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#Where to buy laptops in Colorado
lenny-1of2dads · 23 days
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I was finally a senior on having the best year ever in a high school that was not gay friendly. I have by the stroke of magic found three guys at school willing to get to third base with me. The problem is with only me. I was hoping to get the four of us to in a room to admit to each we all do gay stuff. Right now the only thing standing in way was my was my dad. His long standing squeeze for the last five years just took off with a friend of his to live in Colorado. Even my mother who hates him and divorced him ten years ago is worried about him. Due to his mid-;ife crisis, he quit his job as a investment banker in an awesome office downtown to do day trading from home. He hasn't shaved in a week and for whatever reason when I get home at two twenty every day is also the time he starts drinking beer. My mom says in the nineteen years she has known him. He would never drink during the week and he would never drink more than three. Now he will finish a six pack.
I walk the three blocks home with Tim and Howie and we discuss helping each other with homework. Tim and I are hooking up tomorrow during study hall for English. What Howie does not know it is the third floor boys restroom with the out of order sign on the door. Which I personally made and we lock the door from the inside. What Tim does not know is that History assignment I am helping Howie with is at his house on Wednesday is while in parents are at a Church meeting. We get to the part where we go different directions, and I just want to get high, listen to some music.
It was weird that dad was not at his desk or in his chair watching TV. I grab a bottle water from the fringe and note he is not in the back yard. Dad's bedroom was on the first floor and empty. I have the whole up stairs to myself. One bedroom is a living room for gaming and one is my actual bedroom. I jump steps to see my dad watching gay adult content on my computer which shows up on my big screen TV. The two guys in the video look like they are on the bed in my room it's so big. Dad had one hand in his boxers and one hand was taking a hit off my pot pipe. He past it to me when I walked in. Saying you might want hit this before our conversation.
Oh crap. I sat on a chair at my desk where I do homework. I take two hits and dad passes me the container to load it back up. Asking how long have you been smoking pot behind my back? I say I been getting high for three years, but I only started buying it recently. So how long have you been watching this stuff? There is a ton of it on your laptop. I say three years. Then the moment every gay kid dreads. So, do you do gay stuff with your friends? I stated we don't do that pointing to the TV but pretty much everything else. He was shaking his head and had this weird grin on his face. You have been dealing with being gay and hiding it from everyone. Sorry you felt you could talk to me about this. That was not the kind of relationship I wanted for us. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought this was a heart attack at seventeen. He laughs as he sits up.
He tells me he is extremely stoned. He turns off the two naked guys on the TV and lights the pipe I filled up. Tells me pot makes him happy but emotional. He asked me to bring him up to date on everything going on with me. I explain I have three boyfriends that are all friends but they have zero idea the other two are fooling around with me too. No one wants to admit they are doing it or god forbid someone finds out. Dad has met and knows all three of them. Dad is freaking out they all do gay stuff. That we have been hooking up at school. and when parents are not home for about a year and a half. We were stoned and laughing are asses off. I had not seen this side of my dad ever. Then boom it occurs to me I am finally now out of the closet with my dad. This was me being myself for the first time in my life. I survived coming out and pot makes me emotional too.
We got the munchies and it was time for dinner. Dad makes Nachos with taco meat and toppings. He proposes I throw a sleepover for tomorrow for all four of us guys at the sametime. He will order pizza, we will need more pot. I explain that Tim and Howies dad limit us to no more that three beers each. Dad said fine I will see their three beers and allow four each but no one drives. Dad then asks if I had a favorite out of the three. I said I have had a crush on Pete forever. He is probably the most paranoid about doing anything. Dad suggested have him show up at six thirty and the other two at seven. Don't say anything about the other two joining. Dad and I cleaned up the house and set up a buffet in the kitchen. A place for pizza, chips, wings and a 12 pack of beer on ice.
Dad was wearing shorts and a T Shirt and so was I. Pete shows up on time. Dad is in his chair watching football on TV. Dad stands they shake hands and dad offers him a beer out of his cooler by his chair. Pete sits on the loveseat next to dad's chair and discuss the game. Pete seems all relaxed has a slice and as we planned I suggest we go upstairs and get high. He says okay and we disappear.
We were gone less than ten minutes when Tim and Howie showed up. The story I got later was dad said I was in the bathroom or something. Have a seat I would be down in a minute. Offers both a beer from his container they sit to watch the game and wait. What I did not know was dad had placed a lot of empty cans around his chair to give the impression he had drank too much. The got a couple slices of pizza and just watching the game. Third beer the team of choice scores and Tim and Howie do a chest bump that ends in a hug. Laughing as they return to their seats.
Dad reaches into the magazine rack by he chair and pulls out a gun. It was just a BB gun but it looked real. He asked Tim and Howie if they are fags. They were freaking out so much dad said he told Howie if he pisses his pants on his couch he was in trouble. Tim wanted call me to come down to straighten this out. Dad said take your t shirts off. Which they did right way. Dad said this was a test. He wanted to two of them making out right now. Tim actually apologized to Howie and said looks like we don't have a choice Bro.
He grabs him by the back of his head and goes a little postal putting his tongue down Howie's throat. Dad told Howie lean back and Tim just automatically crawled on top of him to continue making out. Dad sat back down in his chair and put the gun back. The two guys stopped and Dad said keep going until I say so. They pick up from where they left off with no problem. Finally after another five or ten minutes. Giggling Tim asked dad if he cares if they get naked. Dad said go for it. They get naked lay back down on the couch and dad picks up their clothes telling them they can have them back in the morning providing they admit they are boyfriends and gay. Then he goes to bed.
Eight in the morning the smell of bacon filled the house. It was the first time Pete and I had spent the whole night together in bed hitting home run after home run. Something about after going all the way with a guy for the first time. That makes things more clear than ever. We were both fine admitting we love each other, not so sure about telling anyone else. Then it remembered I invited other people over. We threw on shorts and went downstairs. Tim and Howie were curled up naked together on the couch. Dad was in the kitchen finishing up the eggs. Pete was freaking we were not the only two gay guys at our school. Tim wakes up first not knowing we were watching from the kitchen. He wakes up Howie with a kiss to his mouth. Howie smiles and wants more and we yelled breakfast is ready. They both freaked out so bad.
We all sat down at the table with smiles from ear to ear. Tim gave my dad a sexy hug and said thanks for that. I was confused until I got the details later. We were all going nuts for the first time ever we could say what we thought, what we wanted to say. We could be ourselves with each other. It was so freaking awesome. They discussed telling their parents, and what could be the worse thing to happen by coming out first to our parent and then at school. Dad said Tim and Howie could always come over as a safe place to be gay. He also suggests if they want their clothes back everyone needs to help clean up the kitchen after breakfast.
Dad said he was going to work and disappeared into his bedroom. I did not see him until the next morning as I was getting ready for school. He has finally shaved and midlife crisis look had changed to look like a normal person. He looked like my dad again. I hugged his neck for providing the most awesome weekend. Best dad ever was so unexpected. Told him we should get high together more often. Whatever it was that was bothering him I wanted to help. Like he just helped me. He suggested I already have helped. He seemed to think everything was going to be fine.
On Monday third period the four of us met in the third floor bathroom with my out of order sign. We are making out and talking about coming out as two couples at lunch time. Tim and I enter the lunch room a good ten minutes late from the east door. Pete and Howie enter from the west. Everyone is sitting down eating we meet in the middle, give each other a hug. Then start making out. The room erupted into a riot almost. Security made us stop and go sit down. No touching allowed. I leave school gay with three other gay dudes for the first ever. We could not wait to tell my dad what happened.
Dad had company that was slightly blown away by the hot four young men walking in and taking over. He told my dad when we were kids all the gay guys were wimps. Now gay gays are better looking than the straight guys you can't have. This is why everyone is gay these days. Dad grilled burgers for everyone outside. At dinner we found out that dad met Chuck in the Navy and they got to third base with each other due to being on a ship for six months. I freaked. They had run into each other at Home depot six months ago. Right before dad X took off. Chuck flirted with dad at the time and dad finally called him back. All four of us did homework at the kitchen table after dinner for slightly over an hour. Upstairs in separate bedrooms another hour alone with boyfriends before we have to part for the night. As it turned out Dad was having a sleepover himself.
My dad and Chuck hit it off and start hang out together. Chuck is retired after twenty two years in the Navy and dad stuck with the day trading. So, they both had a lot of play time both in their mid forties. Pete's parents were not thrilled but accepted that was the way it was they got over it. Tim and Howie started applying for the same colleges. While Pete and I had plans go save money and avoid student loans by attending the local college for two years.
Dad would explain over a joint and a few beers. After his girlfriend left he realized he hated his life. He never loved her in the first place. She was just someone he could have sex with. Then he stopped doing that. He said finding my pot and getting high for the first time in twenty years was like a miracle. He said he could feel the stress leave his body. Then he hit play just to see what was on to find two gay guys going at it. OMG Dad recalls he has other options, life is not over. Bells ringing in dads heads going off. DeVine intervention I got Chucks phone number. Dad had called him before I got home that day. Made plans to meet Monday night. By the time I got home and he passed me the pipe, dad had a good idea how all of this was going to end.
A girl at school we all knew wrote an article for the student newspaper about the four of us being friends and hiding the same secret from each other. The difference in our lives now that everyone knows and now that we can be ourselves. She wrote how for years a guy and a girl had the privilege of showing who they loved while at school. For two guys or two girls to walk down the hall holding hands. Someone would tell them to stop. What got everyone's attention was a series of clips from a security camera of us in the lunch room that day. We walked passed ten straight couples with arms all over each other in various stages of kissing to making out. Instead of letting the gay guys make out they made everyone stop.
Lets just say that article was not allowed to be published. So her dad paid to have two thousands copies printed. Everyone on the newspaper staff was handing them out all day. The principle made the announcement in eighth period. A change of policy that allows all students to hold hands, put your arms around each other, and some kissing between any two students would be allowed. Making out is not and all students will be stopped for excessive groping. In addition The third floor bathroom is working if anyone seeing an out of order sign on the door is to contact security immediately.
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gaviicreates · 5 months
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Craft week in review
Good Morning, and Happy Sunday! Here in the US, we just caught up with the rest of the world with that twice annual clock adjusting we do. Those of you without daylight savings, you know where it's at. In any case, Northern Hemisphere means we got extra sleep today, so not too many complaints from me here. Even the dogs accepted the lie in, which was amazing.
I'm still figuring out how I want to use this blog space. My impulse posts I can't put here, because I used a log in type that requires me to be on my laptop. That means you get the nice pictures, the reflections, the organized WIPs updates, but none of that is helpful in keeping the space active. What are you, blog? An archive, a journal, a gallery?
Please bear with me while I figure it out. I get that the pictures of the finished objects are what tends to inspire people, but I like writing and sharing the journey, even if those musings are not as entertaining. I'm still working on the balance.
~*~
Doilies
Last week, I primarily worked on blocking some finished doilies I had to work on over a couple of days. I only have one set of blocking boards with the circle lines for me to properly measure out the doilies evenly. I'm fine throwing my own stuff on the normal boards and eye-balling it, but not for commissions. With those finished I decided to open up some more local commissions, which quickly filled with family members, and posed the question a bit more in general to the online audience. So four more commissions have joined my schedule, though not all of them need to be in by Christmas.
In the meantime, I started another tree doily, and I plan to take pictures of those pieces soon so I can share them. Here's a phone one to hold you over.
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Purchases/Acquisitions
I had a couple purchases last week - and some quick turn arounds. In the yarn world, I placed an order for some Hobbii Rainbow Lace which is one of my go-tos for when specific colors are requested. The yardage is not as much as one might get with Aunt Lydia's from the local JOANN or Michaels, but the shades they carry are so rich and varied. Plus, I'd been eyeing up a rust color I needed an excuse to add to my cart. I also grabbed some dark reds and soft greens to play around with Christmas shades.
Of the hand-dyers, one of the brands I follow is Hue Loco out of Colorado. As with hand-dyed, you're paying for what I consider a luxury material, so as much as I would like to buy everything I do try to splurge sparingly for the sake of my wallet. But I stumbled upon a colorway that was perfect for a project I'd been planning, and since it was going to be a gift for my husband, I didn't mind going the hand-dyed route. The colorway is called "Magpie" and it's a beautiful blend of blues and greys with a sprinkling of browns. SW 100% Merino in worsted. This one came in yesterday, and I couldn't resist working it up right away.
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I may have also purchased something for myself while I was on their site. Shh.
I also splurged and ordered some Furls wooden streamline hooks I'd been wanting - in Ebony. One of my dogs got ahold of one of the nice resin colors that were no longer in stock, so I couldn't re-order it when it made unusable.
Expensive week for me! But it'll be the last for awhile while I budget instead for Christmas and start working on the projects these materials were purchased for. For a last hurrah before the holidays, I'm happy with these selections.
Upcoming
The sock DPN class I signed up for starts tomorrow, and knit night at my LYS on Tuesday.
I have one more more doily to block, the next tree one to finish, and the commissions pending.
The new Furls Hooks should arrive next week. Hobbii is enroute.
WIPS: My sky blanket project is making great progress - I've been able to keep up with it and the goal will be to provide an update monthly around the middle of the month. Chevron Scarf was put on hold this week, but maybe I will work on it some today to give me a knitting break.
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Powered wheelchairs and Right to Repair
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Here’s a miserable story with a mostly happy ending, one that leaves us with work to do, sure, but also with clarity on what to do next and how to do it. It’s about Colorado’s HB22–1031, “Consumer Right To Repair Powered Wheelchairs,” which Governor Jared Polis signed into law last week:
https://leg.colorado.gov/bills/hb22-1031#:~:text=Concerning%20a%20requirement%20that%20a,repair%20the%20manufacturer%27s%20powered%20wheelchairs
Three million Americans rely on wheelchairs, and many of them use powered wheelchairs. A wheelchair is an amazing assistive device, one that can mean the difference between being stuck at home — or even in bed — and being able to work, go to school, shop, and see family and friends.
Even if you don’t use a powered wheelchair, it won’t surprise you to learn that they break. A lot. Anyone with a phone or a laptop — tech that travels with us out of the home, into the great and wild outdoors — knows that stuff you take with you into the world takes a lot of knocks.
But when it comes to powered wheelchairs, there are a lot of complicated — and frankly awful — structural factors that virtually guarantee that the chairs will get broken, and then getting them fixed is an incredible hassle. These structural factors are detailed in “Stranded,” the US Public Interest Research Group’s new report:
https://uspirgedfund.org/reports/usp/stranded
Stranded’s foundation is 141 interviews US wheelchair users about their experiences with wheelchairs, which informs its commercial and legal analysis of the structural problems that underpin those experiences.
The report explains how Medicare narrowly interprets its statutory duties, allowing it to exclude outdoor powered wheelchairs from its program. That means that the majority of Americans who rely on powered wheelchairs have to use indoor wheelchairs, even when outdoors.
No wonder that these chairs break. A lot. As Mark Schmeler from U Pitt told Markian Hawryluk from Kaiser Health News, “It’s like you’re outside walking around all day with your slippers on.”
https://khn.org/news/article/power-wheelchair-users-right-to-repair-law-no-easy-fix/
But it’s not just a problem of fragile indoor chairs in a rugged outdoor world. The chairs aren’t just indoor chairs, they’re bad indoor chairs. That’s down to Medicare’s policy of using nationwide low bidders to supply chairs, which produced a winner-take-all duopoly where two private equity-backed manufacturers dominate.
These two companies — Numotion and National Seating and Mobility — have presided over a decline in the quality and durability of chairs, which means that the chairs they make break more often. Because these are PE-backed rollups — companies that used private equity capital and debt leverage to buy all their competitors — they need very high margins to meet investor expectations and cover their debts. That has resulted in deep cuts to the companies’ service budgets.
Medicare also has a policy of not funding preventative maintenance and only replacing chairs every five years, which means that these fragile, undermaintained, badly made indoor chairs must last for half a decade. That’s why 93% of respondents to the PIRG survey reported broken chairs in the previous year.
But also, the duopoly — whose anticompetitive mergers were waved through by the FTC — refuses to invest in repair, which is why 62% of repairs take 4+ weeks, while 40% take 7+ weeks. That’s 7 weeks of being stuck in your home — or even in your bed — while you wait for a technician to get your chair running again. Many of the people interviewed for Stranded can’t wait, and continue to use broken chairs. Some of them were severely injured as a result.
Unsurprisingly, wheelchair users and their trusted technicians often end up fixing their own chairs. Fixing a flat tire — or even swapping the little skateboard wheel used to stabilize a chair with a heavy control unit and respirator — are not rocket science. Stranded quotes a wheelchair technician who works for the duopoly: “most repairs to wheelchairs are straightforward and don’t require specialized skills or training, just a familiarity with mechanical devices.”
