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absolutebl · 2 years

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My 10 Favorite Aggressive Flirts in BL

Sparked by this question from @yousaygoodbyeandisay and the ensuing discussion. So we are going with aggressive flirts, not necessarily good or super successful flirts. Ready? These are my personal favorites, there are A LOT to choose from.

1. Wen Ke Xing - Word of Honor

Signature moves? Waving around a big deadly fuck-off fan, calling his husband soulmate and perfect, recognizing the innate beauty in swords and shoulder blades, adopting adult children, killing everyone and everything else.

You know I don’t ordinarily mention Chinese stuff, but in a post about flirting. I would be so remiss if I didn’t include this absolute king of all the censored flirts to ever pick up a deadly man in a pastel robe.

2. Win - Until We Meet Again

His signature moves? The casual arm throw, stripping down to show his tattoos, cuddling, stealing a potato chip in the most iconic way humanly possible.

3. Shin - Minato’s Laundromat

Signature moves? Cooking and feeding, looming, constant requests to be allowed further intimacy and care duties, open displays of attention and interest.

4. YooHan - Color Rush

Signature moves? Causing his man to faint, learning about and talking about color, using said knowledge to seduce, lots of dates, breaking him out of conversion therapy mental hospital, running away with him.

5. Nosue-san - Old Fashion Cupcake

Signature moves? Pretending(?) he doesn’t know what a flirt he is, collecting women, using girly voice and cuteness, wistful need for pancakes, three piece suits.

6. JaeYoung - Semantic Error

Signature moves? Teasing, the ultimate gentle bully, appearing in all classes, being hyper good at art, all the pretty angles, running off the competition, seme subscription service.

7. King - My Engineer

Signature moves? Texting, seduction through nerdiness, calling himself cute, learning how to communicate with an extreme introvert, love = plants, drunk kisses.

8. Jack - HIStory 3 Trapped

Signature moves? Cooking and feeding his man, deep conversation, matching horny for horny, giving up his whole life to go legit for his cop bf, knife play.

9. Forth - 2 Moons 2

Signature moves? One night stands, hazing freshmen into courting doctors, pouring a water bottle over his bare chest, glaring, really good kisses.

10. SeoJoon - Too My Star

Signature moves? Human puppy, innate fragility, personal hygiene demands, enthusiasm, fluffy sweaters.

OTHERS FROM KOREA

DaWoon - Blueming Signature moves? Take his picture, bring him coffee, get his movie made, pet his hair, get him into bed ASAP.

KiJin - Behind Cut

RoA - Love Class

Wild Dog - Long Time No See

SangHa - Mr Heart

Jung Woo - My Sweet Dear

Korea loves an aggressive flirt.

OTHERS FROM THAILAND

Yok - Not Me Signature moves? Taunting and verbal repartee, drawing his man nekid, artistic bad boy eccentricity.

Tan - Manner of Death Signature moves? Cuffs, lesbian u-haul action, adopting children (plants, youths, local malcontents), shooting bad guys.

Ming - 2 Moons franchise Signature moves? Brutal honesty, direct communication, openness about feelings, winning the hotness contests.

Mark - Gen Y Signature moves? Showing off, grad romantic gestures, lots of gifts.

Pat - Bad Buddy Signature moves? Sniffing shirts, taking off his shirt, teasing and taunting, more shirt stuff.

Jimmy’s character in Vice Versa Signature moves? Hot/cold, questioning lines, direct requests for affection that cannot be trusted.

Sky & Intouch - Secret Crush On You

Pukong - 2gether

Neo - 3 Will Be Free (trained flirt)

Kaow - Brothers

Nuea - Cutie Pie

Vee - Love Mechanics

Pitch - Golden Blood

Vegas - KinnPorsche

Pure - My Gear and Your Gown

Fame - Make it Right

Bbomb - Nitiman (very gentle version)

Solo & Kao - Oxygen

Kong - SOTUS (maybe)

Na - Tonhon Chonaltee

Mayom - What Zabb Man

San - You’re My Sky

Prin - With Love (you thought I forgot about this one, didn’t you? yeah I’m the only person who watched it)

whatever the fuck is going on with My Secret Love, Our Days, Paint With Love, Loveless Society, That’s My Candy, Y-Destiny, Close Friend, War of Y.

OTHERS

Naoya - Mr Unlucky Signature moves? Consistent pursuit, kiss first ask questions after, devout sincerity, stripping down for “exercise.”

BoXiang - H3MODC the BL that shall not be named

LiCheng - History 4

Yuki - Plus and Minus

Mark - Love is Science?

Art - Rainbow Prince

Nat Nam - You Are Ma Boy

Younger seme + old uke inevitably yields up extreme flirting because of the power imbalance.

Reluctant/tsundere seme + needy uke, however, usually also results in flirting but this kind:

Desperate & Crazy Flirts

Prime examples? LuLin in My Esports Genius Brother or Nampu in Top Secret Together or Yi in Coffee Melody. Intouch in UWMA, Fiat - TharnType 2, Don’t Say No.

A lot of these are aggressive autonomous ukes forced to undertake seme role by the narrative.

Bully Flirts

These are usually tsundere semes or all powerful semes (CEO, spoiled rich kids, bosses, mafia, etc) face with extreme tsundere ukes.

Prime examples?

Gu Hai - Addicted Signature moves? Ultimate pigtail pulling, all the pranks. Moving himself in, climbing into bed with his man, kidnapping.

Sib - Lovely Writer Signature moves? Cohabitation, acting like a couple in public, calling baby CUTE constantly, switching linguistic registers, slightly sinister.

Kiyoi - Utsukushii Kare Signature moves? Calling his bf disgusting or gross, ordering him around, demanding attention, demanding honest love, watch me lose my mind over this glorious BL here

There are quite a few other bullies particularly out of China and Taiwan, they should probubly get their own post, but they mostly fall into whipping boy. Also I might throw in: Fighter in Why R U?, Tharn and Type in TharnType, Rio from Pornographer series, Gui from Takumi-kun, HooTing from H3:MODC, Kamol in Unforgotten Night, Kinn in KinnPorsche, Athip in What Zabb Man.

CODICIL

This is a long post. I probubly won’t keep it updated because there are so many already. If you have one you want added, mention in a comment.

Otherwise, this is fixed as of Aug 2022. Not responsible for flirts who come after.

Devil Judge not included.

(source)

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kellieblog · 4 months

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Unveiling the Alaskan Malamute: Insights into This Arctic Powerhouse

Meet the Alaskan Malamute, a majestic and powerful breed originally crafted for the demanding task of hauling heavy freight across frozen landscapes. Today, these remarkable dogs have evolved into cherished family companions, demanding consistent leadership and daily activity for their well-being.

Diving into the World of Alaskan Malamutes

Introduction to the Alaskan Malamute Dog Breed

Hailing from the Mahlemiut Inuit tribe, the Alaskan Malamute stands as one of the oldest sled dog breeds, valued for its strength, endurance, and loyalty. Once revered as sled and pack dogs in the Arctic, these dogs have captured hearts worldwide with their athleticism, intelligence, and striking appearance.

Getting to Know the Arctic Powerhouse

Appearance

Picture a large, robust arctic dog weighing between 75-100 pounds, standing proudly at 23-25 inches tall. The Alaskan Malamute boasts a commanding presence with a broad head, erect ears, and a plume-like tail. Its thick double coat showcases various colors, including gray, sable, black, and red, while almond-shaped brown eyes add to its allure.

Characteristics

Bred for harsh conditions, the Malamute exhibits intelligence and independent thinking. Affectionate and loyal to its family, it tends to be reserved with strangers. These energetic dogs thrive when given a job and led by an experienced owner. Early training with positive reinforcement is crucial.

Popularity

Ranked 58th among AKC recognized breeds, the Malamute experiences periodic surges in popularity, especially following events like the Iditarod. Less common than smaller companion breeds, they have garnered an enthusiastic following.

Temperament

Gentle and affectionate with family members, Malamutes, when raised with children, showcase playfulness and patience. However, their aloofness with strangers requires proper socialization. Within their pack, they exude playfulness, patience, and love, thriving when actively engaged alongside their owner.

Lifespan

12-15 years

Coat Color

Various shades of gray, black, sable, and red grace the Malamute's coat, often adorned with markings on legs, belly, chest, face, and ears. No specific color or pattern takes precedence.

Origins

As one of the oldest sled dog breeds, the Alaskan Malamute traces its roots back to the Mahlemiut Inuit tribe of Alaska. It is not a crossbreed but a testament to ancient Arctic lineage.

Guiding the Arctic Companion: Caring for an Alaskan Malamute

Food

Given their high-calorie needs, opt for commercial dog food tailored for large, active breeds. Divide daily portions into smaller meals to prevent bloat, a common concern. Adequate fresh water is a must.

Environment

Malamutes thrive in colder climates. Access to a securely fenced yard is ideal, supplemented by daily leashed walks. Indoors, provide safe chew toys to combat boredom, and crates aid in housetraining reinforcement.

Care

Beyond exercise, Malamutes require a job or activity alongside their owner. Whether it's weight pulling, backpack hikes, or advanced obedience work, engaging their minds is key. Positive reinforcement during training and ongoing socialization are crucial for a well-behaved Malamute.

Grooming

With a dense double coat, Malamutes shed heavily in spring and fall. Daily brushing helps manage loose hair. Baths should be occasional, using a dog shampoo. Regular nail checks, ear cleaning, and teeth brushing are part of their grooming routine.

Preparing for the Arctic Adventure: Essentials for an Alaskan Malamute

Puppy-Proofing Your Home

Secure garbage and dangerous items.

