bar, ordering drinks. The six-fingered man stood beside him, drumming his fingers on his leg nervously. He could feel more than one pair of eyes on the back of his head.

“What do you want to drink?” Rick muttered to him, his eyes scanning the list of drinks. He pushed the drinks menu over to Ford.

Ford looked over the piece of card in front of him, trying to decide what had the least amount of alcohol in it. It would be plain embarrassing if he let himself get drunk in front of everyone. “I’ll have a pint of Blueberry Ale,” He said quietly. He still wasn’t comfortable drinking alcohol, but at least something like ale had a reasonably low alcohol content. If he made the one pint last the whole time, he wouldn’t get drunk.

Rick nodded and looked over at the bar attendant. “I’ll have a pint of Blueberry Ale and a Jack and Coke,”

The barman nodded. “Right, that’ll be five bucks,” he replied. Rick passed over a five-dollar bill and the barman started pouring the drinks. The pair took their respective beverages and sat down at a table. Ford kept looking around at the other customers. Most of the people in the bar seemed to be men their age, some with families and some on their own. He sipped his drink and looked over the table at Rick, who was busy adding small swigs of drink from his flask into the glass on the table.

“You should have ordered something stronger if you were just going to add more booze to it,” Ford smirked, looking over the menu.

“There’s nothing available in any bar on Earth that’s as - uurp - strong as I want it,” Rick retorted, letting his own lips curl up into a slight smirk. He showed the flask to Ford. “Want some?”

Ford put a hand up in defense. “No thanks. I’ll be utterly shitfaced within an hour if I add anything to mine. I’ll pass.”

The scientist shrugged and took a subtle swig from the flask before tucking it back into his pocket. He picked up another copy of the menu and had a look. “Suit yourself. Someone’s gotta be sob-uurp-ber to drive me home.”

Ford chuckled. “You’d better not get pissed.”

“Bite me,” Rick hid his smirk behind his glass, taking a drink of his partially-altered Jack and Coke. The man opposite him rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. The Blueberry Ale was sweet and not too strong. Ford could taste the alcohol in it, but it wasn’t enough to get him drunk, thankfully. He had a sneaking suspicion that Rick was going to spike his drink at some point during the evening.

A waitress came over to them a moment later, with a small notebook and a pen in her hands. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?” She was a rather curvy young woman, with flowing blonde hair and sky blue eyes. Ford found himself staring at her chest, despite the nagging voice in his mind telling him it was rude to stare.

Rick raised an eyebrow and coughed, snapping Ford out of it. Ford flushed crimson and looked away, having another quick look at the menu. “Yeah, I’ll have the well cooked grilled steak and sweet potato fries with salad, thanks.”

“I’ll have the chilli burger and fries,” Rick said. The waitress nodded, writing down both orders and hurrying off. She disappeared through a door behind the bar and Ford caught a glimpse of the kitchens beyond.

“Nice going with the staring there, Romeo,” Rick commented, taking another sip of his drink.

Ford coughed, his face still bright red. “Shit, it was that obvious, huh?”

Rick scoffed. “You looked like you’d just seen a pot of gold.”

Ford put the menu up in front of him, ducking down to hide his face. “Not my fault she’s hot.”

“I’ve seen better,” Rick said nonchalantly. “The chicks on Threonine VIII are much better looking. Fuckin’ intellig-uurp-gent, too.”

Ford put the menu down and laid back in his chair, the colour fading from his face. “I don’t know what I was even thinking. I’ve never had any luck with relationships.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a girlfriend?” Rick put his glass down, giving Ford a look. “What the fuck?”

Ford shrugged and held his left hand up, expanding all six fingers. “These didn’t really help. I had a bit of a reputation at school for being a freak. Girls would take one look at me and walk off. I tried talking to a girl on prom night and ended up with a glass of punch dumped over my head.”

Rick shrugged as Ford picked up his glass again. “Maybe you don’t swing that way.”

Ford choked on his drink, nearly dropping the glass on the floor. He hastily put it back on the table, bent over and coughed furiously into his sleeve, turning bright red again. Rick smirked, amused, and took a long, slow sip from his own glass. “I’m just saying.”

Ford sat up straight. “How the hell would you know?” He asked indignantly.

Rick shrugged and set his glass back on the table. “I’m just guessin’. If you seem to have b-uurp-bad luck talking to women and have never had a girlfriend, maybe you don’t like chicks?”

Ford stared at the table, avoiding Rick’s eyes. He’d never really thought about it before. He just assumed that, cause almost every other boy in his year at high school had a girlfriend, he had to have one too. “I dunno, I’ve never really felt particularly strongly towards anyone, regardless of gender.” He confessed. He wasn’t lying, either. He’d never felt the need for a relationship.

Rick took another drink from his glass. “Each to their own I guess.”

Ford was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of the food they’d ordered. The waiter set down the plates of food on the table, wished them a good evening and left. Rick grabbed the bottle of ketchup off the table and poured some onto his plate. Ford cut through his steak to see if it was cooked properly. It was brown all the way through. Cutting off a small piece, he chewed it slowly. Rick, on the other hand, ate most of his dinner with his hands. Ford raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

Rick shrugged and continued shoveling food into his mouth. “I’m hungry.”

“So am I, but that’s no excuse to eat like a pig.” Ford retorted. He found himself eating more quickly, though, as his stomach kept growling. Over the course of his meal, Ford finished his glass of ale. He’d started to feel tipsy, so he hadn’t ordered another one.

Half an hour and two plates of food later, the pair were satisfied. A waiter came over to them with the bill. It came to a total of thirty-eight dollars. Rick paid for the whole lot, left a two-dollar tip and the pair headed out. As they got to the door, Ford could hear shouting and swearing coming from outside. Just to the left of the main entrance, in the parking lot, three tall and rather muscular adult men were laughing and shouting. They were drunk. Ford cast them a quick glance and swiftly followed Rick back over to the car. He bumped into something solid and fell to the floor. He heard the sound of something shattering on the floor. A fourth man, wearing a black leather jacket, was standing in front of him, staring at a broken beer glass on the ground, the liquid spreading out into a puddle. Ford quickly apologised, got to his feet and tried to hurry off.

A firm hand grasped his arm and yanked him back. “You made me drop my beer.” A rough voice snarled in his ear.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ford stuttered. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll pay for a new one for you.”

The man clicked his fingers. The three other men, who had seen what happened, walked over and surrounded Ford. They were all at least a foot taller than he was and, by the looks of things, much stronger. “I don’t want a new one.”

Ford swallowed hard. From the corner of his eye, he could see Rick getting into his car. The scientist evidently hadn’t noticed what had happened. The men standing around him stepped closer, enclosing Ford in a tight space. They all had tattoos up and down their arms. The man holding Ford clenched his other hand into a tight fist.

“L-look, I don’t want any trouble. Just let me go and I’ll be out of your way.” Ford stuttered. He was being reminded of all the encounters he’d had with Crampelter and his goons back at school. He knew something like this shouldn’t bother him at his age, but right now he was terrified. His head was spinning, derailing his train of thought.

A sharp blow to his solar plexus knocked the wind clear out of him. Ford doubled over, clutching his stomach and gasping. He barely had time to recover before he received a strong uppercut to his jaw, knocking his head back forcefully and sending him crashing to the ground. He looked over towards the car to see Rick standing beside it, watching the scene with interest. He shot the scientist a desperate look before one of the men kicked him square in the face, breaking his glasses and his nose.

Ford was knocked onto his back. He scrambled weakly to his feet and tried to make a break for it. Two of the men grabbed his arms and held him back. He could see Rick marching over towards them, drawing something out of a holster at his hip. ‘Rick, now is not the time for drinking!’ Ford thought furiously. The alcohol in his system was making him dizzy.

A searing, sharp pain erupted in the right side of Ford’s ribcage. He let out a cry of pain, his eyes screwed shut. The men promptly released him and took off running. Ford could hear the sounds of shots being fired towards them, someone crying out in pain, the sound of footsteps rushing towards him. He could barely comprehend what was going on above the agony in his side. He reached a shaking hand round to touch his side. His hand came away red with blood. Something clicked at the back of Ford’s mind. He’d been stabbed. One of those bastards had stabbed him. His hands grasped at the wound and he tried to get up. His vision was turning hazy. His head was spinning. Oh God, he was going to die, wasn’t he?!