But there are deep structural impediments to independent powered wheelchair repair, impediments that are familiar from other Right To Repair fights: parts, and DRM. As with mobile phones, tractors, cars, and appliances, parts for powered wheelchairs can be hard to source because the cartel that manufactures them refuses to make them available except to authorized technicians. As is the case with other repair monopolies — like Apple’s authorized independent repair program — technicians are not allowed to keep parts in inventory, which means that nearly every repair includes a lengthy delay while parts are ordered and shipped.
Beyond parts, there are the problems of Digital Rights Management (DRM) in the chairs’ electronics. As with GM cars, John Deere tractors, and Apple iPhones, access to these electronics is digitally restricted to authorized technicians with passwords and specialized hardware tokens. Under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), making tools to bypass these access controls is a felony carrying a maximum penalty of 5 years in prison and a $500,000 fine:
https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8
That means that wheelchair users and independent technicians can’t access the diagnostic information from their own chairs, and when they swap in new components, they can’t access the configuration tools to get them working, including changing a chair’s grip parameters after changing to all-weather tires.
Powered wheelchair users need routine access to these electronics, just to tweak the settings of their chairs. For example, a wheelchair user who gains ability and confidence might want to change the delay settings for their control unit. One of the interview subjects in Stranded compares bad delay settings to “driving with bungee cords.” Without access to their electronics, wheelchair users are at the mercy of the under-resourced, delay-prone official technicians, and at the mercy of Medicare’s willingness to authorize payment for tuning this setting.
Now, finally, we come to Colorado’s HB221031, the new right to repair wheelchair laws. Like the model R2R laws that a coalition of monopolistic manufacturers have defeated time and again, in states across America, the law requires manufacturers to supply parts, manuals, and unlock codes to chair owners and independent technicians.
https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13
Many of the commentators quoted in the KHN story and in Stranded make the point that making it easier to fix wheelchairs won’t solve all the other problems — a monopolized chair manufacturing market, Medicare policies on preventative maintenance, outdoor chairs, and replacements, etc. They’re right.
But this law will make it easier for wheelchair users to repair the chairs they rely on. It will free them from endless bureaucratic nightmares, from enforced immobility, from isolation from work and school and family and friends. It will remove a burden — a burden that impairs wheelchair users and their families from advocating for the structural fixes we need.
Right to repair laws have been defeated again and again in statehouses across America, thanks to the solidarity of monopolists, who have formed seemingly unbeatable coalitions devoted to ripping off their customers and destroying the planet with infinite mountains of e-waste.
But, as this bill shows, the anti-repair axis can be defeated. In Massachusetts, Bay Staters overwhelmingly voted in an automotive right to repair laws in a 2020 ballot measure. In New York, the governor just signed an unprecedented right to repair electronics law. And in Colorado, we have the first successful right to repair wheelchairs law.
These successes tell us what we need to do next: replicate New York’s electronics repair law, Massachusetts’ automotive repair law, and Colorado’s wheelchair repair law in other states. Go from strength to strength, victory to victory, shattering the anti-repair axis by picking off its members, one at a time.
All of this will create the political will and the political space for realizing the promise of the FTC’s landmark “Nixing the Fix” report:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/07/pro-act-class-war/#we-fixit
And Biden’s excellent executive order on Right to Repair:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/10/unnixing-the-fix/#r2r-plus-plus
The anti-repair axis’s lies — that only they can perform safe and effective repairs — grow thinner every day. The true motivation — extracting monopoly rents — grows more undeniable. As ever, rights for people with disability redound to all of us.
It’s not that we’re all merely “temporarily able-bodied” (as Liz Henry once memorably put it to me), either. Just as curb-cuts help people with strollers and bikes and grocery buggies, just as subtitles help language learners and people in noisy environments, protecting people with disabilities protects us all. That’s why the activism of people with disabilities is activism that benefits us all.
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/06/when-drm-comes-your-wheelchair
Image: Hugh D’Andrade for EFF https://www.eff.org/files/banner_library/wheelchair-drm-2b.png
CC BY US 3.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/
[Image ID: EFF's remix of the wheelchair/disabled logo. The wheelchair user has been flipped to face left; they are holding an outsized open-ended wrench which they are using to tighten their own wheelchair's wheel. Around them is a decorative orange and yellow concentric circle motif.]
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hospitalterrorizer · 5 months
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diary38
10/12-16/2023
missed a few days, sadly.
that's cuz my gf needed to use her laptop pretty late into each night and the wifi at the hotel was weird and it was saying something about paying and i didn't want to cause some kind of bother so i just like, didn't do much. the tv had youtube. i watched stupid videos on it. that made me feel idiotic and awful sometimes, when the videos were very bad. but colorado, wow, i think it's very beautiful and all the people in denver/golden freak me out in a bad kind of way. like, why are so many of them namaste white people, why are there so few "trendy" (even disliking the trends) people, it's not necessarily good that people follow trends but seeing so many people entrenched in ancient ones, even in the mall, you know, in a giant, huge mall, featuring multiple stores with the word "oriental" in the name. seriously one of the biggest malls i've been to. it was really fun, in that way, it also had the biggest target my gf or i have ever seen, which was fun. but people gave me lots of weird looks, obviously, and that only got worse as time went on there i think. the area we were in seemed like heavily either namaste white people cult-y, and gently nu-christofascist cult-y, i saw a guy pray before eating in a wendy's, a woman gave me evil eyes as i tried to make way for her to pass, and not knowing which way to go, she just kept getting more hateful looking. all the people were either pretty nice or like, the kind of polite where they stare at you, side eye you, but basically treat you "fine," in every other way, meaning they don't go so far as to say anything, but the old people seemed to want to sometimes. i wasn't even very outlandish i think. i don't know. i was just trying to be an androgyne out there, nothing particularly, like, wild.
like on this hike we did up a mountain to get to the small town proper, small town meaning suburb out of denver proper so the people who live there can talk about "city people" as if they are any different (no small town in america is sufficiently different from or detached from a major city to really talk about city people like that anymore i think, they are totally enmeshed), and buy granola-crunchy-white people charms made by fitness cultists or whatevs.
golden is supposedly a very rich town, and a very educated one, over 50% of the population. very strange to me. it felt like a place bill gates loves. denver broadly gave that impression. i wasn't there for long enough to get what's really cool in the city, if anything, the landscape like i said was beautiful, though, i loved seeing the trees and animals and everything, it did make me happy.
anyways right now i am fixing a couple songs, the break i think will probably be put to better use tomorrow w/r/t listening and stuff, i'll be less exhausted from travel and that can impact my decision making, so right now i'm just doing very light detail-y stuff on some songs, basically trying to balance them.
what else about the trip, i dunno. tomorrow is when i'll get the pictures off my phone and put them here. that's exciting for me, i really like some of these photos.
i've actually never seen fall quite like that, my gf said it reminded her of jersey in places, which made me happy. i was really pleased to see actually red trees, as well as the yellow and orange ones, but i've seen those sometimes in vegas. that and the plains, the actually variable terrain, walking and noticing huge clusters of plants that aren't just everywhere, the actual diversity of the landscape and what lives there really was wonderful.
a thing about america i guess is beautiful places are sometimes also horrifically haunted feeling, or make you feel like you are haunting them. we saw a girl at this place we went into for food, she complemented our outfits, and she was wearing huge goth boots, that made me wonder about how this place felt to her, and like, if it wigged her out too, or something. a woman also was nice to us, i think i said earlier but some people were really quite nice. something about that makes the place sadder, that there are people who aren't like, some kind of mutant conservative. i saw a person's house with an "in this house we believe in science, and that love is love, and that black lives matter," and right beside it was a sign that said "thank you police officers!"
their dogs started barking at me, to get off the property, to dissuade me from a photo, but i did get one.
wondering about widening the stereo field on this song a bit. might be a good idea. i should wait until tomorrow to make that call, but as long as the tracks are balanced enough i should be able to push it farther and that will leave more room for synths and vocals and the snare.
and the right channel needs to have a few more low mids, i guess i should compress post distortion, to figure that out, but after this exports i think i should call it a night w/ music honestly cuz i am definitely not in the right place for that.
today i did get to start something fun, my friend wants to write collaborative poetry with me, he's doing it with everyone, i'm glad he saw fit to try w/ me.
speaking of poetry, in the airport today, and on the way to it, i wrote notes app poems, this is how you know you are crazy/going crazy/ whatever.
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feeling like this yonekura masakane illustration, i am so beat, so,
byebye!!
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wynnblair · 1 year
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The Cheap Online Movie Rental Option - A Gain Of New Technology
https://chothuelaptop.info/cho-thue-laptop-ha-noi/ Each rental plan a person to rent movies online but only so many at once. For example, ought to you are on top of the 1 movie per month plan, you will need to return each DVD leading to the next the mailed you r. The shuffle player can be a low end model. The ideal for men and women interested within a sleek and light-weight weight media player. The music player comes with flash memory. That doesn't have a screen and music files are played out arbitrarily. A mid priced product is Nano. What's more, it has a flash memory feature, additionally it features a screen with easy controls for selecting and playing files. itouch is an increased end mp3 music player and may be the latest offering from supplier. This product comes with great touch alerts. However, there is a reduction in the memory space to accommodate the sophisticated touch class. The online market place is changing many industries today, even how we rent movies to watch in our homes. Conventional rental store is being replaced by companies that supply the answer to rent movies online. Right now there are rewards when you are renting movies online as instead of in stash. If you must use a computer do not want decide to buy it, it is simple to rent this method. Renting a computer is just like renting a automotive. The company ships you a pc and provided for a fee to this. The longer you use, you will you compensation. Payment can be weekly, monthly also bimonthly. With respect to your requirement, you can rent a single computer or hundreds regarding. Both short and long term computer rental is not too hard. Home Coffee Brewing Systems - Java makers include systems from Keurig and Cuisinart. This person liked sealed pods of coffee that are inserted in the machine. Yet great for every single cup of coffee, but you need to buy special pods of coffee, the bit thumb. But they are so convenient and fast just for a couple servings of coffee that barefoot running makes up for the expense of. Also available is an empty pod that are filled with your own choice of coffee. If laptop rental your company requires a network, you may want start by purchasing or leasing a equipment. Consult with the experts to decide which hardware will suit existing needs while providing enough expandability develop with you really. From there, you need to find the other highlites. Let's start with workstations. As an aside, there might be a reason why your IT people always tell of which you back your files to your network, a drive or disc. Finest like this, where in order to rent a laptop, will come your way your files from the network some other location and copy these types of the rented computer. The store manager from the store was gracious enough to drive us on the rental chest of drawers. We threw our bags into the rear of the pick-up and headed toward Colorado. We still had not seen what had happened nor did we get of the details, and we turned about the radio. Of course, every station was buzzing an issue news. The reports aren't clear, but also had confirmed that there are two planes that had hit the twin towers, and that both towers had folded away. All we were able to determine there on that lone stretch of road was that our nation was under attack and that people freedoms and liberties that you sometimes had taken without any consideration were now being challenged by a mysterious attacker.
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kibakingonyo · 2 years
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User Search Intent to Consider in Creating Customer-based Content
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Targeting content to a specific audience persona increases the chances of making sales because people like content that answers their questions.
Besides, search engines can rank content that aligns with users' search queries. That`s why it`s essential to learn why people search, and that`s what this content is about.
So, let`s dive right into it.
What Search Intent Mean
Search intent refers to the purposes for people making searches online. It is also referred to as keyword intent.
Your content should reflect users` searches in order to rank.
Importance of Search Intent
Search intent influences the ability of content to rank and whether it satisfies your audience or not.
Not only do search results match users with the relevant niche, but they also display content that serves their appropriate purpose. That`s why when you search about where to buy donuts, search engines won`t display results for how to cock them.
Search engine bots interpret people`s search queries and deliver relevant results. When people are satisfied with your content, they will build trust in you and rely on your content, which improves traffic.
Knowing users` search intent also helps create content targeted to your readers` needs.
Types of Search Intent
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Search intent is divided into different elements which include:
Navigational Search Intent
People conduct this type of search if they already know the website name. So, they type the brand name or the URL and search.
To enable your website to be used in navigational search, ensure to create helpful content. Doing so, you will build authority and trust and make people rely on you for any information related to your niche.
Examples of navigational intent searches would be searching for BBC News, Tecno, Yahoo, etc.
Informational Search Intent
This refers to a kind of search that one makes to learn a specific topic. Informational search intent is meant to provide answers to the audience`s questions and not to sell products or services.
The majority of searches made online are informational intent focused. Creating content from this angle makes people trust your knowledge on particular topics, increasing traffic and sales.
Examples of search intent may include:
How to replace a phone screen
What SEO means
Why should people learn IT
Commercial Search Intent
This search type is conducted when the audience is yet to decide to buy. An example is one who wants to buy a laptop for freelance writing but they haven`t decided which the best model is.
Commercial searches may involve content like comparisons, lists, product reviews, etc.
So, people might do searches like best laptops for freelancing, Lenovo laptops vs dell, top five hp laptops for freelance writing, etc.
Transactional Search Intent
This search intent is done when someone has already decided what to buy and they are only looking for where to purchase.
Users doing transactional search intent define the exact products or services and sometimes suggest places where think fits their purpose.
Someone looking for real estate services may search for real estate companies in their specific area like real estate agents in Colorado, for example.
Examples of transactional searches may include:
Two-bedroom houses for sale in Miami
SEO keynote speakers in Toronto
Places to buy hamburgers near me
Conclusion
The audience`s intent determines your content focus. Apart from boosting SEO practices, it`s a guide that helps in PPC marketing as well. It helps to influence your targeted campaigns and allows you to know the focus keywords on which to bid.
If you want to increase brand awareness or conversions, search intent is what you should consider.
It helps define whether your content is for informational, commercial, transactional, or navigational purposes.
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massielandnetwork · 2 years
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Navigating an Historic Period - Economic Bubble and Anarchy
14. When Dementia Replaces Meritocracy – Wobbling Wheels, Rough Ride
Would you like a mean tweet and $1.79 per gallon gas right now? Me, too!
Hooray! I did not watch both Men’s Final Four games on Saturday, but I have watched the video of the opening ceremony singing of the National Anthem four times. Does that count? Hallelujah and promote whoever organized that rendition of the National Anthem and required everyone stand for it!!!! It brought back wonderful memories each time I replayed it because it was a glimpse of the real world. Unfortunately, the Women’s Final four game was different. Neither the Gamecocks or UConn reflected any class.
The next best image last week was of a Ukrainian grandmother standing in her kitchen obviously salvaging whatever she could from her damaged home. What made the picture most remarkable was that she was calmly standing next to an unexploded Russian cruise missile that was nose down in her sink with an obvious hole in her kitchen ceiling where the missile had entered her home. Talk about a picture worth 1,000 words. Here is what I realized:
1. The Russian military ordered a cruise missile but not one what would actually explode.
2. Unless that sink was critically important, the Russian military did not specify an accurate guidance system.
3. Have so many of Russia’s “smart” weapons not exploded that the Ukrainian grandmother felt there was no risk to stand next to one while she salvaged items from her kitchen?
4. I do not know what improvements have occurred in American cruise missiles, but two decades ago I spoke with an engineer working with our cruise missiles and he said the guidance system was so accurate he could determine which corner of a bathroom was hit.
That picture captured how centralized planning has always failed. Capitalism always does a better job of allocating resources while providing the maximum goods and services at the lowest price. Both China’s and Russia’s economies (add Cuba, Venezuela, et al) are suffering from the effects of centralized planning. None of the “Elite” of Russia are suffering anything more than inconvenience from our sanctions but the little folks there are in trouble. The ripple effects will be global.
Russia’s main economic driver is oil and there is a global market for that resource. China does not have any preference as to the source of the oil they buy. The Russian Ruble has recovered its value because Putin demanded Russian oil be purchased in Rubles. That move damages the use of the American Dollar as the global reserve currency. Putin is playing against a compromised, senile American President surrounded by incompetents. Give that round to Putin.
The past week also has several other notable events:
1. The Russian soldiers that “captured” Chernobyl” when they invaded Ukraine apparently have received an education on the effects of radiation poisoning and have now left.
2. The National Institute of Health (NIH) disclosed that they had suppressed information on the Wuhan Virus including its origin.
3. It was also confirmed that Fauci funded the “gain of function” research in the bat virus at the Wuhan lab.
4. The Colorado legislature and governor want to position Colorado as the destination of choice for abortions by passing legislation that not only make abortions legal but also the termination of life of an unwanted baby. Where is the line that determines murder?