Chew Toy Arsenal

Robust chew toys save your belongings.

Locate Essential Services

Identify a vet, trainer, groomer, and boarding facility.

Shopping List

Acquire food bowls, leash, collar, brush, shampoo, nail clippers, and a dog bed.

Yard or Trails

Fence in your yard or identify nearby hiking trails.

Equipping for Success: Must-Have Gear

Sturdy leash and properly fitted collar Food and water bowls Interactive dog toys Slicker brush and undercoat rake Dog backpack or cart for hikes Crate for housetraining

Health Matters: Navigating Alaskan Malamute Well-Being

Common Health Issues

Watch out for hip dysplasia, eye problems, hypothyroidism, and chondrodysplasia. Responsible breeders conduct health screenings on parent dogs, but adopted Malamutes may have unknown genetic conditions.

Vaccination Essentials

Core vaccines include parvo, adenovirus, distemper, and rabies. Leptospirosis vaccine and Bordetella for kennel cough protection are recommended based on lifestyle factors.

Personalizing the Arctic Legend: Naming Your Malamute

Opt for a distinct two-syllable name for training purposes. Popular choices include Yukon, Aspen, Denali, Glacier, and Luna.

Adding a Malamute to Your Family: Buying or Adopting

Adoption

Malamutes are most popular in colder climates like the northern U.S. Adopt from local rescues or shelters for an adoption fee ranging from $50-$150.

Purchase

For those opting to buy from a responsible breeder, expect to pay $1200-$1500. Ensure the breeder conducts health testing on parent dogs and provides a comprehensive sales contract.

In essence, the Alaskan Malamute, with its striking appearance and boundless energy, thrives under consistent guidance from a confident owner. Providing structure, activity, and companionship, these arctic companions reward their families with unwavering loyalty and affection.

#dog breed

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appalachiangrowlergravel · 1 year

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Day 1

We were all up before 6:30am with a 9:00am target departure time. Showers, hotel breakfast, final gear checks and we were ready to go. Our first stop was Fonta Flora brewery for pictures then we were off.

Official starting point. Fonta Flora Brewery.

We cut through a few neighborhoods and parking lots to find a bike path that paralleled the Catawba River. When the path came to an end we got on a two lane road that ultimately led us out of town. In a blink we completed our first hour and our first 10 miles.

Somewhere during our second 10 miles we got our first taste of gravel. We had a little uphill and downhill so we got to get a feel for our bikes in a relatively comfortable environment. Good thing because the rest of the day would test our strength and skill. Mile 11-25 took almost 2 hours. The first 25 miles of our 50 mile day didn’t cover 1/3 of our elevation gain.

First gravel road.

After mile 25, the roads were pretty much all gravel. Miles 25-36 were all uphill. The goal that we kept in our heads was the descent at mile 36 which would bring us to Betsey’s Ole Country Store.

A view along the way.

About mile 39, I was chased by two dogs as I came near the end of Maple Sally Road. I must have exhausted them because they didn’t chase Paul or Philip. They were just having fun with me, I guess.

We all pulled into Betsey’s around 4pm. We hydrated on Gatorade and got our salt and sugar fixes with peanuts and M&Ms. Both FedEx and UPS made deliveries while we were there. Neither driver was willing to haul us up the last stretch of road.

Forgot to take a picture we were so exhausted.

While there, we also met a gent who was doing some inspection work for insurance companies. He and his wife travel to rural spots throughout NC for their employer. Somehow we got on the subject of his service in the army in Viet Nam. He saw similarities in the lushness of our forests and Viet Nam jungles. For the most part, all we saw all day was Forest with shafts of sunlight and the occasional mountain vista.

Excluding a 12:30 lunch stop, miles 25-41 took us over 3 hours and we climbed approximately 2000 feet. Two thirds of our climbing were done with 9 miles left to go.

The run up to the start of our final climb paralleled Wilson Creek, a scenic a wild river. If we had time, I’m sure the fishing would have been good.

Wilson Creek.

Our final 6.5 miles of the day were all uphill. We needed to ascend 1900 feet before we reached our camp for the night. The climb came in three stages. The first was steep. The second was steeper at nearly 15% grade for 3/4 of a mile (FYI, typical rails-to-trails are 3% max). And the third was so gradual it felt like going downhill. The last 9 miles took 2.5 hours.

Last pedal strokes of the day.

Finally in camp by 7:30pm, we set up our tents, hung our bear bag line, and ate dinner. Early to bed. No bourbon tonight.

Directions to camp for the last rider in.

Home for the night.

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kpjindrich · 3 years

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Mental Health Update and Service Dog Gear Haul

So as you know I haven't posted a youtube video in a while. Here's why. Also... Service Dog stuff.

#mentalhealth #service dog #unboxing #gear haul #youtube #kp jindrich

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pcttrailsidereader · 3 years

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Death by Lightning on the PCT/JMT

By Carmen George

Excerpted from the Fresno Bee

First came an immense flash of bright white light, then a sound like a cannon exploding feet away.

Four backpackers’ thoughts quickly turned to the youngest member of their group, Nicholas Torchia, who was just behind them on their high Sierra backpack trip through the John Muir Wilderness of eastern Fresno County.

“He’s been hit,” said a man who dashed by the hikers, running toward nearby Muir Trail Ranch on July 30 to get help.

Nick Torchia

Torchia was just up the trail, lying beside a tree struck by lightning along the Sallie Keyes Cutoff, between the John Muir and Florence Lake trails. The electricity also traveled through the 37-year-old Fresno man.

A pastor and his friend, who ran for help, reached Torchia first, within 20 seconds of the lightning strike around 1:25 p.m. Torchia told them he was badly injured. The pastor, Andy Cornett, took his hand and assured him they were getting help.

“He thanked me and asked me to straighten out his legs,” Cornett later told his family. “That was the last he spoke.”

Cornett asked if Torchia could feel his fingers, feet and toes. He nodded. Cornett checked his body for external injuries, helped him lie flat, covered him with a blanket, and started attending to a head wound.

Around this time, Torchia stopped breathing and lost his pulse. The four people Torchia was backpacking with — three of his uncles and one of their friends — were now also by his side.

For hours after, however, his uncles and other hikers held out hope that Torchia could be revived. A group of around 10 people, including a pastor, a nurse, doctor, firefighter and emergency medical technician, took turns administering CPR for more than three hours. Some of those hikers came up from Muir Trail Ranch, located east of Florence Lake and about three quarters of a mile from where Torchia was hit.

Other hikers worked to keep Torchia’s body warm and dry, and an ultramarathon runner darted up and down trails retrieving supplies from Muir Trail Ranch.

“Their cooperation, compassion and patient work over those hours was a testimony to me of some of the best of what human beings can do and be for each other,” said Cornett, associate pastor of families at Signal Mountain Presbyterian Church in Tennessee.

The group hoped a search and rescue team might eventually deliver an automated external defibrillator that could jump-start Torchia’s heart, but ongoing storms and their remote location in roadless wilderness delayed an emergency response.

Jeff Holbrook, one of Torchia’s uncles who started the CPR, finally asked one medical professional what chance there was of an AED device being effective if delivered within a couple more hours. He quickly received an answer: “Zero.”

The group decided to stop the CPR. Torchia’s death was recorded at 4:41 p.m. July 30.

Nick (Center) with his three uncles and a friend

The group prayed over his body, and then carried him down to Muir Trail Ranch. A California Highway Patrol helicopter landed nearby that evening during a break in the storm and retrieved Torchia’s body.

‘No one made a mistake’ hiking back from John Muir Trail in Sierra

Torchia; his uncles Jeff, Tom and Bill Holbrook; and friend Terry McCurdy were returning from a backpack trip to Sallie Keyes Lake on the JMT/PCT in the John Muir Wilderness when Torchia was hit.

It was sunny when the group started their descent from the lake that morning. They had planned to camp at Muir Trail Ranch that night and then catch a boat ride across Florence Lake the next day to return home. The group started their trip together earlier that week.

Torchia and his uncles had been working to complete the entire 211-mile John Muir Trail over the past 10 or so years via annual backpack trips together.

Torchia’s uncles said he was struck when he was just seconds behind them on the trail, after the group stopped briefly to put on rain ponchos.

“He was the last to put on a rain jacket and go catch up with Bill, but he didn’t,” his mother Kathy Torchia said.

His family and Cornett aren’t sure how close Torchia was to the tree when it was hit, or how long he was near it. Jeff Holbrook thinks his nephew might have been adjusting some of his gear or eating a snack when he was struck.

Tom Holbrook described the incident as a freak accident from a sudden storm.

“No one made a mistake. ... We dealt with extreme conditions before,” he said.

The lightning bolt that took their nephew’s life was the only one Jeff and Tom said they saw that day in that area, estimated to be around 8,000 feet in elevation. Cornett said other lightning strikes seemed much further away.

“It was terrifying,” Cornett said of the lightning that narrowly missed him. “It was brilliant white, and the sound was felt as much as heard.”

The lightning blew items out of Torchia’s pockets, ripped off some of his clothes, and tore bark off the tree that was struck. Jeff said its force moved his own body forward a couple inches.

The Fresno County Coroner’s Office announced a few days later that Torchia died by electrocution caused by lightning. No one else was injured by the lightning strike.

There’s only been 14 other fatalities and 72 injuries from lightning in California since 1950, according to data through this spring from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s National Centers for Environmental Information. The National Weather Service reported that only about 10% of people struck by lightning die from the voltage.

