#older cars just guzzle gas

[andrewthomson8779]

Green Your Ride: How to Get Cash for Your Clunker in California

Introduction

In today's environmentally conscious world, it's more important than ever to find ways to reduce our carbon footprint and promote sustainable practices. One area where individuals can make a significant impact is in their choice of transportation. If you live in California and own an old, fuel-inefficient vehicle, it may be time to consider "greening" your ride and contributing to a cleaner, more sustainable future. In this article, we will explore how you can get cash for your clunker in California, and the environmental and financial benefits that come with it.

The Need for Greener Transportation

California, known for its beautiful landscapes and iconic cities, is also infamous for its air quality challenges. The Golden State has been battling smog and pollution for decades, primarily due to the high density of vehicles on the road, particularly older ones that emit harmful pollutants. Greenhouse gas emissions from transportation are a significant contributor to climate change, and reducing the number of gas-guzzling clunkers on the road is a crucial step in the fight against environmental degradation.

Cash for Clunkers Program

To encourage Californians to trade in their old, polluting vehicles, the state has implemented the Cash for Clunkers program. This initiative offers financial incentives to individuals willing to retire their old cars and replace them with cleaner, more fuel-efficient options. The program aims to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, improve air quality, and stimulate the adoption of cleaner technologies.

Eligibility Criteria

To participate in the Cash for Clunkers program, you need to meet certain eligibility criteria. Typically, your vehicle must be registered in California and have been so for at least the past two years. It should also be in working condition and have a valid smog certificate. Additionally, your vehicle needs to be at least eight years old and meet specific fuel efficiency requirements to qualify for the program. It's important to check the program's official website or contact local authorities to ensure your vehicle meets the eligibility criteria.

Financial Incentives

One of the most attractive aspects of the Cash for Clunkers program is the financial incentives it offers. When you trade in your old clunker, you can receive a cash rebate that can be used to help cover the cost of a more fuel-efficient vehicle. The amount of the rebate depends on various factors, such as your income, the replacement vehicle's fuel efficiency, and the emissions of your old car. The program's goal is to make it financially rewarding for individuals to transition to greener transportation options.

Environmental Benefits

Participating in the Cash for Clunkers program isn't just about getting some cash for your old vehicle; it's also about making a positive impact on the environment. Older vehicles tend to emit higher levels of greenhouse gases and other pollutants. By retiring your old clunker and replacing it with a cleaner, more fuel-efficient option, you're contributing to reduced air pollution and a decrease in the state's overall carbon footprint. This, in turn, helps combat climate change and creates a healthier living environment for all Californians.

Economic Advantages

Aside from the environmental benefits, transitioning to a more fuel-efficient vehicle can lead to economic advantages. Newer vehicles are often more fuel-efficient, saving you money at the gas pump. They also tend to require less maintenance and are more reliable, reducing repair costs. Additionally, the cash rebate you receive through the Cash for Clunkers program can be a significant financial boost, making the transition to a greener vehicle more accessible for many individuals.

Promoting Technological Advancements

The Cash for Clunkers program doesn't just benefit individuals; it also plays a pivotal role in driving innovation in the automotive industry. By incentivizing the purchase of more fuel-efficient and environmentally friendly vehicles, the program encourages automakers to invest in research and development to meet the growing demand for cleaner transportation options. This, in turn, fosters the creation of new technologies and the advancement of green vehicle alternatives.

How to Participate

Participating in the Cash for Clunkers program is a straightforward process. Here's a step-by-step guide on how to get cash for your clunker in California:

Check Eligibility: Verify whether your old vehicle meets the program's eligibility criteria, including age, smog certificate, and fuel efficiency requirements.

Select a Replacement Vehicle: Choose a cleaner, more fuel-efficient vehicle that meets the program's standards. You can opt for electric, hybrid, or other environmentally friendly options.

Visit a Participating Dealer: Locate a participating dealership that is part of the program. Many reputable car dealerships in California are part of the Cash for Clunkers initiative.

Trade-In Your Clunker: Work with the dealer to complete the trade-in process. They will help you determine the value of your clunker and the rebate you can receive.

Complete the Paperwork: Ensure that all necessary paperwork is properly filled out and submitted. This may include documents related to your old vehicle's title, registration, and smog certificate.

Receive Your Rebate: Once your old vehicle is officially retired, and you've purchased your new, greener vehicle, you'll receive the cash rebate.

Enjoy Your Greener Ride: Start driving your new, more environmentally friendly vehicle, and experience the financial and environmental benefits it offers.

Conclusion

The Cash for Clunkers in California is a win-win for individuals and the environment. It provides financial incentives for retiring old, polluting vehicles and replacing them with cleaner, more fuel-efficient alternatives. Not only does this program lead to cost savings and improved air quality for individuals, but it also plays a significant role in reducing greenhouse gas emissions and promoting the development of green technologies. So, if you're a Californian with a clunker in your garage, it's time to consider "greening" your ride and contributing to a cleaner, more sustainable future.

[improvidence318]

i said screw it so here it is

howdy howdy, this is the anon with the 20’s lingo sheet. i don’t have a tumblr (though i wish i do tbh) and realized that i don’t know how to work shit on tumblr, so i’m just sending in the sheet through a text post. i am highly aware of the amount of power i’m bestowing upon you and honestly couldn’t give a damn

A

ab-so-lute-ly: affirmative all wet: incorrect And how!: I strongly agree! ankle: to walk, i.e.. “Let’s ankle!” apple sauce: flattery, nonsense, i.e.. “Aw, applesauce!” Attaboy!: well done!; also, Attagirl!

B

baby: sweetheart. Also denotes something of high value or respect. baby grand: heavily built man baby vamp: an attractive or popular female, student. balled up: confused, messed up. baloney: Nonsense! Bank’s closed.: no kissing or making out ie. “Sorry, mac, bank’s closed.” bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl beat it: scram, get lost. beat one’s gums: idle chatter bee’s knee’s: terrific; a fad expression. Dozens of “animal anatomy” variations existed: elephant’s eyebrows, gnat’s whistle, eel’s hips, etc. beef: a complaint or to complain. beeswax: business, i.e. “None of your beeswax.” Student. bell bottom: a sailor bent: drunk berries: (1) perfect (2) money big cheese: important person big six: a strong man; from auto advertising, for the new and powerful six cylinder engines. bimbo: a tough guy bird: general term for a man or woman, sometimes meaning “odd,” i.e. “What a funny old bird.” blotto (1930 at the latest): drunk, especially to an extreme bootleg: illeagal liquor breezer (1925): a convertable car bug-eyed Betty (1927): an unattractive girl, student. bull: (1) a policeman or law-enforcement official, including FBI. (2) nonesense (3) to chat idly, to exaggerate bump off: to kill bum’s rush, the: ejection by force from an establishment bunny (1925): a term of endearment applied to the lost, confused, etc. Often coupled with “poor little.” bus: any old or worn out car.

C

cake-eater: a lady’s man caper: a criminal act or robbery. cat’s meow: great, also “cat’s pajamas” and “cat’s whiskers” cash: a kiss Cash or check?: Do we kiss now or later? cast a kitten: to have a fit. Used in both humorous and serious situations. i.e. “Stop tickling me or I’ll cast a kitten!” Also, “have kittens.” cheaters: eye glasses check: Kiss me later. chewing gum: double-speak, or ambiguous talk. choice bit of calico: attractive female, student. chopper: a Thompson Sub-Machine Gun, due to the damage its heavy .45 caliber rounds did to the human body.  chunk of lead: an unnattractive female, student. clam: a dollar coffin varnish: bootleg liquor, often poisonous. copacetic: excellent crasher: a person who attends a party uninvited crush: infatuation cuddler: one who likes to make out

D

daddy: a young woman’s boyfriend or lover, especially if he’s rich. daddy-o: a term of address dame: a female. Did not gain widespread use until the 1930’s. dapper: a Flapper’s dad darb: a great person or thing. “That movie was darb.” dead soldier: an empty beer bottle. deb: a debutant. dewdropper: a young man who sleeps all day and doesn’t have a job. dogs: feet doll: an attractive woman. dolled up: dressed up don’t know from nothing: doesn’t have any information don’t take any wooden nickels: don’t do anything stupid. doublecross: to cheat, stab in the back. dough: money drugstore cowboy: A well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women. dry up: shut up, get lost ducky: very good dumb Dora: an absolute idiot, a dumbbell, especially a woman; flapper.

E

earful: enough egg: a person who lives the big life

F

face stretcher: an old woman trying to look young fella: fellow. As common in its day as “man,” “dude,” or “guy” is today. “That John sure is a swell fella.” fire extinguisher: a chaperone fish: (1) a college freshman (2) a first timer in prison flat tire: a bore flivver: a Model T; after 1928, also could mean any broken down car. floorflusher: an insatiable dancer flour lover: a girl with too much face powder fly boy: a glamorous term for an aviator For crying out loud!: same usage as today four-flusher: a person who feigns wealth while mooching off others.

G

gams (1930): legs gatecrasher: see “crasher” get-up (1930): an outfit. get a wiggle on: get a move on, get going get in a lather: get worked up, angry giggle water: booze gimp: cripple; one who walks with a limp.  Gangster Dion O’Bannion was called Gimpy due to his noticeable limp. gin mill: a seller of hard liquor; a cheap speakeasy glad rags: “going out on the town” clothes go chase yourself: get lost, scram. gold-digger (1925): a woman who pursues men for their money. goods, the: (1) the right material, or a person who has it (2) the facts, the truth, i.e. “Make sure the cops don’t get the goods on you.” goof: (1) a stupid or bumbling person, (2) a boyfriend, flapper. goofy: in love grummy: depressed grungy: envious

H

handcuff: engagement ring hard-boiled: tough, as in, a tough guy, ie: “he sure is hard-boiled!” hayburner: (1) a gas guzzling car (2) a horse one loses money on heavy sugar (1929): a lot of money heebie-jeebies (1926): “the shakes,” named after a hit song. heeler: a poor dancer high hat: a snob. hip to the jive: cool, trendy hit on all sixes: to perform 100 per cent; as “hitting on all six cylinders”; perhaps a more common variation in these days of four cylinder engines was “hit on all fours”.  See “big six”. hood (late 20s): hoodlum hooey:  nonsense. Very popular from 1925 to 1930, used somewhat thereafter. hop: a teen party or dance Hot dawg!: Great!; also: “Hot socks!"  Rarely spelled as shown outside of flapper circles until popularized by 1940s comic strips. hot sketch: a card or cut-up

I

"I have to go see a man about a dog.”: “I’ve got to leave now,” often meaning to go buy whiskey. icy mitt: rejection insured: engaged iron (1925): a motorcycle, among motorcycle enthusiasts iron one’s shoelaces: to go to the restroom ish kabibble (1925): a retort meaning “I should care."  Was the name of a musician in the Kay Kayser Orchestra of the 1930s.

J

jack: money Jake: great, ie. "Everything’s Jake.” Jalopy: a dumpy old car Jane: any female java: coffee jeepers creepers: a term of exclamation jitney: a car employed as a private bus. Fare was usually five-cents; also called a “nickel.” joe: coffee Joe Brooks: a perfectly dressed person; student. john: a toilet joint: establishment juice joint: a speakeasy

K

kale: money keen: appealing killjoy: a solemn person knock up: to make pregnant know one’s onions: to know one’s business or what one is talking about

L

lay off: cut the crap left holding the bag: (1) to be cheated out of one’s fair share (2) to be blamed for something let George do it: a work evading phrase level with me: be honest limey: a British soldier or citizen, from World War I line: a false story, as in “to feed one a line.” live wire: a lively person lollapalooza (1930): a humdinger lollygagger: (1) a young man who enjoys making out (2) an idle person

M

manacle: wedding ring mazuma: money milquetoast (1924): a very timid person; from the comic book character Casper mind your potatoes: mind your own business. mooch: to leave moonshine: homemade whiskey mop: a handkerchief munitions: face powder

N

neck: to kiss passionately necker: a girl who wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. nifty: great, excellent noodle juice: tea Not so good!: I personally disapprove. “Now you’re on the trolley!”: Now you’ve got it, now you’re right.

O

off one’s nuts: crazy Oh yeah!: I doubt it! old boy: a male term of address, used in conversation with other males. Denoted acceptance in a social environment.  Also “old man” “old fruit.” “How’s everything old boy?” Oliver Twist: a skilled dancer on a toot: a drinking binge on the lam: fleeing from police on the level: legitimate, honest on the up and up: on the level orchid: an expensive item ossified: drunk owl: a person who’s out late

P

palooka: (1) a below-average or average boxer (2) a social outsider, from the comic strip character Joe Palooka, who came from humble ethnic roots panic: to produce a big reaction from one’s audience percolate: (1) to boil over (2) As of 1925, to run smoothly; “perk” pet: necking, only more; making out petting pantry: movie theater piffle: baloney piker: (1) a cheapskate (2) a coward pill: (1) a teacher (2) an unlikable person pinch: to arrest. Pinched: to be arrested. pinko: liberal pipe down: stop talking prom-trotter: a student who attends all school social functions pos-i-lute-ly: affirmative, also “pos-i-tive-ly” punch the bag: small talk putting on the ritz: after the Ritz Hotel in Paris (and its namesake Caesar Ritz); doing something in high style. Also “ritzy.”