5. Amid a retired CIA official bragging that his letter saying the Hunter Biden laptop was Russian Fake news was intentionally wrong, The White House tried to spin the apparently approaching indictment of Hunter Bidden by having The New York Times and The Washington Post state that the laptop is real, but Hunter did not break any laws, and Joe was not “The Big Guy”. The White House did not call for the investigation of the lying CIA official nor did they mention any involvement of the Tooth Fairy bringing impressive wealth to Uncle Joe who has spent his life on a government salary.
Economic Update
While three delusional old men - Biden, Putin, and Xi have put the world on the precipice of world war and global economic collapse, the little people that are not members of the “Elites” have continued to work, pay taxes, and find workarounds for the mess the Elites are creating.
Some economic reports suggest potentially dangerous trends may have started but there are not enough data points to confirm. One report stated that office leasing in New York City was 11% less first quarter of 2022 versus 2021 despite increased rents. “Go Woke Go Broke” was ignored by Disney executives that decided to shift the orientation of their product from the majority of the audience (families) to teaching sex education to kids starting at the age of 5. Another organization that decided to go Woke is the US Army which is now unable to attract enough recruits even with significant enlistment bonuses, so it is shrinking.
Data points suggest that we are in a world where the self-appointed “leaders” are totally out of step with their constituents/customers. That is a dangerous situation that always ends in an ugly adjustment which includes economic turmoil. The question each of us little folks face is – How do we position ourselves for the coming economic turmoil?
Since the alternative is to experience an economy similar to Germany Post World War I where five years from now the cost of one fresh egg is the value of a farm today, The Fed will have to increase interest rates. To defeat inflation, interest rates will have to be higher than the rate of inflation. Knowing those facts is the easy part, experiencing the transition will be painful.
The problem with economic forecasting is that the Demented Marxist/Democrats know they are in in trouble with the election in November. So, they are doubling down on vote fraud using Executive Order #14019 which converts every Department and Agency of the Federal government into a ballot harvesting operation. I am surprised the Republican have not challenged this Executive order in court since civil servants are supposed to be nonpartisan (not accurate under Democrats).
Simply put, the level of honesty in the elections of November of 2022 and 2024 will determine whether the USA collapses under socialism or returns to capitalism and thrives. The Voter Fraud pot is approaching boil but our so called mainstream media is ignoring it like they did Hunter Biden’s laptop.
Over one-half of Wisconsin Counties have voted to decertify the 2020 election. Several other states are actively pursuing correcting the fraud in 2020. Elections are our key feedback loop. Fraudulent elections block the correcting mechanism which in turn has a direct impact on our economics.
Elon Musk’s purchase of 9% of Twitter’s stock not only set off a run up in Twitter stock prices, but it may also signal entrepreneurs getting in the news business. A media company that actually focuses on factual news not opinions would become extremely profitable. Capitalism should result in that evolution occurring. I expect/hope that others follow Musk.
A great piece of land remains The Best investment long term, but every portfolio should contain some cash because in the coming recession “Cash will be King”. Focus on the Truth, The Way, and The Light. Just like 2022 years ago, those consumed by the world are living in the dark and do not understand that their power, economic or political or both, is worthless. Men make plans, but God ALWAYS wins.
America has been blessed because of the combination of Christianity, Capitalism, and democracy. That combination has powered America though some difficult times in the past. Pray for a Revival.
Also, please pray:
1. For the 598 surviving Americans being held as political prisoners by Biden and the Demented Marxists in hell hole conditions in the DC Gulag.
2. For the Canadian and American truckers who are fighting for your freedom.
3. For honest elections because they are the fulcrum of our American experiment.
4. For the valiant Ukrainians.
Let’s Go Brandon!
“The coming of the lawless one is apparent in the working of Satan, who uses all power, signs, lying wonders, and every kind of wicked deception for those who are perishing, because they refused to love the truth and so be saved. For this reason, God sends them a powerful delusion, leading them to believe what is false, so that all who have not believed the truth but took pleasure in unrighteousness will be condemned.”
(2 Thessalonians 2:9-11) New Revised Standard Version, Oxford University Press)
Stay healthy,
Ned
April 6, 2022
Copyright Massie Land Network. All rights Reserved.
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itgurusatlanta · 3 years
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valdomarx · 3 years
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time enough for counting (when the dealing's done)
McShep + Vegas fix-it, requested by @beautifulmonster. 2k, rated M.
Bad beat
John had always known it would end like this. 
Well, the space aliens and the shady government organization had been a surprise. But the bleeding out, alone in the desert - yeah, that was always how he was going to go.
There’s a kind of dark satisfaction in seeing the world turn out exactly as shitty and brutal as you knew it would be. Called it.
His moment of sick vindication is interrupted, though, by a figure standing over him and peering down with cursory interest.
Sharp black suit, spotless even in the heat and the muck. Hands in pockets, head quirked in something that might be amusement. “Should have known you’d pull a stunt like this,” it says, and John would smirk at playing to type but the blood loss pulls him under.
Ante up
He wakes to pain. Vicious, lancing pain and the cloying smell of antiseptic and the beeping of monitors. He tries to sit up and his chest screams until he collapses back onto the bed.
Next to him, a slightly rumpled McKay is tapping furiously at a laptop. “Don’t go dying on me now, Sheppard,” he says without looking up. “I’ve got plans for you.”
Buy-in
The next time he wakes, the light has faded. It must be evening. 
The hospital room - his own private room, he realizes - is nice. Far too nice for the local joint. Must be private. Must have cost someone a pretty penny. He would have told whoever it is to save their cash.
“You’re awake. Good.” McKay strides in, less rumpled now. Neat black suit back in perfect order. “I don’t have much time, so listen up.”
He tells John how they destroyed the Wraith target before he could get a message to his buddies in Pegasus. How this universe is safe, but the spacetime rift has sent that information echoing through other universes. How they’re putting together a team to visit these other universes; warn them, offer to help if they can.
How he’ll be leaving in a few hours to head up the program. How he thinks John might be able to help.
John blinks. His eyelids are sticky and his mouth is full of fluff.
“Why the hell would you bring this to me?”
McKay flashes him an enigmatic smile. “You did save the world. Maybe you’re more of a hero than you realize.”
On the flop
He gets unceremoniously booted out of the hospital a few days later, when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to die and whoever was bankrolling his stay isn’t any more.
His car is totaled. The money inside is gone. He’s got the clothes on his back, a mountain of debt, no job, and -
He sticks a hand into the pocket of his jacket. There’s something in there: a neat rectangle of card which reads, Doctor Rodney McKay, PhD PhD. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. There’s no phone number.
He heads for the nearest motel he can find, picks up two bottles of rotgut whiskey, and drinks until he manages to pass out amid the sounds of yelling and the scuttering of cockroaches. 
Into the muck
Whatever the fuck else might be going on in the world, there is always the constant: 52 cards, 4 suits, the flick of the dealer’s wrist as he lays out your fortunes, the wins and the loses and the ones where you came oh so close.
He’s back at Mikey’s within a week, borrowing more to get out ahead of this debt, even though he knows that’s never going to work.
Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe he can win what he needs, pay off the people he has to, and use the rest to make a start somewhere other than here. Anywhere other than this desert full of chips and blood and corpses and filth.
It’s going to be a good night, he tells himself as he settles into a squeaky plastic chair at a low-roller table and looks around at his competition. Tourists and chumps, and he can take these guys no problem.
Pot-committed
He’s woken by a shrill ringing. His head feels like he’s stuck it in a cement mixer and his mouth tastes like cheap whiskey and puke. He rolls over, covers his ears with a ratty pillow, and ignores it.
The ringing continues. What the fuck? It’s a phone. It keeps ringing. He doesn’t own a phone.
Whoever the fuck is calling is still going, so with a groan he sits up and, bleary-eyed, looks for the phone. He finds it in his jacket pocket, and he’s almost certain it wasn’t there last night.
“Yeah?” he says as he answers it. “What do you want?”
“Sheppard,” a crisp, familiar voice says. “I’ve got a job for you.”
Sheppard closes his eyes. The last thing he needs right now is a world-ending crisis. “Can’t,” he says shortly. “I’ve got… business to attend to.”
McKay snorts. “Another fortune to lose at the poker table? I’m sure you do.” John can hear judgement radiating down the phone line. Then McKay sighs and softens. “Tell you what, meet me and hear me out, and I’ll see what I can do about clearing that off-the-books debt for you.”
That pings John’s bullshit meter, for sure, because that much money doesn’t get casually tossed around even in defense circles. But McKay gives him the address of a pancake place to meet for breakfast and what the hell, he does like pancakes.
Check in the dark
“We keep running into you,” McKay says, shoveling maple syrup-covered pancakes into his mouth with great enthusiasm. “Or, well, other versions of you. Practically every universe we’ve visited so far, you’re leading the team.”
John raises an eyebrow. Not much surprises him any more, but parallel realities strain even his credulity.
“It would be easier,” McKay continues, “if you were with us. You could help us explain. People trust you.”
John jerks back like McKay has slipped a knife between his ribs. McKay doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he does notice and is tactful or manipulative enough not to acknowledge it.
“Come work with me. We’d need to get you some -” he gestures with a fork, “- training, obviously. But you could be useful. You could do some good.”
John shifts in his seat. “I can’t just leave.”
McKay scowls at him. “Right, because you’ve got so many compelling reasons to stay.”
Gutshot
He ends up in some anonymous Air Force bunker in Colorado, of all places, and being around so much military life has his hackles rising. He’s deposited in a blank, windowless room with a desk covered in stacks of carefully redacted mission reports from the Stargate program which he reads voraciously because this is wild, this is unbelievable, but it’s also all true.
McKay finds him a few days later, lounging in the doorway as impeccable as ever. John is suddenly very aware of the fact he’s been sleeping in his clothes.
“Keeping busy?” McKay asks, voice dripping with condescension and something else John doesn’t want to put his finger on.
John nibbles the pen he’s holding as he considers how to answer that, and he notices the way McKay’s eyes flick to his mouth. Ahh. Interesting.
“Staying out of trouble, at least,” he drawls, letting his posture slacken so he’s lounging against the back of the chair and his knees are spread wide. It’s been a while but he knows how to play this game. 
McKay walks around to his side of the desk, each step measured and precise. Not too fast, no sudden movements, a predator lining up for the kill. John tilts his head back and bares his neck, because he knows how to play the role of prey. McKay perches on the edge of the desk between his legs, looks down his nose, and says, “Somehow I doubt that.”
“I can behave.” He looks up from under his lashes. It’s not exactly subtle, but fuck it, they’re way past that by now. “When properly motivated.”
McKay leans in, all sharp smiles and gleaming edges, and John shudders. McKay notices and the sharp edges of his smile glistens. 
“I know you can, Sheppard,” McKay says in a low voice that has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “I told you before. I know everything about you.”
Damn the man, John thinks, and then McKay winds his fingers into John's hair and yanks him in for a hot, messy kiss and John stops thinking altogether. 
Afterwards, as he makes vain attempts to pull up his shirt collar to hide the bite marks and to wipe the come stains off the classified military files, John reflects that he may truly be in over his head this time.
Under the gun
A stack of paperwork drops onto his desk with a dull thud. He looks up to find the scowling face of Major Davis.
“Consultant,” Davis says, chilly as ice. “That’s what the Pentagon is willing to offer. You’ll get a salary and accommodation, and in return you’ll help Doctor McKay with his research while he’s on Earth.”
John opens his mouth, though whether it’s to say thank you, to tell Davis to go fuck himself, or to ask for more money, he isn’t sure. Davis holds up a hand to stop him before he can find out.
“I advised against it, given your record. But McKay is a real pain in the ass when he wants to be. So this is what’s on the table. Take it or leave it.”
Tell
McKay’s brow is furrowed and he’s fiddling with some piece of machinery (probably alien, John thinks, and it seems that sort of thing is part of his life now). It blinks to life for a moment before the lights on the top fade away, and McKay swears and bangs it on the table.
“Hey, easy, Chewie,” John chides.
McKay’s eyes narrow. “I thought you said you didn’t like science fiction.”
“Star Wars isn’t science fiction. It’s science fantasy.”
McKay actually smiles at that, something joyous leaping up in the corners of his mouth.
“Knew you were a nerd,” McKay says under his breath, and John punches him playfully in the shoulder. He’s defending his honor, or something.
McKay ducks his head, and a blush creeps up the back of his neck.
Ace high
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” McKay looks even smugger than usual. 
“Yeah?” John slips a leer into the syllable.
But McKay just rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Come on, there’s something I want you to see.”
He leads him down through the base to a lower level, through endless security checks and into a dark hanger. There’s some technology they’ve acquired from an off-world source, he explains, deliberately vague. He’s trying to make some modifications to it, and he thinks John can help with testing.
John has learned to expect the unexpected in this place, but when the lights of the hanger flicker on his breath still catches. It illuminates a ship unlike anything he’s seen before: slick and cylindrical, rear hatch open to show seats and consoles inside.
“It’s fitted with inertial dampers, weapons, a shield,” McKay says breezily. “Oh, and you’ll like this.” He flicks a button on a control and the ship disappears in a haze like hot air. “It’s got a cloak too.”
It’s like something out of a movie, and John is struck speechless. He follows wide-eyed as McKay decloaks the ship to lead them inside and gestures for him to sit.
And woah, the moment he sits the chair glows and a holographic interface springs up in front of him, and he can feel the ship in his mind. He reaches out with a thought and - ping - the display shows a schematic of the hanger.
“Knew you’d be a natural,” McKay says, managing to sound both condescending and delighted. “Want to take her for a spin?”
Yes, everything in him screams, but he thinks about flames and smoke and the shrill, piercing whine of a tail rotor failing, and he grits his teeth against it and says, “I don’t fly any more,” instead.
McKay gives him a long, cool look. 
“We’ll start small,” McKay says, all business, and it’s so easy to relax and follow his lead. “I need you to activate the inertial dampeners while I adjust the shield field strength.”
Okay. Okay. He can do that.
The ship whirs to life.
Short stack
John stares at the blank white walls of his apartment.
It’s better than most places he’s lived in. No roaches, for a start, and it’s clean and has its own kitchen.
But it’s infuriatingly bland, and Colorado is infuriatingly empty, and there’s not so much as a slot machine within an hour’s drive and he is climbing the walls here.
McKay has disappeared on one of those weeks-long missions he can’t or won’t tell John about, and there’s a restless itching under his skin that’s urging him to drink or gamble or fuck or something, and this whole planet seems too small and too constrictive but he doesn’t want to climb under a blanket of booze and drain it all away.
He wants more.
On the river
“Modifications are done,” McKay announces. “Shall we test her out?”
The we makes something squirm in John’s gut but he dismisses it with a lazy, “It’s your alien spaceship.”
McKay looks for a moment like he’s going to say something, but then he pulls out a radio and talks into that instead. “This is Gate Ship One, ready for initial shield test burst.”
“Gate Ship One?” John scoffs. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“It’s a ship that goes through the gate,” McKay pouts, and damn, that’s kind of cute. “Why, what would your suggestion be?”
John tilts his head. He’s seen footage of the ship traveling through the stargate, leaping through the event horizon and leaving barely a ripple in its wake. “Seems more like a puddle jumper to me.”
“You have the soul of a poet,” McKay says acerbically. 
And damn if that’s not kind of cute too.
Dealer’s choice
“Come with me,” McKay says, and John is ready to say yes before he’s even finished speaking. “To Pegasus. To Atlantis. I need to get back there, and I’m sure we can find a way to make you useful.” A little smirk at the end there.
“I don’t know how the Pentagon is going to feel about that,” John says, deliberately languid to hide the way his heart is pounding in his chest. Escape, adventure, somewhere new, somewhere he could be a new person, and he wants it so much it aches.
“Eh, fuck them. They can’t say no to me.”
“Okay,” he shrugs. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do here.”
McKay gives him a look that shoots straight through his defenses and down to his sticky innards. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way that makes the ache in John’s chest twist into a deep burn.
All in
The jumper hovers in the air in front of the stargate. 
“Nervous?” McKay asks, carefully casual, like he doesn’t already know the answer.
John hums. The inside of the jumper feels as much like home as any place he knows. What’s another galaxy to a man with no ties?
“You’re going to love it there,” McKay says with a smile he can’t hide. He dials up the gate and it engages with a tremendous whoosh and a burst of brilliant blue light.
Here goes nothing, he thinks as McKay deploys the drive pods and fires up the engines. One last new start. 
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gustafsnightangel · 3 years
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A Softer Side Part 2
Hunt and Strand lived, breathed, and ate the case until they had exhausted all avenues, only then did they decide to stakeout Donovan’s place.