Torchia is remembered as exceedingly kind, with a genuine concern and sensitivity to the feelings of others that sometimes caused him pain. One of his two brothers, Ben Torchia of Clovis, said he sees his brother’s passing as God deciding to free his “good soul” from that pain.

“He just had this struggle internally – some things that are probably pretty simple for you or me were not simple for him,” his brother said. “He had a struggle that people in America owned houses while people in third-world countries didn’t. He had a tough time accepting the status quo. He could never get over things like that.”

Torchia crossing Muir Pass (on a 2019 trip)

Cornett said the experience of caring for Torchia in his final moments made him feel “profoundly humbled at how vulnerable life is.”

“Obviously you realize that when you’re in the mountains and outdoors,” Cornett said, “but it’s true of our given life at any given moment, and it causes you to reflect.”

Torchia was one of six children and had an 11-year-old daughter, Makayla, who lives in South Africa with her mother.

He graduated from Ridgeview High School in Bakersfield and joined the Navy when he was 18 years old, serving for almost six years. He also previously worked as a driver for Community Food Bank and senior citizens in Clovis.

Torchia most recently was a student at Clovis Community College. He hoped to become a psychologist and counselor, his mom said.

Douglas Houston, interim chancellor of State Center Community College District, recalled Torchia as an “outstanding student” in a recent email to staff, encouraging condolences for his family.

His mother said he loved hiking, backpacking, swimming, rock climbing and cycling, and had many other talents.

“I call him the Renaissance man,” Kathy Torchia said. “He could do anything.”

Torchia was the youngest on last week’s backpack trip. The other four in his group are in their 60s.

“He was like our safety chain,” Jeff Holbrook said. “We were all getting older and he was still viable and young and he looked after us, and we always felt safe with him by our side.”

Torchia made a separate trip up to Sallie Keyes Lake the week before the trip with his uncles to haul a tent and other gear up the mountain so they wouldn’t have to carry as much. Among the gear was a cushion and hammock he insisted they use.

Family said the compassionate Torchia also had a way of infusing fun into even the simplest of tasks.

“What a great spirit this young man had,” Tom Holbrook said of his nephew. “We loved him.”

Friend Pete Debruynkops, who went on previous John Muir Trail backpack trips with Torchia, said Torchia loved being in the wilderness, and that his friend’s adventurous spirit earned him the hiking nickname of “Stray Dog” because he was always straying off the trail to check things out.

Jeff Holbrook said he recently experienced some joy thinking of Torchia.

Jeff Holbrook’s phone started playing music when he and others were trying to revive Torchia on the trail. It took him a while to realize the sound was coming from his pocket because he said his phone rarely plays music, even when he tries.

He pulled it out and hit pause. The song was “Neon Pegasus” by Parry Gripp, about a mythical, divine, winged horse soaring over troubles. It made him think of his nephew and a herd of horses that ran by them on the trail earlier in their trip.

Some of the lyrics: “Unbreak your heart, Neon Pegasus, and go climbing through the stars, out there with your dreams, your sparkly dreams. ... Never again to be lonely, never again to be without a home. ... Soaring over it all, high up in the clouds.”

Jeff Holbrook accidentally dropped his phone in water later at Muir Trail Ranch. When it turned on the next day, the song was still paused on Neon Pegasus.

He played it later and sobbed. He said it was a beautiful release of “just joy.” He felt like his nephew was telling him, “I’m in a beautiful place and I’ve got wings and I’m flying, and I’m happy as can be.”

#Lightning #Death on the PCT

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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.15 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is still dealing with the fallout of the last chapter. Like he needs anything else to happen right now?

~~*~~

Read ‘First Step’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

As hot as the days were, these last, lingering sticky days of summer, the nights in Backwater tended to cool off as soon as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

It made for a good time to sit out on the back porch for a quick smoke. Usually only tobacco, Stretch didn’t have Red’s resilience when it came to getting up the next day after smoking his atom bomb version of weed. The last thing he wanted was to give the local kids their first view of an ugly hangover, he’d leave that sort of education for their parents to dole out.

Most of the time, Stretch kept it to one cigarette. His first paycheck was better than he’d expected but it was still wiser to be frugal, so he stuck with his one cig and tried not to think about how that would have pleased his brother. Blue’d been trying to get him to quit for years now and in the past months whenever his bro brought it up, his ex always chimed in with a similar opinion on it, both of them citing statistics as if they were practicing for a damned public service announcement.

Quitting his smokes was something Stretch resisted for no damn good reason other than he didn’t want to quit, thanks, sorry for him trying to adult a little around here. All the nagging did was take the joy out of it and left him smoking out of resentment rather than recreation. Cutting down to one a day was milestone he’d never managed to get to back in Ebott. Not even when the Docs told him it might help with—well.

Anyway, tonight he’d decided to indulge himself; after the day he’d had, he figured he deserved to go through a whole damn pack.

The porch light was a stark, sodium-yellow and the furniture cast strange shadows in it, bones of the true darkness that lay beyond. Stretch sprawled out on the dusty old sofa, blowing lazy smoke rings up at the overhang covering the porch and occasionally tapping ash into the rusty old Maxwell coffee can that Red kept around as an ashtray. The other skeleton had already gone inside, and the living room windows were dark, a pretty big clue that he’d probably already headed off to bed. Early for him, but, eh, Stretch figured he’d had a hell of a day, too, and his guilt over his own involvement in that sat in his chest like a lead brick.

At his feet, the dog curled up in a tight little donut of fluff and Stretch absently pet him with his bare foot, wincing as strands of hair caught in his bony joints. The dog didn’t seem to care about the little yanks and tugs, only huffed out a contented sigh, pushing demandingly into the touch.

“dunno if you deserve pats,” Stretch told him absently. He tried for something resembling stern, though he didn’t stop petting, “you weren’t being too friendly out at edge’s place.”

The dog only snorted and rolled to his side, giving Stretch access to his belly for more rubs.

Stretch hadn’t even realized Red brought the dog along at first. Not until he hauled his bike over to truck bed, still flustered over the almost-could be-kinda-a-something that his boss/landlord’s timely arrival interrupted. Before he could even start heaving the bike in, the dog popped up like a slobbery jack in the box and began attacking Stretch’s face with kisses.

“wha—stop, you shit!” Stretch sputtered, laughing and trying to fend off the dog��s eager advances. The bike was heavier than a normal one and awkward to hold, and between that and the doggy love attack, Stretch lost his grip. The handbars swung into the side of the truck and shrieked their way down in a scrape of metal against metal as it fell, the rest of it finishing off with a loud clang. Not that it did any damage; Red’s truck probably only qualified as one by a technicality, held together by vague hopes, rust, and the liberal use of miles of duct tape.

Behind Stretch, Edge spoke up, “Here, let me help.” But the moment he stepped forward, the dog’s excited wriggling screeched to a halt and morphed into stillness couched with a sudden, unexpected growl.

“woah, hey, boy,” Stretch said with surprised caution. The dog hadn’t even growled when those guys in town were trying to use him as a pinata, too scared, maybe, but Edge wasn’t a threat so why the hell—

A low, deep throated snarl came from behind Stretch and the dog yelped, ducking down into the truck bed, cowering. Stretch whipped around to stare at Edge in disbelief, okay, yeah, that one wasn’t on his bingo card for weird happenings. "did you just growl at my dog?"

Edge only looked back steadily, "You have to assert dominance."

Well, uh, that was…it did seem to work, sort of. The dog chose that moment to abandon ship, scrambling up and wriggling through the little back window that led into the cab to curl up against Red. The moment he was safe, he looked at Stretch and Edge with wounded betrayal, like he hadn’t started it, the little shit.

Good thing the dog didn’t know what the memory of that growl was doing to the inside of Stretch’s pants, (fucking rawr). The pooch would never forgive him.

“quit traumatizing mutt," Red snorted. He ruffled the dog’s ears soothingly and the pup settled, resting his chin on Red’s femur as he looked up with a mournful ‘the big kids are pickin’ on me’ expression. "c'mon, armstrong, let’s hit the road, s’getting dark."

That woke Stretch up from his dual versions of shock and unf!shock. He grunted with the effort of heaving the bike into the truck bed, mumbling a grateful ‘thank you’ when a second pair of strong hands helped out, and he really, really tried not to feel the way Edge was pressed up against his back, a line of warm moving against him as both of them settling the bike securely in. It was only when Edge stepped back and took his fatal distraction with him that something clicked.

Wait. Not the mutt, but—

Stretch stuck his head in through the open window, looking at the skeleton and his dog, who pointedly weren’t looking back. “you named the dog mutt?”

“didn’t name it anything,” Red scoffed. He scruffed the dog, whose name was totally Mutt, gently.

“technicalities won’t save you,” Stretch told him gleefully, “there was a list on the counter, you had options, and you still named the dog…dog.”

That got finally got him a look, or more precisely, a glare. “could always let you walk home.”

That was true. Stretch abandoned ribbing without even getting to pun about it and climbed hastily into the truck. The door hinge squalled when he pulled open the door, flakes of rust falling in a shower as he slammed it shut. No wonder Red didn’t drive around much if this was his primary vehicle, but in the interest of not getting kicked out, Stretch decided it would be for the best to not bring up the rubber banded pile of newspapers Red was sitting on. He definitely wasn’t gonna ask how Red was reaching the pedals.

Edge rounded the truck to Red’s side, briefly outlined in the glare of the headlights. With the remains of the sun at his back, his eye lights were stark in the growing darkness. Bright crimson glaring in at his brother as he stood next to the truck, his arms crossed over his chest. “You could always come in for coffee.”

It wasn’t a question and Red didn’t answer it. “tell the kid i said hi.”