And then Rick was there, knelt beside him and pressing both of his hands against Ford’s injury. He was barking orders at somebody. The patrons of the bar must have heard Ford scream, or the argument going on outside. Somebody was running off. Maybe they were going to find a phone. There were murmurs around him, but all Ford could hear was Rick repeating something to him. “Damnit Stanford look at me!”

Ford turned his head weakly, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. Rick’s face was blurred, but it was him alright. “R-Rick…?” Oh God his voice was so weak. He was so quiet. It hurt just to breathe.

“That’s it, Ford. Keep talking to me. You can’t p-uurp-pass out yet, okay?” Rick ordered, yet Ford could hear his voice shaking.

Ford tried to push himself up again. Rick put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Don’t even think about getting up, Pines.” He grunted. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Th-the hell happened?” Ford was afraid to ask, even though he already knew the answer. Part of him hoped that he was just drunk and he was only imagining it. He couldn’t have been stabbed, could he? No, he was just drunk. He hadn’t been injured -

“You were stabbed, dumbass.” Rick retorted. Oh. Was that… worry in the scientist’s voice? “One of those bastards stuck a knife into your side. What the hell did you do?!”

“I b-bumped into him… he dropped his beer…” Ford mumbled. He clutched at his side, still trying to stop the bleeding. He felt Rick increase the pressure on his wound. He was still bleeding profusely. His head hurt.

“You’re such a fucking idiot, y-you know that?!” Ford felt something wet hit his cheek. Rick’s voice was cracking and shaking. “Damnit Ford talk to me!” Rick sounded like he was panicking. That… that couldn’t be right, could it? Rick was never worried about anything.

“Wh…wha…?” Ford could barely form full words by now. His vision was swimming even more. He could vaguely make out the sound of a siren wailing in the distance. He felt Rick shift positions again, increasing the pressure on his side for the second time. Ford could feel the hot, sticky blood drenching his clothes. The whole of the right side of his body felt like it was burning. He was shaking violently now. Something hot was rising in his throat and, at first, Ford thought it was vomit. He started coughing weakly. His mouth was filled with the taste of iron.

He could hear Rick shouting at him, but couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He felt the scientist take a hand off his side and grasp Ford’s left hand. Rick squeezed his hand tightly. For managed to muster up enough strength to weakly squeeze back. He could still hear sirens. Something was running down the sides of his mouth. Rick was still shouting at him. More wet droplets hit his face. The sirens were getting louder. His head was spinning and he was so tired…

Ford coughed again. It was getting harder to breathe now. He was gasping desperately for air. He could still taste iron. His eyelids felt so heavy. He forced himself to keep them open, but it was no use. Everything around him went black. He knew that was bad, but he was too tired to care. Rick was screaming at him now… he felt the scientist squeeze his hand again…. He couldn’t squeeze back… he was so tired…. The sirens were gone… he heard people running… other voices…

He was being moved…

Rick was still there…

‘FORD! DAMNIT, FORD!’

“R…Rick….”

His world went silent.

—–

Ford, you just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?

Based (very loosely, now) off the bonus bit of this post by @looloolalalol

AO3

#dun dun duuunnn #gravity falls #rick and morty #rick sanchez #stanford pines #ford pines #rickford #blood #this is getting to be really long #more to come soon #i promise #human sample

[beforethemoor]

20/04/04 | JH American Tour Diary Pt2

Step once more into the psyche of Jon Harper, with the middle section of his US tour diary. Read on, it's worth it...

I decided to pack lite on this tour, which means that I have absolutely no fresh clothes to wear. Hey I meant well... There will always be time to find a launderette. How wrong I was. Should have spent the day off in Arkansas dealing with the dirt but the locals were impeccable, the beer was cheap. Fine Southern ladies who promised to show us where the best late night drinking spots were. However we ended up in T.G.I Fridays. There is a bunch of guys at the bar drinking car bombs, (shooting pints of Guinness with a shot of Baileys in the top), and the whole place smells of onion rings and burgers. One guy told me that he was of English descent, many generations ago. I told him that I was of Middle Eastern descent, many, many generations ago. He asked me how I stood on the war. I was very careful. People have guns and trucks and boats and opinions out here and not much else.

It’s been a week or so now but I can’t stop thinking about New York. Hopefully tonight and LA will live up to those early gigs. New York, Toronto, Texas, Hoboken... Shit! Where else? I can't even remember what Chicago was like or Boston for that matter. Ok, it’s slowly coming back. Randy, our record company representative for Chicago took us out for Chinese food where they refused to sell me beer as I didn't have any ID on me and they thought that I looked under 25. Thanks! I didn’t really need a beer anyway as I had consumed enough to kill a horse the day before. The Chicago gig was at the same place that John Cusack DJ's at in High Fidelity and just across the road is a boarded up shop that they used as the set for the record store. Chicago is cool and I am beginning to like the place. We went for a ride in Randy's car downtown to the Virgin Megastore He had arranged for us to do an in store DJ and signing session. Randy is a cool guy but has slipped into saying everything in a faux English accent and things are getting very Spinal Tap. A guy called Madrid was interviewing us as we put on various records we like. My choice of Chikinki's ‘Fucking with our clothes on’ didn't go down to well with the general public. It is only 11am. Detroit was a really good as well. The place looks like a shit-hole. I liked it straight away. It’s one of the places that they warned us about venturing too far. So far all the places that people say are dangerous have been the best nights out and Detroit is crazy. Crazy girls, shooters and Bowling! Sex, Drugs, Rock and Bowl! The gig isn't very busy but we are well received. Sundays are a strange night it seems. I think we did ok. I had fun and that's what counts.

Right, gotta play this gig then stay awake for the Rockies. Not going to miss the view like I did in Norway just because I drank too much. The pictures of the Fjords that the guys took looked amazing. Maybe one day I will get back. This beer is going to my head. Keep forgetting that we are a mile up. Maybe the gig will be harder like Fuji. Altitude gig sickness! It was the heat that got you in Japan. It's just cold here. I feel a bit paranoid now. Starting to think that all the photos that I have taken this tour won't come out. I’ve taken some beautiful shots. Mainly desolation. Mainly just things that I feel don't fit with how I view the world. Like the mission of hope out in the Washington ghetto that was all boarded up and fenced in. I really hope I get that one.

I’m not sure what part of town we are in but there are hardly any lampposts. It looks like this tiny bar in the middle of a crazy Industrial estate, just outside the glass high-rise of downtown Denver. I stood in the middle of the road for a long time today and not one car came. It is Sunday but it's like a ghost town around here. The Barman says it gets busy after eleven but who would come out this far? Maybe people don't come out until it is truly dark and cold. Like Vampires! Paul told me I looked like a vampire. "You were looking great at the start of the tour now you look like death. Crazy when guys gotta go into rehab at the end of a tour". Rehab?

The main street last night was theme bar central. Every bar was either Hollywood inspired or authentic Irish. Some private cops told us to move along because we were loitering so we went to one of the more Hollywood inspired places. Everyone just wanted to play pool and chill out. The burgers are great but I should have tried the Buffalo instead of the beef. Millions roamed wild and they just slaughtered them on the plains and left them to rot. Either that or herded them up and pushed them off the cliffs to save bullets. Cut their pelts off for the money and took their tongues for what was thought to be aphrodisiac qualities. Just so they had room to raise Beef herds and to cut off the American Indians food supply. They could have lived forever on Buffalo. Great Mozzarella as well! Here in the land of the free, just not free from fear.

I fear the click not working. Makes things hard when you can't hear anything and you have to play by sight. Watching a little red LED buzz along a keyboard. Dallas was shocking for me. Ben seemed to like it but I had the worst time at a gig ever. Got so pissed off I busted up my hands punching the Hi Hat. Blood everywhere. Sometimes it feels good to lose a little blood. Like a pressure release! After the show we all got drunk on the bus with some promoter women who were in Texas. Well, I got drunk. I don't think that they took to kindly to my bleeding and slurring. I went to bed to lick my wounds. It was a great venue. Sonic Youth are playing it very soon, which surprised me a lot. I would love to be there to see Sonic Youth playing in a tiny venue.

Surprisingly I felt fine the next day as we drove to Denver. Took about 14 hours with nothing out the windows. Nothing for miles and miles but golden grass matted by the wind into thick clumps of cropped hair along side the railroad tracks. Wooden shacks and rusted cars parked forever outside white washed farms with corrugated iron roofs and grain silos. Every so often we pass a huge sign by the road that reads "XXX girly bar next junction".