“It’s like four days until his kids birthday and he’s still in town, what gives?” Hunt asked from the back of the van as he watched Donovan’s car pull up.
“A few options, he isn’t our guy, he’s snatching closer to home, or he’s paying someone else to get their hands dirty as he’s retired living the life of luxury.” Karl quipped sarcastically.
“In a run down duplex. Sorry, I’m not buying.” Jerry huffed.
“Me either. He’s dirty, we just gotta find the dirt.” Karl’s eyes narrowed as the trunk of Arthur’s car opened. Snatching the camera with the telephoto zoom lens he zeroed in on the shopping bags.
“You got something boss?”
“Shopping.” He stated and clicked away as Jerry watched the images come up on his laptop screen. “Hmmmm.”
“Hmmm indeed.” Hint said scanning the photos. “Why would a guy in his sixties, living alone need feminine hygiene products and diapers?”
“Damn good question.”
“He’s stocking up.” Jerry said quietly.
“He is, hey run the plates.” Karl smiled. “He’s changed cars, that’s not the same one he had last week when we came here.”
“Derek Strider, age 57, black hair, that’s dyed because it was a sandy blond when we met last week. Says here he’s a retired school teacher. Helps out at, oh fuck me.” Jerry said a moment later, and spun the laptop around for Strand to see.
Karl almost went nuclear. A fucking orphanage, is this guy for real? “Get Meekland on the phone, right the fuck now.” He snarled and Jerry opened a line.
Strand relayed the information and Jerry, wisely, kept his mouth shut.
“I’m not asking for a warrant yet ma’am, I’m asking for someone to go sit on the orphanage over the next few days to see what this guy does.” The line went silent for a few moments.
“You’re sure?”
“Somethings off Sarah, we can’t ignore it.”
“Very well, I’ll have someone assigned to you this afternoon.” She snapped.
“Thank you.” The line went dead.
“You guys really hate each other don’t you?” Jerry said quietly.
“No, just... we irritate each other, oil and water.” He chuckled, let him think they hated each other, it was better than I’m banging the boss. “What type of security do you think he has on that house?”
“Considering what he’s hypothetically hiding, I’d say a lot.”
“Hmmm.”
“What hmmm, I don’t like that hmmm.” Jerry said cautiously.
“He’s going to go out at some point and I want to have a snoop around.” Strand murmured.
“You can’t go in...”
“I didn’t say I was going in, I want to look around.” He shot back. “You knock on the front door while I wander around the back.”
“If we go in without a warrant.”
“I’m well aware of what happens, don’t sweat it kid, I’m not about to blow this lead by entering without a warrant.” Not yet he thought.
“Ok then, when?”
“Discretely call the orphanage and ask what time the volunteers come in, tell them your interested in helping out.” Karl lifted the camera back up as Arthur ventured out to the car again as Jerry made the call.
******
“He’s heading to the orphanage.” Jerry confirmed.
“And you know this how?” He asked sarcastically.
“Because Wainwright just texted me that he’s over there and our boy just got out of his car.” Hint smiled.
“Good, let’s go.” Karl stalked to the house with purpose, his long legs eating up the road. Signaling to Jerry, he went around the back. He heard the kid knock on the door and wait, the polite investigator just tying up loose ends. Strand committed the layout of the rear of the house to memory, the storm shelter door which was oddly out of place against the abandoned garden shed along the back fence. Glancing at the neighbors yard, their storm shelter was against the house. Hearing Jerry’s second knock and polite call of Mr. Donovan he ventured along the rear of the house, studying every weather beaten board, every window. Nothing out of the ordinary. Taking out his phone he snapped a few photos and walked toward the garden shed, now here was some security. “What are you hiding behind a rusty tin shed Arthur that needs a high end, high priced military security system?” He muttered to himself and snapped a few pictures of the lock and the storm shelter which also has a lock. The back entrance to the house was also tightly secured, he needed blueprints and a warrant.
******
Climbing back into the van Karl uploaded the photos from his phone to Jerry’s computer and gave him detailed information about the locks and where to find someone to break them. He also had him pull the county blueprints of the area.
“Ex military.” Strand said as if that alone explained everything. “They don’t ask questions and get the job done. It’s our last resort if we can’t get the warrant.”
“We’ll lose our asses if we go in without a warrant.”
“I will, you won’t be coming in if it gets to that point, because I won’t be arresting him.” He said darkly and let the kid see the rage and hatred simmering beneath the calm facade that was Karl Strand. “If it is who we think it is, I’m not letting him slip through again. This time I’ll end the fucker.”
“Fair enough.” The kid gulped.
“Set up one of the remote wireless cameras on the house and we can monitor from the office for the night. I want food and a fucking shower.” He was beat. They’d been jammed in the van for nearly a week but it was paying off, they had leads, they were following cautiously.
“Can do boss.” Karl climbed into the drivers seat while Jerry took care of the camera and they headed out once everything was online.
******
Strand went out for burgers again after his shower and walked into the conference room as Jerry was finishing up with Wainwright on the phone, the camera they’d set up showed Donovan’s car back in the driveway at the house.
“Our boy home for the night?” He asked placing food in front of the rookie and taking a seat.
“Yeah, got in about ten minutes ago. Wainwright’s gonna hang in case he scouts the orphanage out tonight.”
“Good.”
“He also setup a wireless camera so we can see the building, front and back.”
“Even better.” Karl studied the orphanage, entries, exits, windows. “Pretty secure.”
“Reasonably, the younger kid section more than the main building.” Jerry said biting into the burger.
“Begs the question of how? How’s he gonna do it Jerry?”
“How much does it cost to legally adopt?”
“Chump change to what he’s getting for them. But no, not legally adopt, too much of a paper trail, too many questions.” Karl chewed on that thought. “I wonder...”
“You wonder what?”
“I wonder if he’s visiting other orphanages.” Strand mused out loud.
“Fuuuck! I didn’t even think of more than one. It would be a bold fucking move to snatch them from the orphanage though.”
“Yeah.” Karl said wistfully as his brain ticked over each scenario. “I’d wait.” He murmured.
“Wait for what?”
“I’d wait for the kids to be adopted.” He sat up abruptly and started typing. “Cross check all the orphanages in the last few states he’s hit with parents that have adopted only to then have the child kidnapped a little while later. That’s going to be a short fucking list, at least I hope it’s shorter than the list we have.” They sat and tossed theories around as the computers churned through data. They both fell silent as the chime from the computer informed them of a hit.
“Shit.” Karl scrubbed his hand over his face. “I was hoping I was fucking wrong.”
“Me too, but it’s more weight for a warrant.”
“Ok let’s get to work.” He sighed as the hits came in, a slow trickle of more names he’d add to his list.
“He used more than one orphanage in New York State, Ohio, and Colorado.” Jerry said in awe at the amount of names popping up. “This is crazy.”
“It is, but what’s the bet you just found your milk money.”
“No we found their prime merch, the milk money will be the homeless that can be cleaned up and sold for a quick $20K.”
“Let’s get it together, I’ll call Meekland in the morning and disturb her weekend.” He grinned, in more ways than one.
“Oh she’ll love you for that.” Jerry said sarcastically.
“You sassing me boy?” Strand growled.
“No sir absolutely not.”
Karl couldn’t contain the chuckle, the kid was all right for a rookie.
******
It was 3 am Saturday morning when Strand called it a night. They were both wrecked.
“Go home, get some sleep Jerry. Good work these past few weeks.”
“Thanks boss but if you’re staying so am I.”
“I’m not, I’m heading out. We can’t help these kids if we’re falling asleep mid-takedown. Rest.”
“You too.” He said and collected his coat and headed out.
Strand was kicked back staring at his board when Meekland stepped in. “Making progress?”
“Slowly, but yes.” He eyed her carefully, damn he was in the mood to fuck her hard. “If he sticks to pattern he’ll move on the 17th kidnapping the first kid.”
“We can lockdown the orphanage.” She assured him and he smiled.
“He won’t take the kid from there, it’ll be from the family that just adopted their new baby girl.” He snarled.
“Oh fucking shit Karl.” She breathed. “Seriously?”
“That’s how I’d do it and there’s a pattern with previous states and families that have adopted.”
“Who’s he going to hit?”
“I don’t know. There are multiple adoptions each day and he visits more than one orphanage, each with a different ID. We’re still working that angle. It wasn’t until a few hours ago we were thinking it was just him and a lone operator, now I’m thinking mob or syndicate.”
“Jerry heading home?”
“Yeah, as am I. We need sleep. There’s nothing more I can do for her tonight.”
“You really think she’s still with him don’t you?”
“I heard her screaming when we were close fifteen years ago Sarah, I fucking know she exists.” He stood and pulled his coat on, jamming his hands into the pockets.
“Want to hit the bar?” Which was their code for take me home sir?
“I do, but I’m beat to hell. I need sleep.”
“Go and sleep, we can swing past after lunch.” And with that settled she turned on her heel and left.
******
He knew he should have said no to Sarah, but damn it a man has needs and she was more than a willing participant. The drive home to his downtown apartment was blissfully short given the time and for once the doorman wasn’t at his post to talk his ear off. He needed his brain to shut down for a good twenty four, a solid eight and a good fuck would suffice. Once inside he darkened the room, took a long hot shower and let the day and the case fall away. Crawling naked under the covers he let sleep claim him hard.
******
Her text tone woke him, Sarah was on her way. Slipping on a pair of lounge pants that hung low on his hips he padded out to fuel up with coffee and eggs he hoped were still good. He was clearing his dishes when Sarah knocked.
“You look like shit.” She said gruffly and handed him a bag of fresh bagels.
“Good morning to you too sunshine.” He chuckled and let her in.
“Eat your bagels.” She smirked.
“I’ll save them, I just had eggs. What is it you want Sarah?” He asked sternly.
“You.”
“I thought you had a someone special?” He joked.
“Apparently not as special as the blond bimbo on his arm last Thursday.” She snapped. Ahhhh he thought, that would explain the moodiness these past few days.
“I’m not relationship material Sarah you know that, this is just sex.”
“Sex is all I fucking want right now.” She spat and his eyebrow raised.
“On your knees.” He growled. “You forget your place little one.” She dropped to her knees, eyes never leaving his. “Bedroom.” He barked when she went to touch him, the slight flinch reigning her in. He knew what she needed from him, what she craved when she was like this. Watching her crawl on all fours to the bedroom he finished his coffee and devoured a bagel, she would wait, time it’s own restraint.
She was kneeling at the side of the bed, her usual spot, when he came into the room and shut the door. Belt in hand he stood behind her, looming, his presence enough to have her submit to him. When her head bowed he sat on the bed in front of her and hooked a finger under her chin forcing her to look at him.
“You know not to take that tone with me little one.” He growled. “Across my lap, you get ten.” He saw the realization in her eyes that they wouldn’t be a soft ten either. “Stand.” He commanded. Once she stood she kept her head bowed, hands nervously twitching in front of her. “Take your shirt off.” He purred, the slight smile tugging his lips as her hands shook while fighting the buttons. It was arousal over fear, Sarah had never feared him, nor should she. This was their game, mutually beneficial, equally satisfying. He drank in her curves, the swell of her breasts as she stripped the blouse from her body. “Now your skirt.” His voice husky with need of his own as his eyes followed the fabric down her legs to pool at her feet. She waited, knowing he was in control, he would tell her when to move.
“On the bed, across my lap.” He said after he took his time devouring every inch of her with his eyes. Holding out his hand she took it to steady herself as she got into position. “Hands.” He murmured, the command in his tone unmistakable. Binding her wrists with the belt he secured them comfortably in the swell of her spine. She’d come prepared with her hair already in a tight braid, the long rope like tail enough for him to wrap around his hand for a good grip when he was ready. “Count them out little one.” He soothed as his hand circled her ass cheek ready to strike.
He drew his hand up and back and slapped her hard. The crack of skin against skin echoed around his bedroom.
“One sir.” She said defiantly.
The second strike caused her to whimper, the large red hand print blooming on her skin.
“Two sir.”
With each strike she relinquished control, he could feel her submit to him further.
“Five sir.” She choked as the tears came. He didn’t hesitate, knew that this was what she needed. Wrapping her braid around his hand he fisted it and pulled her head back gently before striking her again.
“Six sir.” She sobbed, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Nearly there little one. He purred and brought his hand down sharply.
“Seven sir.” He felt her let go, the last of her stress and tension falling away as he soothed her ass cheek before striking again.
“Eight sir.” Her sob shook her body.
His fist tightened in her hair as he gave her the last two strikes, both harder than the rest of them.
“Ten sir.” She cried, as he released her hair gently and soothed the pain from her scalp and her glowing hot cheek.
“Will you talk to me in that tone again little one?”
“No sir.” She whimpered.
“Up you get.” He urged and he helped her up and into his lap, her wrists still bound.
“I’m sorry sir.”
“I know you are.” He kissed her forehead, the need for her to feel safe was as important as the release the rough session would bring her.
“Be a good girl now and hop up.” He said, his hand steadying her as she unfolded herself from his lap. Fingers stripped the remaining lace from her body, those curves enticing him to play. Once she was naked he cupped her face in his hands and devoured that beautiful mouth. “Such a good girl.” He purred as she stood there and let him take her as he wanted, touch her as he wanted.
He wasn’t a gentle lover, and never had been, he didn’t do it with the premise of intentionally hurting someone, but his handling was rough. Gripping her wrists he held them forcefully as he took and touched. Releasing them he positioned her face down onto the mattress, his huge frame towering over her. Nudging her knees to widen her gripped her hips hard to bring her up on her knees, that perfect ass presented ready for him to fuck. “Wider.” He growled and nudged her knees open, the whimper making him smile. She’d been begging for him to take her like this and hard for weeks. He left her there, poised for the rough hard fuck she’d asked for while he stripped, his cock aching to be buried inside her, to feel her. He opened the nightstand drawer and placed the vibe on the bed for later, she would come and come hard today.
She wiggled her ass as his tip pressed against her entrance and his hand coming down sharply on her ass cheek. “Don’t test me.” He snarled. He teased her, tormented her to breaking point, the tears and whimpers fueling his own lust. With a sharp thrust of his hips he buried himself deep, her body shaking with the force of their pelvises meeting. Hers was a guttural groan at finally being filled with him, his own grunt equally as loud as he held her hips painfully tight and began to take her.
Strand fucked her hard, his own tension and stress of the weeks past eager to find its own release, the need to fuck it out of his system taking over. Pounding into her he gripped the leather at her wrists and rode her, the sound of their bodies colliding mixing with the grunts and groans of fucking filled the room. He felt her peak, the tightness of her pussy caressing him. Just as she was about to shatter he pulled out, her release ebbing away. His throaty chuckle at her whimper of frustration only spurring him on. “I warned you not to test me.” He snarled, the slick tip of his cock pushing at her puckered hole. It wasn’t often he gave her this pleasure, knew she relished it as much as he did. “So wet for me.” He cooed, the spanking earlier doing its job, her heightened arousal obvious. “You want me there don’t you.” He teased. “Want me buried in that pretty ass.”
“Please sir.” She begged and pushed back slightly to try and force him inside her, desperate to feel him fill her again. The hard slap to her already red ass cheek made her yelp.
“Patients little one or you’ll get nothing.” He growled. “I’ll take my fill and leave you wanting.” She stilled and waited. “Better.” He stroked his engorged cock and made her wait longer, the game drawn out for her pleasure as well as his. Slipping inside her soaked pussy he gave her a few thrusts before pressing against her back door, the tightness around his mushroom tip making him groan. He fed her the tip, her muscles contracting around his head like a vice, her body trembling as she fought the urge to push back onto him.
“Please sir.” She whimpered.
“You want it all don’t you little one?” He inched into her slowly, her breath erratic as she struggled not to come.
“Please sir.” She whimpered.
Once he was seated in her tight ass he drew out and began to thrust, the ease of which he knew she’d prepared for the evening in advance. Working into a rhythm he plunged in taking her hard, the slaps to her ass adding to their mutual pleasure. Leaning over her he placed a hand either side of her head, above the shoulders and fucked her, that soft whimper making him lose his mind as he dominated her. In a swift move he straightened, wrapped her braid in his hand and pulled her head back so her body was bowed back, the other hand at her throat. She was at his mercy, bound and being fucked relentlessly.
His hand dropped from her throat momentarily and reached for the vibe he’d placed there earlier. Switching it on he held it over her clit, the cry of shock and extreme pleasure sharp to his ears. He slowed his rhythm as he eased it inside her pussy, the curved section long enough to sit against her clit. Taking a hold of her throat again he plunged in and felt the vibration ripple up his cock, the groan primal. He took her, hips snapping, pushing him deep into her ass, she was almost screaming in ecstasy.