Edge replied tartly. “Tell them yourself.”

“heh.” A strange laugh, humorless and somehow still tinged with amusement. “see ya around, bro.”

Yeah, there was some kind of story there, all right, and Stretch was the guy who waited too long at the concession stand and came into the play during Act 3.

There was only one person who might give him any answers, since two-thirds of the people involved already turned him down and it was the same guy who didn’t even give Edge a chance to say goodbye, only threw the truck into reverse and with a clumsy three-point turn that barely avoided any of the flowerbeds, they were headed back down path that led to town, out of the woods.

The ride back wasn’t exactly quiet, the bumpy road and rattling complaints of the truck took care of that. But it was wordless, for a while. Until they got closer to the main road and the bumps smoothed out a little, droning hum of tires on asphalt an invitation.

“red—” Stretch started, slowly. He wasn’t even sure what he was gonna say yet, uncertain if he really wanted any other revelations tonight. He was feeling a little epiphanied out.

Red only sighed deeply, “pretty sure you, the kid, and my bro had a helluva chat, you sure you really wanna talk to me about it now?”

No. Yes. “maybe?”

The newspapers under him made a dry shuffling sound as Red shifted his weight to change gears. “one question, kid, that’s all i got answers for. choose wisely.”

Great, now he was on an impromptu grail quest.

Stretch hesitated over his options; there were so many, how could he pick only one? Like, why didn’t Red live with Edge and Frisk, why had he refused to even go into the house, and what the hell was up with Edge being so salty about it? Hell, there were deeper question than that, if he wanted to dig. How had they gotten out of their Underground to here, what happened to Red’s leg, so many whats and wheres and whys.

A look at Red showed he was grinding his teeth, his crimson eye lights focused solely on the road and at the end of the day, there was only one question Stretch really needed an answer to tonight, for reasons he desperately didn’t want to talk about.

He ran his tongue over his teeth nervously, looking down at his hands in his lap rather than the passing blur of road in the headlights out the windshield. “you knew who i was when you first saw me here, didn’t you. edge said you watched the tv when we first came to the surface.”

The joints in his hands creaked as they went tight on the steering wheel and Red exhaled with weary slowness. “yeah, i knew.” He slanted a brief glance at Stretch, eye lights flicking between him and the road. “gave me a hell of a start, don’t mind tellin’ ya. you were busy chasin’ beer cans and didn’t notice me almost fallin’ on my ass.”

“that’s why you helped me, isn’t it, when i first came to town?” The accusation that Red was ‘adopted’ him because he looked like Edge stung, but it was true enough, wasn’t it. Someone with his kid brother’s face, someone to feed and clothe and take care of, like he couldn’t with his own bro for whatever their secret reasons were. Like he was a fucking pet, another dog, woof woof, and the care that seemed so genuine that morning felt suddenly tainted, as stifling as his own brother’s.

“heh,” Red’s mouth twisted into a sneering smile, “kid, come on.”

Stretch said nothing. He could see the neon sign from ‘The Whistling Cow’ slowly approaching, looming closer, blurring in his vision and there was no subtle way to wipe at his sockets, he could only do it quickly and hope it wasn’t noticed.

A failed hope, like most. Red made an impatient sound, loud enough that the dog sleeping his lap stirred, then he said roughly. “yeah, okay, you reminded me some of my little brother, but that ain’t why i let you stay.”

Let it go, let it go, Elsa, you don’t have anywhere else to go. “then why?”

“‘cause i like ya, that’s why!” Red snarled. His ever-present grin curled into a grimace, tight and strained, each word as sharp as one of his jagged teeth. “been rattling around alone in this old shop for awhile now. been kinda nice to have someone underfoot, since i ain’t got goddamn feet. good enough?”

“yes,” Stretch admitted, a threadbare little word. It was, helped ease some of the pained tightness surrounding his soul to know that Red wasn’t simply another person who wanted to be around him not out of friendship, but mere circumstance. He’d had plenty of that in his life and all it left him with was an empty contact list on his phone and an emptier ache in his soul.

He startled at a hand awkwardly touching his own, bony fingers briefly squeezing before they withdrew. “stretch? you and my bro ain’t nothin’ alike. c’n trust me on that much.”

“is that good or bad,” Stretch couldn’t help asking. He thought of the little borrowed room he was sleeping in at night, his part time job hawking groceries, of Edge’s home in the woods with its beautiful gardens and delicious meals.

Red shrugged. He turned the wheel, guiding the truck into a parking spot that was nearly hidden on the other side of the shop. “beats the fuck out of me, just is, and it don’t matter, anyway. don’t care what the charts and graphs and shit say, ain’t no reason to compare ya. ya ain’t the same person. you’re you and bein’ you should be good enough for anyone.”

The engine ticked slowly as it cooled and Stretch thought of the way their landlord back in Ebott kept mistaking him for Papyrus, of getting bitched at once for a window he hadn’t broken or thanked for muffins he hadn’t brought. Not anybody or nobody, only himself, at least here in Backwater. “thanks.”

“s’fine,” Red grunted. “just don’t forget i ain’t your bro.”

“oh, fuck, no,” Stretch blurted out. He winced as he realized how that sounded. “i mean, you’re more like a mom, anyway.”

“heh,” That laugh was more a little more genuine, not much, but it was something. “fuck you.”

“nah, that wasn’t in the rental agreement.”

“and thank the fucking angel for that.” With a groan of hinges and a slam of the door, Red got out of the truck, the dog at his heels. He didn’t turn back to see if Stretch was with him, only went as fast as he could, cane swishing at his side as he practically ran into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him.

Stretch followed more slowly, stopping off at the porch and that was where he stayed, thinking about having a cigarette and not at all about giving Red some time to himself after having the asshole he was trying to help question his motives, exactly like an asshole would.

Mutt hesitated, debating for a minute over choosing between them before finally decided that Stretch was the victor, and whether or not that was because he thought Stretch needed watching over more didn’t matter. Stretch appreciated the company, anyway.

That left him here, smoking and watching moths flutter suicidally close around the porch light.

Stretch dropped a used butt into the coffee can and debated lighting another. On one hand, he was starting to feel a little nauseous from so much smoking, on the other, he sort of wanted to feel nauseous. Wanted to feel something that he could name.

What was the proper term for how to feel when you were living in a weird town with alternate version of yourself and your bro, which, by the way, one out of the two has been crawling up your top ten list of spank bank partners? If there was a definition for it, it was gonna take more than a quick google search to ferret it out.

He still hadn’t decided whether or not to light another when at his feet, the dog suddenly lifted his head, ears perking up.

“what is it, boy?” Stretch leaned up on his elbow, squinting out into the darkness outside the protective ring of porch light. “if this is about a kid in a well, you can tell timmy he’ll have to wait, this is not a good time—hey!”

A threatening line of fur rose up on the dog’s back as he let out a low, deep woof, nothing like the little growl at Edge earlier. Before Stretch could grab for him, Mutt was scrambling to his feet. He leapt off the porch and ran off into the night, fuck, in the direction of the forest.

“hey, wait! no, no, no, damn it!” Stretch shoved his feet into his shoes, wincing at the friction and almost immediately tripping over the laces. “not that way!”

There was barely time to hope he didn’t break his damn leg as he chased after the dog, following the little puff of whiteness through the dark as he tried not to go facefirst into anything. It was sheer luck there weren’t many obstacles in the path; town was in the opposite direction and there was nothing much behind the shop but parched earth and dead grass. Right up until the edge of the woods where saplings rose up in clusters, little ponds of greenery that led to the ocean of trees and that was where Stretch skidded to a halt, watching helplessly as that patch of white disappeared into the darkness.

Yeah, okay, he wasn’t about to go in the woods, ignoring warnings around this place was bad for life expectancy and Stretch wasn’t the kind of guy who’d feed weird critters after midnight.

“fuck, fuck,” Stretch muttered under his breath, pacing right outside the treeline and slapping away any sapling that tried to get in his way as he wracked his brain for what the hell he could do now.

Maybe if he stood outside and shouted at the damn mutt, he’d at least have something to follow back out. He wasn’t sure there was much else he could do, the townsfolk were nice, but he didn’t think asking them out for a midnight search party for a dog would go over very well.

Overhead, the bloated circle of the moon faded in and out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even have his phone, it was still in his bag on the porch, safely beneath that splash of light that seemed so far away now. Stretch dug into his pocket for his lighter, the rasp loud over the faint rustling of leaves overhead. It flared to life and the tiny flame barely illuminating the space around him, but it was better than nothing.

“mutt?” Stretch called tentatively, then more coaxingly, “c’mon boy, come back out!” He tried a few iterations of that with increasingly sappy endearments, feeling as stupid as he had when he’d tried them on his ex. The dog responded about as well, stubbornly refusing to bow to any version of baby, sweetums, or snooky that Stretch tried.

“damn it all to hell,” Stretch cursed softly. First, he’d gotten caught nearly macking on Red’s little brother when he’d said he wouldn’t, not a broken promise but still, then he’d blunder into giving Red’s traumas a quick poke, and now he’d lost the dog that he’d only just gotten for Red. He was obviously already pretty attached to the so-named Mutt and after hearing him vague about how he’d been lonely, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

But going into the woods after him felt a hell of a lot like making a bad situation worse.

Stretch sighed heavily. Nope, better not to chance it. Maybe if he brought out a bowl of food, the dumb mutt would smell it and head for home and—wait.

…what was that? Stretch tipped his head to the side, straining to listen.