It happened again. That’s two nights in a row. Soundcheck was fine but when I came to the gig my electrics completely stopped working. Even all the backup plans I made failed. Worst gig ever! Plus to make matters worse I forgot my sunglasses so had nothing to hide behind. Hit the Jack pretty hard after the show and played pinball with the bar owner. Fell asleep and missed the Rockies.

Highway 70 cuts straight through Utah towards Vegas. This place looks like the surface of the moon, all canyons and rockslides. People are just starting to get up and Paul decides to stop for coffee at a place called the Sleepy Hollow motel. He has been driving for probably five hours now and there is still a long way to go. Again there is nothing for miles and miles. I’m starting to worry that a rock is going to come bouncing down the cliff and in through the window like the start of that sexy beast movie. You never see the one that gets you! Best close the window. It's hot today. Really hot! But there's still snow on the hills and this place is beautiful. I think maybe the most beautiful place I have ever seen. I recently watched Once upon a time in the West to get in the mood for the American tour. There is a how it was then how it is now photo gallery on the DVD and nothing has changed. The roads are bad though and trying to sleep on the bus is like how I imagine riding a rodeo bull to be. Or being a rodeo clown that didn't get out of the way. Trying to type this is proving to be one of the hardest things I have ever done. Roberto informs us that it will be another four more hours to Vegas! Keep thinking about movies like Casino. Lots of people buried out in the desert. At least Vegas is a day off. Must clean my clothes. It's very important now, as it seems like the Jimmy Kimmel show in LA has been confirmed which will be our first ever US TV show.

Right so the Vegas plan is a little Roulette or Black Jack, win a fist full of dollars and buy lots of tasty vintage drums to ship back to the UK. Depending on how much I win maybe even a nice restored '66 mustang coupe. I need to replace my car that street punks dismantled in North London last time we went on tour. Not only did they steal the engine, wheels, doors and lights. They also took my windscreen wipers and my RUN DMC tapes. What do people need to steal used windscreen wipers for? More people who need to lose their hands. The landscape has changed again and the fear of death by falling rock has passed. It's turned now into little house dwarfed by the giant fucking prairie next to the massive mountains. It's the kind of landscape you expect to find dinosaur bones bleached white in the sun. This is Tornado country and I just saw my first one. The hills are red like blood again. I should have brought my red leather shoes if we are going to meet the Wizard. I read the book so know how to deal with that evil witch if the tornado strikes. This place reminds me of the original Star Trek. Star Trek and Bill and Ted.

The sign reads ‘Exit 26 Joseph’. We are still heading west on 70 and it feels like I have seasickness. Paul doesn't slow down for anything or anybody and the only thing to do is look out the window. The view is amazing so it’s worth it. I love the mountains. I get excited like a kid. I just want to climb things.

It’s about time I brushed my teeth but doing that means looking in the mirror, which I have been avoiding over the last few days. Worried that I am falling apart. Not getting any sleep or having anything decent to eat. Playing with all manner of different chemicals to enhance the day. Today its mainly coffee. Truck stops do such a wide range of exotics. French bean vanilla cream roast! All I just want is some normal coffee and a little skimmed milk. Our pizza and burgers diet is driving me insane. I dream about salad. All I want is fresh green Italian leaf salad, fresh prawns and feta cheese. They just fry things out here. Actually my dreams have been pretty bad over the last few weeks. Keep dreaming about pulling people from plane crashes, and my grandma who is really unwell.

Paul keeps talking to truck drivers on the CB radio. They have their own language. Chat mainly consists of police radar traps and what’s wrong with your bus or truck. "You’re about to lose yer load buddy, whole back of yer trailer's wide open". He's driving standing up now. The landscape's changed again which draws my attention back to aimlessly starring out of the window. There's nothing out here on highway 70 but pylons and it feels like the Romans built this road. I would lose my mind, forever driving along a road with no corners. The others are watching "Caddyshack" in the back lounge. We bought a whole wealth of 80's movies to pass the time. 15 hours driving gets pretty boring especially at nighttime so we have been hitting the Bill Murray classics and drinking beer. It gets pretty hard when the only choice you have is to go back to bed. Weird Science is my favorite so far. Kelly LeBrock is amazing but she's probably about 43 now.

Peter Malkin just phoned and said that the Carson Daly show is confirmed. Fucking hell. That's great! “He didn't make it to the New York show but his boys came down and had good things to say”. This means we will play a New York Brooklyn show, the Carson Daly show then fly to LA for Coachella if all goes to plan. God bless America. I'm starting to love this place. There is a sign in the opposite direction saying Salt Lake City. I wish we had had more time to see these places but I suppose we have a long way to go and a short time to get there. Just passed another huge sign advertising a whorehouse. "Memories last a lifetime". Paul says there's a great one in Vegas he has heard about. He says he will take me there if I want. No thanks; I think I would rather get a steak and some salad. "24 Hour Steak and Lobster, $14.99, next exit". Sounds good but we stop when we get to Vegas.

TV shows in New York, that's really good. I love New York. I think maybe it's the best city ever. Moving to east London was fun but New York just kicks you in the head. It's gritty and I like gritty. The week I spent with Kieran living in a hostel on Times Square was one of the best weeks of my life. Just walking the city everyday. Guggenheim. Central Park. Wall Street. Watching people play chess outside in the park in East Village. That Park is amazing. Skateboarders. Chess players. Punk bands. Yoga. Wild horses. Not in New York, out here in the desert. We just passed them. Exit 36. 150 miles to go! I don't know how Paul does it. The man is a machine. Never gets tired. Some guys in a pick up just passed us and they have taken a real interest in who may be onboard. They slowed right down to have a look. The windows are tinted so you can never tell. We parked next to another tour bus in Dallas. That one was driving Joan Baez. I thought that it was a guy but Didz informed me that she used to be Bob Dylan’s Girlfriend in The 60's. I suppose with a name like Joan it makes sense. Something's wrong. I can feel it. The hills are red again. Like those pictures they sent back from Mars.

There’s nothing out here in the desert except hundreds and hundreds of trucks, a huge Wal-Mart distribution center and a bus full of foreigners. They also have golf courses in the desert. Neatly manicured paradise running alongside the trailer parks. I’m starting to think that everything is too big. In Arkansas it took me an hour on foot to cross the interstate just because wanted to see what was on the other side. You really need a truck to go anywhere fast around here. People are scared as well. I remember the taxi journey on the first day from Washington airport to downtown DC. The driver thought that we wouldn't last an hour. He said, “Don't go out after dark cos it’s a strange place! People will kill you for five dollars around here”. We did go out and it was a strange place. I’ve never seen so many churches and so many booze stores.

Must have taken a lot of dynamite to build this road. We just drove through a huge mountain range and my fear of death by falling rocks just hit me again. Must find out the percentage of fatalities by loose stones. This bus is a big target and they don't have nets like in the Alps. Still is a net going to do much to stop a half-ton boulder? There are lights twinkling out in the desert and we are coming up fast on the Virgin River Casino. This is the first of what will be hundreds and I’m really not sure what to expect now apart from palm trees, green grass, neon, and miniature versions of European tourist spots.

That pretty much sums it up. The food was crap and the air was heavy and hot. Trying to find just a bar on the strip where you can drink and not part with your cash gambling is proving to be the hard. They even have slot machines sunk into the bar. Our hotel is on the strip next door to Circus Circus. We asked for double rooms, which was a mistake, as we should have said twins. Now Fish and myself have a double bed to share. I can live with that though as he keeps himself to himself. It's nine pm and I’m feeling sexual, tonight is going to be a good night. Andy P and the six of us head out into the Vegas night. By some crazy coincidence it seems that we have all dressed in exactly the same clothes. Circus Circus is our first call and I manage to lose three dollars in a slot machine but I am still feeling lucky. There is a live circus going on upstairs with a guy standing on another guy’s shoulders with another guy on his shoulders and they are jumping a skipping rope. I would hate to be the guy on the bottom. It must be murder on your back. I think this is the casino that they shot fear and Loathing in. I remember the revolving slot machine carousel. We leave there pretty soon and I think that we are all starting to realize that this town is full of lost dreams. Sell out city. The stardust is our next point of call. Just a little further up the strip. I am drawn to a machine with Marilyn Monroe on the front. I was sat under her in the Hollywood restaurant in Denver. It was a massive ten-foot high print of her skirt blowing up. Made me feel like I was looking up her skirt all night. Anyway I stuck in my mind and I was drawn to the machine. Really not sure what the game was or how to play it but I put a five dollar note in and chose 10 lines at 3 per line and hit spin. It's a winner $83.75c. Oh yeah! Las Vegas is looking up! I found the others in the bar and they couldn't believe it. Andy had won $7 and Kieran $0.40c. $75 dollars up so far. Not bad for 10 minutes work and having no idea how to work the machine. Our table was ready and I was ready to eat. The menu is filled with fried food again. Bad meal. The restaurant is filled with huge people who are not talking to each other. Whole families sat around tables in silence just eating ribs and barbecue sauce, and we are attracting a lot of attention as we laugh. The strip is very busy. All the twinkling lights are very exciting but there are no bars. We head over to the Belagio which is a paragon of wealth and massively over the top with it's indoor fountains and rose gardens. Got to get out of this place. Ben suggests the Hard Rock Hotel. As we are leaving a huge guy turns to his friends as we walk past and says, "Hey did you see those faggoty looking guys, fuck"!