Q

R

rag-a-muffin: a dirty or disheveled individual rain pitchforks: a downpour razz: to make fun of Real McCoy: a genuine item regular: normal, typical, average; “Regular fella.” Reuben: an unsophisticated country bumpkin. Also “rube” Rhatz!: How disappointing! rub: a student dance party rubes: money or dollars rummy: a drunken bum

S

sap: a fool, an idiot. Very common term in the 20s. says you: a reaction of disbelief scratch: money screaming meemies: the shakes screw: get lost, get out, etc. Occasionally, in pre 1930 talkies (such as The Broadway Melody) screw is used to tell a character to leave. One film features the line “Go on, go on – screw!"  screwy: crazy; "You’re screwy!” sheba: one’s girlfriend sheik: one’s boyfriend simolean: a dollar sinker: a doughnut sitting pretty: in a prime position skirt: an attractive female smarty: a cute flapper smudger: a close dancer sockdollager: an action having a great impact so’s your old man: a reply of irritation speakeasy: a bar selling illeagal liquor spill: to talk spoon: to neck, or at least talk of love static: (1) empty talk (2) conflicting opinion stilts: legs struggle: modern dance stuck on: in love, student. sugar daddy: older boyfriend who showers girlfriend with gifts swanky: (1) good (2) elegant swell: (1) good (2) a high class person

T

take someone for a ride: to take someone to a deserted location and murder them. tasty: appealing teenager: not a common term until 1930; before then, the term was “young adults.” tell it to Sweeney: tell it to someone who’ll believe it. tight: attractive Tin Pan Alley: the music industry in New York, located between 48th and 52nd Streets tomato: a “ripe” female torpedo: a hired thug or hitman

U

unreal: special upchuck: to vomit upstage: snobby

V

vamp: (1) a seducer of men, an aggressive flirt (2) to seduce voot: money

W

water-proof: a face that doesn’t require make-up wet blanket: see Killjoy wife: dorm roomate, student. What’s eating you?: What’s wrong? whoopee: wild fun Woof! Woof!: ridicule

X

Y

You slay me!: That’s funny!

Z

zozzled: drunk

  have fun.

#it's the 20s slang list #thanks dude #submission

[stellar-starseed]

Teacher’s Pet

Group: Ateez

Pairing: Student!Mingi x Teacher;Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,299

Summary: Mingi’s senior year takes a turn as he finds himself entangled with his teacher.

Part: 4

Other Chapter(s): Master List

Warnings: 18+, language, drug use, sexual content, themes of grooming

Part IV

A routine call with your fiancé on his trip turned into a conversation about having kids. You quickly became annoyed. After you mentioned wanting to have a life before children, your fiancé grew distant.

Your call ended soon after. You didn’t want to hurt him, but this was not where your mind was at this time. You needed freedom, time to discover. You weren’t ready to give every waking moment to another being right now.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled through Mingi’s Instagram. You smiled at his cute photos. You bit down on your lip as you contemplated texting him. You threw your phone down on your bed realizing it wasn’t a good idea. You quickly picked up your phone and flipped through your open apps to get to Instagram. You clicked accept on Mingi’s request.

Mingi wasn’t pleased to hear Sara had told the guys about a party. Jungho pulled up in his smoke filled car. Mingi was thankful for the weed, as he was not feeling up to social interaction with his peers. He wasn’t feeling much like he had peers at the moment. Mingi felt sort of in between worlds.

“I didn’t know Hongjoong’s dad was loaded!” Yunho shouts.

“Dude, I’m right here.” Jungho covered his ear. “And this is the same house from the last party.” He took one last hit before tossing the remaining bit of joint out the window.

The party had started well before they had arrived and a few were even passed out on the way in. Mingi followed his best friends and they headed for the alcohol. Sara, seemingly popping up out of no where, wraps her arms around Mingi. He chuckles and hugs her back. Yunho offers them both drinks.

Sara manages to get Mingi out on the dance floor, and though Mingi didn’t feel much like socializing he did love to dance. He spent the better part of an hour keeping up with Sara. With sweat dripping down his face he couldn’t help but smile. Sara did have a way of making him feel a little more connected.

Mingi decided it was time to rest. Sara didn’t feel the same. She tugged at his arm and gave a small pout. Mingi laughed and shook his head. Sara gave up easily and began dancing with a new partner.

“Fuck you!” Yeosang said staring directly at Yunho.

“Fuck you back, man!” Yunho laughed as he guzzled down his drink. Mingi walks into the tense situation with a questioning look.

“My sister man?” Yeosang says.

“It’s over.” Mingi stepped up and placed his hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. Yunho gave a sad look to Mingi that no one seemed to catch.

“Yeosang, you’re sister’s smarter than that.” Jungho laughed. “She dumped him!”

“Hey, fuck off with that. She did not.” Yunho slammed his plastic cup down on the counter with a lot less dramatic effect than he wanted.

“Yeah? Then why’d you leave the dance without a date?” Jungho couldn’t help but laugh.

“Chill Jungho.” Mingi said.

“Piece of shit.” Yunho said with gritted teeth.

“Come on man. You know he really likes her.” Mingi said.

“Yunho? Play boy Yunho really likes my sister?” Yeosang scoffed. They were buddies but Yeosang always knew Yunho to be a player he couldn’t see him taking much of anything serious.

“He does.” Mingi nodded.

“Well, no one has to worry about that.” Jungho mumbled.

Yeosang’s gritted fists loosened. He grabbed the bottle on the counter and filled his cup. He headed back out to the party.

“Fuck him.” Yunho said. “And fuck you, too.” He pointed at Jungho.

“Well, we know why Yunho left early.” Jungho said rolling his eyes at Yunho and blatantly changing the subject. “What we don’t know is where you went. So, what about you, why’d you leave early?” Jungho and Yunho both turned towards Mingi with expectant looks.

“Oh, you know, I just wasn’t feeling right. I guess I had one too many.”

“So, he finally admits it!” Yunho announces. “Song Mingi cannot hold his liquor! You heard it straight from the asshole’s mouth!”

“Fuck off.” Mingi laughs.

“I’m gonna find someone to dance with assholes.” Yunho downs another drink and walks away.

“Seriously, Mingi, I’m your closest friend. What happened? Why’d you leave early?” Jungho questioned.

“Seriously, Jungho. I got sick and left.” Mingi shrugged it off and sat down at the counter. Jungho was soon pulled away by an older woman and Mingi was glad to be left alone.

Sara found him on another lap around the house and decided they should leave together. Mingi agreed. He hoped she didn’t expect sex from this interaction, but he prepared himself to go the distance if he had to. He felt bad for having these thoughts, but he felt so disconnected from his peers. He didn’t want to look or seem out of place because he had no answers for his feelings at the moment.

Sara intertwined her fingers with Mingi’s and they headed to her car. The ride to Sara’s house was familiar for Mingi. He sunk down into the seat and pushed the shoulder strap over his head. The faint music of the radio lulled Mingi into a light sleep. His face was pressed against the cool window.

When Sara stopped the car, she didn’t want to wake him. Instead she kept driving. The faint music kept her in her thoughts and the near quiet drive was nice. It was even nice to spend time with a sleeping Mingi. There was something familiar and all too comforting about his presence.

After some time of aimless driving, Sara found herself stopped in front of Mingi’s place. It seemed right, she thought to herself as she leaned over and gently caressed his cheek.

“Mm?” Mingi stirred and sat up. “Oh, crap. I’m sorry.” He shook his head and looked at his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry I keep messing things up, Sara.” Mingi looked at her this time. She offered another sweet smile and nodded.

“Go get some rest, Min.” Sara pat his leg and Mingi obeyed as best he could.

He slumped up the stairs to his house and found his mother washing dishes in the kitchen. He headed over to lean on the counter next to her. She smiled down at him and Mingi felt a bit sad that he had been distant even from her lately.

“Did you have fun with your friends?” She asked. Mingi nodded and gave a small smile. He lightly hugged his mom and told her goodnight.

“Don’t forget you’re watching your brothers tomorrow night!” Mingi nodded and waived her off as he headed to his room.

His nights were filled with thoughts of you, and tonight was no different. Mingi tossed and turned in bed only nodding off a few moments before his alarm went off.

There was nothing memorable about the day. Mingi tried to make it on two cups of high voltage gas station coffee, but that was falling short to keep his energy going. The day went by in a blur and Mingi was glad to hear the final bell.

Mingi went out of his way to walk past your classroom before he left and you were not there. He was a little let down when he couldn’t see you for the day, but he had to take care of his siblings.

When Mingi got home with his brothers, he pushed them upstairs and told them to wash up. He headed to the kitchen to start dinner, or heat up the dinner his mother already made. He set up the table for his brothers and headed to take a shower while they ate.

Mingi heard his phone chime as he dried his hair. When he found a picture of you in a black lace bra, his mouth fell open. Your message asked him to meet you at the park. Mingi quickly got dressed and asked the usual babysitter to stand in.

The cold air hit Mingi and he felt exhilarated. He jogged towards the park a few blocks away. He couldn’t help but be pumped up to see you. He wasn’t sure why you would even look his way. He wanted to tell you how he felt, but he was nervous you would reject him entirely.

Mingi waited for less than five minutes before he saw your car pulling up. He climbed into the passenger’s side and you headed to a familiar spot. You parked the car and Mingi was ready to climb in the back when your hand was on his thigh stopping him.

You asked him to take his pants off and he was glad to do so. Your eyes caressed his every move. It wasn’t easy to restrain at any point in time around him, but it was much harder in these moments.

Once Mingi had his pants down you were climbing over the center console. It was becoming increasingly more common for you to wear dresses or items easily discarded when you met with Mingi. His hands immediately slide up your thighs, ready to pull down your underwear when he discovers you aren’t wearing any. His approving smile causes you to lean down and kiss his beautiful lips. You spend little time preparing. You wrap your hand around his hard cock, line him up with your opening and lower yourself down slowly.

“Fuck.” Mingi whispered. His lips found their way to your neck and he gave you gentle kisses and sucked on your collar bone. His hands wandered your entire body. You couldn’t help but lose yourself with Mingi. He was very attentive and only seemed to get better.

“Mingi, shit!” You moan as you pick up your pace. He whispers to himself how wet you are. You roll your hips into his, trying to get the best angle and pace with your limited space. You both seem in good rhythm when you hit your head on the roof of the car. You both pause to laugh. Mingi stops as he realizes how beautiful you are when you smile.

Mingi wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, he pulled you in for a kiss. He commanded the kiss. His tongue quickly found its way to caressing yours. Mingi’s free hand was soon pulling you down by your hips. You obliged and slip back down on his cock. Instantly calling out involuntary as he hit the perfect spot. You both tried to continue to reach that spot.

Mingi gently directed you back, your hands were grabbing the dashboard bracing yourself. Mingi’s hands were grasping at your hips, guiding you.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “I’m close. Oh god!”

“Me too.” Mingi thrust up into you erratically as you both found your high.

As you both came down you found yourself cuddling him, and he found himself kissing every inch of available skin as he played with your hair. Mingi liked this, being inside you as he went soft with your arms wrapped around him. He was in no rush to go anywhere.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said lowly after you both get dressed. He gave you a lingering kiss on the lips. “I really like you.” You smile at him and place your hand on his cheek.

“I mean I really like you, ______.” You can’t help but smile at his words. Even though he was much younger than you were he was so mature and he gave you things your fiancé couldn’t. You really wanted Mingi to like you and after hearing him say the words out loud you were ecstatic.

“I really like you too, Mingi.” You’re almost shy to say the words out loud yourself, and you look away. Mingi turns your face towards his and your lips are soon met by Mingi’s. His arms wrap around you and he pulls you as close as he can. He leaned back, pausing for a moment to look at you. He can’t get over this situation he finds himself in.

“What is it?” You question. Mingi smiles and shakes his head. He leans in a bit to give you a sweet kiss.

This time there were no study sessions at the restaurant. The sessions happened in more inconspicuous places. Places where holding hands and blatant flirting wouldn’t be noticed by people from school. You both fell into this fantasy world with each other. Mingi looked forward to every weekend because he could spend time with you.

“We have to set some rules.” You say one night after you noticed some lingering stares from passers by. Your rules were simple, but mostly in your favor. You had all the control, just how you liked it.

Mingi wasn’t pleased about giving up all control, but he obliged. Mingi was glad to be with you. He was overwhelmed by his feelings for you and was ready to do what was necessary just to be by your side.