Feeling her peak he pistoned his hips and fucked her like the primal animal he was, taking what he wanted, everything she had to offer him and more. “Come.” He snarled and squeezed her throat as she exploded. The feel of her milking him had him roar before he spilled his seed, his thrusts erratic and powerful. Both spent he pulled out and released her wrists, her body lax and unmoving as she caught her breath. “Color little one.” He said as he climbed off the bed.
“Green sir.” She panted.
They weren’t one for cuddles and snuggles afterwards, they both got what they needed out of this session and Karl headed to the bathroom to shower. She joined him as he was stepping out to take care of her own personal hygiene. With a towel wrapped around his hips he cleaned up and stripped the bed, virtually erasing the fact they’d fucked here at all.
******
“You know this can’t be a regular thing Sarah.” He said as she stood on his threshold, finger stroking down his crisp blue shirt. “I can’t go through all that shit again.”
“Pity.”
“Were no good for each other.” Except for a quick fuck he wanted to add but thought better if it. He needed to be clear with her again. They had rules and limits for a reason, especially after the crash and burn of their actual relationship years earlier.
“I know Karl, it’s just...” She sighed. “I know.” Leaning in she kissed him sweetly. “Thanks for the session, I needed it.”
“So did I.”
“You know it’s Sunday, you don’t have to go in.”
“I want to see what the our databases spat out.” He said abruptly. He wanted to chase down leads and get ahead of this fucker. “And I think better when I’m staring at the board.”
“I’ll see you around then Strand.”
“Yes ma’am you will.” He said softly and closed the door before she could worm her way back into his heart. He’d loved her once, if a man like him was able to love, but they were just fuck buddies now and it suited him just fine.
******
He didn’t expect to see Jerry at the conference room table, downing coffee and typing furiously.
“You look like a man possessed.” Karl chuckled softly as he shucked his coat and sat to look at the names the computer had pulled, he was loose and relaxed and ready to dig in. “And you shouldn’t be here on your day off kid.”
“You’re here.” He said flatly, continuing on his current train of thought.
“I’m on my own time Hunt, I don’t expect you to be.” Strand said gruffly, he wasn’t a complete asshole to drag the kid away from his scheduled time off.
“You’re here, I’m here.” He said simply. “I’m not looking for overtime, or a pat on the back. I want this prick.”
“It’s personal for you.” Karl said quietly, his gaze studying the rookie as he worked. “Not my business.” He added when the silence stretched. Yes, he thought, you’ll do kid.
“My sister.” Jerry said after a moment as he kept working, though Karl could see the pain and grief etched deep in the kids face when he mentioned her. It had aged him in a heartbeat. “Not this case.” He added quickly. “But you never know, this might give me answers into hers.”
“Unsolved?”
“Stone fucking cold boss.”
“Tell me.” He commanded, he needed to know where the kids head was at.
Strand looked at Jerry and rage looked back, that was something, Karl thought. Anger was good fuel when you had to push through the shit haunting your every step.
“Nutshell version. My sister, Eva, is 16, seven years younger than me, or she would be if she was still alive. I’m not sure she is. She ran away from home and or was kidnapped when she was 10. My mother was adamant she was taken. I’m more inclined to believe Eva took off on some hair-brained fantasy of a better life on her own, even at ten she was a hellion. Cops looked into it and shuffled it to a cold case after not so much as a we’re chasing all leads. They don’t give a shit.”
“Which is why you’re with this agency and not a cop.” Strand added.
“Absolutely.” He said vehminantly. “I’d like to believe she’s still alive, but reading this case and the possibility of her being sold, I’d rather she be dead.”
“Can’t blame you there.” Karl studied the rookie closely. “Is this going to be an issue for you?”
“No sir.” He said strongly. “These kids, the women they are now, deserve everything of me to catch this guy and nail his balls to the fucking wall. If it leads me to answers about my sister then great, if not, I’m ok with that too.”
“There’ll be other cases that blur the lines with your sister.”
“Yep, and it’ll be the same answer then too.” He said matter of factly.
“Good to know.” Karl was pleased with the rookie’s answer. A lot more grit under the shiny new investigator badge than there appeared to be. “What have you got?” He nodded at all the names and figures on the screen.
“I need to figure out what’s driving this and it’s usually money. I set up a phony encrypted account and signed up for all these websites that offer girls of all ages to be purchased. I needed to be in their system to have a snoop around. It’s my guesstimate of the different levels of, dare I call it, merchandise, and payments for each girl, for each username or seller.” He explained.
“You’re looking for a pattern.”
“Exactly.” He pointed at Karl and went back to the printed out spreadsheet in his hands.
“How far does this go back?” Strand asked, the cogs in his head turning with this new information.
“So far only three years. I can get more but it’ll take some time. I’ve already set my computer to pull data.” He turned the laptop around for Strand to see, numbers and names flicking past at an alarming rate.
“How may girls per year?” He asked softly.
“Per user or per website?”
“Both.”
“Gimme a sec.” Jerry’s brow knit in concentration as he fiddled with the spreadsheet on the big screen. “Holy shit!” He breathed out in disbelief.
“Yeah that sums it up.”
“130,000 plus girls a year over the site. 1 to 2 thousand girls, give or take per user. Some users rank higher than others.”
“We look into them all. Split the list of users in half, we run them all. Let’s build the case from our side so when we put these assholes in a cage they fucking stay there.” Karl growled.
“I’ll dig for personal information first to give you a name and username on the site.”
“Do that. I’m calling Meekland, we need more people on this. It’s not just our buddy boy Arthur, not just this handful of sites.”
“We going after them all?”
“We shut Arthur down first, that’s our priority, find the girl, his first girl. We can run the rest in the background.” Karl said as he got some notes together.
“I can set that up. Can I have Wainwright? He knows his shit when it comes to computers and hacking and tech.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He looked at the kid. “I know you’re not in it for the pat on the back, but this deserves one. Good job.” He grabbed his phone and made the calls to Meekland, secured Wainwright for the support and began to dig into the usernames.
******
“Question.” He said into the silence, the hum of the computer fans the only other sound in the room a while later. “Did you cross the sell dates with anything?”
“Not yet.” Hunt answered. “The snatch date would be different to the sell date and we don’t know how long he keeps them.”
“Search for sell dates on our boys three anniversary dates.” He said on a whim.
“You got something boss?”
“A hunch maybe.”
Jerry ran the search on the sellers websites and the spreadsheet on the big screen. “That’s still a lot of girls.” He blew out.
“But look at the ages.” Strand grinned. “That’s the only thing that matches for three of the sellers. The girls are all 16.”
“So he keeps them from infants to 16?” Jerry’s voice choked.
“Grooms them from birth to be the whores they’ll be sold as.” Strand ground through his teeth. “Those are your prime merchandise.” He nodded to the screen. “Look at the price they were sold for.”
“3.7 mil, 6.2, 1.3, 5.4. Auctioned off, not just sold.” Jerry said reading the site.
“Can you find pictures of the girls?” Karl asked.
“They usually don’t have pictures up of prior transactions but I can look. You thinking these are Arthur’s girls?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“There’s three usernames though.”
“Oh I bet it’s all his, one for each anniversary.” Strand was deep in Arthur’s head now. “I wonder?” He whispered to himself and opened up his file on the wife as he scanned the account and username list.
“Got something boss?” Jerry asked and grabbed their cups to refresh the coffee that had gone cold.
“Maybe.” He mumbled, brain locked onto the current task. “Did you happen to glance around the inside of his house when you talked to him?”
“A little, I didn’t want to be too obvious.” Jerry sat the coffee in front of Karl and took his seat again.
“Were they’re any pictures or anything of his wife that stood out?”
“He had a portrait of her and a child, well I’m assuming it was his wife and a depiction of their child.” Jerry closed his eyes as if to bring the memory back. “Oh and a strange poem line under the portrait painted on the wall or something. You know how people have those chic signs and sayings and shit? He had one that said.... oh fuck me... wait.” Jerry’s eyes went wide and he scrambled forward to use his laptop. “Fuck! Fucking fuck I missed it before. NevermoreRaven that’s his fucking account username.” Jerry spat. “And he lists all three separate usernames under that one account name. Son of a bitch.”
“So our boy is into some Poe is he?” Karl grinned. “What was the poem line on the wall?”
“Sorrow for the lost Lenore.”
“The Raven by Mr. Edgar Allen Poe.” Strand stood and scrawled it across the board. “What’s the bet Lenore is his wife’s real name. Add an amendment to your report on the Peter Jensen case, tie it in. It’ll give us cause and a bit of weight.” It was a good solid lead and something he could now got to Meekland with to secure a warrant. “Damn good work Jerry.”
“I was stupid, I just thought it quirky and should have followed up, we could have known this earlier.” He spat, angry he’d made a rookie mistake.
“Live and learn kid. Without the website info it wouldn’t seem like much.”
“It would have to you.” He huffed.
“Kid I’ve got nearly twenty years on you.” He snorted as he pulled out his phone to call Meekland again, thing had just swung in his favor. “Run and focus everything on EvermoreRaven. We nail Arthur first, then we go after the others. Let’s not spread ourselves too thin and lose him.” Which is what had happened last time, Karl thought. History would not be repeating itself, his case, his op, this time around, his rules.
“When’s he due to strike again?” Meekland asked, annoyance in her voice at being disturbed again on a Sunday.
“Tomorrow is his kids birthday and the day his wife died. He’ll have his information on who he’s going to snatch and the 16 year old he’s about to sell.”
“Jesus Karl, this is a can of fucking worms.” Her sigh was one of frustration.
“Yeah and it’s going to get messy if we don’t do it right. As much as I want to bust in there and nail his balls to the wall we need to catch him in the act. The snatch and sell needs to go down, transactions completed for it to be worth anything in court, for us to dig deeper and get them all. I need to know where he’s getting all the girls and housing them. I need the warrants, I need a team.”
“You’ll have it.” She said without question. “Send me the list of who you want on this, hand pick the team. I know you Karl.” She said, that unspoken approval of they don’t all have to be department employees.
“Thank you ma’am.” He said gently, and he was thankful, she was giving him free reign which if the op went south it would be her ass too. He’d keep Hunt and Wainwright, the rest would be a team he trusted and knew wouldn’t let shit fall through the cracks. Time to color outside the lines a little, he thought as, he put in a call to Wainwright and was surprised when the guy walked into the conference room ten minutes later. “You working today?”
“I was yeah. Nothing that can’t wait. What do you need?” Karl liked Steven, blunt and no bullshit, much like himself.
“Get with the kid.” He nodded in Jerry’s direction. “He’ll get you up to speed, I have an op to plan.”
“Sweet.”
“You up for a tail?”
“On Arthur? Sure, where and when?”
“He’s going to leave sometime tomorrow for the snatch. I need you to follow him and get it on record, the snatch, the location he’s taking the kid to. It’ll be an infant going in and likely a 16 year old coming out.”
“I don’t think the teen will come out that day boss.” Jerry said softly not really sure if he should speak up.
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inkedstarlight · 4 years
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Bittersweet: Chapter Three
Summary: Nesta and her sisters deal with the aftermath of their father’s death. Once they finally leave their hometown in Maine, they all head to Colorado for a new start. Note: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: heavy angst, grief Bittersweet Masterlist
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After her dad’s funeral, Nesta announced her plans to move to Colorado to attend Pryth U, which was met with a stern scolding courtesy of Elain. She chastised Nesta for not calling her the minute she found out. But after her lecturing, Elain squeezed Nesta into a hug and expressed her excitement. Feyre responded positively to the news as well, though she certainly wasn’t as enthusiastic as Elain. It wasn’t a surprise considering the current state of Nesta and Feyre’s relationship with each other. Feyre didn’t need to tell Nesta that she resented her for their childhood; it was glaringly obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes. As the oldest sibling, Nesta didn’t provide a single penny for their family after their mother left. She let her thirteen-year-old sister work for the money that bought them lunch at school. Nesta let Feyre fail tests that she didn’t have time to study for. She let Feyre sacrifice her entire life.
Instead of staying in her childhood home with her sisters, Nesta opted for a motel just a town over, to which Feyre rolled her eyes at. She and Elain insisted Nesta stay in her old bedroom to save money, to no avail. She wasn’t ready to step foot in there. It was too soon; the wound was far from healing.
Nesta spent most of her time in the motel while her sisters went through the legal process of their father’s death: his will, financial accounts, safety deposit box. She didn’t dare venture the town and risk bumping into any familiar faces. Gods forbid she see any old peers. So, she remained in her room nearly every day, blinds shut and door locked. She didn’t bother buying groceries; she wouldn’t be in Maine long. In turn, she was barely eating. But Nesta didn’t see the point of filling her stomach when it wouldn’t do anything to fix the emptiness inside of her.
Elain visited her every so often, but she too was mourning their late father, and she wasn’t quite herself. When she’d made the decision to live at home after high school, she and their dad bonded. They were the only ones who had a true father-daughter relationship, and Elain knew him best. She knew what he wanted his funeral to look like, where he wanted his ashes scattered. But because she spent his last years by his side, Elain had witnessed the gradual deterioration of his body through her own eyes, which had given her time to accept the inevitable well before his death. She had been prepared. But it didn’t hurt any less.
Feyre, on the other hand, refused to visit Nesta at the motel. Her exact words were, “I’m not dragging myself to a gods-damn motel. If you want to see me, I’ll be at the house.” Nesta hadn’t expected her youngest sister to visit her. According to Elain, Feyre was distracting herself with the legal responsibilities of their dad’s death. When she wasn’t drowning in paperwork, she was talking to Rhysand on the phone. Feyre once again assumed the parental role. Guilt stabbed at Nesta.
Waste of space.
Waste of space.
Waste of space.
A couple nights after the funeral, Elain was visiting Nesta. They had been catching up ever since that first day, learning more and more about each other’s lives and moments they had missed. Elain shared everything: her friends, classes, plans, romantic relationships (or lack thereof), etc. Elain revealed that she loathed the community college she attended. They only offered low-level courses for her biology degree and consequently, she was not on track to receive her bachelor’s on time. And she certainly wouldn’t be able to have a career as a pediatrician if the prerequisite classes weren’t offered at the school. Nesta noticed, however, that Elain never once complained about staying home for their father. She didn’t express regret about the decision she made to sacrifice her professional goals. And because she was Elain – sweet, loving Elain – she found a way to blame herself. Elain was never the type of person to place fault on someone else, even when it was their fault. She would apologize when someone bumped into her or insulted her. Nesta knew her sister was smart enough to recognize she wasn’t in the wrong, but Elain was raised to believe she had to please others. She had to be selfless with every decision she made or else she thought herself to be a bad person. Nesta worried that one day, Elain wouldn’t stand up for herself and she would get hurt beyond repair.
The two of them sat on the suspiciously stained bed of the motel, mugs of steaming tea in their hands. The few belongings that Nesta had brought to Maine were stuffed into the tiny closet. The only indication that someone was living in the room was the rumpled sheets. The sound of pounding rain and clapping thunder roared as the sisters conversed.
“I’m not going to stay in Maine,” Elain confessed quietly as they sipped their tea.
Nesta rose a brow. “Oh?” It was the first she’d heard of this.
“I applied to Pryth U in the spring. Dad was in bad shape, and I had a feeling he wasn’t going to make it to the fall.” Elain swallowed loudly. “I, uh… I got in.”
Elain smiled sheepishly as Nesta gaped at her. “Elain, that’s wonderful!” Nesta interlaced her fingers with Elain’s and squeezed. Pride shone on her shadowed face. It was the first time since the funeral that she’d felt anything other than grief.
If she’s moving to Colorado… Nesta was cut off before she finished the thought.
“I was wondering… er, what do you think about having a roommate?” Elain’s knee bounced up and down in anticipation, her tea spilling slightly in her shaking hand. “I’m not messy at all, I promise. And I would pick up after my – “
Nesta reached over and put a hand on Elain’s knee to stop her rambling. She peered over at her clumsy sister.
“I’m not really a people person, but I suppose I could make an exception for you,” Nesta teased, earning a chuckle from Elain. Her gaze softened. “I would love for us to live together.”
Elain’s eyes got wide and she smiled –  truly smiled – for the first time in what felt like forever.
----------------------------
When Elain returned from the motel, she sat Feyre down and reiterated her plans for the fall. The minute the words left Elain’s mouth, Feyre was jumping off the sofa, dialing real estate agents, and punching numbers on a calculator.
Two days later, the Archeron house was put up for sale.