The cab driver to the Hard Rock hotel is from Bulgaria. Kieran asks if he is from Sofia? He replies that he supports Chelsea and do we think that they will beat Arsenal on Wednesday? The cab costs $10. The Hard Rock is not a bar. Well it is a bar but it is mainly a casino. The waitresses are all wearing open fronted t-shirts showing all of their black bras and leather hells angel’s caps. There are also many professional girls wandering around searching for guys who have money and pay for their rides. This place is really pissing me off. At the entrance to the Hotel there is a glass case with a 1974 Gibson Les Paul owned by Pete Townsend. Guitar number 9, (he used to number his stage guitars for ease during gigs.) with an extra pickup and switch fitted. These things should not be put in cases for fat gamblers to stare at. It's like rich people who buy sports cars and keep them in garages or galleries that store paintings. These things should be used to their full potential. There is also a 70's Sparkle Ludwig used in the shop to store Hard Rock hats and bandanas and the light shades in the casino are made from 22" Zildjian Ks. Fuck This Place! We are here now though so I am going to play some black jack and drink some tequila shots. Andy and me sit down at a free table and the croupier shows us that we have to signal everything that we want in order for the army of people and cameras that are watching every move to understand what we are betting. I change up $20 dollars into chips. The minimum bet is $10 per hand and a hand takes about a minute to play. This could get messy quickly! The first two hands are winners. $20 up! Over the next two hours Andy and myself are up $100 then down to nothing and back up again repeatedly. Most hands are winners but a run of bad luck wipes you out in five minutes. It's a lot of fun and if you are gambling drinks are free. Andy manages to pull himself away $65 dollars up. However I'm not so lucky but walk away, with my original $80 winnings, after two hours have neither lost nor won anything. To the bar! Fisher has fallen asleep at the table, as he was one of the only people to stay up and see the Rockies. The waitress thinks it's very funny. Ben, Andy, Kieran and myself stay to have a few more beers while the others head off back to the hotel. We have to leave at 10am so a little sleep could be good. Sell out city. Full of wankers, arseholes, pimps, plastic people, tourists and prostitutes. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to die there.

The bus is broken! We are just outside Las Vegas at Whiskey Pete's and the power generator is not starting so we have no power and no air conditioning, which isn’t so good on a long drive in a crowded tin can through the desert to LA. We stop and an hour later find out we have to go back to Vegas to get the bus fixed. This is starting to be torture, as it seems we will never escape from Las Vegas. Paul turns the bus around and we begin the drive back into the city. Suddenly he hits the brakes and we are all thrown around the bus. Kennedy is running around shouting that the trailer is on fire and everybody has to get off. Great the trailer has all our instruments in. Shit! It turns out that a wheel has blown out and set on fire, the trailer is fine and we are all fine. There is just a little smoke and the smell of burning rubber but it will take sometime to fit a replacement. I wander of into the desert to look for rattlesnakes and take some pictures while they change the wheel. Nothing out here but sand and dead bodies!

The final part of the diary will be posted later this week.

#the cooper temple clause #jon harper #journal

[sandwichbully]

Dagwood’s, 13 September 2016

So, went to this new-to-me joint for lunch because ramen again just sounded depressing.

I may never understand the Twin Cities’ preoccupation with smothering every edible thing in sight in lettuce, tomato, and mayo or even regarding its inclusion as a matter worthy of entirely renaming a sandwich. But then I do hail from a state where a fresh human heart was recently found just chilling in a park like “What’s up? Gotta smoke?”

In the Twin Cities, particularly in the culinary sinkhole that is downtown MPLS (pronounced Mipples), there seem to be two distinct mindsets of the restauranteur: The first one belonging to the kind of puffed-ego ponce that attempts to jazz up deviled ham with thinly sliced coral reef and unrefined petroleum with a dash of Corinthian Cherry Pepper extract on a multi-grain Canadian naan coated with a triple IPA aioli with an insulin shot garnish. Everything is made from scratch in-house daily, and what isn’t is “locally sourced”, and the whole package is labeled “artisanal” so they can charge you seventeen eighteen bucks and the shit just tastes like the time you stuffed your mouth full of rubberbands when you were seven.

The second school of thought is usually found at a mom and pop type joint, kept up to the too shiny standards of downtown to be called a greasy spoon, where the most special thing that happens to your sandwich is the addition of cheese for twenty five cents. You get lettuce, tomato, and mayo whether you asked for it or not and that’s generally OK. That’s the place I usually spend my five dollars at and am happy to tip two bucks on the bill.

So, yes, I’ve had my Be'Wiched, I’ve had my Vellee, I’ve had my Frank from Philly, and I’ve very recently had Band Box Diner, where I enjoyed definitely the best burger I’ve had in all of my now-closing-in-on-eleven years in the Twin Cities. You can guess which place will get my return business sooner.

And it’s like that at today’s luncheon spot, a sandwich joint in the skyway across the street called Dagwood��s that has posters from all the Blondie movies on the wall. They’ve got hot and cold sandwiches and soups, salads, little breakfast buddies, that kind of thing, and they’re cheap.

I look over the menu and they’ve got this hookup called the Dagwood Special - pastrami, ham, salami with (you guessed it) lettuce, tomato, and mayo, but also onion and melted cheese. (Seeing as how I couldn’t taste the cheese, I’m going to assume it’s provolone.) It’s a hoagie, it comes with chips or a side salad, and it’s seven beans.

So lunch time rolls around and I trot my sexy black Irish ass across the street and up to the skyway and hit Dagwood’s. A bunch of people who looked like Body Snatchers new to Earth and our concept of forming a queue milled about, listening for their order number to be called out and at one point, the Asian woman behind the counter explains to this doughy-faced elderly guy what all was happening with his sandwich - this kind of meat; lettuce, tomato, mayo (or as I’m about to start calling it: Caucasian sandwich slaw); melted cheese; house made dressing and house-baked bread. She tells him about the dressing when he’s all, “’s'up with dat?” but the way old white dudes do it when speaking to a person of color who handles their food: “And what, exactly, is the house dressing? What goes in that?” and she tells him and it sounds like Italian dressing to me. At ease now that it seems that this Jewel of the Orient isn’t planning on assassinating him with poisoned salad dressing for his state secrets, he asks, “Yo, girl, whaddup wit dat bread?” but again like an old white dude, this time like the old white dude who’s impressed that a foreigner can speak English so good: “And can you tell me about the bread?” She smiles and tells him they bake it every day.

I place my order, I’m getting the Dagwood Special, I wait for them to ask me if I want the salad or the chips because I want the salad but they never ask, so I’m told I’m order seventy nine and then take my place back with the rest of the Body Snatchers and listen to their numbers get called starting with seventy five. Sweet! My order should be up in no time!

Nope. Eighty, the aforementioned old white dude, who may actually BE eighty gets called before me, probably because his sandwich was simpler than my three meat job: He got tuna. Probably something his doctor told him to do. He probably sits down at his desk and looks down at his sandwich past his old man tits and wishes for the days when he could eat a steak while it was still attached to the cow and get six chicks pregnant at the same time, the way they used to do it in World War I: The Prussian Menace.

I shouldn’t joke because that will be me one day; I already have hair growing out of my old old man ears but fuck it: I died inside a long time ago and I’m just waiting for my body to catch up. ANYWAY, this sad old bald widowed fuck has to eat tuna on plain bread, no Caucasian sandwich slaw for him. Poor old bastard’s ticker can’t even handle cheese. The house made dressing would probably shut down his old kidneys; OF COURSE his sandwich comes up before mine did, one: It was just tuna on bread and two: He doesn’t have that much time left!