He hadn’t really even notice that soft sound at its beginning, the soft lilt of a melody winding its way through branches and leaves out of the woods, a song he almost but didn’t quite know. It was the seductive peal of a silver laugh of delight, it was the delicate caress of the wind, the chuckling burble of a cool stream pouring invitingly over smooth rocks, and the intangible caress of unearthly desires

It was the alluring sweetness of a siren, the song of a temptress calling one who was no sailor into a dry sea and doom.

His vision was cast into paleness like the bloom of the moonlight, filling him to the brim until nothing was left within but that endless song. Without a single thought of his own left crowded in amongst the tangled notes in his head taking mastery over him, Stretch took his first dazed step into the woods.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #welcome to backwater

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Tuesday, August 31, 2021

Hostile school board meetings have members calling it quits (AP) A Nevada school board member said he had thoughts of suicide before stepping down amid threats and harassment. In Virginia, a board member resigned over what she saw as politics driving decisions on masks. The vitriol at board meetings in Wisconsin had one member fearing he would find his tires slashed. School board members are largely unpaid volunteers, traditionally former educators and parents who step forward to shape school policy, choose a superintendent and review the budget. But a growing number are resigning or questioning their willingness to serve as meetings have devolved into shouting contests between deeply political constituencies over how racial issues are taught, masks in schools, and COVID-19 vaccines and testing requirements. In his letter of resignation from Wisconsin’s Oconomowoc Area School Board, Rick Grothaus said its work had become “toxic and impossible to do.” “When I got on, I knew it would be difficult,” Grothaus, a retired educator, said by phone. “But I wasn’t ready or prepared for the vitriolic response that would occur, especially now that the pandemic seemed to just bring everything out in a very, very harsh way. It made it impossible to really do any kind of meaningful work.”

California fire approaches Lake Tahoe after mass evacuation (AP) A ferocious wildfire swept toward Lake Tahoe on Tuesday just hours after roads were clogged with fleeing cars when the entire California resort city of South Lake Tahoe was ordered to evacuate and communities just across the state line in Nevada were warned to get ready to leave. The popular vacation haven normally filled with tens of thousands of summer tourists emptied out Monday as the massive Caldor Fire rapidly expanded. Vehicles loaded with bikes and camping gear and hauling boats were in gridlock traffic, stalled in hazy, brown air that smelled like a campfire. Police and other emergency vehicles whizzed by. “It’s more out of control than I thought,” evacuee Glen Naasz said of the fire that by late Monday had been pushed by strong winds across California highways 50 and 89, burning mountain cabins as it swept down slopes into the Tahoe Basin.

Hurricane Ida traps Louisianans, shatters the power grid (AP) Rescuers set out in hundreds of boats and helicopters to reach people trapped by floodwaters Monday, and utility repair crews rushed in, after a furious Hurricane Ida swamped the Louisiana coast and ravaged the electrical grid in the sticky, late-summer heat. People living amid the maze of rivers and bayous along the state’s Gulf Coast retreated desperately to their attics or roofs and posted their addresses on social media with instructions for search-and-rescue teams on where to find them. More than 1 million customers in Louisiana and Mississippi—including all of New Orleans—were left without power as Ida, one of the most powerful hurricanes ever to hit the U.S. mainland, pushed through on Sunday and early Monday before weakening into a tropical storm. As it continued to make its way inland with torrential rain and shrieking winds, it was blamed for at least two deaths. But with many roads impassable and cellphone service knocked out in places, the full extent of its fury was still coming into focus. The governor’s office said damage to the power grid appeared “catastrophic.” And local officials warned it could be weeks before power is fully restored, leaving multitudes without refrigeration or air conditioning during the dog days of summer, with highs forecast in the mid-80s to close to 90 by midweek.

Heavily armed criminal group ties hostages to getaway cars after storming Brazilian city (Washington Post) A heavily armed group of bank robbers wreaked havoc across a southeastern Brazilian city early Monday, striking several banks, setting fire to vehicles and tying hostages to their getaway cars, in an assault that left at least three people dead, officials say. Even in a country long accustomed to random spasms of violence, Brazilians reacted with shock and fear. The group stormed Araçatuba, a city of 200,000 in São Paulo state, around midnight to strike several city banking agencies. Gunshots punctured the early-morning quiet. Authorities asked residents to stay inside. Images on social media and local news reports showed at least 10 people clinging to getaway cars, apparently strapped there to deter fire from police. The hostages were reportedly released after the group escaped. The raid bore the characteristics of what criminologists have called a growing pattern: nighttime assaults on midsize Brazilian cities—often elaborate bank heists, intricately planned, well choreographed and executed by well-financed criminal groups equipped with the weaponry and gadgetry of war. The group flew a drone over Araçatuba during the raid, according to local reports, to track movements throughout the city.

EU travel restrictions (AP) The European Union recommended Monday that its 27 nations reinstate restrictions on tourists from the U.S. because of rising coronavirus infections there, but member countries will keep the option of allowing fully vaccinated U.S. travelers in. The EU’s decision reflects growing anxiety that the rampant spread of the virus in the U.S. could jump to Europe at a time when Americans are allowed to travel to the continent. Both the EU and the U.S. have faced rising infections this summer, driven by the more contagious delta variant. The guidance issued Monday is nonbinding, however. American tourists should expect a mishmash of travel rules across the continent since the EU has no unified COVID-19 tourism policy and national EU governments have the authority to decide whether or how they keep their borders open during the pandemic.

Italy’s record droughts (La Stampa) The earth is cracking in Italy’s northwest region of Piedmont: the crops and the animals suffer. Italy has been ravaged by fires and storms, like Greece, Turkey and much of Southern Europe. Italy has recorded 1,200 “extreme” meteorological events—a 56% increase from last year. Wildfires ravaged the southern regions of Sardinia, Calabria and Sicily. The town of Florida, in Sicily, is thought to have recorded the hottest temperature ever recorded in Europe: 48.8 °C. Meanwhile, heavy rainfall devastated other parts of the country. Coldiretti, Italy’s largest agricultural association, has just summed up the bill for this Italian summer: The damages to agriculture, it says, amount to €1 billion. Wheat yields have fallen 10%; cherries 30%, nectarines 40%. Tomato and corn crops have also suffered heavy losses. Giovanni Bedino, a 59-year-old Italian farmer, has been working the land since he was 15. “I love this job, but a year like this takes away your love,” he told Turin daily La Stampa. “We couldn’t water the fields and nothing came down from the sky. I remember, the summer of 2003 was a very difficult one—but it wasn’t even close to this year. I have never seen such a drought.”

In India, a debate over population control turns explosive (Washington Post) Yogi Adityanath, a star of India’s political right wing, stood before television cameras in his trademark saffron tunic and dramatically introduced a bill pushing for smaller families—two children at most. In previous decades, this measure by the leader of the country’s most populous state might have been uncontroversial. Over the past month, it’s been explosive. Critics saw a veiled attempt to mobilize Hindu voters by tapping into an age-old trope about India’s Muslim population ballooning out of control. As India barrels toward a pivotal election in Uttar Pradesh early next year, population bills introduced by the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have become a new flash point in the national debate, vividly illustrating how the issues of religion and identity, spoken or implied, form the most powerful undercurrent in the country’s politics. Since 2011, when official census figures emerged showing Hindus dipping to 80 percent of India’s population compared to 84 percent in 1951—Muslims increased from 10 percent to 14.2 percent during that same period—the question of how to maintain “demographic balance” has gained urgency for the Hindu movement’s leaders. A 2016 national survey finding that Indian Muslim women had, on average, 2.6 children compared to 2.1 for Hindus provoked more concern.

North Korea appears to have restarted Yongbyon nuclear reactor, U.N. body says (Washington Post) North Korea appears to have restarted its main nuclear reactor at Yongbyon in July, a “deeply troubling” sign that the country may be on track to expand its nuclear program, according to a new report by the United Nations’ atomic agency. The finding adds another challenge to the Biden administration’s goal of denuclearizing North Korea. Although Yongbyon is not the only site where North Korea has produced highly enriched uranium, its role at the heart of Pyongyang’s nuclear ambitions made the facility a bargaining chip in previous negotiations. In 2008, North Korea ceremoniously blew up the reactor’s cooling tower in a largely made-for-TV event amid nuclear talks between the United States and former leader Kim Jong Il. (A new cooling tower was built after the negotiations fell through.)

Last troops exit Afghanistan, ending America’s longest war (AP) The United States completed its withdrawal from Afghanistan late Monday, ending America’s longest war and closing a chapter in military history likely to be remembered for colossal failures, unfulfilled promises and a frantic final exit that cost the lives of more than 180 Afghans and 13 U.S. service members, some barely older than the war. Hours ahead of President Joe Biden’s Tuesday deadline for shutting down a final airlift, and thus ending the U.S. war, Air Force transport planes carried a remaining contingent of troops from Kabul airport. Thousands of troops had spent a harrowing two weeks protecting a hurried and risky airlift of tens of thousands of Afghans, Americans and others seeking to escape a country once again ruled by Taliban militants. In announcing the completion of the evacuation and war effort. Gen. Frank McKenzie, head of U.S. Central Command, said the last planes took off from Kabul airport at 3:29 p.m. Washington time, or one minute before midnight in Kabul. He said a number of American citizens, likely numbering in “the very low hundreds,” were left behind, and that he believes they will still be able to leave the country. The final pullout fulfilled Biden’s pledge to end what he called a “forever war” that began in response to the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, that killed nearly 3,000 people in New York, Washington and rural Pennsylvania.