The sisters got to work quickly, eager to complete any unfinished business so they could get the hell out of Maine, a state none of them were particularly fond of. Nesta browsed the Internet for apartments, Elain joining her when she wasn’t helping Feyre clean the house. Their house had two stories, three bedrooms, and one and a half baths. It was smaller than most houses on the block, but in good shape nonetheless. The blue shutters were charming enough, the rolling yard spacious. Luckily, most of the rooms were already empty, and there was little furnishing. They were already preparing for tours; the area was popular for families with young children considering the elementary school was just a five-minute walk away.
As expected, the house was sold in a matter of days.
It was just a week later when Nesta stood on the sidewalk in front of her old home, Elain by her side. Somehow, Feyre and Elain had convinced her to go there and sort through their father’s final possessions. Apparently, he left Nesta some things in his will in addition to the financial assets they all received. This was the last thing they had to do in Maine. Then, Nesta could return to Massachusetts, pack her shit, and move to Colorado with Elain.
And finally leave everything behind.
This was her last chance to see her childhood home – her only chance. Nesta didn’t particularly care to add anything more to her list of regrets, which was long enough as is.
“Are you ready to go in?” Elain asked with a tilt of her head.
Nesta bit her lip and simply stared at the front door.
Elain must have sensed her hesitance because she reached between them and interlaced their hands. Nesta jumped slightly at the sudden contact but just a moment later, she squeezed her sister’s hand tightly. Elain squeezed back.
We’re in this together.
Nesta gave her a small nod, and they proceeded to walk straight toward her worst fear.
The first thing Nesta noticed was the smell. A hint of her father’s cologne. Mothballs. A whiff of air freshener to cover up the dusty scent.
Feyre was hunched over her laptop when they entered the kitchen. Her eyes were unreadable when she took in Nesta, but they softened slightly as she got up to hug her. Leaning back, Feyre peered at her closely.
"Are you doing okay?” The first indication that Feyre cared about Nesta. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elain had something to do with it; she was always the mediator between them, even during the most trivial disagreements.
“Everything’s in the living room.”
A nod.
She let Feyre lead her through the kitchen and into the living room. The floorboards groaned under their footsteps. It sounded like the entire house could collapse if they stomped hard enough. The foundation had always been weak.
The living room looked the same yet so completely different. Her dad’s beat-up armchair wasn’t sitting in the corner. The built-in bookshelves were bare, no children’s books or games to be found. The once plush carpet had been worn into a mere threadbare rag. Something cracked in Nesta’s chest when she beheld her dad’s belongings. Neatly folded clothing, stacks of books, souvenirs from business trips, dozens of journals, homemade wood carvings.
“Do you want to read it?” Feyre murmured, will in hand. “To see what he left you.”
Nesta’s hands shook as she accepted the paper. It was flimsy. She could easily tear apart all her father’s wishes, set them aflame until they were ash on the floor. Perhaps she would if it hadn’t been for her visit at the hospital that day. Perhaps she would have thrown it all away without a second thought. And to think, that was just a week ago.
Nesta burned with shame. How had she been so willing to act in such a horrific manner? How had she been so selfish? So unforgiving?
Her father had waited years for Nesta to come around. He never lost hope that she would find her way back, despite the awful things she’d said to him throughout the years. Her father – the man who let his daughter hate him to protect her from the ugly truth. Nesta didn’t want to even think about how disappointed he must be in her.
Nesta had never let herself admit it, but she was just like her mother. Not only in the way she looked – her stormy eyes and golden hair – but also who she was. Nesta ended up hurting everyone who got into her path of destruction and chaos. No one got out unscathed. Not even Nesta herself.
Nesta forced herself to read the typed words that were inked into the thin piece of paper. If she delayed this any longer, she would explode.
For Nesta Archeron, my eldest daughter, I leave a third of my property and monetary assets, as well as my full collection of journals. May she use them to write the book she’s been dreaming of for years.
Then, at the bottom of the paper, Nesta read the handwritten words.
I forgive you, Ness. Now it’s your turn.
Nesta didn’t notice she was crying until the words blotted together as her tears fell on the will.
Classes started tomorrow, and Nesta hadn’t left her bed in a week.
Her and Elain officially moved in three weeks ago. Their apartment was small and quaint, and if anyone were to peek their head in, they’d know who decorated it. Overflowing plants hung from the ceiling, built in shelves adorning the white walls. Fairy lights were wrapped around the wooden beams that stood between the living area and the kitchen. Plush pillows – yellow, maroon, green – were laid on all the couches. The many windows had been cleaned and remained open most days, letting the refreshing Colorado breeze cool the room.
It had Elain written all over it.
After settling in, Nesta had turned into a recluse – more so than ever before. She spoke only when Elain initiated conversations but even then, her answers were short and clipped. Her bedroom door was perpetually closed, and Nesta had no idea what day it was.
Her bedroom was bare, save for the queen-sized mattress she rested on. All her belongings resided in the guest room for the time being, the boxes stacked to the ceiling. Nesta had only unpacked a thick blanket, cat supplies, and a small lamp. She had stuffed her father’s journals under her bed the moment they’d moved in. She’d taken every last one. They were out of sight, but they weren’t out of mind. The reminder of the journals weighed heavy on Nesta’s heart. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to read them.
Elain was treating her like a porcelain doll. Nesta hated it. She hated the fact that her younger sister had to take care of her. She hated being weak. Nesta had struggled with mental health issues since she was a girl. Some of it was due to the inherent chemical imbalances in her brain – she had her family’s poor genetics to thank for that – and the rest of it could be attributed to everything that’d happened to her. It could have easily been subdued with therapy and medication, but her parents didn’t take any sort of action. They didn’t even recognize their own mental illnesses in the first place, much less their children’s. Feyre herself struggled with bouts of depression in high school when she was working forty-hour weeks and studying until the sun rose every morning. Elain had gone through her own struggles, but she kept her cards close to her chest. She didn’t want to burden others with her problems. Even when Elain was at her lowest, she put everyone before herself. And even though it was driven by nothing but compassion, she needed to help herself first.
None of them saw therapists. None of them were prescribed medications. Feyre used sheer will to graduate high school and move far away. Elain persevered through her pain and learned to love herself. Nesta, however, wielded no such resilience.
Like she said, she was weak.
It was three o’clock in the afternoon. The curtains were drawn to ward off any sunlight that peeked through the windows. Nesta lay in her bed, a gray hoodie drawn over her head. It nearly swallowed her tiny body. Iroh was curled up by her side, nestled in the soft fabric of her oversized sweater. He hadn’t left her side since moving in.
As Nesta stared at the popcorn ceiling above her, idly rubbing her hands through Iroh’s black fur, she overheard Elain in the kitchen. She was talking to someone on the phone, her voice hushed.
“She barely leaves her room,” Elain whispered. “She’s not eating. I’m worried, Feyre.”
Nesta craned her neck closer to the door.
“No, she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Elain explained, frustrated by whatever Feyre had said. Concern laced her voice.
“Her classes start in a week, and she hasn’t even begun to prepare for the semester. I don’t know how she’s going to be able to attend classes based on the state she’s in…”
Silence. Nesta waited.
“I don’t know how I’m going to take care of her if she doesn’t attend school, Feyre. My class schedule is already so busy. Maybe I can request to do remote learning from the apartment?”
Oh, fuck no. Anger bubbled to the surface.
Nesta swung her feet over the edge of the bed to snatch the phone out of Elain’s hand and smack some sense into her, but her leg swung into the bedside lamp. She watched in horror as the light fell to the floor. The bulb shattered easily, blanketing the room in darkness. Nesta cringed as the loud crash reverberated throughout the entire apartment.
Do the gods really hate me this much?
“I got to go, Feyre. I’ll call you soon.”
Nesta’s heart sunk in dread as she heard Elain’s quiet footsteps approach her bedroom. She quickly cocooned herself back into the comforter before Elain had the chance to see the state of her sickly body.
“Nesta?” Elain knocked on the door quietly. She peered in, rich brown eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?”
Nesta didn’t say anything as Elain let herself in. Her long hair – typically fashioned into a neat half-updo – was sticking out in every which way, the golden waves pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her thick-framed glasses were pushed onto the top of her head. She wore leggings and a graphic tee that said, “ask me about my plants.”
Elain walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Nesta laid on her side facing her sister, but she didn’t look at her. Her eyes were instead fixated on the empty wall as she avoided Elain’s gaze. Elain tentatively lifted her hand and rested it on Nesta’s head. She gently combed her hands through her sister’s mangled hair – hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks. They didn’t say anything for a couple moments.
“How are you feeling?”
No answer.
“Do you need me to contact the school?”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Nesta croaked with a hoarse voice.
“I know.”
“I don’t need someone to take care of me.” Lies, lies, lies.
“Are you still planning on attending classes?” Elain continued, ignoring her sister’s insistence.
“Yes.” The word was bitter on her tongue.
She heard Elain exhale a deep breath. Relief, she guessed.
Truthfully, grad school hadn’t crossed Nesta’s mind once since they’d moved in. She didn’t particularly care about her education.
Until now.
Until Elain volunteered to sacrifice her education once again for the sake of her family. Nesta may be a bad person, but there was no way in hell she would let Elain do such a thing. Nesta had been complacent when they were young girls – letting Feyre provide for the family, refusing to speak to her father, tearing everyone apart. Leaving all of them without thinking twice.
“Can I do anything? Buy you supplies?”
“Go away, Elain.” Leave it be. This is only making it worse. Go before I –
“Please, Nesta, let me – “
“Leave me the fuck alone!” Nesta snapped, pulling herself upright and pointing a deadly finger at the door. Her voice cracked as she yelled.
Leave me to die, Nesta almost said.
Elain recoiled, eyes filled with hurt.
In that moment, Nesta truly loathed herself.
As Elain began to get up and leave, Nesta wrapped her hands around Elain’s to stop her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Gods, I’m so sorry, Elain.”
Elain remained frozen.
“I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Nesta whispered, terror in her voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
A couple tears fell from Elain’s eyes, but she slid closer to Nesta. She didn’t speak for a few minutes.
“I just want you to be happy, Nesta,” Elain told her, a sad smile on her face. “I haven’t seen you happy in years. I remember when you were, though. I remember when you beat up those boys who bullied Feyre in middle school. You came home with a broken tooth, but you were grinning nevertheless.”
Gods. Nesta didn’t want to listen.
“And all those times when we would all have a sleepover together since Mom didn’t let us have friends over. You always made it so fun. You would sneak me and Feyre soda.
“I don’t know what happened to you when we were kids, Nesta, and I understand that you don’t want to talk about it quite yet. But when you do, I’m here for you. I just want my sister to come back. The happy, real version.”
Nesta wanted to tell her. She wanted to explain why she was this way. She wanted to tell Elain that she didn’t deserve any semblance of happiness. That she shouldn’t have to reassure her older sister.
Nesta wanted to sob, but nothing came out.
She was empty.
So, she just slowly tucked the blankets to her chin and laid back down. A sign of defeat.
Elain settled into the bed beside her sister. She cooed soothing words as Nesta held onto her for dear life.
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starrybouquet · 4 years
Text
Dates and Daffodils
Even though she'd been thinking about it for the better part of a day, it was still surreal to have Jack O'Neill standing on her doorstep, dressed in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a flannel that for once wasn't three sizes too big. One hand held a plastic takeout bag with red lettering, and the other was holding...a bunch of daffodils?
The sequel to Darkness and Dawn, containing the date which I never expected to write, but did, because so many of you asked for it. Enjoy. :D
(see what I did with the title there? XD)
Read on AO3 or under the cut here:
The counters were clear, the dishes done. The coffee table was free of clutter, the books all shelved, the papers stacked. Sam had even cleaned her desk, which she didn't think had happened in at least a year, and dusted the mantel, which hadn't happened in at least three.
And now she was inspecting her living room awkwardly, because she'd changed and couldn't keep stress cleaning because she didn't want to sweat through her clean clothes. Not that they were anything fancy, just a new red top and jeans, but still.
Determinedly, she strode to her dining-room-turned-office and grabbed Physical Review D off the stack of journals beside her laptop. Returning to the living room, she plopped onto the couch and opened to a random page, desperately trying to ignore her thundering heartbeat.
By the time Sam heard the sound of his truck’s engine outside, she had given up on reading journal papers and had progressed to pacing in the entryway, socked feet slipping against the floor. The clock on the wall read 18:00 exactly. Right on time.
When she heard his footfalls on the porch step, Sam couldn’t help herself. She moved to the entry and pulled open the door, not bothering to wait for his knock.
Even though she'd been thinking about it for the better part of a day, it was still surreal to have Jack O'Neill standing on her doorstep, dressed in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a flannel that for once wasn't three sizes too big. One hand held a plastic takeout bag with red lettering, and the other was holding...a bunch of daffodils?
"Car--Sam," he said, and now Sam really had seen everything, because the Colonel--Jack--looked painfully nervous.
And as was always the case with them, as soon as Sam saw his brown eyes fastened anxiously on her face, a wave of calm washed her fears away, leaving only a profound sense of rightness in its wake.
She pulled him inside, smiling, and relieved him of both the daffodils and Chinese food. "The flowers--you didn't have to, you know."
"I know hearts and flowers aren't really your thing," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But you deserve them."
"I love them," Sam assured him. "Come on in--we can eat in the living room?"
Jack took off his shoes and padded into the kitchen and just stood at the counter for a moment, watching Sam put the daffodils in water. He was struck again with amazement that this woman has agreed, of her own volition, to spend time with him. On a date.
He was determined not to muck up the once-in-a-million chance he'd been given. Thus the flowers (daffodils, her favorite), and the clothes that he’d dug out of the back of the closet, the ones his mother had made him buy when she’d visited Colorado Springs a few years ago. JJ, you can’t go around looking like a homeless man. I know you make a perfectly good salary from the Air Force. Use it!
His mother had never met Sam, Cassie, or Janet. Jack was pretty sure he wanted to keep it that way. Although he was sure they’d all get along swell.
Okay, maybe he wanted her to meet them. At least Sam. Just maybe.
It’s only a first date, Jack! Even if it is Carter. You’re getting ahead of yourself. He shook himself from his thoughts. “Can I do anything?”
"You can go ahead and open up the food," Sam said, glancing at him from between the daffodils. "I'll grab the plates and silverware."
"Sure," Jack said, and wandered to the sofa, food in hand. He opened up the cartons on her coffee table and sat down on the sofa uncomfortably. It was far from the first time he'd been in Carter's living room, wasn't even the first time he'd eaten Chinese takeout on the coffee table, even. But it was different, with just him and Carter. He was pretty sure the chances he'd spill something or start convulsing from some alien disease as soon as she walked in the room had increased tenfold since the last time he'd sat on this couch. Because wouldn't that be just his luck?
“How did you know I liked daffodils?” Sam asked as she entered the room, plates and napkins in hand.
Jack squirmed. “You, uh, mentioned it when we set up the observatory on that moon last year.” He gave her an embarrassed glance.
Sam smiled but didn’t say anything, just sat down to his left and reached for the chow mein.
Maybe he hadn’t messed this up yet? “So...how’s the Indian?”
It took some time, but by the time the Chinese was finished, Sam and Jack were talking and laughing just like they did in the commissary or her lab or offworld.
It was almost like the night watches, where they sat up together on some deserted planet. The only difference was that they weren’t being so careful not to touch anymore. In fact, at some point during dinner Sam’s hand wormed its way into Jack’s, and then Jack had interlaced their fingers and tugged her hand into his lap, where he was now fidgeting with her fingers as he leaned back against the couch.
“I still can’t believe you drank that stuff,” Sam said as she stacked the dishes on the coffee table with her other hand. “I’d have thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”
“Well, I did.” Jack smirked. “Don’t worry, that mission to P3X-595 is still very clear in my memory. How could I ever forget the part where--”
“Jack!” she scolded, abandoning the dishes in favor of reaching across her body to slug him in the arm. Sam glared until she couldn’t hold in the laughter anymore, and then she broke down giggling into his shoulder. He slid an arm around her waist and she leaned into him, still giggling.
When the laughter subsided, Sam looked up to find Jack with a delighted, pleased grin on his face. She’d never seen that particular look before. “What?”
“You called me Jack,” he said happily. And then, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her.
It was light and sweet and tender, and Sam kissed him back in the same manner, reveling in the freedom of being able to do this with Jack O’Neill. To hold hands with him, have dinner with him, kiss him.
Gradually, Jack pulled back, until he was just brushing her lips with his. Sam rested her head on his shoulder again, and Jack tilted his head against hers, nuzzling the golden silk of her hair. They sat quietly for a while, each taking in the ability to just be together.
“I should clear the table,” Sam said eventually.