THEN I got my sandwich. It came with chips. Probably Old Dutch. People love their Old Dutch up here. The ruffled variety, to boot. Not really pissed off about it, just would’ve preferred the salad.

How was the sandwich? (Because you know what potato chips taste like.) (Or at least I hope you do.) (I mean, who are you? Gary Johnson? Are potato chips your Aleppo?)

Well, the sandwich was a forearm-sized (aka the best sized) hoagie. The bread was soft, not chewy, with no crunch to the crust. It was just soft. Pillowy, you could say. And it tasted OK. Not phenomenal but you could definitely tell it was baked that day. The signature dressing? It was tangy, it tasted like Italian dressing to me but mellower, not as assertive. Again, you could tell it wasn’t store bought.

But here is where I arrived at the crossroads of artisanal “sandwich works” with its locally sourced clobber-mouthed sturgeon steaks and hand-pressed cocoa sheets and the mom & pop lunch counter that asks, “You want Swiss or American on that?”

The Caucasian sandwich slaw was… Really good? Like, totally noticeable and really good? The hell you say. Or I say, I guess. But, yes, the tomatoes were freshly cut and full of snap, or as much as a tomato can snap. They were firm, juicy, and tasted like an essential ingredient rather than a placeholder to justify a fifty cent upcharge. The mayo was tangy and creamy, and - holy shit could some midwesterners take a cue from this place - NOT applied with a concrete trowel. It was there, you could taste it, and you didn’t need more of it. The lettuce? Not cut so fresh but it’s iceberg so it doesn’t matter. Who uses romain, anyway?

The sandwich slaw almost made up for the fact that I could see the cheese but not taste it and that if there was pastrami on the sandwich, there was no way of being certain, even as I fucking started at it. But I could tell there was ham and salami.

It’s above average, it’s worth every penny you spend on it (my total was $7.74 after tax), it’s local, it’s filling without being too filling… Would I go back there? Probably. Am I in a hurry? Not entirely.

#2016 #downtown #club

[chelsorz07]

midseason breaks really suck ass

But here’s the latest from my facebook memories. 2009/2017

***********FOODOLOGY*************** 1. What is your salad dressing of choice? honey dijon. Ranch. 2. What is your favorite sit-down restaurant? tgi friday's. Usually Applebee’s. Gotta have me some quesadilla burgers. I also love BJ’s Brewhouse and Bob Evans. 3. What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of? wings. Pizza. 4. What are your pizza toppings of choice? cheese, pepperoni, and hot sauce. Cheese. 5.What do you like to put on your toast? butter. Butter for use with fried eggs, grape jelly for scrambled. I don’t eat toast unless it’s with eggs. 6. Any vegetables you don't like? not really. i thoroughly enjoy vegetables. I stopped liking broccoli several years ago.  7. Do you eat seafood? no. Still no. Never will. ***********TECHNOLOGY*************** 1. How many televisions are in your house? three. Four total, three that are hooked up. 2. What color cell phone do you have? black. Grey. 3. How long would it take you to look up who invented the Rubber Band? seconds. the interwebs are cool like that. A really long time because I don’t feel like it. 4. Have any idea how many megahertz your computer has? no. i'm sure dave could tell me but i don't know. No. But I’m pretty sure they run in gigahertz now. ***************BIOLOGY****************** 1. Are you right-handed or left-handed? left. Lefty. Hail Satan. 2. Have you ever had anything removed from your body? tonsils. Tonsils and gallbladder. 3. What is the last heavy item you lifted? maranda. Marshall. 4. Have you ever been knocked unconscious? i had a concussion when i was five. I don’t remember the fall that caused the concussion knocking me unconscious. I just remember my babysitter yelling at me for trying to take a nap because I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. ************BULLCRAPOLOGY************** 1. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? no. Meh. Idk. 2. If you could change your name, what would you change it to? no idea. I never really had a new name in mind but I’ve always hated mine. 3. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? hell yeah i love hot sauce. I’d do it for free but I also wouldn’t turn down a thousand bucks. ************DUMBOLOGY****************** 1. How many pairs of flip flops do you own? six-ish. At least ten. And I only ever wear the red or black ones. 2. Last time you had a run-in with the cops? my fucking birthday. A few years ago I got a ticket for “running a red light”. I maintain that it didn’t turn yellow until I was at the line and there’s no way I could’ve stopped in time. But I paid my $112 and got on with my life. 3. Last person you talked to? chele & megan. In person, Sue at work. Online/texting, Amanda. 4. Last person you hugged? dave. Austen. **************FAVORITOLOGY**************** 1. Season? fall. That will always stay the same. 2. Holiday? fourth of july & new year's. Fourth of July and Halloween. I have no idea what I ever liked about New Year’s. 3. Day of the week? saturday. Thursday & Sunday. 4. Month? october. Don’t really have one, as long as it isn’t snowing. ***********CURRENTOLOGY***************** 1. Missing someone? gary. Dave, my family, my friends. 2. Mood? content, but tired. Pissed about being sick, tired AF, really not wanting to go to work tomorrow. 3. What are you listening to? that 70s show. Literally just the sound of my furnace and laptop. 4. Watching? same. Nothing. ***************RANDOMOLOGY***************** 1. First place you went this morning? pee. I haven’t gone anywhere. It was great. 2. What's the last movie you saw? idk. Die Hard. 3. Do you smile often? yep. Ehh kinda. I mean I like to laugh but I’m not really a happy person. ***************OTHER-OLOGY***************** 1. Do you always answer your phone? rarely. Never unless I’m expecting a specific call. And even then there’s like a 65% chance that I fell asleep and couldn’t answer anyway. 2. Its four in the morning and you get a text message, who is it? could be anyone. Probably Dave. He’s always up then, whether it be just getting up to get ready for work or almost done with the night shift. 3. If you could change your eye color what would it be? i wouldn't. well maybe i'd make them more green than hazel but i like them this way. I like my eyes. And they ARE more green now. 4. Do you prefer cold or hot? warm. Tepid. 5. Whats your favorite gossip magazine? cosmo isn't really a gossip magazine...it's more for sex tips than anything...and it's the only one i read. I don’t read magazines. 6. Have you ever had a pet fish? no.  Nope, my cats would murder it.

8. What's on your wish list for your birthday? this gorgeous ring from tiffany's (don't get the wrong idea - it's only a hundred bucks), and booze. lots and lots of booze. Probably just money. 9. Can you do push ups? no. Not even the girly ones. 10. Can you do a chin up? ha nope. Not since I was 14 in volleyball conditioning. 11. Does the future make you more nervous or excited? both. Nervous. Everything makes me nervous. 12. Do you have any saved texts? yes. I mean who saves texts anymore? That’s what screenshotting is for. 13. Ever been in a car wreck? no. Not a wreck. I was with my mom when she skimmed the side of a van in a parking lot but it was minor damage and I took out someone’s taillight with my truck once in a different parking lot but it literally cost ten dollars to replace it. 14. Do you have an accent? apparently a "yankee" one. I get real southern when I’m drunk or pissed off. Which is funny because I’m not southern. 15. What is the last song to make you cry? idk. every song makes me cry. i can't keep track. My former answer stands. 16. Plans tonight? just got back from megan's. now i'm going to bed. Tonight just ended. I planned to sleep three hours ago. Now I have to pee and actually sleep.  17. Have you ever felt like you hit rock bottom? yeah. Yes but I probably haven’t. 18. Name 3 things you bought yesterday? nothing. i have no money. I didn’t get them all yesterday, but the last three things I bought were a phone card, Arby’s, and a box of peppermint crunch junior mints. 19. Have you ever been given roses? just for graduation. i hate flowers. Same. 20. Current worry? bills. How the fuck I’m gonna make it to work tomorrow with this illness. And the weather. 21.Current hate? psoriasis. Winter. And my sinuses. 22. Met someone who changed your life? of course. Everyone I’ve met has changed my life, for better or worse, in large ways and small. 23. How will you bring in the New Year? like a drunken idiot, along with my best friends. In bed. Or probably more accurately, on the couch with my netflix and my kitties. 24. What song represents you? all of them. music in general represents me. Still true. But right now I can’t stop listening to Matchbox Twenty’s second album. Rob Thomas is just so freaking talented. 25. Name three people who might complete this? i don't think anyone on here will. erin maybe, if she gets really bored. Nobody because it’s almost ten years old and this is tumblr. 26. Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? no. Probably not. 27. Have you ever been to a concert? many. i've seen eleven shows this year alone. Tons. We go to at least one or two a year. At least. 28. Do you have any tattoos/piercings? ears pierced, one tattoo so far. My ears closed and I’ve added a tattoo.  30. Does anyone love you? hope so. Maybe like two people. 31. Ever had someone sing to you? yeah. Usually Amanda. We serenade each other. 32. When did you last cry? don't know. Christmas day I believe. I was in pain and tired and stressed out and didn’t have time to get ready before going to do festivities.  33. Do you like to cuddle? love it. Ehh. Sometimes. Othertimes I feel like I’m literally suffocating.  34. Have you held hands with anyone today? nooo i didn't get to see him at all :( Um no. We don’t really hold hands. Like almost never. And I haven’t seen him since Wednesday morning, won’t again until January 4th or 5th. 35. What kind of music did you listen to in elementary school? country - i wasn't allowed to listen to anything else. i still snuck in my sister's room at night to watch vh1 though lol Country. And Matchbox Twenty. That was the first non-country album I ever owned. 36. Are most of the friends in your life new or old? new. a couple old. Old. I like the friends I have and don’t need new ones. 37. Do you like pulpy orange juice? i don't like orange juice at all. unless it's got vodka in it. Fuck no. I don’t want shit floating around in my juice. I do, however, now enjoy the occasional glass of OJ. Couldn’t drink it every day but it’s alright. Mostly I require that my beverages contain copious amounts of caffeine. 