When Mingi got home that night his mother was up at the kitchen table. The look on her face made his heart sink.

“Where were you?”

“I was just—“

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it! One night, Mingi. I ask you for one damned night.” She sighed and stands up.

“Your baby brother burned himself by the way.” She said before heading out of the room.

Mingi mouthed ‘fuck’ as he ran his fingers through his hair. He headed to his room and paced back and forth. He couldn’t seem to keep any one part of his life on the same track.

Mingi stood in front of his mirror. He stared at himself for a short while. A Million and one thoughts ran through his head.

“Song Mingi, you’re the fucking man!” He psyched himself up.

———————————————————————————-

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.

Catch you on the next episode. Stay golden.✨

#queued for your reading pleasure #Mingi x reader #Mingi scenario #Mingi imagine #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez #kpop #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #song Mingi #song Mingi x reader #fan fiction #kpop fan fiction #kpop fan fic #fan fic #ateez fanfic #ateez fan fiction #queued

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 17: A Name

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold revisits her past

Read on AO3

Mrs. Gold looked on in mute horror as Hunter Duke dumped more hot sauce on his triple bacon hamburger. He’d asked Ruby to give him three meat patties with no bun and steamed broccoli instead of fries. When Mrs. Gold had questioned that lunch choice, he had explained his new diet to her.

At length.

Hunter had always been the kind of boy who thought meat and spicy food were substitutes for a personality. He’d been the star athlete at Storybrooke High, taking home championships in football and wrestling. He’d been popular with everyone--except for the one girl he’d arbitrarily decided was the hottest girl in school. That girl, the valedictorian, hadn’t given the quarterback the time of day. Not until she lost her scholarship and suddenly dating the son of a lawyer sounded like the way to the best future she would ever get.

“They do the burgers way too overdone here,” Hunter said with his mouth full. “You don’t get enough protein if it isn’t bloody.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged and took a bite of her own burger. It needed more pickles, but it was still amazing. Toasted bun, crisp lettuce, a patty that was juicy but not messy. She hadn’t had a Granny’s burger in forever. When she was a kid, her parents had taken her out for burgers every Friday night after their shop closed. Mom would bring her own supply of extra-zesty mustard and Dad…

She set her bun on her plate. On those idyllic, bygone Friday nights, her father would spend the whole meal grumbling about money and expenses and couldn’t they have eaten at home? Mom had always told him to stop worrying and enjoy the moment. It was the end of another week and they were together, happy and healthy. She’d calmed him down and kept him focused, every time there was a crisis.

Until they faced the biggest crisis of their lives.

Mrs. Gold blinked out of her thoughts. For some reason, Hunter was still talking. Maybe it looked like she was listening. She’d gotten good at that when they had dated. Now that she was listening for real, she tried to catch up.

“I keep telling my dad he needs to just change the sign. ‘Duke & Duke & Duke’ has a great ring to it, right? Or he could for ‘Duke & Sons.’ I don’t mind sharing the spotlight with Steven. Or he could leave the sign as it is and retire! ‘Duke & Duke’ is classic, everyone knows we’re the best bankruptcy lawyers in town. Just let my brother be the first Duke and I’ll be second Duke and we’ll take this firm into the future! But Dad keeps brushing me off for some reason.”

Mrs. Gold took a sip of iced tea and desperately wished it was something stronger. “Did you… go to law school?”

She had the oddest feeling that she couldn’t remember how long they had been out of high school. All she knew for sure was that Hunter had enrolled at Storybrooke Community College--and she hadn’t. It was possible that he had gotten his bachelor’s. As Hunter was fond of saying, “Cs get degrees.” But SCC didn’t have a graduate program. Had he taken more classes on the internet? Or correspondence courses? It boggled her mind to think of Hunter of all people had gotten a law degree during the years she’d been Mr. Gold’s stupid slut.

“Well actually,” he explained, “you don’t need to go to law school to take the bar exam. I’ve got a bachelor’s in poli-sci and I’ve been around lawyers all my life. My dad knows everyone at the state bar. He’ll pull some strings and I’ll be all set.”

Mrs. Gold stabbed her straw at the ice cubes in her glass. It was so fucking unfair. Hunter was an idiot child who had never worked for anything in his life. His father--Richard “Big Dick” Duke--had bought him a Humvee when he turned sixteen, a speedboat when he graduated high school, and a college education just because no son of his wasn’t going to go to college. Now he would give his son the bar exam and a ready job and everything he would need for a future, without Hunter ever having to grow up past the maturity level of a toddler.

She’d lost her virginity to this boy. One summer night after senior year, in the back seat of that gas-guzzling monstrosity. They’d been dating for a while and Hunter had been perfectly content with her amateurish attempts at blowing him. But for her, the novelty had begun to wear off. So she’d suggested that he “put it in” instead. It was mostly a way for him to get his rocks off while she could just lie back and think of something more interesting.

Her memories of that night were dark and cramped and disappointing. She kept her shoes and her bra on the whole time. When Hunter was done, she had been more confused than anything else. This is what people made such a big deal about? Wasn’t sex supposed to be better than that?

It wasn’t until later, with Mr. Gold, that she had understood what people were talking about in romance novels.

But now that things were so strained with her husband, she found herself thinking back to the only other sexual partner she’d ever had. Looking at Hunter now, she had to remind herself of how bad things had been that summer, when he had been a welcome distraction. Hunter hadn’t wanted to talk about doctors’ appointments or shop inventory or arguing with financial aid departments--every fight a losing battle. All he wanted to do was drink, screw around, and have fun, and he welcomed her along for the ride.

I thought he would help us. I was wrong. He wasn’t what I needed.

Mrs. Gold shook the thought out of her head. The thought was true, but she recognized it as not being her own, so she talked over it.

“Have you been hanging out with any of the old gang? Sean or Jesse or anyone?”

It had been exciting to be included with the rich kids, to feel like she belonged in the world of the young and the reckless--people who didn’t have to worry about things because their parents would always be around to bail them out. They could do whatever they wanted because the world belonged to them.

Hunter shrugged. “Jesse’s an idiot, so no change there. But Sean’s been such a pussy ever since Ashley had her baby.”

Ashely Boyd had been in that group with her. Rich boys liked running around with poor girls because they were easier to impress than the rich girls. New Town young ladies also had parents who bought them cars for their sixteenth birthdays. They didn’t need to rely on spoiled boys to pay their way every time they went out, so they didn’t have to go along with whatever stupidity the boys came up with. Mrs. Gold had taken a lot of risks just so Hunter would keep thinking she was interesting.

But Ashley had loved Sean for more than his money and toys. All she ever wanted was for him to love her back and stay with her. Once, Mrs. Gold had thought Ashley was stupid for pining so hard after a boy who would never commit. But now she had a little more sympathy.

“What happened with Sean?”

“Mr. Herman kicked him out, cut him off. Now he’s living at Ashley’s place, working his ass off at the fish factory.”

“The cannery,” Mrs. Gold corrected quietly. Fish King Canned Foods was always hiring. It was always looking for people who could stand waist-deep in ice and fish guts for twelve hour shifts, operating machinery that could cut through a human hand as easily as it did a whole herring. Her cousin Andrew had gotten a job right out of high school. Her Uncle Peter had worked there for twenty years before he died.

“Like I said, he’s a total pussy now. All he does is work and hang out with Ashley, work and take care of the baby, work and sleep. You know he asked her to marry him a couple days ago? Utterly whipped.”

“Wow,” she said.

She had never respected Sean Herman, so it was weird to think of him actually growing up. People didn’t usually change around Storybrooke. But now the spoiled party boy was taking responsibility for his child and the woman who loved him. He had given up his own wealth and family status because he loved a penniless girl from Old Town.

It was impressive.

She finished her burger while Hunter started another monologue, this time about all the fat, lazy, poor people who came to his father’s office to declare bankruptcy. Forget being a lawyer, he should go into talk radio.

“I did ask you to lunch for a reason.” She grabbed her chance to talk while he was taking a breath.

“Oh yeah?” Hunter wiped hot sauce off his face with the back of his hand. “What’s up?”

“You know a lot of people,” Mrs. Gold said. “I was wondering if you might know somebody that I don’t.”

He slurped up the dregs of his diet soda. “Yeah? Who?”

Mrs. Gold gripped the edge of the table and desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice how hard it was for her to say this. The gold of her wedding ring was dull on this cloudy afternoon. “I… just have a name right now. I think it’s a woman named Belle.”

She could see the wheels in his head turning as he thought. “Belle? Hmm. I don’t know.”

“She’s probably young. Maybe our age. Maybe younger. Or older? Maybe she’s one of your mom’s friends or something?”

A woman as old as Karen Duke would still be younger than Mr. Gold. Maybe he was looking for more maturity now. In the days since she found out about Belle, Mrs. Gold had been racking her brain to try to imagine what kind of person she was. She was only moderately sure that Belle even was a woman. If Mr. Gold wanted this Belle person more than he wanted his own wife, she was probably the opposite of her in some crucial way.

Hunter made a face and scratched the back of his head. “Nah, I got nothing. Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Gold looked down at her empty plate. “I’m not surprised.”

Seeing that they were both done with their food, Ruby came up to the table. “Now is this gonna be one check or two?”

It was almost funny how quickly Hunter looked to Mrs. Gold. He panicked at the thought of paying for his own lunch. Daddy must not be giving him an allowance anymore.

“You invited me,” he said, almost chiding her with the reminder of how things worked.

“Yeah, that was my first mistake.” Mrs. Gold took the check from Ruby and pulled out her purse.

A fifty would be enough to pay for two hamburgers and Ruby’s discretion. Not that Mrs. Gold was being particularly sneaky, arranging lunch with her ex-boyfriend at the most popular restaurant in town. But that didn’t matter either. She could take Hunter to the pawn shop and bang him in front of the cash register and Mr. Gold wouldn’t give a fuck.

And neither would she.

****

Wandering listlessly up and down Main Street, Mrs. Gold tried to keep warm. The clouds were dark and heavy with more snow. The sidewalks were shoveled, but there was always a residue of dirty slush. It was the time of year when trash kept showing up in the streets, no matter how many anti-littering signs Mayor Mills put up.

Mrs. Gold’s suede boots were more fashionable than sturdy. The same could be said for her coat, scarf, and hat. The cold seeped through her flimsy layers, until she was nothing but numb and damp, until it was hard to breathe, until she was so desperate to be warm again she resolved to go into the next open store, no matter which one it was.

Sugar’n’Spice was always warm and it always smelled good. Mara Trudine burned a different scented candle every day the shop was open. Today the candle was cinnamon and cloves. The whole place smelled like cider.

Mrs. Gold entered as quietly as she could. She hadn’t been in the store since before Christmas. And she had never walked through that door without strutting proudly, loudly announcing her intentions to buy whatever lingerie it would take to drive Mr. Gold wild.

Was Mr. Gold even capable of going wild for her anymore? Or did the sight of her just turn his stomach? He thought she was trash, she disgusted him, he didn’t want her and he never would again.

Ducking behind a rack of silky robes, Mrs. Gold took a breath to calm herself down. It was a bad habit she’d developed lately, thinking of the worst-case scenario just to make herself feel something. Her mind kept poking and prodding at her pain, pulling out her darkest fears and putting them front and center. She could push it away if she concentrated. If she tried to act normal, she could almost feel normal. Sometimes.

“Oh hey.” Mara had spotted her from the sales counter in the back of the shop. “Mrs. Gold, I didn’t see you come in.”

Steeling herself, Mrs. Gold walked out from behind the robes. “That’s me.” She tried to smile.

Mara stayed where she was. Bits of fabric were spread out over the counter. It looked like she was sewing something.

Mrs. Gold’s heart skipped a beat. The fabric was a shiny yellow-gold. Sometimes, when Mr. Gold was really pleased with her, he liked her to wear that color. Without thinking about what she was doing, she began to walk towards the counter.

“What are you working on?”

Mara looked up from her needle. Even after all these years, she had the same face she’d had as a kid--sharp brown eyes, adorably crooked smile, freckles all over her round cheeks. She looked so innocent. You’d never think she made a living off of unmentionables.

“Custom order,” she said proudly. “I’ve been trying to get tailor-made lingerie off the ground for as long as I can remember. Got my first order in October and more have been coming in.” She held up the fabric and Mrs. Gold saw a pair of panties that would go up to a person’s rib cage.

“Somebody wants that?”

Mara’s excitement dimmed in the face of Mrs. Gold’s skepticism, but she did her best to explain. “It’s shapewear,” she said. “See the reinforced panels? The idea is to smooth out tummy rolls and make a more flattering silhouette.”

Mrs. Gold looked over at the rack of Spanx. “Don’t you already sell that?”

“Yeah, but the stuff I make is sturdier than the mass-produced product. Better for people with non-standard bodies. And prettier too. Nothing over there comes in straw yellow.”