Afghanistan’s ‘Gen Z’ fears for future and hard-won freedoms (Reuters) Almost two third of Afghans are under the age of 25, and an entire generation cannot even remember the Taliban, who ruled Afghanistan from 1996 until it was toppled by Western-backed militia in 2001. During that time they enforced a strict interpretation of Islamic law, banning girls from school, women from work and carrying out public executions. Since 2001, the militants fought an insurgency in which thousands of Afghans died. Since re-taking power, the group has been quick to reassure students that their education would not be disrupted, also saying it would respect the rights of women and urging talented professionals not to leave the country. But used to a life with cellphones, pop music and mixing of genders, Afghanistan’s “Generation Z”—born roughly in the decade around the turn of the millennium—now fears some freedoms will be taken away, according to interviews with half a dozen Afghan students and young professionals. “I made such big plans, I had all these high reaching goals for myself that stretched to the next 10 years,” said Sosan Nabi, a 21-year-old graduate. “We had a hope for life, a hope for change. But in just one week, they took over the country and in 24 hours they took all our hopes, dreams snatched from in front of our eyes. It was all for nothing.”

They made it out of Afghanistan. But their path ahead is uncertain. (Washington Post) As the United States winds down its evacuation operation in Afghanistan, the Biden administration is accelerating efforts to resettle Afghans on U.S. soil, where they will be expected to apply for visas or humanitarian protection that could put them on a path to legal residency and citizenship. But the chaotic nature of the enormous airlift means that much is unknown: Officials have not said precisely how many Afghan evacuees have made it into the United States or whether all will be allowed to stay. More than 117,000 people had been evacuated from Afghanistan on U.S. and other flights as of Saturday, and Pentagon officials said the vast majority are Afghan citizens. Thousands have arrived in the United States, while thousands more are waiting in “transit hubs” in Europe and the Middle East. They are a mix of brand-new refugees and families with existing immigration applications that have been pending for months or years. Where the evacuees will end up is “a hard question to answer,” said Mark Hetfield, president and CEO of HIAS, one of the refugee resettlement agencies operating in the United States. “I don’t really know where they stand,” Hetfield said in an interview. “It’s chaos.”

#headlines #news

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elopez7228 · 4 years

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Scenic Route 8/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

After finishing her cheese burger, (No, please, no more refills) Rey called Jessica. She had to lie about the details of her setbacks and the circumstances that had led her to haul a dog on a 3,500 kilometer road trip. She explained that she had loaned a car and was improvising from there. Yes, she was doing better. Yes, morale was high for now. No, she hadn’t run into any guns or cowboys (yet), but she had seen buffalos (from afar) and the scenery was absolutely beautiful. Alright, she would send pictures.

Placing the phone in front of her, she smiled as innocently as possible at the front camera and hit “send” on the photo.

Everything was fine on Betterton Street according to Jessica. Finn and Poe had been talking the talk, they apparently spent an entire afternoon discussing Rey-drunk-in-the-street and Ben-the-tall-dark-mystery-man. They unanimously wanted to know: who was this guy and what was the nature of their relationship ?

Rey rolled her eyes. He wasn’t anyone in particular. He was a random fellow from Denver who was both attractive and repulsive, but in his defense they had started off on the wrong foot, that’s all.

“No, Jess, I didn’t sleep with him. But if you think it’s hilarious that Finn believes I did, go ahead and have fun with it. You can tell him that I spent a night of passion with Ben Solo, rockstar and lead singer of KYLO & THE KNIGHTS OF REN. That way he’ll realize that I don’t miss him and that I’m doing just fine without him. And if he gets jealous—even better. Ask him how he thought I felt when I imagined him in bed with Poe.”

She ended the call there.

She finished her fries, covering the top of her glass with her palm to stop the waitress from refilling it again (had they gone mad here?) as she scrolled through her phone lazily. She was feeling nice and comfy in this 50s style greasy spoon—with its abundance of zinc, black and white tiled floors and red and pink neon signs. There was WiFi and air conditioning, and she balked at the idea of returning to her oven of a car.

Her finger traced over the selfie she had just taken. Her cheeks were rosy and her eye bags less prominent, how many days had she managed without crying? In the background sat a tall blonde woman in a buzz cut, looking straight in her direction.

Photobomb, Rey thought glumly. But the woman’s piercing blue gaze was locked onto the camera, as if by design. As if they were both looking at the same thing. Rey turned around to see if she was still there. She wasn’t.

A family of four were helping themselves to a small basket of nuggets. At the counter, a lone diner in jeans and a tank top sipped on a drink.

Shrugging, she pocketed her phone and tapped her palms against her thighs to get BB8’s attention. BB was also taking advantage of the air conditioning as she layed stretched out underneath the table. She got up clumsily once Rey gently tugged on her collar.

It was time to hit the road again, they could manage a few hundred kilometers by nightfall. The vast land sprawled in front of Rey’s eyes once more, set to the particular rock rhythm of Kylo & the Knights. Little by little, their surroundings transformed into the desert. Yellow earth littered with spiny shrubs and cacti.

She passed Rock Springs at 2:30 PM, taken by the frankly apocalyptic view.

Columns of smoke billowed overhead, likely from mines or factories. Rusted trucks rolled by. It was a sprawling urban hellscape straight out of Mad Max. The empty mountain side inspired a certain sort of fantasy—it gave new meaning to “the hills have eyes”.

A few more kilometers to the west and she would have hit Utah. But Rey deviated to the north. As she approached the crest of the hill, she was stupefied. She had stumbled upon Eden Valley, surrounded by forest and freshwater rivers. Rey was slack-jawed. She hadn’t seen this much green since she left England. The feeling was almost spiritual and she could feel her eyes watering.

A few hours later, after two bathroom breaks for the dog and a mini-walk, they crossed city limits into Jackson Hole. It was a ski resort town. Nestled at the foot of the green slopes, the town was the perfect summertime spot for hiking tours, hunters, and weary Yellowstone travelers. The hotels were pricey and the food was mediocre at best but it didn’t seem to matter.

She obtained a camping spot just outside the city at Curtis Canyon Campground. BB8 wandered as Rey set up the tent and her mattress for the night. Having unloaded the bulk of her belongings from the car, she was finally able to notice an inscription on the mat lining the boot: “MILLENIUM FALCON”. She smiled. Didn’t all pilots give their baby a name? This old hunk of junk had just won her over.

And so Rey piloted the re-baptized Millennium Falcon into the city in search of dinner. She parked the car in the heart of town, taking a selfie in front of a massive wooden archway decorated solely with deer antlers, then made her way into a noisy yet poorly-lit bar.

Seated at the counter, she ordered a light beer and a Caesar salad while she texted Jessica. She attached the selfie she snapped in the adjoining room.

And then she saw the shadow. What the hell?

She zoomed in on her screen, heart pounding. A blurry silhouette stood a few meters behind her—the same woman with cropped blonde hair.

No way, I must be seeing things.

Rey looked up from her phone and scanned her surroundings. Any second now, she would see the mysterious woman in the room. But she didn’t.

I must be imagining all this.

But the doubt crept in. She did her best to bottle the anxiety, to think of something else. But the question remained—who was this woman? Was this just a coincidence? After all, she had followed the typical route from Denver to Yellowstone and Penny’s Diner had been pretty much exactly in the middle of the way...other travelers could have stopped there for lunch too, it was totally plausible.

She scarfed down her salad, still deep in though. A woman offered to buy her a drink but she politely declined.

Afterwards, she placed some cash on the bar-top and thanked the bartender. Her heart was pounding again as she went out onto the street, there was a gut feeling she just couldn’t shake. She turned the corner to get to the car and—

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

A tall woman, the same one with the short blonde hair, was leaning over her car door and tugging at the handle. She jumped at Rey’s tone, scrambling away.

Rey felt icy beads of sweat slide down her spine. She hadn’t been imagining anything, she knew something was off. So much for coincidence. Furious, she marched over to the woman and raised her voice even more:

"Are you trying to break into my car? I'm going to call the police!"

The woman held her hands up in the universal gesture of innocence. "Well excuse me, I just thought it was mine. There's no need to make a big deal," she said simply.

" Really ? You also happen to have a dingy 1977 Oldsmobile with handpainted brown paneling on the front? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Screaming like a fury helped Rey cover up her insecurity. Why was this woman following her? What was she up to?

BB8 was barking furiously at the woman too, and Rey noted to congratulate her later. She had caught on very quickly.

The woman rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, turning the corner and disappearing into the street. Rey followed her, red-faced, before deciding to let her go.

She reconsidered calling the police as she held her phone once more. Who would believe her story? Some girl from Britain being chased by a mystery woman for 800 kilometers, a futile attempt to steal a car that didn't leave a scratch? They would surely laugh at her. She was wasting time. She had to move on by herself.

All those who bore witness to this altercation in the town square quickly turned away. They avoided the seething girl with the English accent and hastily took their leave.

Rey, heart racing and temples pulsing, bent down to pet BB8 in praise. BB was still in attack mode--growling and baring her teeth.

"Bravo, BB8. You did it, you protected me, good girl. That's a good girl,"

BB yelped and licked her nose.

"Come on, let's go. But first, I'll have to buy you a treat."

Google indicated there was an Albertson's grocery store that closed at midnight on Buffalo Way. There, she bought fried chicken bites for BB8 and cookies for herself. For breakfast...and dessert. Okay, she bought two packets of them. It was high time for some comfort food.

Something on the bulletin board just outside the store (boasting public service announcements and local yard sales) caught Rey's eye. It was a flyer that she read twice to make sure she wasn't mistaken.

KYLO & THE KNIGHTS OF REN

WEST TOUR

A sticker on the flyer displayed upcoming show dates at Jackson Hole.