#not spn #about me #personal #bring back myspace surveys 2k17 #i do what i want

[punkwriting]

penny + peyton + pregnant

The past few weeks had been great for Penny. She was finally happy again and that was mostly due to Awsten. A day hadn’t gone by where they didn’t talk and they hung out quite a bit too. There was definitely a connection there, in more ways than one, but the topic of his girlfriend still hadn’t been brought up. That was her only dilemma, but Penny was trying not to think about it for the time being. She was just trying to enjoy him as much as she could before something ruined it. Actually, she was just waiting for something to ruin it, because it was bound to happen. And something did the other day. His girlfriend was finally brought up and Penny didn’t know where they were now.

As quickly as her bad thoughts came, they were gone at the sound of keys jiggling in the door, and the sight of her sister walking through the door with the food she’d been waiting for. “Hi, Pey.” She chirped, getting up off the couch and walking over to her. The other girl smiled and handed her the food, earning a smile back from her. “Hey, sis.” She replied as she walked to the kitchen, with Penny trailing behind her.

Penny took a seat at the counter, unwrapping her burger as Peyton set the rest of her items on the counter. “Hey, do you need anything from the store? I’m gonna go after work tomorrow.” She asked as she took a seat next to Penny. She tilted her head to the side, thinking about her answer, then she shook her head in response. “Nah, just milk I think, but you probably already have that on your list." She spoke before taking a bite of her food. Peyton nodded in response, thinking over the list she had in her head. She made a confused face as she did, getting Penny's attention with it, who made her own confused face in return.

"Are you sure?" Peyton asked as she unwrapped her own burger. Penny nodded her head slowly, unsure what the other girl meant. The other girl shrugged and took a bite of her own food in response. "Don't give me that look!" She exclaimed, when Penny didn't wipe the confused look off her face. "I just thought you would need tampons because I used the last of them last week and you should be on your period now."

As soon as those words left her mouth, the look of confusion was immediately wiped off Penny's face and replaced by a look of horror. The confused look soon returned to Peyton's face, who was scrambling trying to figure out what was wrong. "What, what, what?" She asked, a somewhat frantic tone to her voice, as she was concerned. Penny simply shook her head, unsure what to say. She was at a loss for words. Because Peyton was right, and she just realized that didn't have her period. Which she most definitely should be on right now. This happened once before and that was just a scare, so maybe it was no big deal. But maybe it was a big deal, because she was pretty much always consistent except for that time. She tried to convince herself it was nothing, but she wasn't able to. The worst possibility was in her mind and she couldn't think of how to verbalized that to her sister, who was just making a frantic face at her.

"I-I'm not on my period," She stammered, shaking her head in disbelief. Peyton let out a sigh of relief and smiled over at her sister, to try and reassure her. In that moment, Penny realized that she hadn’t told her sister that sleeping with Awsten, which is why the other girl looked relieved. “Oh Jesus Christ, that’s nothing, that can happen. You haven’t sleep with anyone since Reece and that ended in what, January, right?” She asked, which earned silence from Penny. Peyton’s eyes widened at the silence and she started to become frantic too. “Right?” She repeated, hoping for the answer she was thinking of. Penny looked down and nervously ran a hand through her hair. “Um-“ She started, but was quickly cut off by her sister. “Oh my god, Penelope! Who? Or more importantly, when? And why didn’t you tell me? Oh my god, we gotta go to the store now.” The girl’s words were coming out fast and they surprised Penny. She wasn’t mad or anything like that, which Penny was more than thankful for.

“Um,” Penny started again, trying to collect her own thoughts. “Well, for starters, I slept with Awsten last month—“ Peyton interrupted her with a slight gasp and a surprised look as soon as the words left her mouth. “Wait Awsten like, the Awsten I met at the show? Awsten from that band that you like that you played that show with last month and freaked out over Awsten?” Penny opened her mouth to reply, but closed it in favor of letting out a laugh. She was surprised that Peyton remembered all that, but it saved her the trouble of explaining. “Well, yes, but—“ Penny was prepared to explain their fight, but once again, she started and her sister interrupted her once more. “Holy fuck, I knew it! Casper owes me five dollars.” Penny raised in eyebrow in reply, confused as to what she meant. Peyton laughed and shook her head a little. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you but, we had a bet going on whether you guys were fucking or not.” Peyton shrugged as she spoke, and the other girl was taken aback a bit. Though, she quickly laughed, as she wasn’t entirely surprised. That does seem like something they would do.

“Okay, it’s not like that, we had sex once and have just kind of been hanging out since then.” Penny told her, shrugging lightly. She didn’t feel like going into the details of their Sunday morning fight right now, she would deal with that once pregnancy wasn’t looming in the back of her mind. “Uh huh, just hanging out. Not with the way you two were acting on Saturday.” Peyton replied, her mind just on the fact that she had met and slept with someone, not the possible pregnancy part.

But soon enough, Peyton’s mind drifted back to Penny’s missed period. She didn’t ask if she used protection with Awsten but based on how the other girl was acting right now, she didn’t need to. She felt safe in assuming they hadn’t. And now, she felt like she needed to take charge for her sister and try her best to keep her calm. “But jokes and all aside, we really should go to the store and get you a few pregnancy tests.” As she spoke, Peyton reached out and took Penny’s hand in hers, giving it in a gentle squeeze to try and reassure her. Honestly, this is what the two did best, Penny freaking out and Peyton comforting her. Penny nodded meekly in response, knowing that her sister was right.

*

A very anxious and quiet trip to the drug store later, Penny and Peyton were nervously waiting in the bathroom for the timer to go off. Peyton bought two packs with two tests each, just to be safe, so they had a lot of waiting ahead of them. The last time this happened, Penny went through it alone. Mostly because that time, she didn’t even think she was pregnant, she just took the test to rule it out. This time, she knew it was a real possibility because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she’d been experiencing some of the symptoms over the past week. Honestly, she just thought she was getting sick, but now, not so much.

Peyton was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, with Penny next to her sitting on the toilet with the seat down. Both girls could practically feel the nervousness radiating off each other. Penny was bouncing her leg anxiously and Peyton reached out to steady it. “Hey,” She spoke softly, breaking their long silence. “No matter what all of these tests say, I’ll be here for you. I promise it’ll be okay.” She continued, trying her best to talk to her sister. Penny simply nodded in response. She felt numb at this point, because her and Awsten weren’t really talking at this point and if she was pregnant, there was nobody else who could possibly be the father.

Soon enough, the timer on Peyton’s phone went off, scaring both into jumping. The test was on the counter next to Penny and she glanced over, but quickly glanced back at Peyton and shook her head. The girl nodded in return, understanding that she wanted her to look. Penny returned to putting her head back in her hands and bouncing her leg, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself as she waited for her sister to talk. Peyton got up off the tub and walked over to the counter where the test was, taking a breath to trying and calm herself as well. She would support her sister no matter what, but she didn’t want her to be pregnant. That would mess up all kinds of things.  