It was true. Most of the stuff in that section was nude or black. Mrs. Gold knew a thing or two about wearing corsets, but she had never actually needed one. She had thought Mr. Gold liked her to be skinny.

“That is a pretty color,” she said. “Who’s it for?”

Mara looked at her dubiously. “I can’t talk about a client, it’s confidential.”

“How are you planning on getting more orders without word of mouth?”

“Well, normally word of mouth comes from customers talking about the product, not a creator talking about their customers.”

Falling into old habits, Mrs. Gold tilted her head back as her voice went up an octave. “I know, but it’s just such a pretty shade of gold, I was wondering if someone special might have ordered it...?”

She let the question hang. Mara just frowned and shook her head.

“Come on, you’re smarter than that.” She held up the garment again. “This is for a plus-sized woman. Two of you could fit in here without straining the elastic. Mr. Gold didn’t order this for you.”

Without thinking, she leaned over the counter and got in her friend’s face. “Did he order it for someone else?”

Mara’s eyes went wide. Her mouth transformed into a tiny little O of surprise. Mrs. Gold pulled away and kept her eyes on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Gold said. “That was out of line.”

“Wow,” Mara said softly. “I, uh, I’d heard that something had happened. But I didn’t know it was that bad. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” She turned around, pretended to look at something lacy until the urge to scream had passed. When she glanced at Mara, her brown eyes were trained on her.

“It’s not from him,” she said simply. “I’ll even tell you that my client paid with a credit card, so it was definitely her own money.”

Or maybe Mr. Gold was just covering his tracks. But at least he hadn’t called in the order himself. At least he wasn’t flaunting his disregard for her.

“Does he… Have you ever heard from him? Is he buying anybody lingerie?”

Mara shook her head. “I only see him on Rent Day.”

With nothing left to lose, she asked her old friend the same question she’d asked her ex-boyfriend. “Do you know anybody named Belle?”

Mara blinked. “I don’t… think so. The name sounds familiar, but I’m probably thinking of a character from a book or a movie. It’s not the sort of name you hear around Storybrooke.”

“No,” Mrs. Gold agreed.

“But I’ll keep my ears open, if you want.”

Mrs. Gold raised her eyebrows. “What about client confidentiality?”

“Well, whoever Belle is, she’s definitely not a client. And until Mr. Gold pays me himself, neither is he.”

You’re a good friend.

This time, Mrs. Gold didn’t swat at the thought that intruded into her head. She let it rest over her brain like a blanket. She let the thought warm her up.

She leaned against the counter and watched Mara work. The shapewear was fully constructed, and she was embroidering stalks of straw in a pattern along the sides. It was really pretty. The sort of thing that would give a girl a boost in confidence and excitement about her own body, her own clothes. Mrs. Gold remembered how fancy she’d felt the first time she wore something as simple as a bra and panties that were the same color. That sort of energy could get people through interviews or contract negotiations, any time you needed to feel powerful. Mara was helping people here, she was good at it, and it seemed to make her happy.

“So, business is good?”

“Yeah, it’s picking up. Valentine’s Day was a madhouse, but you know how that goes.”

Mrs. Gold nodded. Lingerie could be as popular as flowers when it came to last-minute gifts that men always thought would be cheaper than they were.

“Did you spend the day with anyone?”

Mara scrunched her nose. “I’m working too hard for that. Besides, I don’t meet a lot of single men in this business.”

She was able to snicker at the joke, and she was able to mean it. “Yeah, I guess not.”

They were quiet together for a minute, then Mrs. Gold asked a more personal question: “How’s your mom?”

Mara looked up from her embroidery for a second, but then went back to work. “She’s fine. I think she’s bored, now that the preschool is only open for half-days. She keeps asking me to move in with her.”

“I take it you don’t want to?”

A halfhearted shrug. “I don’t have a good reason not to. It would make sense, we could split the bills and keep each other company. But there is also something really nice about living by yourself. Even if it’s just a one bedroom apartment on top of your store.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Mrs. Gold drummed her fingers against the counter. She had gone from living with her father to living with Mr. Gold. The night after their anniversary had been the first time she had slept in any building by herself.

But she understood what Mara meant. When you lived with your parents, it was hard to feel like an adult. To make matters worse, Irma Trudine--Mara’s mother--had been a preschool teacher for as long as anyone could remember. She tended to treat everyone she talked to like they were a four-year-old whining for more juice and crackers.

Mama’s closest friend.

Now the voice was annoying her again. It was true that Irma and Mom had been good friends. That was why she had grown up with Mara as much as she had grown up with her cousin Janine. The three girls were inseparable, just like their mothers had been.

Until…

Mrs. Gold sighed. She was warmer now. She should probably buy something before she moved along.

“Do you have anything comfy around here?”

“What, like no underwire?”

“No, like pajamas, I guess. Or loungewear? I think I need to get a pair of sweatpants.”

Mara grinned. “The last time I saw you wear sweatpants, they had dinosaurs on them.”

“And they were fucking awesome.”

She had gotten those pants for her eighth birthday and worn them until the knees gave out. Even after that, Mom had cut them up for shorts and she’d worn them for another six months. If she could find sweatpants that had dinosaurs on them now, she wouldn’t think the mere act of wearing sweatpants was a sign of the end of her life.

But Sugar’n’Spice only had pajama sets with flowers on them--or hearts, but Mrs. Gold couldn’t bring herself to buy anything that looked like love. It was enough to buy comfort, something that would make it a little easier to be in her own skin.

Mara rang her up and gracefully accepted the extra fifty Mrs. Gold handed her.

“How about I call this a down payment on a custom order for you?”

Taking her bag, Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t think Mr. Gold will want me in lingerie for a long time.”

“I didn’t say it was for Mr. Gold, I said it was for you.” Mara looked her steadily in the eye. “Come back some time and we can talk about what you need. Okay?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Yeah,” she said at last. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.”

****

The day wasn’t over. Mr. Gold was still in his shop. She could go there for a few hours of awkward silence. Or she could go back to the house, for a few hours of lonely silence. Then he would come home and make dinner. They would eat together and make stilted small talk. And then she would go to her bedroom, and he would go to his.

That was their life now.

He said he wanted her to stay. He said he wanted to take care of her. He said he loved somebody else.

It didn’t make sense. It was wrong. They were supposed to be together. Being near him, but not being with him, trying to act like everything was fine, trying to act like he didn’t matter to her as much as she obviously didn’t matter to him…

It was tearing her apart.

So she walked. Like a circling shark, she kept moving so she wouldn’t drown. She was trapped. Storybrooke was a small town, there were only so many places you could go in one day. And she had lots of days ahead of her. Mrs. Gold had the image of the rest of her life, stretching out to the horizon. She would have to keep walking, she would never be able to rest. She would never have a home again.

She was in Old Town now. The flower shop was behind her. Aunt Teri’s yellow and purple house was on this street. How many times had she walked the route between those two places? Her whole childhood, her whole life until she married Mr. Gold and moved into his house. She used to belong in this neighborhood.

Was there a way she could belong here again?

Turning at the plastic sign that said Hair Today! she went to the side door of the yellow house and knocked. Then she stepped away from the door and waited for an answer. She held herself against the cold.

Janine came up from the basement salon. Her mouth opened when she saw Mrs. Gold.

“Oh hi,” she said. “Mrs. Gold, you don’t… usually knock.”

“Yeah, I’m usually a bitch to you and I’m sorry.” She hadn’t meant to start that way, but she couldn’t avoid the truth anymore.

Janine’s eyebrows raised and her sky-blue eyes--a family trait--went wide. “O...kay,” she said slowly. Stepping outside, she shut the door behind her. The cold made her keep her arms crossed over her chest. “What’s going on?”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. She had started, but what was the next step? “Things suck, right now, for me. And I kind of suck too. And I realized…”

What had she realized? That no one in her family would help her in an emergency? That she had built her whole identity around one relationship and without that she had nothing? That she had spent years intentionally, maliciously, pushing away all the people that had loved her in exchange for a man who only paid her? That all of those things were really fucking shitty? None of that was a realization. Mrs. Gold had always known what her life was. But she was just now starting to care.

“I realized I’m sorry,” she said. “For as long as I’ve been with Mr. Gold, I’ve been so caught up in him and it made me a worse person. And I want to be better.” She looked at Janine. “You deserve a better cousin.”

Janine sighed, her breath visible in the twilight. “So the honeymoon is finally over, huh? Are you tired of him or is he tired of you?”

Mrs. Gold pressed her lips together. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. At the same time, she didn’t begrudge her cousin the snark.

“He’s tired of me,” she admitted softly. “And I’m kind of tired of me too.”

Now Janine looked more sympathetic. “What happened?”

“You didn’t hear? I thought everyone in Storybrooke knew by now.”

“Yeah, no, I’ve heard a lot of rumors. But I’m asking you what happened. What’s the truth?”

“He loves someone else.” The words slipped from her mouth like a burden off her shoulders. “Some Belle person. And like, like he loves her, Janine. More than he ever loved me.”

“Oof,” Janine let out a long breath. “Oh honey, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

Until now, Janine had been standing in the doorway, and Mrs. Gold had been in the driveway, with about five feet between them. Janine stepped out first, one arm open in invitation. The two cousins met in the middle. They didn’t hug, exactly, but they huddled together for warmth and comfort.

“Do you need to stay with us?” Janine asked. “We never did anything with Andrew’s room after--”

“No,” she shook her head. Mr. Gold asked her to stay with him, and even that had to be better than sleeping in her dead cousin’s bedroom. “I’m fine, I… He’s taking care of me.”

“What, like alimony?”

“No, we’re not… I’m not leaving him.”

Janine pulled away. “But you said he loved someone else.”

She nodded. “He does, but he doesn’t want the marriage to be over.”

There was a moment of silence while Janine’s face twisted in anger and disbelief. Then she burst out: “Oh screw him! Does he really get to decide that? That man is cheating on you and you don’t even get the satisfaction of walking away? Come on!”

Mrs. Gold couldn’t look her in the face. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said. “I--I married him, I need him, I…” The next words were small and soft: “I don’t want the marriage to be over either.”

Closing her eyes, Janine pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I mean, the sanctity of marriage is great and all, but Mr. Gold has been nothing but bad to you for so long. And now you have a reason to get out, but you’re not taking it? Why?”

“Because this is different,” she said the words before she knew what they meant. “He’s different than he was when we got married. There’s something… good about him now. Something kind and gentle. Something that wasn’t there before.”

Janine rolled her eyes. “So now you have feelings for the monster?”

“He’s not a monster now. Maybe he was before--I can see that more clearly now. But now the only thing he’s doing wrong is… not wanting me. And it hurts, but it’s not an evil thing.”

He’s my husband and I love him. Can you understand that?

Shifting her weight back and forth, Janine kept her arms over her chest. “And he’s not… hurting you anymore?”

She shook her head. “Not even in a way I like.”

“Gross,” Janine said, matter-of-factly. “I mean, good for you that it used to be something you liked, but it is very gross for me to think about. Too much information is a very real thing.”

Both of them snickered at that. The years of lingering tension eased a little more.

“Can you at least stay for dinner? We’re having Spaghetti-Os a la Chloe.”

“Chloe’s cooking?” How old was she now?

“It was her idea. Under careful supervision, she is going to dump a can of Spaghetti-Os into a pot and warm it up. Mom might even let her into the spice cabinet for some basil.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” She shuffled her feet. “But I should get going. I still eat with Mr. Gold. It’s… weird.”

“I bet.” Janine put her hands in the pockets of her work smock. “Listen, I… I’m sorry. All this time… I could have been a better cousin too. We--I think the general idea was that… we were waiting for you to meet us halfway.”

“I get that,” she said. “And I never came close to halfway. Not with anybody.”

“Well, you did today. And I’m glad. We missed you.”

Nodding, she tried to keep the tears out of her eyes. All this time, she could have had her family. If she had just eased up on being Mrs. Gold, she could have been the same girl everyone had loved.

“I’m trying to make things better now, you know?”

Janine nodded. “I know.” They were quiet for a minute, then she asked. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”

“Not yet,” she shook her head. “Not him or Uncle Manny. I… I kinda thought I’d start easy.”

Janine half-smiled, half-winced. “Manny will be happy to see you. You’re the only niece he’s got.”

She snorted. “I’m the only daughter my dad has and that didn’t make anything any easier.”

“He loves you, Lacey,” Janine said. It was the first time Mrs. Gold had heard her first name in as long as she could remember. “We all do.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #you like ocs? I've got so many ocs

[herradhighpriestess]

Deliberate Exchange

Chapter Twelve: Something in the Air 

As Esau and the men closed the distance between themselves and the still, unmoving red dot, Elka stared down at the new ring, she turned her left palm over on her lap and stared at the heavy ring on her fourth finger.

He snuck a peek over at her as she scrutinized the ring.