The Mangy Moose, July 5th

She grimaced. She was driving around randomly in an area that was roughly 10 million kilometers squared, populated by about 325 million people. But she kept running into the same man in one small town or another. It was infuriating.

It was the third of July. She decided not to linger around Jackson Hole, she wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the blonde madwoman. Too bad for the concert.

It's not like she wanted to go anyway, she didn't want to run into Ben Solo again at all. Nor did she want to see the look on his face when he saw her out in public again.

Who are you trying to convince?

She waved away the pesky whispering voice in her head. It was time to go to bed.

On the way back to camp, she fed BB the fried chicken bites. She took down her tent and instead set up her sleeping gear in the back of the car. She didn't have as much legroom, but at least no one would be able to get away with breaking in unannounced.

Her phone was at eight percent battery. She had to recharge immediately. There was no way she would spend the night alone in a camp with no phone. She wouldn't live to see the day.

She slipped into her jacket and left BB8 to guard mothership-Millenium-Falcon while she headed to the camp entrance. Everything was closed, with the exception of an ill-lit vending machine. She found an outlet and sat on the floor to wait for her phone to finish charging. She was there for at least half an hour.

She couldn't stop thinking about why anyone would want that car. What was so special about it?

Her fingers trembled as she dialed Leia Skywalker--if anyone would know it would be her.

970-571-3350

There was no dial tone. Just a robotic voice informing her that the phone number you have dialed is not available . Rey was immediately taken aback. What the hell? She had certainly dialed this number before.

She tried again. Same number, same error message.

Her hands became unsteady. Unavailable? She had called that number barely a couple days ago. She had met Leia Skywalker in the flesh--ate with her and slept at her house. What did this mean? Was Leia using a burner phone to keep in touch with Rose, was this deliberate? But to what end?

The long-term implications of such machinations were beyond Rey, who was already battling anxious thoughts. What was it, what did they want?

Suddenly, she remembered the existence of Luke Skywalker. She had his number too, it was literally engraved into the dog's collar tag.

She dialed it shakily.

909-667-5721

The phone number you have dialed is not available.

Rey let out a scream and threw her phone down. It clattered against the damp floor.

She got up, heart racing and head pounding. Her breath was short and her hands were freezing.

Who could she talk to? Jessica?

Apart from worrying the living daylights out of her, there was nothing to be done. Rey had Leia's physical address since she had texted it to Jessica, but what was she going to do with it? Call the police to report the car? Tell them about the cute dog and the impressive change of number? It was ridiculous. No one would be able to help.

What were her other options?

She had to take the dog to the address in San Francisco, an address she hoped still existed, because the corresponding telephone number was clearly garbage.

Could she back out? She still had to get to San Francisco by the 15th. How was she supposed to change plans if she didn't have plans in the first place? She had mentioned Yellowstone to Leia but not much else.

Abandon the dog? No, the poor animal had no way to fend for herself. Abandon the car? She could hardly continue on foot. She looked down.

Her phone case had been partially damaged due to the fall.

She bent down gingerly to pick it up. Examining it to make sure that the phone itself was intact, she noticed a slip of paper sticking out between the case and the phone itself. Her eyes widened as she pulled it out with her fingertips. She turned it over to read the back:

Ben

970-663-8876

#reylo #fanfiction #scenic route #modern AU

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prairiesongserial · 4 years

Text

11.1

Behind the man with the half-brown, half-white head of hair in the gold sequined blazer, a scary number of strangers had crept forward through the smoke. Some had bikes idling under them, but most were on foot. They didn’t appear to share their leader’s flair for the dramatic. They were all dressed pretty much normally, first of all, and had buddied up to joke about the bounty hunters whose tail lights were not so distant as Friday would have liked them to be. Half of them were holding half-smoked cigarettes, evidence that even in the thick of the confrontation, they hadn’t thought much of it. A dozen truck headlights stared at them from the shore, cutting through the fading smoke.

“I’m Johannes Madsen,” the man said, his smile stretching wider, wide enough to show teeth. “And you belong to me now.”

The tension in the air, from both Val behind her and Cody and John on Johannes’s other side, was heavy.

“How forward,” Friday said, forcing her tone into playful lightness. “Ask a girl to dinner first.”

She knew her eyes conveyed nothing but stony hatred, but there was nothing she could do about that. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been when she’d gone toe to toe with Macomber.

“Allow me to explain,” Johannes said, wandering closer. Before Friday could react, he had flipped the cut-off switch and plucked the key from between the bike’s handlebars. He slipped it into his breast pocket. “There are about a hundred of us in the Madsen and Graves Circus. And since we just did you folks a favor, you owe us...I’d say a year of service apiece. But I’ll be fair - finish the summer circuit with us, and we’ll call it square.”

“I’m sorry?” Friday asked.

“Indentures, dove,” said Johannes.

Friday looked to her travelling companions, utterly thrown. Worst case scenario, she had thought, would have been if this slimeball was another bounty hunter. But this was definitely worse. On the other bike, John was bristling. He’d gone for his gun, hand wrapped around the handle. Johannes crossed slowly - confidently - over. He plucked the key out of their bike’s transmission, too.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Johannes said. “There’s a lot more of us than there are of you.”

Friday felt tears prickle at her eyes, and not just because of the smoke. They were tears of frustration. It was so hard to play nice with awful men, and she was tired.

She felt Val’s hands on her shoulders, applying firm pressure.

“It’s not gonna be like that,” he said.

“How do you know?” Friday hissed.

Val squeezed harder. Johannes was looking at them, even as the smoking and laughing carnies pillaged their bags from their motorcycles and hauled everything away to the waiting headlights.

“They helped us,” Val said, looking straight at Johannes, as if daring him. “They’re not going to hurt us.”

The Madsen and Graves Circus had scattered their bikes and gear across several pick-up trucks that barely had the room to spare. And they were off, the trucks rumbling as the caravan wagons bumped over badly paved roads, into the dark, quiet wilderness. Friday, Val, John, and Cody were huddled in a covered wagon hung with hammocks, trying not to get too close to the strangers drinking and chatting about the muties they had scared off.

“That flashy stuff will only work for so long,” one of them said around the joint in their mouth. The whole wagon was suffocating with smoke. “They’ll get wise.”

A few of the carnies playing cards took up the argument on either side, some saying that muties weren’t capable of getting wise, if they were the wild type - others loudly arguing to the contrary with personal anecdotes. Friday had thought that the stories of packs of over a hundred muties must have been exaggerated - but now she began to wonder. They were on the other side of the Mississippi. Anything was possible. Maybe there were more muties than people on this side of the river. That’s what people back west liked to say. Many a story was told on the patio out back of the Ace, when the girls were on their second or third beers, that started off with that little fact.

Maybe it was better this way, indenture or not. She hated to admit it, but she, Val, John, and Cody had been about to fly head first into that pack. They weren’t prepared for what the east had in store.

Eventually the trucks stopped and the carnies put away their cards and went to bed. None of the four of them so much as looked for a spare hammock. No one wanted to sleep. They didn’t try to run, either, although Friday could see John was having a hard time sitting still. He paced until one of the carnies hollered from the hammock for him to sit down and let the rest of them get some sleep, at least.

It wasn’t long after that, that a man opened the wagon door with a lantern.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Ezra - Ezra Graves. I’m Johannes’s brother.”

He started to extend his hand to shake, and perhaps thought better of it. Ezra’s sandy brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, and his eyes were a little too big for his face. His hand went to the back of his neck instead, as all four of them stared at him.

“So…” Ezra continued. “I thought you might prefer your own tents. And there’s food left. If you’re hungry.”

They all kept staring. Friday was beginning to feel like a new kitten, shy to leave her box, and finally made herself take the plunge down the wooden steps.

“Alright, Ezra,” she said. “Show the way.”

Not everyone was asleep, though the crowd around the fire didn’t nearly reflect the hundred carnies Johannes claimed to have at his beck and call. There were six people, including the sequined ringleader, though he was the only one still dressed so flashily. The rest looked just about ready for bed, some of them with wool blankets draped over their shoulders. A bottle of something amber-colored passed from hand to hand.

Ezra led the four of them up.

“I’m gonna...I said there was food left, so I’m gonna get that,” Ezra said to Johannes. “Be nice?”

Johannes grinned at him, showing all his teeth. Friday hadn’t noticed until now, but the firelight danced in two different colored eyes. One was brown, the other blue as ice.

“Ikh bin shtendik voyl,” Johannes said, smugly.

Ezra rolled his eyes and left the four of them to find seats for themselves by the fire. Friday moved first. She had accidentally stepped into leadership, and hoped she was making a good choice.

“What’s that, huh?” Friday asked, sitting on a vacant stool. Val hovered behind her, Cody and John even further back. “Is that German?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Yiddish.” Johannes’s smile seemed a little less predatory with his brother gone, but Friday liked that worse. She preferred a cartoon villain. “Come in, come in, there’s room.” He motioned to John and Cody. Val pulled a creaking rocking chair a few feet closer to Friday and sat down, but the other two stayed where they were, well back.

“I think they might be a little upset about the indentures,” Friday said, meeting Johannes’s gaze over the fire.

“Those? Those are nothing. You were dead without them,” Johannes said. “If I let you go, just the four of you? No, there aren’t enough of you to make it wherever you’re going. Come with us instead.”

“It would be nice to have a choice,” Friday snapped.

“I’d be as good as murdering you,” Johannes said, apparently perfectly at ease.

“Bullshit,” Friday hissed, and Val touched her arm. She shook him off, but shut her mouth. She needed more information on this guy before she completely lost it on him. There was something off about him - he wasn’t a dick like Macomber, but, well, he wasn’t not a dick either.