It felt like an eternity to Penny before Peyton spoke. She grew more and more anxious as the moments past. “Um,” Peyton started, blinking down at the test in front of her. “It says you’re pregnant, Penelope.” Penny’s heart dropped down to what felt like the floor and her anxiety spiked through the roof. The other pregnancy scare test came up as negative, so she felt like this one had to be right. She didn’t even have the energy to correct Peyton on her name, she was only thinking of how she was going to tell Awsten. Funny enough, that’s all she wanted right now was him. Penny ran a hand through her hair and sat up, leaning back against the toilet. She was staring at the wall in front of her, her thoughts going a mile a minute in her head. This was only one test, but she didn’t know what she was going to do.

“Penny?” Peyton asked quietly, walking over and sitting on the floor in front of her sister. “What are you thinking?” She asked, genuinely curious as to why her sister was so quiet. Penny looked down and made eye contact, shrugging as she did so. “Um, that I’m so freaking stupid.” She ran hand through her hair again and shook her head, letting out a small laugh in the process. Peyton made a sympathetic face up at her sister and smiled a little, not really knowing what else to do right now. “You’re not stupid, it’s okay.” She spoke, sympathetic as well. Penny shook her head, not having the energy to argue with her. “Okay, why don’t you take those others tests before anything else, okay?” Peyton offered and Penny just nodded again. Sure enough, the other three tests came up positive.

At this point, they were both pretty certain that Penny was pregnant. And Penny didn’t know what to make of that. Her head was spinning and honestly, all she wanted right now was Awsten. Which only made her feel worse, because she hadn’t talked to him since she kicked him out the other day. She didn’t know how to tell him, or even if she should.

“Pen, you just need to make a doctor’s appointment and get that confirmed from there, okay?” Peyton spoke, trying to break the silence by offering up some help. It was like she knew what she was thinking, but that’s what being twins did. Penny just nodded again in response, not really know what else to say at the moment. She didn’t know what this meant, or what it would mean, or what she even would do, but she knew one thing, she needed to talk to Awsten.

#pen. #i have no idea what else to tag this as #it got out of hand honestly

[burntfingers]

My Talk With God, and How He’s a Space Nazi

I promise, crossed my heart, that this story actually happened. I also need to remind you that I never promised that ANY of this will make sense. I’m gonna have to do this in bullet points.

My second cousin was dating this guy, Brad. At the time I became aware of Brad, it was nearing Christmas time. So I was invited up to Brad’s house to hang out with him and my cousin, who I hadn’t seen in almost 10 years. I went up to Maryland to the house, and right away, I noticed a problem. The house was so damn out of the way that if you wanted its location you had to do geocoordinates. But I arrived safe and sound. My cousin was not coming until the next day, so I got to talk to Brad a bit. Here’s what I found out:

- He was super fucking racist. I gotta get that one out of the way. He legitimately thought that anyone not white (or “Germanic” as he insisted any white person was) was on a lower tier of the evolutionary scale. Lowest on the scale were black people. He refused to refer to other races by anything other than pejorative terms. This pretty much was the foundation of his entire character.

- He thought he was god. Not like, the monotheistic god-with-a-capital-g, but more that he thought he was descended from Odin. (He insisted it was spelled “Oden”) so he of course insisted that his demigod status have him a higher plane of existence than everyone else on earth, and that it allowed him to pass through time warps and allowed him to see Vikings in visions. He also believed that this made him the best guitarist on earth, but that’s another section of the story.

- He was somewhat obsessed with Vikings, in case you didn’t already get that. He paid a lot of money to have runes tattooed into his arms, but they were so poorly done that they looked like they were done with green sharpie. He also worshipped Odin, but did so in a bizarre way. Whereas most people who make burnt offerings (I’ve gotta go off of various books, I don’t know anyone else who does…besides my dad when he grills) will insist on buying a live animal, slaughtering it, and ritually preparing it. Our friend here would just have his mom buy him a butterball turkey, and he’d go out and burn it on an altar. Also he’d talk about how amazing his religion (Asatru) was, due mostly to the fact that, in his understanding, it encouraged wanton destruction of lesser races, subjugation of women, and a lack of personal responsibility. REAL charmer right there. He also would parade about the house in a cheap Viking costume, and whenever he passed a mirror, he’d flip his shoulder-length hair and scowl into it, as if he were trying to intimidate his reflection. He also had his parents buy him a meter-long sword. Yes it was real. Yes it was sharp. And yes, he thought it was the greatest thing ever. He would often tout it as the “Greatest home defense weapon ever,” to which I’d reply “Yes but wouldn’t you have a problem swinging a meter-long blade inside a house?” His response tied into the next point.

- He wanted to start a kingdom…in Maryland. You heard that right. The end goal of this would-be demigod Viking was to buy up a ton of land in Maryland, declare independence from the United States, set up a little nation devoid of racial minorities and/or socialists, and call it “Ascalon.” He wanted to have a castle, tons of statues, and a guard unit called…the High Guard. Creative. Basically he wanted to go to Europe (Never Africa or Asia, for reasons you already know) and adopt up young male orphans, and train them as his brainwashed soldiers. (Literally his plan was to get them, preferably younger than 6, and raise them on a steady diet of Ayn Rand, swordplay, and hate speech) Also he wanted to institute gladiatorial combat as the primary form of capital punishment. What merits capital punishment in the (Allegedly) Libertarian Monarchy of Ascalon? Murder, rape, theft…and Socialism. That’s right, in this “Free society” simply preaching in favor of socialism could land you in the ring across from Robbie the Rapist, and you’ve got to fight to the death. Of course, I was like “Don’t these ‘utopias’ usually get…shot?” but I guess I’m just a cynic. - Now you’re probably imagining this guy as someone who is a.) 14, b.) playing Call of Duty, and c.) Rather scrawny (or fit, if he were really trying to fit into the stereotype of a Viking) Our friend was none of those. He was 20, spent all of his time playing Viking death metal on guitar, and had, by his own admission, never worked out a day in his life. He was 5'7" and 250lbs, and had rarely left his parents’ house, due to a crippling fear of people. He had long, wispy hair, which he fancied made him more Viking-like, and he admitted that he wore the same shorts for weeks at a time, but that was only when he wasn’t trooping around in the dime-store Viking costume.

- He played guitar, and idolized Viking death metal. Now that’s no crime in and of itself, but having your millionaire parents buy you $200,000 in guitars, amps, and cables and only playing one of those guitars IS a crime of some sort. And if it’s not, it should be. This kid’s first guitar was a $2,000 Eric Clapton Stratocaster, and he made his parents go through thousands of dollars until he settled on a guitar he liked. He even had a Gibson Les Paul…signed by Les Paul (Who is dead, btw) which alone is worth a fortune. This feeds into his plan for world domination, trust me.

- So his kingdom? How did he plan on funding that huge land grab? Obviously that was one thing his parents WOULDN’T pay for. So he had a plan that involved taking over the music industry, the video game industry, and eventually, the world. Basically he wanted to start by creating a game that he described as a cross between “Minecraft and Morrowind” that would be infinite and self-aware. All geekiness aside, such a thing is impossible on modern hardware. He wanted to make the game with 5 people, and he said it would make millions of dollars in a few years. Then he’d use that money to build studios in every major city in the Caucasian-dominated world (Sorry, he hated that term, he’d prefer “Germanic”) and make Viking Death Metal the dominant genre of music in the world. This is because he was pissed that “Black people music” had become the dominant style in the world, i.e. hip hop, pop, and dance music.(He SURE didn’t say “black people” but I’m not gonna repeat what he said) That being said, he viewed metal as the whitest genre of music ever to be recorded, completely ignoring the fact that metal came from rock, which came from blues, which came from the soul and gospel music of…you guessed it, black people. So he was screwed either way. But that didn’t stop his racist megalomania one bit, because he planned on using the money garnered from his game and record company to buy up his kingdom in Maryland, and build a castle. And THAT is where he was gonna use his sword for home defense. So finally, we get to my visit with him. I visited and stayed for five days, much like a National Geographic journalist studying a maniacal dictator, and my cousin came. She showed up, smiling, happy to see us both, and with two GIANT boxes of cookies in hand. She was instantly berated by him for letting the cookies go stale. Then they went upstairs, and I didn’t see them for the rest of the day. Apparently that was because he was busy sulking that bread products, when exposed to air, tend to get a bit stale. So then, the next morning, I decided to be a good guest, and offer to help my cousin make breakfast (Brad wouldn’t be down until 12, she said) so we made some devilled eggs. He came down, pulled a face, and I didn’t see him until late that night, considering that he was sulking some more, this time because he didn’t like the smell of eggs. Then he finally came down at 10pm, and got in a fight with his mother, because she caught him mocking his father’s mannerisms. (His father had recently suffered a stroke) The next day, his friend Rich showed up. Rich secretly disliked Brad, and we both knew it. That night however, I decided to sleep in the attic, because there were real beds there. I did so, and regretted it immensely. Brad and my cousin were having VERY loud sex below me, and I spent the rest of the night covering my ears and getting very little sleep.