Bane spoke over the radio, “how’s your hand?”

“It hurts some, but I put a fresh bandage on it earlier.”

He turned the volume of the radio down before speaking. “What kind of house would you like to live in eventually?”

“I’d like a place with some acreage. I’ve always wanted a big garden, those don’t work well in a penthouse,” she added. She opened her mouth to continue and instead of words, a giggle slipped from between her lips.

Bane watched her cover a smile, “don’t do that,” he whispered as he reached over and pulled her hand away from her mouth. “What made you smile?”

“It just sounds unbelievable; it doesn’t seem like it can be real.”

“It will be,” he said strongly and closed his hand over hers, adding with a gentle squeeze. “I will do anything to ensure your happiness.”

Elka turned the radio volume back up to a comfortable level as they continued to drive for hours. While the odometer counted the passing mileage, Esau and his armed men parked their bulky, gas guzzling SUV fifty yards from the still stationary red dot on the planted GPS tracker.

The men communicated a plan before slipping silently from the large vehicle and closing in on the parked semi-truck. The driver of the truck was off getting a blowjob from a toothless tweaker who hung out around the truck stop.

Esau moved in first and the rest of the men advanced towards the rear of the truck. An ex-military man with long hair in a braid that fell to the middle of his back, moved past Esau to cut the heavy steel lock on the cargo doors.

The dangerous man with the beautiful hair severed the sturdy lock, he didn’t see the thin wire that Bane had wound surreptitiously around the lock’s metallic loop. The severing of the grey wire activated the detonation of a solid pound of C-4 that Bane had crudely mashed until it looked like a lumpy potato. The C-4 rapidly decomposed and released an abundance of nitrogen and carbon oxide that wiped out the men’s lives with its undiscriminating explosive touch.

Hours in the other direction the hotel finally came into view. Elka let out a relieved sigh that he heard when he cut the engine.

She felt his hand come to rest on her thigh and looked over to find his eyes on her face.

“Are you okay?”

Elka nodded and shook her head, “yes, fine. I’m tired and hungry and would really like to take a bath.”

Bane squeezed the top of her thigh as he turned the engine over again and backed the SUV into a spot at the rear of the lot.

She watched him pull a few crisp bills from the vehicle’s console. “I need you to go reserve the room, this place doesn’t take credit cards, there’s even still a handwritten ledger.”

Elka looked around the dingy lot, noticing a lot of dry rot, sagging roof and an unkempt exterior.

She smoothed her hair back as she pushed open the door and made her way across the dusty lot. She could feel his eyes on her back the entire way.

Elka was able to check in with a woman that couldn’t have been a day older than 150 years old and had such an advanced state of cataracts, that her pupils were nearly swallowed up by the milky spill of white.

She paid cash for two nights, realizing she had neglected to find out how long he wanted to stay. “Two nights is a safe bet,” she thought.

As Elka returned to the car, hours away in the truck stop parking lot, the sloppy trucker blowjob was interrupted as the C-4 reached its peak level of velocity and slammed into the armed men.

Esau and his brothers-in-arms were completely disarticulated. Many hours later, the medical examiner would have the anatomical challenge of matching up the limbs and building bodies from the burnt pile of remains.

Some of the extremities were so burnt, they resembled firewood when stacked for transport.

As the charred human remains were loaded into vinyl body bags, back in the SUV in the rundown hotel’s parking lot, Elka watched Bane slip his mask off for the walk to their ground level room in case any unwanted eyes were drawn to his masked, hulking form.

The room was plain but clean, it boasted a faded comforter slung over a full-sized bed. Elka peeked into the bathroom, relieved to find a small, cramped tub, but still a tub she could fill with hot soapy water.

She stretched her arms high overhead and yawned deeply as she walked around the small room, her legs tight and uncomfortable from too long in the car.

Bane stepped in front of where she was walking circles in the room and swept her up in his embrace, being mindful of her hand.

He captured her lips with his and cut off her startled gasp as she felt her feet leave the floor.

“What was that for?” she asked with a flutter and smoothed her clothes back into place when he set her down.

“No reason,” he said and brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger before he added. “Food or bath first?”

“Food please,” she said with potent relief. “I want pancakes for dinner and enough coffee to fill a pool.”

“There’s a diner right next door, you’ll need to make the trip on your own. Will you be okay doing that?”

Elka nodded and watch him retrieve another bill from his jacket.

She slipped on a heavier coat and closed the room door behind her.

The diner had a single glass door for the entrance and had the hours painted in a garish red. A bell dinged over her head as she yanked open the door and was met by a waitress with a rectangular name tag that read Sonya.

Elka briefly glanced at the menu and found a special that included pancakes, she ordered two along with coffee.

She thanked the waitress and asked for a coffee while she waited. She took a sip of the piping hot French roast from the mug. Elka tore open several pink packets of an artificial sweetener and stirred it into her coffee.

Back in the hotel room, Bane hated that he couldn’t accompany Elka to the diner but being in public was an increased risk by his sheer appearance not to mention the amount of eyes Talia had peppered around the globe.

Bane also needed her out of earshot for the phone call he was about to make.

He knew that Talia would’ve been notified about losing Esau and the small clutch of men in the fiery blaze. Bane also knew that Talia would immediately turn to Barsad for fatal assistance.

He affixed his mask back into place before he activated one of the additional burner phones and dialed Barsad.

Bane listened as the call seemed to take too long to connect. Barsad picked up with a sleepy grunt after seven crackly rings.

“Brother,” Bane said to Barsad’s incoherent greeting.

Barsad was instantly awake when Bane’s distinct musical tone sounded through the poor connection.

Bane heard a lot of commotion on Barsad’s end before he spoke again.

“I’ve been dispatched to neutralize you and the woman,” Barsad stated.

“Yes, that would be the proper course of action.”

“I will not be able to find you.”

Both men were silent for a while, their shared camaraderie meaning more at the moment in time and space over Talia’s psychotic and misguided totalitarian regime.

“Gratitude brother,” Bane finally said before adding in a musically conspiratorial tone. “There’s something else.”

“End her?”

“Yes.”

“Done. Anything else?”

On the other end of the phone, Barsad nodded wordlessly as Bane gave him orders that were rooted solely in toxic jealousy. Barsad repeated the penthouse suite address back to Bane.

“I’m indebted,” Bane said.

“No, you’re not, you’re out of the Pit for good. Be well brother.”

Both men ended the call without another exchanged syllable.

Bane stared down at the cheap phone and its oval plastic buttons, the display screen remained blank, save for the time in green digits.

He slipped out of his heavy coat as Elka sat in the diner and rubbed her eyes, the fatigue crawling through her limbs as she waited for the food. Elka could’ve folded her arms and fallen asleep. Sonya returned with a plastic bag within twelve minutes and assured Elka there were creamers, utensils and a variety of condiments tucked into the bag.

Elka thanked her and balanced the bag and drink tray as she made the short return walk to their hotel room. She found Bane sitting on the edge of the bed, his coat slung over one of the room’s mismatched chairs.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything, so I ordered you pancakes too,” she said as he stood and took the bag and tray from her hands.

Elka slipped out of her coat and kicked off her shoes as she dug through the bag for one of the Styrofoam containers.

She waterboarded her pancakes with sweet, sticky syrup and smeared a fat glob of butter over the fluffy round stack.

Bane watched Elka dump a handful of miniature creamers into her coffee.

She looked over at him unexpectedly and caught him staring. “I forgot to mention, I booked the room for two nights.”

“No more than that for the sake of keeping in motion.”

Elka nodded and sipped at her coffee. She shifted on the uncomfortable chair and her movement caused the light to spill across her face in a way that pulled Bane back to his time of turmoil and pain in the Pit.

Elka felt the weight of his gaze before she turned to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked with concern creasing his forehead as he rose to his feet and began walking towards her.

Bane nodded wordlessly as he knelt to his knees in front of her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as he lifted a large hand to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing the outline of her full lips before he spoke on a melodic rasp.

“I’ve lived in a world composed of darkness and bitter turmoil before I met you.” His eyes were on her face, but his mind reminded him of the hope of looking up at the sunlight streaming in through Pena Dura.

Elka danced her fingertips along the straps of his mask and fumbled the clasps until she could tug the titanium covering his face free. She traced her fingertips along the visible scars of his face and strong line of his jaw.

As Elka leaned down and pressed her lips against Bane’s, hundreds of miles away, in the corner office of the East Coast penthouse, Calvin was on the phone with his accountant and getting money together for Elka. Every time his phone rang, he expected her to be on the other end of the call, telling him where to send her money.

Calvin fumbled for his phone when it rang sharply. It wasn’t Elka. It was her boss, Trisha Stevenson.

As she waited for Calvin to answer, Trisha still couldn’t shake the feeling that Elka was in some kind of trouble.

“This is Calvin Green.”

“Hello, Mr. Green, this is Trisha Stevenson. I worked with Elka at the Reserve.”

“Hello Trisha, please call me Calvin, I didn’t believe we’ve met but Elka speaks of you fondly. What can I help you with?”

“I don’t have anything to base this on but when I spoke to Elka, she didn’t seem like herself. I’m worried….”

Calvin interrupted her, “Trisha, thank you for your concern. Please keep this between you and I, Elka and I are getting a divorce and she is moving out of the city. It’s still not public knowledge.”

“Oh, Calvin, I’m so sorry,” Trisha rambled. “I had no idea.”

“It’s for the best,” Calvin said and tried to inject hopelessness to his tone. “We tried to make it work but this is the best chance for either of us to have a healthy existence. I don’t have a forwarding address for her yet, but I will send it to you as soon as I receive it.”

“Thank you, Calvin.”

“Thank you for your concern Trisha,” Calvin said in a businesslike tone and ended the call.

After Calvin ended the call, Trisha had stared at the phone, she still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was amiss. She pulled up her phone’s contacts,

“Should I call Elka?”

“No, I’m going to give it a few days and then I’ll call Elka just to make sure she’s okay. Calvin didn’t sound ruffled in the slightest,” she said to herself out loud in a stern tone.

As Trisha tried to shove her concern to the back burner, in another part of Gotham City, Barsad knocked on the smooth double doors of the luxury condo that Talia leased under the name of the glamorous Miranda Tate.

Talia yanked open the doors, anticipating Barsad’s visit after an earlier telephone call.

Barsad kept his smile to himself as his eyes fell upon Talia’s smug face. Her pathological narcissism kept her from hearing past Barsad’s lies through the phone line.

“Well?!?” Talia demanded and practically stomped her feet when she didn’t see Barsad dragging a manacled Bane behind him. “Did you kill them both?

Barsad nodded as Talia shut the door behind him and pointed at the kitchen island and its tall upholstered bar stools.

“Where are the bodies?”

Barsad remained wordless as Talia poured two healthy squat glasses of bourbon.

“Where?” Talia repeated as she set the nearly full glass in front of him.

“Under the bridge, they’ll never be found.”

Talia took a long swallow from her glass, regarding Barsad over the rim. “Take me to them.”

Barsad pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times before turning the phone towards her.

He held the phone too far away for her to discern the pictures clearly which made her automatically lean closer.

Talia never saw her death coming as Barsad let the phone clatter to the counter as he simultaneously shot his hand out to close in the luxurious fall of her silken hair.

He closed his hand into a fist until the tension made her arch her back, causing her neck to lengthen, the skin pulled tight over her rapidly pounding carotid artery. Talia’s arterial and venous intersection was exactly what Barsad only had eyes for.

He quickly dragged a sharp, curved blade across her neck, parting the smooth flesh, coaxing her blood to spout with no sign of stopping until she was drained dry. She succumbed to cardiac death in less than thirty seconds.

Barsad released her hair and her beautiful corpse thudded once on the quartz countertop before falling to the floor and landing in her spilled blood.

He stared down at her a beat before retrieving his phone and dropping it back in his pocket. Barsad wiped both sides of the blood stippled blade on the thigh of his well-worn cargo pants before leaving the condo.

The luxury floor plan that reeked of money now began to compete with the metallic, coppery scent that began to fill the air from Talia’s copious blood spill.

As Talia’s body was left with the company of Venetian tile, hundreds of miles away in the small hotel room, Bane rose to his feet and crushed her against his body.

“Let’s go get to that bath,” he murmured musically as he shifted his grip and carried her into the cramped bathroom.

#Bane #Bane x OC #batman #barsad #talia al ghul #Miranda Tate #The Dark Knight Rises #Bruce Wayne #violence #language #grey consent #fanfiction #gotham city #Gotham Exchange #commissioner gordon #Selina Kyle

[vavandeveresfan]

Rediscovering “The Greatest American Hero.”

I randomly switched on the TV while feeding the cats this morning, and there it was.  That theme song.  I hadn’t heard it in literally 30 years.