“I’ll help,” Jack said, releasing her hand and disentangling his arm from around her waist.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he insisted, and Sam didn’t argue. They worked just as well together at home as in the field, with Sam depositing the dishes in the sink and Jack putting the leftovers in the refrigerator.
When they bumped into each other in front of the sink, it was Sam who stretched up to kiss him. She tasted like chow mein and General’s chicken and that same indefinable Sam he remembered from the incident with the Touched, and Jack resisted the urge to press her against the counter and take this a lot further a lot faster. He pulled away and Sam chased his lips, making a tiny whimper in the back of her throat that came perilously close to shattering his resolve.
"Carter. As much as I’d love to continue this, I should probably go," he said huskily. "We've got an 0900 briefing tomorrow."
Sam looked up at him. Her eyes were a shade darker than usual and Jack instantly knew that was his new favorite color. “You think we should wait,” she said, understanding what he wasn’t saying perfectly, as always. He nodded abashedly and opened his mouth, but Sam shook her head. “No, don’t apologize. I agree with you.”
She took his hand and led him to the entryway. "We should do this again sometime, though.”
When Jack turned back to her with a helpless little-boy grin on his face, she couldn't help but smile. "Yeah?"
"Definitely."
"Sweet."
They beamed at each other for a beat before Jack busied himself with his shoes.
"Sam," he said quietly before opening the door. "I had a great time tonight."
She looked up at him, taller than usual with his shoes on and her in socks. “Me too. The best.”
Jack nodded seriously, and then turned to leave. As he reached for the door handle, his hand paused, as if he wanted to say something else, and part of her begged silently for him to stop, turn around, and walk her back into the house. But the moment passed, and he stepped out into the night. Sam waved as he got into his truck and then closed the door, refusing to watch his taillights disappear into the night like some lovesick fool.
Her house felt lonely without Jack there on her couch, slurping his noodles and making her laugh. Not a whole lot quieter, in reality, but more empty. In her head, she knew it was no emptier than it had been that afternoon. She’d lived here by herself for seven years, after all. Still, she couldn’t help but feel cold without Jack there beside her.
There wasn’t anything she could do about it. Finally, after all these years of next to nothing, they finally had permission. That in and of itself was a miracle. And so they’d both agreed they needed to take it slow, not mess this up, because what would happen if it didn’t work out?
Sleep eluded her that night, but it wasn't until past midnight that the idea hit her.
Make your own destiny. That was the creed by which they lived at the SGC, and SG-1 followed it better than anyone. Her career and her love life--she was living two incompatible philosophies. Both of them willingly fought impossible battles against the Goa’uld daily. Why couldn’t they fight just as hard to make them--Sam and Jack--work? At least for her, Sam realized, it wasn’t a choice. She’d been in love with Jack O’Neill for at least six years, if not longer, despite everything that had happened between them. She’d fight like hell to make them work, had to, in fact because this was her only chance. Being with anyone else just wasn’t an option.
She grabbed an extra set of BDUs out of her closet, shoved her feet into her combat boots, and just about ran to her car, heedless of the fact that she was wearing pajamas.
In under ten minutes, she was knocking at Jack's door, overnight bag in hand.
A sleepy Jack O'Neill opened the door, still wearing the same gray t-shirt but having switched his jeans for sweatpants.
"Carter?" he asked, confusion scrunching his features.
"Sam," she corrected, stepping over the threshold and into the warmth of his home. "I know we said we should wait. But it's been years, and that was the best date I've ever had, ever, not because it was fancy, it wasn’t, but because it was you. And it's allowed, and I know we can make this”--she gestured between them--”work. If we both want it, which I think we do. So I don't want to waste another day, Jack. Can--" She paused, moved her bag in front of her protectively, suddenly irrationally worried she'd misread the entire situation. “Can I stay here tonight?”
Jack's eyes had cleared quickly, and it looked like he hadn’t missed anything. He closed the door behind Sam and turned back to her.
Carefully, he cradled her face in his hands and leaned forward. "Of course I want this, Sam. This is the best idea you've ever had," Jack whispered just before he kissed her.
Though it started out tender, a gentle meeting of lips, the kiss quickly became passionate. Sam dropped her bag to the floor and pulled Jack closer by the waist of his jeans as he ducked his head to taste the skin of her neck. And oh, this had definitely been the right idea. They stumbled against the wall blindly, barely managing to avoid tripping over the bag sitting haphazardly in Jack's entryway, and then Jack pushed a thigh between her legs, making her gasp and wrap her legs around him, and oh God all she wanted was more more more more.
Sam whimpered as Jack pulled back, chest heaving, and tried to tug him back down to her lips, certain she'd die if he stopped now.
"Sam," he gasped. "I just want to check. Are you absolutely sure? Because I'm gonna have a hard time going back after this, and--"
"I'm sure," she interrupted, smiling at his sweetness in spite of everything. "Jack, I'm not gonna change my mind."
"Okay." And with that, Sam found her legs kicking air.
It was a long time before she came back down.
Sam awoke with Jack's arms wrapped around her and his warm brown eyes watching her face carefully. They were still lying skin-to-skin, legs tangled together. The outside world was asleep--curtains drawn, lights out--and orange streaks were only beginning to paint the sky, but both Sam and Jack were used to waking up with the sun.
"Hey," he whispered, stroking a hand through her hair.
She smiled sleepily. "Hey."
"I forgot to say something last night," Jack said matter-of-factly.
"Oh?"
"I love you, Samantha Carter."
She buried her head in his chest and blinked happy tears onto his skin. "Love you too."
Jack's arms tightened, and he tried to soak in the moment, remember every bit of it. With her hair tousled, creamy skin against the white sheets, Sam looked just as beautiful as he'd always imagined--which he had, more times than he'd likely admit. More so, because she was real and here, all of her. Faded scars along her shoulder, the imprint of a pillow on one cheek, and that sparkle in her eyes. It'd been a long time since he remembered being this peaceful--since Charlie, maybe. Or even before.
But he never was good at verbalizing all that stuff.
"Carter," he started, eyes begging her to understand everything he didn’t know how to say. "As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here as often as you'd like."
At Jack’s words, Sam felt something click into place, the same part of her that had calmed when he arrived at her house yesterday evening. It was as if she'd been adrift for years, and finally docked back in the port she'd called home.
No, that wasn't right. Jack would never, ever tie her down. It was more like she was a planet that had finally settled into a stable orbit around its star--she’d found something--someone--to center her, stabilize her when she wobbled along her path.
Later, she'd describe the metaphor to Jack, and he would indulge in his characteristic affectionate teasing of her geeky side before extending the metaphor in ways that had her giggling. But now wasn't the time for that. Now, Sam looked at Jack, only inches away, and her heart tightened with love.
"Jack?" Sam said quietly, looking up at him again, blue eyes luminous.
“Yeah?”
"Can I stay here forever?" Her eyes searched his, shy and hopeful.
Jack hugged her even tighter, pulling her head to the crook of his neck, and it was his turn to blink the tears away. "Sam. I would love nothing more."
Outside, the sun rose, painting over the sky with pinks and oranges. But in Jack's mind, it was nothing compared to the sun in Sam's smile.
That smile was his world, and now that he had it, he was never letting anyone take it away.
The Goa’uld wouldn’t know what hit them.
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elopez7228 · 4 years
Text
Scenic Route 4/47
Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774
Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147
Tumblr media
Jessica was both overjoyed and terrified when she recognized Rey’s voice over the phone. She was shouting with a mixture of glee and rage about something along the lines of worrying to death and never being happier to hear something in her life.
Noticing Jessica’s sheer levels of anxiety, Rey strategically omitted certain details. She confirmed that she had arrived safely and had spent an unforgettable night in a luxury hotel—all at Finn’s expense, of course. She also downplayed the fact that her phone had run out of battery.
On the other end of the table, Ben Solo was trying very hard to pretend that he wasn’t listening. Rey knew that he didn’t miss a single word she said. She didn’t like the idea of being indebted to him, so she cut the call short, simply asking Jessica to tell the others that she was doing just fine and was having a splendid holiday.
Except for Finn of course. Finn could go die for all she cared. In fact, she really hoped he would.
She handed the phone back to Ben, who was still pretending to be disinterested.
“Problems with the boyfriend?”
Rey narrowed her eyes, dismissing the question as inappropriate.
“None of your business. Thanks for the cellphone. How much do I owe you?”
“Your digits. Then we’re even.”
Was he actually flirting with her? Rey sighed disdainfully.
“After nearly killing me with your Monster Truck, you’re trying to flirt with me? You have some gall, don’t you? Have a nice day, and thank you for the call.”
Picking up her damaged suitcase again, she waved politely to the waitress, who waved back. Then she headed over to the door. At the shopping center, she withdrew 500 dollars in cash, some of which she used to buy an adapter and a shoulder bag. She judged the new bag to be more suited to her trek across the country than her current roller model (which wasn’t doing a whole lot off rolling anyway).
The encounter with Ben Solo kept gnawing at her. The man was both intoxicating and insufferable, like over-sharp cologne that gave you a headache and made it harder to think.  He was a bullish, arrogant show-off—and yet something about him mesmerized her. The way he chewed his lip when he was deep in thought, the constellation of beauty marks on his face, or the involuntary grace in the way he ran his fingers through his hair. It made him seem vulnerable, utterly human. A far cry from the apathetic snark he pretended to be.
Emerging from the shopping center, she peered around the corner to make sure the pickup was no longer parked there.  Reassured that it had disappeared,  she walked over to the Night Owl café in relief now that Ben Solo had left the premises.
The new customers were hipster types, likely students, clad in harem pants, plaid, and oversized glasses. They typed away on their laptops, sipping from fancy drinks graced with floating scoops of ice cream.
“Hello again, can I hang around here while I recharge my phone? Should I order something else?” She asked, approaching the waitress again.
“No need, go ahead and make yourself at home. You can stay as longs as you want. I’m sorry about that annoying customer. Are you alright?”
Manners dictated that Rey should simply have responded fine, thanks, but the words that left her lips instead were “It’s absolute hell, I want to die.”
She blushed immediately, chewing on her lip. What had possessed her to open up to a stranger?
The waitress looked up at the clock mounted on the wall.
“I’ve got some time before the lunch rush, wanna talk? I can make you some fresh squeezed orange juice, it’s loaded with vitamins, it’ll help you recharge,”
“I—well…alright. That’s kind of you. By the way, I’m Rey,”
“I’m Rose, nice to meet you. I have a feeling your trip hasn’t gone to plan. Have you been here long?”
“Since yesterday,” Rey sighed, taking the glass of orange juice that Rose offered. She plopped down onto a bench and when Rose sat across from her, she told her everything: Finn, the wedding, the annulment, Poe, Jessica, the honeymoon trip, Ben Solo and his pickup.
Rose listened attentively, occasionally nodding mhm to encourage  Rey to keep going. Finally she asked, “But how much money do you have for this trip?”
“Not much, really” Rey shrugged, “Finn and I took out a loan to pay for the wedding, but now I have to reimburse the suppliers, give back our apartment, and whatever else I have to budget for the next five years. I’m generally better off the less I spend. It wasn’t the idea of the century to go on a two-week holiday with barely a quid to spare.”
Rose pursed her lips, assessing that last sentence. “I know someone who could use your services, if you’re interested. The job will make you some cash and take you pretty close to San Francisco.”
Rey hesitated. Silent alarm bells went off in her head, a gut instinct to pull away. She responded without thinking, “Is it prostitution or something? Because even if I’m penniless that’s out of the question,”
“No, not at all! It’s completely harmless. It’s just that I don’t have time to do it because of the café and all. No one will force you into anything.”
“Is it drug trafficking? Cannabis?  That’s legal in Colorado, isn’t it? Will I make enemies in the police department?”
“No, none of that,” Rose giggled, “It’s actually just taking a car up to California. And knowing your situation, I thought you could really use a ride. But if you don’t feel like it we can figure something else out.”
“And what does that entail exactly? What’s in this car?”
Rose jotted down a number on a Night Owl business card, handing it to Rey.
“You can contact Leia Skywalker using this number, she’s a friend. She’ll explain everything. I would do it myself but like I said, I just don’t have the time. And it would be a two-way trip for me anyway. You would only be driving one way, it’s totally convenient.”
Rey slipped the card into her pocket and drained her glass, rising to her feet.
“I’ll think about it, thanks a load,”
“You’re welcome, thank you too. I hope it all works out for you…”
Rey threw her bag over her shoulder, taking out her phone, she made her way to the exit.
“Yeah, I hope so too...”
She found herself on the road again. Inside her pocket, her fingers fiddled with the glossy edges of the business card.
The thought of that card in her pocket distracted her throughout the day.
She went to the Black American West Museum on California Street, to broaden her horizons on a culturally and historically relevant fieldtrip. She didn’t retain anything however; distracted by hard realities like not knowing where she was going to sleep that night.
She ate a cheeseburger and an Oreo milkshake at this “Jack in the Box” place, where the hundreds of options at the soft drink machine left her feeling indecisive. Looking at the advertisements, this Jack fellow was an odd mascot who only appealed to American sensibilities; his prim suit contrasted comically with his ballooning head, which looked like it was decorated by a child no older than five.
She travelled on foot to the Santa Fe Art District, where she wandered without really admiring the bright murals and art galleries. It was getting late and she was feeling tired due to the lingering jet lag. She needed a room for the night.
Worn out from her day-long walk, she slumped onto a bench. It was there that she saw the poster, in the corner of a shop window across the street.
Howl at the Moon presents: Kylo & the Knights of Ren, June 30th to July 4th: Free admission
Where had she seen that name before? Kylo and the Knights? What a bizarre name, but why was it so familiar?
It dawned on her. Kylo Ren was written on the bumper sticker of that pickup. The one belonging to what’s-his-face Ben Solo. It was a rock band.
Well, then! Instead of finding a place to sleep, she had stumbled upon the perfect place to spend the evening…
When she made it through the doors at 7 PM, the place was still quiet. It was too early for the show and the scene was deserted. Rey ordered a beer and a club sandwich at the bar. Gritting her teeth, she sat down at a small, empty table in a quiet alcove. She had a good view of the stage while taking up as little space as possible. Why had she come? Objectively, she had no desire to see Ben again, the unbearable arse. And yet—and yet she was curious. If he was any good, she could ostensibly revise her judgement.
The venue filled up slowly as the music blared. The crowd was tight-knit, greeting each other with smiles and pats on the back. The drinks kept flowing all night. At first Rey thought she would garner attention, a girl sitting all alone with her beer. But the crowd thickened, and soon she was safely just another silhouette in a sea of hundreds of others.
The sound of a few stray guitar notes made her look up. The band was onstage. There were seven of them—four women and three men. Clad in that many shades of black, they left no doubt that they were a rock band. They had it all, the leather and denim, Doc Martens, miniskirts and crop tops. Their hairstyles ranged from expertly shaved to long flowing locks and intricate braids. In center stage was Ben Solo (or was it Kylo Ren?) microphone in hand. He chewed on his lip and ran his fingers through his hair, habits that Rey had already picked up on after just two encounters. He had an unusually deep, almost guttural voice—Rey would be lying if she said that her interest wasn’t piqued. The music was a perfect sort of chaos—the melodies hypnotic under the savage rhythm and relentless beat. Rey surprised herself by singing with the crowd, repeating the refrains that she hadn’t memorized yet but which descended upon her ears and lips as though they had always been there.
Realizing that she was finally smiling, Rey thought of how the past hour had rid her of her worries for the first time in a long while. It was cathartic—she felt alive again. She had no desire to leave this place, to go back out there and find a room, as common sense would dictate. She wanted nothing more than to stay there a little while longer, a carefree spirit enjoying the music as she basked in the anonymity of the crowd.
She stayed for just about the entire evening. The band descended into the crowd after the show to drink a few beers with a small group of regulars. They laughed like old friends. Rey couldn’t help but notice their guitarist. Her style was gorgeous punk, complete with an immaculate mohawk and studs in her nose and ears that contrasted beautifully with her ebony skin. She never left Ben’s side. Shoulder to shoulder, her hand on his arm, her subtle touches and accidental brushes seemed to multiply.
Stars, I’ve never seen a girl more madly in love, too bad for her that he doesn’t look like he will ever reciprocate it.
And as though it was meant to contradict her, Ben’s hand shifted to rest on the girl’s hip, subtly pulling her against him. Rey raised the beer bottle to her lips, and found herself eye to eye with him as he looked up.
He was so shocked to see her that he began looking around, perhaps to make sure that it wasn’t one of those tacky hidden camera shows. As nothing continued to happen, he got up and walked in her direction.
The guitarist let him go, but not without seeking a reason for the sudden desertion. Her eyes locked on to Rey. Suddenly, Rey felt that she hadn’t exactly made a new friend.