The next day, I woke up closer to lunch time. My cousin had prepared burgers, freshly ground and grilled, and Brad complained and told her that she sucked at cooking and shouldn’t do it anymore. His mother called him out on it, and he responded that “Encouraging the weak is a socialist value.” and continued to pontificate that it was “Crucial to the survival of our race” (He basically called everything that he liked “Crucial to the survival of our race” Be it a political cause or a videogame) he then continued that he idolized Anders Breivik, the guy who shot up and bombed a youth camp in Norway, because “The people in the camp were socialist Labour party members who were poisoning the youth.”

After I realized that I had had enough of this guy, I decided to pack my bags, and go home. After the visit, I cut off communication with him, and deleted him off Facebook and all other social media. Videos and photos of him still exist, somewhere, trying his best to look tough. So where is he now? After being dumped by my cousin, the last I saw of him was that he was advertising himself as “Lead Philosopher at Ascalon” and posting pictures of the night sky with emo quotes about how nobody loves and/or understands him.

Some god.

[theegabrielleb-blog]

Kendrick Lamar’s “Money Trees” speaks of a normal life and of course making money. It talks of how money can get you here and get you there and the daily hustle of the normal “nigga”. The song relates to a person who’s out here trying “get it” or just trying to make it.

           He starts the verse off with “Me and my niggas tryna get it…Hit the house lick: tell me, is you wit’ it, ya bish?” Listeners can conclude that this “it” is money and one would want to get money with the people that he loves most. No matter what way one has to get it he will, which is what he mentions as “hit the house lick”. This statement is synonymous to robbery and stealing. With this thought of robbery Kendrick knows that the people he will steal from will be working from 9 to 5. This is ironic because these people are working and he’s making his money off of them. Everyone dreams the “good life”, but the perspectives on this dream are different. “Dreams of livin’ life like rappers do. Back when condom wrappers wasn’t cool.” Kendrick speaks of Top Ramen letting us know that life is hard and they are rolling with the punches. “Park the car and we start rhymin’, ya bish..The only thing we had to free our minds.” People who are out here working need an escape which is what he speaks of. K-Dot didn’t know the easy life and he didn’t come from a silver spoon. Once again, by any means necessary one will get the money they need even if they have to rob the church. “Go at the reverend for the revenue.”

           Respect, immortality, and having a content life are all associated with money in the chorus. Even with robbing and killing, the murderer will have temporary respect but “the one in front of the gun lives forever.” People hustle all day, everyday and do whatever it takes to get the money needed. “Money trees is the perfect place for shade…” Financial stability is the best way to a content life. Money can get you sex, a new car, a new status, and even one dollar can be flipped into millions. Money essentially makes the world go ‘round.

           Anna Wise is the featured artist on the bridge and her verse basically says that she’s about her money. Above love and above the law, nothing will separate her from getting her money. “Be the last one out to get this dough…Love one of you bucket-headed hoes…hit the breaks when they on patrol…”

           Jay Rock the artist on the last verse speaks on how hard life is on the come up. The projects is where people sell and do drugs, eat government cheese, and ultimately provide for their families. Jay speaks of prostitution, drug busts, and “getting shade under money trees”. This whole song just exudes the notion of “by any means necessary”. People will make money no matter how or what they have to do.

Me and my niggas tryna get it, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Hit this house lick tell me is you with it, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Home invasion was persuasive (Was persuasive, was persuasive) From nine to five I know its vacant, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Dreams of living life like rappers do (like rappers do, like rappers do) Back when condom wrappers wasn't cool (They wasn't cool, they wasn't cool) I fucked Sherane then went to tell my bros (Tell my bros, tell my bros Then Usher Raymond "Let it Burn" came on ("Let it Burn" came on, "Let it Burn" came on) Hot sauce all in our Top Ramen, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Parked the car and then we start rhyming, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) The only thing we had to free our mind (Free our mind, free our mind) Then freeze that verse when we see dollar signs (Dollar signs, dollar signs) You looking like an easy come up, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) A silver spoon I know you come from, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) And that's a lifestyle that we never knew (We never knew, we never knew) Go at a reverend for the revenue

It go Halle Berry or hallelujah Pick your poison tell me what you do Everybody gon' respect the shooter But the one in front of the gun lives forever (The one in front of the gun forever) And I been hustlin' all day, this a way, that a way Through canals and alleyways, just to say Money trees is the perfect place for shade and that's just how I feel (now, now) A dollar might, just fuck your main bitch that's just how I feel (now) A dollar might, say fuck them niggas that you came with that's just how I feel (now, now) A dollar might, just make that lane switch that's just how I feel (now) A dollar might, turn to a million and we all rich that's just how I feel

Dreams of living life like rappers do (Like rappers do, like rappers do) Bump that new E-40 at the school (Way at the school, way at the school) You know big ballin with my homies (My homies) Earl Stevens had us thinking rational (Thinking rational, that's rational) Back to reality we poor, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Another casualty at war, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Two bullets in my uncle Tony head (My Tony head, my Tony head) He said one day I'd be on tour, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) That Louie's Burger never be the same (Won't be the same, won't be the same) A louis belt will never ease that pain (Won't ease that pain, won't ease that pain) But I'ma purchase when that day is jerkin' (That day is jerkin', day is jerkin') Pull off at Church's with Pirelli's skirtin' (Pirelli's skirtin', Pirelli's skirtin') Gang signs out the window, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) Hoping all of em offend you, ya bish (Ya bish, ya bish) They say your hood is a pot of gold (A pot of gold, a pot of gold) And we gone crash it when nobodies home

It go Halle Berry or hallelujah Pick your poison tell me what you do Everybody gon' respect the shooter But the one in front of the gun lives forever (The one in front of the gun forever) And I been hustlin' all day, this a way, that a way Through canals and alleyways, just to say Money trees is the perfect place for shade and that's just how I feel (now, now) A dollar might, just fuck your main bitch that's just how I feel (now) A dollar might, say fuck them niggas that you came with that's just how I feel (now, now) A dollar might, just make that lane switch that's just how I feel (now) A dollar might, turn to a million and we all rich that's just how I feel

Be the last one out to get this dough? No way Love one of you bucket headed hoes? No way Hit the streets, then we break the code? No way Hit the brakes, when they on patrol? No way

Be the last one out to get this dough? No way Love one of you bucket headed hoes? No way Hit the streets, then we break the code? No way Hit the brakes, when they on patrol? No way

Imagine Rock up in the projects where them niggas pick your pockets Santa Claus don't miss them stockings, liquor spilling pistols popping Baking soda YOLA whipping, ain't no turkey on Thanksgiving My homeboy just domed a nigga, I just hope the Lord forgive him Pots with cocaine residue, everyday I'm hustlin' What else is a thug to do when you eatin' cheese from the government Gotta provide for my daughter 'n' 'em, get the fuck up out my way, bitch Got that drum and got them bands just like a parade, bitch Drop that work up in the bushes, hope them boys don't see my stash If they do tell the truth, this the last time you might see my ass From the gardens where the grass ain't cut, them serpents lurking blood Bitches selling pussy, niggas selling drugs but it's all good Broken promises, steal yo watch and tell you what time it is Take your J's and tell you to kick it where a footlocker is In the streets with a heater under my dungarees Dreams of me getting shaded under a money tree

It go Halle Berry or hallelujah Pick your poison tell me what you do Everybody gon' respect the shooter But the one in front of the gun lives forever (The one in front of the gun forever) And I been hustlin' all day, this a way, that a way Through canals and alleyways, just to say Money trees is the perfect place for shade and that's just how I feel