It immediately took me back to being a 20-year-old who’d just had her first play produced, but had no fucking idea what she was going to do in her life.  It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

But this theme song, which became a huge hit, spoke to me.  I wanted to be Ralph, a semi-inept but well-intentioned high school teacher with a heart of gold, a recently divorced father of one young boy, who wanted to do good but whose life seemed a complete puzzle.  Then extraordinary things happen to him.  Like Peter Parker, with great power came great responsibility.  Except he had no fucking idea what he was doing.

To really understand this show, you have to put it in context with the times.  The Disco Era was coming to a slow, crippled, embarrassing end.  Hippies were turning into Yuppies (Young Urban Professionals.  Think Hipsters who are lawyers and work on Wall Street).  Cocaine addiction was rampant; no one really took it and alcoholism seriously.  No one ever talked about mental health issues.  There was the biggest recession since the Great Depression.  Factories were closing; millions of people were unemployed.  Big cities were falling apart, crime was spiking.  New York City was a fucking mess; Times Square was nothing but porn shops and drug dealers.  It was a bad time.

Back then, people who loved superheros and comics were the fringe.  There was no MCU or DCU.  If you said you liked Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, etc., you were laughed at, especially if you were over the age of 12.  TV in the 80s was beginning “The New Realism”: dark, cynical, gritty (for its time, it’s vanilla compared to today).  TV shows about superheros were considered laughable, and pretty much just for children, but TV kept trying them, including Spider-man, Doctor Strange, and a weird Captain America.  Wonder Woman and The Incredible Hulk were the only ones to be really popular. (In a few years, comics turned dark, cynical, and gritty too; The Dark Knight Returns was the signal to it.)

Also important to note that, in 1970s, what we now call Conservative Republicans were the out of favor.  Liberals ruled.  So characters who were patriotic and loved Mom, apple pie, and Chevrolet, as the song says, were depicted as villains (think Frank Burns in M*A*S*H).  But Ronald Reagan became President in 1980, and the tide was turning toward Conservatives having power.

The idea that humans had been, and still were, visited by aliens was big then, heightened by claims of alien abductions and Steven Spielberg’s mega hit Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

The creators of The Greatest American Hero took a chance and put these elements together.  Their hero was original, not taken from comics.  Instead of Ralph gaining powers by radioactivity, gamma rays, or WWII scientific enhancement, he was visited by aliens, in a ship that looked almost exactly like that in Close Encounters.  They choose Ralph because he was worthy, and bequeathed him with a Super Suit so he could right wrongs and protect innocents.  It even came with an Instruction Manuel, because, y’know, dumb human.

And the dumb human promptly lost the manual.

The only witness to Ralph getting The Suit was a Conservative, cynical, alcoholic F.B.I. agent.  The series then made him likeable.

I hesitated to watch the show this morning.  I was afraid I’d discover that it, like a lot of shows from my youth, was complete shit.  But the theme song hooked me, so I stuck with it.

To my surprise, it wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be. I liked it.   The shit part was the depiction of the supposed tough high school kids.  They’re played by actors who are obviously 10 years older than their characters, and with all the godawful stereotypes of the 80s.  One kid is a blatant rip-off of John Travolta’s character in Welcome Back Kotter.

Beyond that, there’s a naive sweetness to it, and humor as Ralph tries to figure out how The Suit works, learning its many powers along the way.

So I here offer the theme song and the pilot of The Greatest American Hero.  If nothing else, you’ll get to see what 1981 looked like, with telephone booths (tapped in the desert? Sorry, no cell phones to call 911.  In fact, no 911), gas-guzzling cars, and cultural stereotypes.

And the crappy special effects were state of the art back then.  CG didn’t exist.

Pub Trivia: Robert Culp, the FBI agent, was already a star from the 60s TV series I Spy, which was revolutionary because it starred a black man and a white man as special agents who were equal partners and best friends.

The pilot:

#The Greatest American Hero #superheroes #superhero shows #William Katt #80s TV #nostlagia

[juniebjoneswrites]

Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

Acceptance (1)

My eyes are closed and my whole body is tingling like I left it for too long in a nightmare and it's finally waking up slow and groggy.  I'm surrounded suddenly by cold winter air as a door opens. Someone in the distance calls my name but I can't dig myself back up to reach them. My toes wiggle and dance with the dirt in my sandals and I reach for that feeling. My arms cover my chest, stopping the cold from hitting my wet bathing suit and I can't help but wonder if this is what he felt like, it must have been cold. Wet and cold, with the ocean spraying sand and foam.

"June?" My eyes flutter open. The broken, fluorescent bulbs of a gas station throw sickly, yellowing shadows over my sister. I look around and the only door I'm in front of is the freezer section. The frozen single-serve pizzas are staring back at me sadly.

I look down at her hands and see the Powerade she grabbed, bags of chips, and a gallon of water. "I'm back," I say slowly. I grab the water, becoming fully aware of my cottonmouth. Taking big gulps I think of my brief and tragic winter vaca hallucination and remember it was definitely summer. Guzzling this water as if it were from the Tuck Everlasting spring itself and I'd live forever, I glance at the aisle mirror. Unfortunately for this man I caught him staring at my sister and I. I cap the jug and hand it back to her, "go pay."

I  turn my back, heading to the corner where his aisle and mine meet. "What's up?" I ask bluntly, "Do you usually creep on scantily clad women who're minding their business?" getting to him I realize how I shrink in his presence and the tiredness his face holds. And there was something else.. Familiarity.

He looks uncomfortable, "Was just making sure you weren't dead on your feet," he smiles nervously, "I tried to chat with you before your friend came in but you didn't respond."

I squint my eyes, if they weren't so glossy and my head didn't feel like it belonged underwater then maybe I could have placed him. But alas, like offerings to Xibalba, the stars were not in position for this tribute. Aka me. I again cross my arms and let out an "mhm." Angrily plucking a snack from his hand and walking away, I'm very aware of how many he can hold in the same hand as his bottled water.

I want to ask my sister if listening to all those true crime podcasts have done nothing for her since she's waiting for me in the darkened parking lot. But I figure the wrong place, wrong time. The lot is riddled with potholes and faded paint and there's usually one kid hanging around the outskirts, seemingly waiting for someone. She tosses me the Powerade and some Visine eye drops. "That bad?" I ask.

"They're as bad as your sunburned ass," she laughs, I shrug. We can't win them all.

We cross the deserted street to the ocean where the fire is blazing and our six closest friends are waiting for us. The waves lap the shoreline and the moon shines high above like a nightlight I had once wanted to kiss, but now holds my secrets. I disliked the dark, but I dislike the heavy stare the  moon now follows me with even more. I heard laughing, crackling fire, and the subtle sounds of a playlist through speakers. I could almost forget why we were there. I vaguely register a car driving off as my sister takes my hand.

 "Is it time?" she asks, standing near the fire. Sam gets up from a log, shakes his brown curls from his face and stands at the shore line. Craning his neck upwards he checks the moon's position. Just this once I wished it would close it's eye. He makes a sound that seems like a "yes," as it struggles to leave his throat and I can't tell if it's from the angle of his neck or the emotions of what we're here to do.

Sam grabs the box and we walk to the boat they probably used in the Notebook. We row over to the crag of ocean rocks that leads to a trail up a cliffside. No one speaks. I can feel a wetness coming over my cheeks that I'm certain had nothing to do with the ocean spray. We tie the boat to a tree and move up the cliff. I will my sandals to corporate and keep me right but that's like asking seaweed to keep the shark steady so I let the cliff wall guid me instead. Slowly the rocks and granite turn to dirt, and grass and I know we made it to the top. From this point, the moon sits perfectly centered over the cliff's edge. I can feel the choices we've made and how this is completely and utterly the best one.

I hear laughter again, feel the excitement, the friendship. However this time it's not something any passing person would see. It's a memory of many times that had come before and many times that would not come again. We open the box. A small blue and silver ceramic pot sits inside. Sam pulls it out, walks over to the edge and pours a little in his hand. He tosses his brother's ashes into the sea that took him. The final middle finger Elijah would have given if he had been alive to do so. Except if he was alive he could give two and I know one would be for me. I close my eyes as he throws the rest.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That beach and gas station were still part of our stomping grounds, but that summer it was less frequent and we spent more time cuddled on couches and wandering graveyards. Death will make you do strange things. Guilt will make you do stranger. I watched days, weeks, even months blur together until finally it felt like the fever broke and I woke up. Fall feels like a rebirth, a brief moment of clarity before winter asks if that's what you really want. I dress and drive to the gas station.

 Turning off my car I can feel the cool wind coming from the shoreline. Walking to the waves I crane my neck the way Sam did and wish for the moon above me. I need to know what it saw. The ocean spray cools my body and nerves while waves kick sand on my boots. I stand there listening to the crashing for some time before someone pulls me from my depths.

I turn around to see the gas station worker, he waves. "Where did you kids go?" he calls over the crashing. "I thought you forgot about old Seb," he chuckles as he walks to meet me. "Was worried something happened,"

 "Something did... happen," I reply. He frowns, understanding my emphasis. "Yeah," I say heavily. I start walking away, I want to go to the cliffs. He stops me.

 "You know that guy came back a few nights later," he pauses, "he was looking for you. Said something like wanting 'to make sure that girl was alright,'" he pauses. "It took me a minute to realize he was talking about you. He said you looked sad," I must look confused because he fumbles on, "uh.. he uh was there the last night you and your friends were here...." he trails off, gesturing to the shore, "tall, dark hair, had an accent."

I trace that night back to it's beginning when a memory hits. Oh. Now, how does one tell Mr. Harry Styles, "Sorry about last night, it's just that I was sad and angry and had to spread my friends ashes"? Because unlike John Mulaney I haven't lost the best excuse I have.

"Has he been back since?" I ask.

 "Only once," he replies.

I smile a smile that has stopped reaching my eyes and pat his arm as I walk away, "Thanks, Seb." I say. I make it a few yards before he calls again.

"Oh! I gave him your name," I hear the triumph in his voice. Seb wasn't always the best for remembering. He's getting older and lost his wife a few years back.They ran the station together but ever since she passed it's just been him. We told him to hire help, even to hire one of us since that was our go-to snack shop when we're at the beach. However, he's a stubborn man and refuses the help he doesn't think he needs. I turn around to see him smile his wide, goofy smile and for a brief moment I'm happy with him.

"Did you now?" I ask playfully, "Then why hasn't my mysterious man found me yet?"

He shrugs, "Maybe just waiting for the right time, or to find you at my shop again," he smiles wide.

"Maybe," I respond, "I guess I'll have to come around more," I start walking away but suddenly I turn on my heels, as if forced by unseen hands, "Maybe instead, Seb, you could hire me? Increase my chances at seeing him."

He pauses to think. I know he thinks he doesn't need help, but I know he does and I need to help someone since I can't help myself. Or maybe I'm a masochist. Or maybe if I can meet my "mystery" man I'd have a break from this nightmare.

He sighs and walks over, "Well I guess it would be okay, since it's for love and all,"

I almost kiss him. "You're one lucky man, Seb." I put my arm around his shoulder, facing his station, and wave it in an arch like we were imagining a better world, "With my help we might even fix those potholes." He laughs and I lead him back to the station to fill out my paperwork.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I never make it to the cliffs, I end up helping Seb well into the night. When I pull up to my apartment I see my sister's car in a guest spot. I sigh heavily, taking a long drink of my melted slushie and make my way inside. She's asleep on my couch with reruns of the Golden Girls playing and a plate of uneaten food on the coffee table.

She wakes as I sit on the floor between her and the table and pick at the food. "Where were you?" she asks.

"I got a job working for Seb," I hold up the slushie.

"What? He actually hired you?" she half sits up, "What kind?"

I stick out my blue tongue and she lays back down in disgust. She likes the red. "Yes, Jo, my sweet talking is good for more than drinks in a bar," I say dryly.

"Well maybe you can get him to have better snacks," she opens the covers for me to join her. I crawl under the blankets with my big sister like I'm a child again and hope the protection she offers will keep my dreams at bay. But like many sailors and ships lost to its melody of waves, the siren sea calls me back.

1 / (2) / (3) / (4) / (5) / (6)

#harry styles #one direction #louis tomlinson #niall horan #zayn mailk #liam payne #fanfic #1d #harry 1d #larry is real #but not in this #sorry #love #loss #greif #family #friends #anxiety #revenge #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfction #1directionfanfic #harry styles fanfiction

[ahumanexperiencemoment]

“Sometimes the Road Calls (or It’s A Midlife Crisis)” Part 3 Of 3.

I slept pretty soundly and woke up around nine in the morning. The bed was firm but honestly, I don’t think it would have mattered how soft or firm the bed was… I was so worn out, I probably would have slept soundly on the floor.  After a quick shower, I got dressed and pushed my bike outside and loaded it up. I walked over to turn the keys in where a young lady sat behind the counter. She was 8 months pregnant and was about to pop. She said she had to check the room, so I walked with her and learned more about her. I asked her if it was her first child and she told me that it was going to be her fourth which was surprising to me because she didn’t look old enough to have that many kids. As I get older, I am really getting bad at gauging age. I think that happens to all of us. After she cleared the room, I got my safe deposit money back because since I paid in cash, I had to leave money the night before. I started my bike and rode across the street to a gas station to fill up before I set out on the second day of my adventure.