“Good evening! Lovely concert there, Kylo Ren,” Rey said sweetly as Ben towered over her.
“What are you doing here?”
The question could have been unexpected if she wasn’t so naively spontaneous. Rey took a large swallow of her beer.
“I saw the light and I wandered in, what a small world, right?”
“Denver is a small town. And the nighttime rock scene even is even smaller. I didn’t realize that you liked rock music.”
“Well I don’t mean to brag but I have all sorts of hobbies apart from throwing myself at moving vehicles, really. But we never got around to that. How long have you been playing?”
“A few years.”
He wasn’t talkative and Rey pursed her lips as she scratched her brain for topics of conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rather impatient guitarist and seized upon the opportunity to ask him about her.
“Lovely guitarist you’ve got there, is she your girlfriend?”
“None of your business.”
Rey took the blow. It was fair play. She finished her beer and turned to leave.
“Well, then! Alright Ben Ren, Kylo Solo, or whatever your name is, thank you for the evening—it was a memorable performance. I had a great time but I ought to leave.”
She rose and slung her bag over her shoulder again, as it caught Ben’s eye.
“New bag? You were right to buy it, your other one was completely useless.”
“Yeah, someone was nice enough to tell me that it didn’t match my outfit. Goodnight, then.”
She had only taken a few steps toward the exit when he called out behind her:
“Where will you be staying tonight, Rey from England?”
“Nowhere. I’m a free woman in the Land of the Free.”
Her response was drowned out by the voices of late-night conversations between party diehards and smokers who congregated in packs near the door. Rey was feeling lightheaded and tipsy; she took a few wobbly steps onto the sidewalk before he called her name.
“Rey, wait!”
She turned around to see Ben cutting through the crowd in her direction, as she hit the lamppost hard. I must really be drunk then, she reasoned before giving in to the darkness.
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purplesurveys · 4 years
Text
815
All About the Letter C
Please List! (at least one)
Animals I Like: Chimpanzees, cows, clownfish (Nemo!), crabs.
Foods I Like: Chicken wings, carbonara, cordon bleu, corndogs, chili con carne, cheesecake, cheeseburgers, cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, calzones, churros... and also crabs, oops.
I Know Someone Who’s (jobs) Chef! My dad is one. I also know a chemist, choir member...I know a couple of people who work in the call center industry but they aren’t call center agents.
I Wouldn’t Mind Visiting: Chicago, Cambodia, Cairo, Colorado, and Calgary because I would love to see the original house of the Hart family. Sometimes I Feel: Calm or chaotic. No in between.
Music I Listen To: Cro-Mags, Coldplay, Chance the Rapper.
Movies I’ve Seen: Carol, Cinderella, Charade, The Children’s Hour, Citizen Kane, Carrie, Cabin in the Woods, Camp Rock, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Comet.
Names I Like: Caroline, Charlotte, Cheyenne, Claire, Cassandra.
And now, onto the random questions!
What is your favorite color? I’d say it’s pastel pink. Almost all my school supplies in college used to be pink.
What is your favorite type of cookie? Chocolate chip and nothing else. I mean I’d eat other cookies too (as long as they don’t have raisins), but nothing does it for me like chocolate chip does.
What kinds of clothes do you wear? What’s your style? Until quite recently it used to be a bit minimalist and modern. I wasn’t flashy with my pieces and I preferred blacks and whites with plain designs, and my style got compared a lot to Audrey Hepburn. In my last year of university something just kinda sparked in me and I realized I didn’t wanna look too plain for my entire college life, so I made an effort to buy more colorful tops, be more expansive with the bottoms I’d get, and just bought so many more printed rompers, jumpsuits, tank tops, etc. I think my style has transformed from modern to basic Instagram girl more than anything else, but I’m ok with that label because I know I look good with the clothes I own anyway lol.
Last time you cried, and why? I stumbled upon a video on Facebook - it was a segment from Masterchef Australia and it focused on an Asian contestant who was telling his story about how his parents hustled hard to successfully operate a restaurant, but that it got forcibly shut down when Australian immigration got a hold of his parents.
Do you still own any CD’s? Yes, I never threw any of them out. They’d be nice ~artifacts to show my kids haha and besides, they all still work perfectly well and a number of them even came with mini-booklets with photos of the artist, lyrics, and thank you notes.
How many cousins do you have? I have 11 first cousins, but the number just gets soooo much higher from there.
What’s your favorite type of cereal? I don’t really eat cereal because I don’t like the mushy texture and because milk makes me feel bad anyway, but I do enjoy Cookie Crisp.
Do you prefer crayons or colored pencils? Colored pencils.
Which is creepiest - caterpillars, cicadas, crickets, centipedes, or cockroaches? Cockroaches and centipedes, eugh.
Who do you care about the most? My best friends, close friends, and Kimi.
How do you take your coffee? Iced caramel macchiato when I’m out, warm 3-in-1 coffee when I’m at home.
What kind of a car do you drive? I have a Mitsubishi Mirage, but I haven’t driven it in months.
Would you rather play chess, checkers, or croquet? I don’t play any of these and none of them interest me.
Are you Catholic or a Christian? All Catholics are Christian, so I’m technically both given that I was raised Catholic. I detached myself from the religion when I was 10 when I realized its followers – at least the ones where I’m from – are hypocrites; but legally I’m still Catholic, unfortunately.
Who is your current crush? Gabie.
What’s your favorite type of candy? Sour tape and gummy candies. Not really into super sweet candies since I find them irritating to my throat, like chocolate bars or caramel.
What’s your favorite card game to play? My high school group used to often play a certain card game and it gave me a lot of fond memories, but I no longer remember the name or the mechanics lol.
What’s your least favorite chore? Folding clothes because they hurt my back, and I particularly don’t like folding clothes that aren’t mine. Even though I know they’re clean, it still makes me squirm hahaha.
How much time do you spend on the computer? I’d say 5-6 hours max. I don’t use the laptop as much these days because I don’t have any schoolwork left to do anymore, and other than that I’m also slowly running out of things to do on the internet.
What would you like to do as a career? Something in communications, media, or marketing. I’m not sure yet.
[a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]
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mysticladytiger · 4 years
Text
Reinstall Webroot with Key Code
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Text
FAQ
Hello! So, during a global pandemic and at the beginning of what will probably be a long and severe recession, at the age of 40 and with basically no knowledge of how automobiles work, I’m going to live in a van.
This might be a terrible idea. Hence, I’m calling my blog This Might Be A Terrible Idea.
If you’re reading this, I imagine it’s because you know me, so I’ll skip the introduction. I like a good FAQ, so let’s start there.
FAQ
Where are you going? Short answer: I don’t know!
Long answer: I’ll probably primarily split my time between Colorado/northern New Mexico, Maryland/Pennsylvania, and Florida. I want to stay as low-budget as I can and also avoid crowds during the pandemic. So whenever possible, I’ll opt for free, dispersed sites in national forests, state forests, BLM (which I now read as Black Lives Matter but here it’s the less-important acronym, Bureau of Land Management), state game lands, etc. I’ll pop into a developed campground every now and then to refill the water tanks, empty the portable toilet, and take a shower.
What kind of van do you have? In late June, I bought a 2007 Ford E250 with a high roof. In its first life, it was actually an Embassy Suites hotel shuttle, so when I got it, it had SO MANY SEATS. After it retired from the hotel biz, it went to a guy who owned a brewery and used the van for ski trips. Then he eventually traded it to a friend’s college-aged son in exchange for lawn-mowing work. This young man was actually going to make it into a camper too but didn’t have time, so he sold it to me.
I got the van for a very low price ($2000) because it’s really high mileage — almost 300,000. It also has a few issues: the dashboard, power windows, and radio only work sometimes. The doors are creaky and don’t like to close. There are splatters of paint (?) on the inside of the driver’s door. The air conditioning wasn’t working. And the interior is pretty beat up.
With help from my brother who actually knows about cars, I recharged the air conditioning. A new, functional instrument cluster is on the way. And the type of engine in this van (5.4L V8) supposedly has a reputation for being extremely durable. If I get a couple of good years out of this vehicle, I’ll be happy.
How are you going to afford this? A few years ago, I paid $4200 for an acre of land in the San Luis Valley, a few hours from Denver. I hoped to eventually put a little camper on it and make a very low-budget part-time home. But a few months after I bought the land, the county changed its rules to prohibit living in campers or mobile homes for more than a couple of weeks at a time. So the camper idea went out the window, and in June, I sold that land for $5000. This was my funding to buy the van and associated stuff. I’m going to try to keep the initial total cost of the van (vehicle, repairs, materials for the interior, solar installation) to about $6000.
I’m incredibly fortunate to be in a position where I don’t have to choose between my job and a weird nomadic lifestyle. About a year ago, I went full-time freelance as an editor and writer. So I’m self-employed and I work from home. I don’t even need the internet that much — aside from checking email, file downloads/uploads, and occasional googling for research and editing questions, I can be mostly offline. Also incredibly fortunate: the pandemic hasn’t affected my work, at least not so far.
I’ll have new and unexpected expenses: food will be more expensive, I’ll have to pay for campgrounds sometimes, the van will need gas and repairs and oil and new tires, and then I’ll want to make livability improvements (like insulation). But I hope that I’ll be able to cover all of that while still living within my means.
Aren’t you selling your condo? Why don’t you get a newer/lower mileage/already converted van? Yes, I am (fingers crossed that the sale goes through) selling my condo in Denver. But I also have no savings, no retirement fund, no emergency fund. And the recession is just getting started… the whole future seems pretty uncertain. I’d feel better if I kept as much of the condo money in the bank as possible, even if that means having a crappier van.
Don’t you worry about safety? Absolutely. I’m a worrying person. I worry a lot! But if I responded to those worries by not going anywhere alone, staying in only developed campgrounds, etc., then I’d have missed out on some of the best experiences in my life, and I’d never go much of anywhere at all.
To stay safe in a van, I’ll use the same approach I use for solo car camping. If a place feels sketchy, I go somewhere else. To avoid trouble from bears, I try not to get food on the ground, do food prep and brush teeth away from the vehicle, and keep the car doors locked when I’m away and at night. To avoid trouble from bros, I try to stay out of sight. I pick spots and set up my campsite so that people passing by mostly just see the vehicle and not me or my single chair or small tent. I have bear spray, which stays in arm’s reach when I’m out hiking and at night, and I have a sharp knife, which is always pretty accessible too.
In fact, safety is why I chose a van over a truck with a camper, which actually would have been preferable. If a truck ever had recurring or expensive mechanical problems, I could just get a new truck and put the camper on it — but with a van, I’ll either have to do the expensive repairs or get a new van and re-do the whole interior. And if I wanted to stay in one place for a while, I could take the camper off and just drive the truck around, saving on gas and wear and tear. But with a truck camper, if I were ever inside the camper and felt unsafe, I’d have to *go outside* and then get into the truck cab in order to leave. With a van, if things start feeling sketchy, I can just hop in the driver’s seat and go.
(Side note: It’s upsetting and frustrating to me that these safety concerns and choices are so linked to gender. Of course men also need to think about safety when they’re out camping alone, but I’m pretty sure I’ve had to think about it at least 200% as much as my equivalent 40-year-old non-threatening-looking out-of-shape single dude.)
If we’re talking about safety from non-sentient threats — bad weather, injuries, mechanical breakdowns, etc. — then I…
a) try not to get into situations that I can’t get out of — whether it’s a too-rugged road, a too-steep trail, or a spot that is likely to turn into a mud pit if it rains. I also think about whether I could walk to get help if I needed to. b) have some basic safety and first aid stuff. Tape, gauze, and a mylar blanket for me; jumper cables and a portable air compressor for the car. c) have a Triple A membership in case I need a tow.
The van came with a handy fire extinguisher strapped to the driver’s seat. To reduce the possibility of being unable to call for help if I get stuck somewhere, I eventually plan to get a cell phone signal booster.
The fire extinguisher or even my bear spray won’t keep me safe from COVID-19. But like I mentioned, I’m trying to stay as far away from crowds as possible. To cut down on contact when resupplying, I’ve got storage for 10 gallons of water (I’m actually going to expand this to 15) and plan to carry enough food for a month. Unless there’s a mechanical problem or breakdown (definitely my biggest concern), I should be able to drive coast to coast while remaining in a relatively firm bubble. The riskiest thing I’ll *have* to do is refuel at gas pumps, but I can pick gas stations that seem less crowded, refuel in smaller towns rather than busy highway rest areas, and go at quieter times of day.
Does your van have air conditioning? Nope! Well, it has the standard vehicle AC, but that only works while the van is running, and most of the time I’ll be parked. There are AC units that can go on top of campers and vans, but they use a ton of power: either you have to be plugged in to shore power at a campground, use a gas-powered generator, or have a million solar panels and batteries. I’m going to get a good roof vent and fan installed, plus maybe put some smaller battery-powered fans in the windows, so that will hopefully keep me from getting heatstroke in the summer.
Does it have running water? Nope! Right now, I have a portable foot-pump sink and a self-contained portable toilet. I plan to eventually build a nicer/bigger sink. I’m also going to order a collapsible tub so I can do sponge baths or use a solar shower (a black vinyl bag that heats up in the sun and has a hose attached). Swimming in freshwater lakes will need to become a bigger part of my life. I’ll probably be a little stinky at times, but people should be social distancing anyway, so if anyone can smell me, they’re way too close.
Does it have electricity? It will! I’m planning to have one large solar panel and a lithium battery installed. (For those who are curious, it’s a 315 watt solar panel with a 100 AH battery.) This will power the roof fan, my laptop, my phone, some plug-in lights, and eventually also built-in lights, the cell phone signal booster, and maybe a small fridge or cooler. The solar power system is going to outlast the van and will be easily switchable to my next vehicle.
Wait. “Maybe” a fridge? What are you going to eat? Ummm… I’ll figure it out? I eat like a scavenging raccoon, so I’m not too picky. I bought a bunch of freeze-dried legume-based soup and stew mixes from Harmony House, some high-protein shake mix from Huel, and I plan to stock rice, quinoa, peanut butter, oatmeal, hard cheese, packaged salmon and tuna, and dried fruit. If I’m driving, I’ll probably also keep an eye out for farm stands and grab some produce that will keep unrefrigerated for a few days. During the pandemic, I’ve been using support for local businesses as a way of justifying takeout or delivery once or twice a week, so I’ll probably keep doing that when I pass through developed areas.
Can you poop in your van? Does it smell? Yes to the first! I haven’t, um, tested it out yet. But after road trip in my sedan in May, when I had to go into a scary (no one wearing masks or social distancing) gas station in Colorado Springs, bathroom and hand-washing facilities for the van became a priority. Right now the portable toilet is just sort of hanging out in the open, but I’m going to build a plywood box to contain it. I did pee in it a bunch during my inaugural camping trip, and I’m happy to report that the chemicals I added to the tank made it not smell gross while also not producing an overwhelming chemical smell.
How will you get the internet? Unlimited data plan FTW! I recently figured out that I can use my phone as a mobile hotspot and connect to it with my laptop. It’s not fast, but it’ll do what I need it to. And I should be able to have connectivity even in more remote areas after I get a signal booster.
Won’t you get tired of living in a tiny space? Maybe. I do have some good practice, though. In the last decade, I’ve gone from living in a 700-square-foot condo (Denver) to a 400-ish-square-foot studio apartment (New Jersey; grad school) to my childhood room in my parents’ house (Maryland; post-grad-school student loan debt). Each time, I’ve gotten rid of stuff, even things it’s painful to get rid of: old books, childhood knickknacks, cassette tapes, drawings, horse show ribbons I remember winning, cutlery and glassware I got as housewarming gifts.
I also tend to feel really at home in my car. I’ve napped in my car, drafted novels in my car, had long and meaningful conversations in my car, had existential crises in my car, eaten hundreds of meals in my car. Car = house makes sense to me. And I hope to be staying in places where I have access to big and engaging outdoor spaces.
What will you do after you live in a van for a while? I have no idea. There are definitely things that I want to do — write fiction, build my career, be more involved with community/communities, get healthier, be a better human — but all of those things are geographically nonspecific. And everything both personally and nationally feels so up in the air. I could end up living in a van for a year, or five, or ten. I might eventually buy a house or a boat or a farm, or settle down somewhere (I don’t know where) in a more permanent way. But I’m not making plans for any of that, and I’m not making plans for an “after.”
I think that’s it for the FAQ! If you have any questions, let me know and I will address them in a later LFAQ (Less Frequently Asked Questions).
Also, please bear with me because I don’t really know how Tumblr works. If you want to start reading, start FROM THE BOTTOM.
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