(Terre Haute, Indiana before I started)

I pulled into the gas station across the street from the motel and one of the pumps didn’t work, so I had to roll around to another one. Frustratingly, the gas came out rather quickly and splashed all over my hand and the fuel tank. I went to grab towels from the dispenser where they kept the windshield wiper squeegee and it was empty, as was the cleaning solution. I went inside to the bathroom, which only had an air blower to dry hands with. Thankfully though, near the drink machines, there was another sink with napkins, so I washed my hands as best as I could, wet down a few napkins and walked back out to clean my fuel tank. I then returned and washed my hands and arm again but I couldn’t seem to get rid of that gas smell… ugh….  A great start to a long day…. I was hoping that wasn’t an omen about the course of the remainder of the day.

I decided to go inside and grab a bottled water and a breakfast bar and I ended up talking to the manager of the store. I told him conversationally that once you get gas on you, it is so tough to get off. He agreed and said it happens to him all the time. The conversation went forward, as some conversations do, and he asked about my trip and where I was heading. We talked for a bit longer and I learned he had been a manager for several plus years and he commiserated on a tough life of working at that location, dealing with ungrateful and entitled people. He shared a couple of stories and finally, I had to back out of the conversation by being polite but telling him that I had to get going, because I had many miles to go that day. He understood but to be honest, he looked rather sad standing behind that counter. An older gentleman with a droopy mustache and eyes behind dusty glasses.  Sometimes, we make choices in life and we don’t know the full ramifications of those choices until many years later. And sometimes, we don’t like those choices. I got that feeling listening to him that day. As I got on my bike and started away, I waved at the guy through the window and he waved back.

Now, I was on the road again. I was having trouble with my duffle bag because it kept on wanting to tilt and lean to one side. No matter what I did to cinch it down, it just didn’t want to work. So, I ended up riding for a little bit, stopping, readjusting and then continuing on. It wasn’t long before my hand started cramping up and hurting again but thankfully, there was a lot of straight shots and small towns to get through.

A couple hours later I rolled through Vincennes and onto Princeton, Indiana where I turned right and headed into Illinois. First stop was rolling through Mount Carmel. I am glad that I came this way. Twenty years ago, when I was a young marine, I came this way in the dead of the night. I just finished my Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) school and I had the option to drive all the way home to the panhandle of Florida from Maryland, which would have taken sixteen plus hours, or I could drive to Southern Illinois where I have a ton of extended family and it would only have been eleven or so hours. This would have been around 1998 and that was the first time I drove through Mount Carmel and Carmi, Illinois. So, it was interesting to me to drive that same route twenty years later. Of course, I didn’t recognize it, as it was in the middle of the night and so many years ago the first time. But for whatever reason, those two town names have stuck in my mind ever since then.

(Mount Carmel, Illinois)

I stopped off and gassed up again in Mount Carmel, Illinois. I spoke with a gentleman while filling up and we talked about the motorcycle.  After I gassed up, I pulled over to a parking area in the shade of the store and decided to take an extended break. I walked into the store to use the restroom and grab something to eat and drink. I should have found a place to sit and eat but for some reason, when I am on the road, I go into this “travel mode” where I just go…I don’t get hungry, I don’t get thirsty, I just fall into this zombie like mode to just get to the next stop. Once I stop though, I am reminded like a distant thought crossing the void, “hey, you might be hungry” and then before I know it, it grows to the point of awareness.   Besides the slight pang of hunger, I was also getting dehydrated.  Although I drank water throughout the day before, it wasn’t near enough and I didn’t put on any sunscreen that first day and surprisingly, you can still get a pretty good sunburn, even in the latter part of the day. I looked for something good to eat but there didn’t seem to be much in the way of options, so I decided to get a Lunchable.  I actually like Lunchables - crackers, cheese, and ham or turkey with a cold Capri sun and a Reese’s Peanut Butter. I also bought a Gatorade. I walked up the counter and the nice young lady and I exchanged pleasantries as she got me my change. I walked back out and plopped right down next to the bike on the curb. I sucked that Capri sun down and then slowly ate the rest of the tray. I was just enjoying the moment, watching the cars drive by. It wasn’t long before I was done. Lunchables aren’t that big so I threw the package away and guzzled down half the Gatorade. Since I was dehydrated, I could feel the headache coming, which wouldn’t be good because with the hard tail, feeling every bump in the road would not be a good thing to experience.   After I was done with the Gatorade, I threw away my trash, stretched and got back on the bike.    

(Where I sat in the shade eating lunch)

A few miles later, I was having issues with my duffel bag again and was getting frustrated… Well, I was always frustrated, I was getting past frustrated. Finally, I just pulled off in a little town named Cowling, Illinois. I pulled into the parking lot of a little country church and tried to re-cinch my gear down.  During the process of adjustment, one of the straps just broke and I finally decided to just wear it like a back pack, which worked out surprisingly well.  Why hadn’t I done it earlier? Oh well, lesson learned.

I got back on the road and headed into Carmi, Illinois which was a bustling town. Like I wrote earlier, the last time I came through was twenty years ago, so I didn’t recognize anything, and the size of the town surprised me. There was road work near where the train tracks crossed the road I was traveling, but thankfully, it didn’t hold me up for very long. There were two very bored-looking guys holding a “Stop” and “Slow” sign, due to there only being one lane open. When I left Carmi, the weather was cloudy but still sunny. It wasn’t long before I saw a storm looming in the distance. That’s one thing about the Midwest and southern Illinois in the summer - storms pop up lightning fast (no pun intended). I thought and hoped that I could make it to my destination before the storm and I crossed paths, but before long it started sprinkling sporadically and I then decided that I would pull off to put on my rain gear in the next town, which happened to be Norris, Illinois.  It’s funny but I made it all day the day before and I was less than an hour away from my destination so naturally, rain would come. I write that in jest, but it did seem Murphy’s law dictated that I couldn’t have a trip without a little rain. But to be honest, we all need a little rain from time to time in life. It helps us to appreciate those times we do have it good. I suited up in the rain gear and continued on.  

(Norris, Illinois where I pulled over to suit up in rain gear)

Finally, I made it to Eldorado Illinois, and thankfully I had the forethought to put on the rain gear because the bottom dropped out and I was riding in the rain. Kind of like those bugs I mentioned earlier… the rain hurts just as bad. But, since I had on the jacket, the pelting wasn’t too bad, however, it was hard to see with my glasses getting wet.  It was slow-going because I just didn’t trust the roadway with it being wet, so I slowed down even more. Cars passed me by, which slung more water on me. It went on this way for quite a while until I hit Harrisburg Illinois. When I hit the outskirts, the rain stopped, and the sun made its appearance again. I rode past many stores and many places in Harrisburg that I had grown up shopping at, during the years when I was visiting every summer. Over here was where the local video rental store was, over there was the new Walmart, which was down the road from where the old Walmart was. There is where my aunt still gets milk that comes in glass bottles. And here, the Dairy Queen…You get the idea. I continued on.  About six miles outside, between Harrisburg and Stonefort is the little town of Carrier Mills.

I decided to stop off in Carrier Mills to gas up again before traveling a few more miles to my destination. I didn’t know what the next day would bring so I figured it was best to fill the gas tank. As I was gassing up, I met and talked with an older gentleman who asked me about my bike and who I was visiting. It turned out that he knew my aunt and uncle – they had grown up together. Small world. The more you travel, the smaller it gets. Since I was coming to the end of my trip, I was eager to get to it so I hopped back on the bike and continued on.

After leaving Carrier Mills, it was just a few miles before I finally made it to the last town and destination of my trip, Stonefort, Illinois. I turned on the road that went past the small country church I attended every summer with my aunt. I have many fond memories there. It looks like it has grown quite a bit since the time I went, but I will never forget the people I knew there when I was a kid. I also passed by the trailer where my cousin’s grandmother lived.  It’s always weird to see people live in a place that you either lived at or spent a lot of time at previously.  You wonder how they decorated it, and does it look or smell the same inside…just general thoughts like these.  I don’t know who lives in that trailer now, nor did I see them when I drove past, but they keep the place up pretty well. My aunt lives about a mile outside of town and it didn’t take long before I arrived at her house. They weren’t home, but they left the door open for me, so I went inside. I was so exhausted and before long, the storm opened up again. I sat on the couch and with the rain hammering on the roof and thunder rolling in the distance and across the sky, I slept… and slept hard.

(My destination out side Stonefort, Illinois)

It was a great adventure and my body was sore, but I loved every minute of it. In retrospect, I am so glad that my wife met me with the truck. I thought about that a lot during those two days of riding, especially when my hand hurt the worst. If I had to drive the entire way from Southern Illinois to New Orleans on the bike, I just don’t think I would have made it… or it would have taken me a lot longer than I wanted it to.  Who knows though…maybe in the future, I will attempt it, but I am glad that for whatever reason, it didn’t work out this time. I got my little adventure, and my mom, and my wife got to come up and enjoy time with family for the family reunion. All in all, it was a great trip.

From start to finish, I traveled almost 400 miles. I saw places and met people in passing I never had the chance of seeing before and sadly, will probably never see again. This trip really struck home how fast we all are in our endeavors to get somewhere. There were a couple times when I was out there all alone and saw those big nice Harleys or Honda Goldwings pass me like I was standing still, but they didn’t get to see the landscape like I did. Being forced to go slow, I really had time to take it all in. From the kids playing down the side street in a town I passed through, to well-kept and not so well-kept yards, to the roadside flower beds, I was able to see it all. I think life can be like that too. People are zipping here and there, and, in our haste, we miss so much. I think life would be better for us all if we just learned or forced ourselves to slow down.  I know…it’s easier said than done. We all have different motivations for what we do. I think deep down, we all want to leave behind a legacy of some sort, but most of us don’t know why or how. One thing is for sure…we are in pursuit of it.

#writer #short story #writing #life adventure #life #advice #memory #adventure #motorcycle trip #travel #country #southern illinois #Mount Carmel Illinois #Carmi Illinois #ahumanexperiencemoment

[michaeldey-blog1]

My Friend, The Stray

It’s been something in the region of 4-5 dog hours now since my friend completed their ritualistic frenzied dash out the front door. It’s like this every day, if ‘day’ is how they call it (please correct me if I’m wrong). Or at least apart from the two where they are substantially more docile and cat-like in nature, remaining in their open basket til the late morning sun has crept in slithers across the hallway, and out again through the farthest window. They then spend the afternoon scratching and yawning in front of their moving pictures, before a stranger arrives at the door with their din dins (I think he’s a little intimidated by me). 

But today is one of those other days. I’ve spent the morning dozing in a corner, or at the very least pretending to be asleep, my ears twitching in synchrony to the sounds of water upon porcelain, the rousing of the furnace as it splinters into its rumbling life, the sandy fall of instant coffee, the pendulum of hurried footsteps, and the jangle of lifted keys before the slam of the door. Like a cough in a cavernous cathedral, the air around me seems to resonate for some further, echoing moments, until resting into electric silence. I’m on my own again.

Eyes remaining closed, I begin to gradually unfurl each corner of my dogy. My front and hind legs expand away from one another like old steam pistons, while my heavy ribcage inflates and descends towards the carpet, the hinge of my jaw opening like a drawbridge, revealing a set of yellowing teeth, safely conserved biscuits, and a thin, flopping tongue. As slowly and deliberately as custom dictates, I prise my eyes open, allowing the newness of the monotone day to sweep over me, before rising to stand on all four paws. 

I glance around. Everything seems in order. They’ve left that folder they needed to prepare for the presentation, again… that being despite my relentless and undeniably helpful tail gesturing in its general direction the weekend before. My nose wrinkles in recognition at the remnants of dinner from two evening’s past, now beginning the early stages of its descent towards becoming a microbe’s delight. Next to it, a dried pearl of colourless wine has stained into the last sip crevice of its lipstick crowned container, its companion, an empty bottle resting solitarily by its side. 

I hope they’re ok. 

I meander from the sitting room and out across the fossilised pea, ribbon pasta and breadcrumb ridden wasteland they call the kitchen. The instant coffee powder I referred to earlier still remains dehydrated within a white cup, the kettle beside it lightly steaming. As I watch its gentle billows of moisture, I become deeply aware of my nose becoming dry, and know I must drink. Reaching the corner of the room, and lowering my head into my metallic bowl, I feel a mildly penetrative sense of existential angst, as the reflection of my tongue draws and retracts like a thirsty invertebrate, drops of water sloshing and dripping and guzzling around my mouth and into my parched throat. After licking my (now quite heavy) moustache dry, I sense a sudden spike of discomfort and irritation from my lower back. Vermin. Parasites. It seems they have returned from their subsequent banishment, bestowed upon them by the kind man in the white overalls, who paradoxically also relieved me of my testicles some years back. No longer able to suppress the pain, I urgently thrash my claws into the tufts of my fur, nibbling in rapid, wet, self-inflictive bursts, doing anything to squash the madness of itching upon my deep, down, somewhere skin.The pain somewhat subsiding, I admit temporary victory, and continue my morning pilgrimage across our cold kennel. 

What I’ve never quite understood (as I descend upon the scratching, takeaway flyer strewn ‘Welcome’ mat of the front door) is why exactly they leave, and always with such a sad expression on their furless face. It wasn’t always that way. There was a time, when they were still just a young pup (I’d since reached my prime of 30) that they seemed so eager and happy; wagging their tail through life with so many long walkies and delicious warm leftovers and knowing exactly who’s a good boy without question (they were, and I am). That was also, of course, when their pretty friend would be here every night, so happy to see them, and me, stroking me, and them, laughing, singing, talking, as together we’d fidget peacefully within our rabbit-filled dreams upon the sofa, or they’d rest their toes beneath me, while I’d lay in content, infinite stillness beside the quietly hissing gas fire. 

But that time came and went, we all grew older. Their silky purrs to one another became barks and whining and eventual silence. My friend would come home hours after our planned dinner, throughout which I’d been sitting expectantly, guarding, concerned by the front door, watching the glow of car fog lights sweep across the frosted glass. When the key would finally fumble in the lock, and the hinge creak open, I’d raise my head with a gentle, practiced smile, and they’d return it with one long, red-eyed glance. They’d then run their hand embarrassedly and clumsily across my head and stagger across the hearth, before guiltily shaking a half-full can of jellied, miscellaneous meat and dried biscuits into a bowl, which I’d appreciatively, hungrily devour. I’d then follow them, quietly watching from doorways as they’d blindly choose a finger stained glass from among the vast array of dirty crockery, fill it with lukewarm water and take a small sip, rummage upon their untidy bedroom floor for softer clothing, cough and splutter among the tiles of the bathroom, before finally coiling into a childlike ball upon their basket, their slowing breath whispering in and out from their dry nose.

And then, friend, we’d begin where we began. Each of our days are now distinctively the same, following our precisely prescribed patterns from the moment we roll out of our slumbers, and out into the naked day. I listen again to the creaking of faucets, the rise of water temperature, the smell of forgotten toast becoming cold and stale upon the sideboard, the anxious footsteps upon bills, and the slam of the door. In front of which I sit, listen, scratch and wait. Waiting for my friend to finally come back to me.

#shortstory #story #storytelling #dog #narrator #perspective #narrator sadstory animal michaeldey homonym

[pastorcowboy]

The Best of Times

Occasionally, people will post about the good old days. Us, older people also love to say it was the best of times. Some guy posted what albums debuted in his 14th year. The list was pretty good. Then I realized it was my 14th year too. The likes of the Eagles, Pink Floyd, Supertramp, and Blondie all had arguably their best albums come out in 1979. There were also plenty more like Led Zeppelins last album and Pat Benatar’s first album. Honestly, it might be the greatest year for music ever. Michael Jackson’s off the wall probably made him a pop God. It was the best of times.

           I just don’t know what happened? A friend of mine was talking about what year it all started to go badly. We kind of agreed that it was 2008. North America has never really recovered from that down turn. Usually, things turn around within 5-10 years but it hasn’t. Now with the beer bug our economies are ruined. Yet, things were on the upswing in 1979. The invention of the VHS and Microwave started a trend that led into computers and video consoles. Just around the corner was Ronald Reagan and the fall of the berlin wall. The best of times.

           People could argue that it was not a great time period. I will admit that the recycling practices probably would horrify me. The gas guzzling cars and pollution were a serious concern. I could say that for the 40’s, 50’s and more. What time period is the best of times? The 60’s were probably cool with the landing on the moon. Yet, Kennedy was killed in that decade. The Arms race was intensifying. Things like Vietnam were on the horizon. Nixon would be impeached. It looked the best and worst of times in and around 1969. Yet, the 80’s looked promising. Life looked good in 1979.

What does God have to say? God might have liked the Wall by Pink Floyd. He may not have been that hot on Highway to Hell. Matthew 24:3 “As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately. “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” That is a good question. After that statement Jesus went on to describe it just a little. It’s scary writing too. I bet those fighting in both World Wars thought it was the end. Did the Jews in 70 A.D? The Cuban Missile crisis looked bad. There have been many points in time where the end looked near like with 9/11. However, there are special bubbles that looked really good like 1979.

For some, it was the age of discovery. Quite a few technology changes came through this period. The CD was only 5 years away. The internet came a decade later. I thought the decline in religion and the rise of free sex would help. The introduction of the video channel began. Things were good. Yet, an attempt to assassinate a president; the shooting of John Lennon, and serious deforestation of the rain forests were cause for concern. I feel the rise of plagues began in the 80’s with Aids. We had live showed to help out like Live-Aid and Farm-aid. Things were not that good.

It was the best of times and the worse of times. Fast forward to this year. I am amazed that we can’t recover from the 2008 economic meltdown. That plagues are seemingly getting worse. We still have race riots in 2020? Socialism, communism, and the likes are rising. It looks like the worst of times. Yet, history will tell you a different story. Things change. Why? It’s because people change. Leaders disappear. It looks bleak but good times will return. They always have. The one (several) good thing about believing in God is consistency. He asks his followers to trust in him. To be faithful through every situation. Always look forward to a brighter tomorrow. We need that right now don’t we.

How do we get back the best of times? I believe it is twofold. The first is that we need God back. Religion does not have to kill or have an agenda. Can’t we just love people as God loves people? Free drugs and sex are severely overrated. Freedom is good. Yet, the freedom to increase disease and addiction is worth what? This generation is going to have to wrestle with the same question others have “what is worth one life?” For decades now we have made decisions based on that question. Is a nuclear plant, war, lockdowns, and riots worth sacrificing something or someone? I think God instilled this torment within us because he takes a different stand. One life is worth being lost for the greater good. Two roads to the best of times. Which one are we on?

#time #days #god #bible #jesus #people

[geeksfromfuture-blog]

Can Technology Replace Us?

Are you one of the many people asking the question, "Can technology replace us?" Not only are you right, but this question is a serious concern because our society is moving more toward a future where technology can and will replace human ability and capabilities. Technology has always been around us. It's the same way that people used to build cars by hand, or animals by hand, or farm animals by hand. Technology is getting better, faster, and better at doing all of these things. Of course, it's not fair to say that technology is completely replacing us. It's also important to remember that human beings have always lived in this world. In fact, technology has come a long way over the past few hundred years. For example, even though we live in an information age, we still use the old methods of communication, such as writing and talking. At the same time, we use technology to play board games, play music, watch television, read books, or whatever else our culture finds fun. It's evident that technology has been around for a very long time. At some point, these inventions may start doing away with human society. When that happens, we might have to look for other ways to communicate and interact with each other. One of the things that technology can do is change how we think about one another. We can't all communicate, think, or do many of the things that people did thousands of years ago. For example, many of the businesses that exist today were started by people who wanted to connect with other people. This includes bookstores, Internet sites, and online businesses. You can see why some people have the fear that computers are taking over human society, and they aren't alone. Just like with television and the movie industry, technology is becoming popular all over the world. In fact, it's going to be the primary source of information for many years to come. Today, you can find all of your favorite websites, from places such as Google to Wikipedia. Although these computers are pretty amazing, they still don't replace human beings. The best thing to do is to continue to improve the computers we have. Many companies make their computers. They will sell you a computer that is designed to keep up with your internet experience, or they'll provide you with machines that you need to stay current. There are quite a few different types of computers available, and most of them will do a decent job of keeping up with your internet needs. If you want to save money, you might think about using free software for your computer. Free software is great because it's easy to use, and it's easy to modify. You'll still have to take care of your computer, but it won't cost you a penny to do so. If you're thinking about buying a new computer, don't be afraid to ask a salesperson for advice on how to buy a computer that will work for you. You want to buy a computer that will provide you with good results. You should probably know where you're going to be working so that you can get a computer that will be compatible with your current workplace.

Will Technology Replace Us?

I would say no, probably not, but will technology replace us? Let's look at the pros and cons of this idea: With all the technological progress humans have made over the years, it seems difficult to believe we'll be left behind. I'm not convinced that the next big thing is going to come along in a few decades. Indeed, there are reasons to be worried about whether or not the next big thing will happen. Consider: Oil prices. Right now, oil prices have plummeted due to lack of demand for our oil, as well as other natural resources we depend on for our economy. I worry that it will make it harder for us to replace our current oil needs with new technologies, like alternative fuels, electric cars, and biofuels. That would increase our dependence on foreign oil and cause inflation to spike up. Wars. Technology can certainly improve our lives. But if we aren't able to rely on it to give us a hand in our conflicts, then it can backfire. Perhaps we will see some type of civil war in the US, due to global warming and its effects. Sleep Patterns. It seems that the trends in society, especially health care, and food consumption, reflect our broader socio-economic state. Maybe things will continue to get worse as a result of those trends. You might even see a rise in obesity and poor diet, which is an indicator of a lack of healthy eating habits. School Attendance. As more children grow up in single-parent families, with low income, it becomes harder for them to get into college, so more of them drop out. This leads to high dropout rates in middle and high school. And once they don't enter the job market, they are more likely to get fired. Quality of Life. People want to work and live in a healthy and peaceful environment. We go out to eat, get jobs done in less time, and do everything else in less time. If we are forced to buy gas-guzzling SUVs, can afford to sit on a lazy sofa and watch television, or even think about doing those things, then we won't have much time to do the things we really want to do. Employees. As more people who work outside the home feel the pressure to work outside the home, it affects how they feel about their jobs. It becomes more like one big battle of wills, one that won't allow them to enjoy the benefits of being the boss. Some employees quit or find themselves demoted or laid off. Society. If we are forced to sacrifice the quality of life for the sake of energy conservation, then the younger generations will tend to resent the older generations who put them through school. Perhaps they will start to emulate their parents and become homemakers and "take the economy into their own hands" through farming, nature, or higher education. I'm not saying we will do this, but you can bet that it will happen. Society, eventually. Will technology be able to be used to solve societal problems? What would civilization look like if all energy came from renewable sources, like wind and solar power? Regardless of the answers, we need to ask the question. If our society uses these things to supplement our current energy resources, what will be the effect?

Read the full article

#ai #artificalintelligence #CanTechnologyReplace #deeplearning #geeks #geeksarticles #geeksfromfuture #HowTechnologyReplace #innovation #iot #machinelearning #robots #Technology #TechnologyForUs #WhenTechnologyReplace #WhichTechnologyReplace #WillTechnologyReplace

[noditchablepromdate]

Prodigal Son - RFYL starter

They’d argued right before the run was due to leave. Dean was acting really on edge, and Bobby didn’t like it. But he didn’t get a chance to talk for very long before Dean all but threw himself into the car and slammed the door, effectively cutting off any more attempts to talk.

Bobby sighed and rolled his chair back slightly, eyeing the rarely-used Impala sourly. Dean seemed to be taking everything more personally these days. And Cas, the only one really close to him, was often high enough that Bobby found it hard to talk to him at all. He hadn’t been able to get a single scrap of information about why Dean had decided to take his beloved, gas-guzzling Baby on a routine supply run, but Bobby had picked up a strong stink of bullshit.

“Dean?” he called, just before the convoy started up. The younger man glared out of the window at him. “Just... take care, okay?”

Dean scowled and set off, leaving Bobby there alone to watch after the departing cars with a heavy sense of foreboding.

“Bobby?” The little voice snapped him out of his gloom, and he broke into a smile at the sight of Tina Harding, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly to her chest as usual, staring solemnly up at him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said brightly, glancing up at her three older siblings - James, Carrie and Andrew - with a broad grin. “You lot come to keep an old man company?”

“Mom said Dean was going out on a run today,” Andrew said, glancing down the road. “I know you get worried when he’s out, so I figured maybe we oughta come see you. Can I push you up to your cabin?”

Though he was quite capable of getting back up by himself, Bobby didn’t see any reason to refuse when the kid just wanted to be helpful... though at fourteen, he wasn’t quite a kid any more. He consented to being pushed back up the road by the concerted efforts of the four kids, joking as they went, and settled down to while the day away with them.

When the convoy finally returned, however, he noticed from the state of the cars that there’d been trouble. Sending the kids home, he hastily wheeled himself down to the lead car.

“What happened?” he said sharply as soon as he was within earshot, looking from one person to another.

@scarsandbullets

#scarsandbullets #dean: my favourite idjit #gv: run for your lives #//sorry it got long! #thread: prodigal son