Ezra came back with a stack of bowls and a kettle full of what turned out to be chicken soup. He looked from Johannes to John and Cody, who still hung back on the edge of the firelight.

“Ha? Vos iz?” Ezra said. He turned sharply back to Johannes “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I’m being nice!” Johannes said. His voice was a whine that Friday could see herself getting very tired of. “I’m explaining why they should be thanking me for their indenture papers, since we saved their lives from bounty hunters and mutants, and are giving them food, shelter, and protection all the way to Maine.”

“What if we weren’t going to Maine?” Friday said tightly. She had never heard of Maine before. It sure wasn’t going to get them closer to home.

“Sure you are. Maine’s a beautiful state,” Johannes said easily.

Friday didn’t know how to respond to that. Cody and John had crept forward to take their bowls from Ezra, who made the rounds pouring the kettle over each. Johannes flashed them a showy smile.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves?” he said. “Oh, how rude of me. From left to right, this is Mari, Ezra - my brother - you’ve met, that’s Abernathy with the burlesque tent, Enis is my other brother, that’s Elwood, and that’s Tim, he does the animals.”

Tim, the closest to Friday, had two big dogs laying under his feet. She hadn’t noticed them until now, but the dogs raised their heads and sniffed the air as the steaming chicken soup filled bowls were passed out.

John and Cody had finally joined the circle, and it wasn’t two seconds after John sat down that one of the big dogs trotted over to him. It put its paws up on John’s knees. John looked down at it, eyes wide as dinner plates. He looked like he had never seen a dog before.

“What is this?” John asked, a little too loudly, confirming Friday’s theory. He didn’t take his eyes off the dog.

“She’s a shepherd,” Tim said with a grunt. “H.D., come back, the man’s trying to eat.”

The dog stayed where she was. John furrowed his brow.

“This is called...a shepherd?” he asked quietly. He held out his hand to H.D., who snuffled at his knuckles, licking them eagerly before lapping at John’s soup.

“Aw, Jesus H.D.” Tim said. “Come. Come on.”

John didn’t seem to mind. He touched the dog’s paws with interest, letting her have the soup.

Cody was looking at Johannes like he didn’t even notice what was going on with the dog. He was staring like he was thinking about doing something stupid. Friday nudged Val, who was closer. Just in case someone had to grab him. Val looked up from his bowl at Cody, who hadn’t touched his.

“Are you fucking with me?” Cody croaked. “Are you Hemisphere?”

The circle broke into laughter, though it quickly petered out.

“No,” said Johannes, smiling easily. “Why?”

“Are those contacts, or what?” Cody said. “You’re fucking with me.”

Friday furrowed her brow, trying to figure out Cody was talking about. He looked haunted. There was something that really disturbed Friday in the look on his face, an emotion that was halfway between white-knuckled rage and clammy sickness. She’d seen a lot of blustering, angry men, but this was something else.

“Your eyes are different fucking colors, like his were,” Cody said. “And this shit with the indentures - you’re Hemisphere. You aren’t even trying to hide it.”

Johannes stood, cutting off the nervous laughter from the other carnies. Tim had stopped trying to call the dog off John, and the dog took full advantage, lapping up soup with indifference to the silent tension.

Johannes circled around the fire and stopped in front of Cody, hands casually in his pockets.

“You’re on the run from Hemisphere? Explains the bounty hunters,” Johannes said. He paced in front of them, the fire sending off sparks at his back. “I don’t blame you being suspicious, then.”

He paused. Cody’s gaze didn’t flinch.

Friday’s throat bobbed with nerves. She was beginning to wish that the circus had taken their guns. She could so easily envision Cody pulling John’s pistol from his holster and firing. She hadn’t known Cody to be a murderer, but right now, she just didn’t know. If he did it - and God knew why, but if he did - the circus would descend on them like a colony of ants on a wasp.

“I’m not Hemisphere,” Johannes said. “You think we’d be able to travel around like we do, if we were? Without getting into a pissing contest every twenty miles with a new gang wanting to know what we’re doing in their backyard?” Johannes spat over his shoulder. He stopped pacing right in front of Cody. “You think a travelling circus makes Hemisphere dues money?”

“Are they contacts, or what?” Cody repeated.

“He’s a mutant, Cody,” Val said, startling Friday. He looked at Johannes without Cody’s sparking intensity, but curiosity. Like he was trying to read between the lines of Johannes’s big speech. “Am I right?”

“Starting with the personal questions first, huh? Did the hair give it away?” Johannes said, cracking a smile. Most of the tension eased. “I don’t know what your hang-up is - Cody, was it? - but if you don’t like the color of my eyes, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ve got an unusual bone to pick.”

Cody roughly set his bowl of soup on the ground, sloshing half of it over the rim. The dog that had been making nice with John quickly shifted its attention to the unattended bowl, as Cody stormed away from the fire and back towards the trucks.

“I’m going to find my tent,” he snapped, over his shoulder. “And if you don’t want to unpack your whole fucking circus to find it, you might help.”

Johannes watched him go, and said nothing.

“I’ll go,” said a young man near the fire, whose face was framed by unruly black hair that he began to haphazardly pull into a ponytail. He had a bony, boyish face, and red-rimmed glasses that sat crookedly on his nose. That was Enis, if Friday remembered correctly. “I think I know which truck the tents ended up in.”

He trotted after Cody. The rest of the circle sat in silence as Johannes made his way back to his seat.

“Is your friend always like that?” Johannes asked cheerfully. “Seems like a handful.”

“No,” said John. “A man with eyes like yours was chasing us.” He paused, just long enough for Johannes to start talking again, before saying stiffly, “And you don’t make a good first impression.”

Friday ground her teeth. God help her, none of the three of them had an ounce of self-preservation. If this was going to be Macomber all over again, she’d walk into the woods and take her chances with the muties, see if she didn’t.

John got up and left, taking his time following Cody out to the trucks.

“Well, this is fun,” Johannes said. He laced his hands behind his neck. “You people don’t hold back. You don’t like the color of my eyes, you call me a mutant, and you think I’m the one who can’t make a first impression - after I saved your lives, by the way. You have some colorful ideas about how to talk to people. I think we’re going to be friends.”

He was making fun of them. At least he wasn’t taking them seriously, thank God. The bottle of booze made its way around the fire, and while Val passed, Friday took a nice, long sip.

epilogue 10 || 11.2

#story

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riderdrauggrim · 4 years

Text

Day Unknown. Sat, Sep 26, 2020.

Nervous about randomly hiding in 4G Motorsports parking lot, I'm awake a few short hours later around 6:30. I have the tent packed by 8:30, and huddle beside the bike, waiting for staff.

9:00 rolls around and I approach the doors, making my way back to the Parts/Service desk. A young woman who's family shifts her between Alberta and Toronto seems thrilled to meet someone else from Ontario. We check if they have a replacement battery in stock. They do not. And their mechanics are not in on the weekends.

But!

There's a MAGNACHARGE Battery megaemporium RIGHT across the street!

Heartened my luck might be improving, I trot over.

Nope.

They're closed on weekends.

I trot back to 4G, on the way calling Riverside Honda in St. Albert, the blokes who'd changed my tires. They sold their last YTZ14S on Friday. BUT they'd ordered more and they should arrive at the start of this coming week.

I run over my problems with their parts guy. He suggests I remove the battery and try starting the bike with another random battery attached; That might be able to isolate if it is my battery or my starter system/charging stator/rectifier/words.

Sounds good.

Back at 4G I ask if they have a charger or a booster. The parts girl knows where a tender is, but not how to use it. It's okay, I do. They graciously let me push the bike inside their service bay so I can tinker on it, good thing too as it starts to drizzle outside.

So! My battery: Out and Charging.

My bike: New battery hooked up to test the ignition.

My key: In the ignition, turning to activate the bike-*Crack*.

One of the few flaws I've found with the NC750 design is the key is needed in a secondary lock. Turn one way to unlock the frunk (front trunk) where the gas tank USUALLY sits on a motorcycle. Turn the other way to unlock the latch securing the passenger seat, this allowing you to lift it up to reveal the gas cap to fill the tank, which sits under the rider. The problem with this lock is the key does not fully insert. It's about 3/4 depth to the ignition proper.

Over time, this has created something of a weak point on the key itself, occasionally twisting ever so slightly if too much pressure is applied, if the latches are sticky, or the frunk is overfull and a bit jammed. This was usually corrected by sticking the key in and turning it the other way, straightening the blade out again. For this trip, due to the tail luggage making lifting the passenger seat incredibly difficult at best, I had opted to outright remove the pillion cover, leaving the gas cap exposed for easy access. All I needed the secondary lock for was to get in and out of the frunk, which I was doing several times a day to fetch out Goose and Hat, or store drinks, or change power banks.

Perhaps it was this excess of one direction twisting that finally did the blade in.

Perhaps it was just six years of use and wear.

Perhaps life just wanted to take the difficulty level up a notch.

In any event.

I was left holding the top quarter of my key. The remainder still inside the ignition. Even if I can get a new battery, I can now no longer turn on the bike.

My coworker who helped fund this adventure texts me to see how things are going. I tell him my key just snapped in half. He says if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. We discuss options. I'm 3,505 km from home. I'm 427 km from the nearest Honda dealership. I just want to Abandon Quest and Hearthstone out of here, but that's not an option. So I work through various plans.

I call Riverside back and get the Service department. Nick remembers me. I fill him in on the last twelve hours. "Wow." Indeed. He puts me on hold and consults his coworkers. If I can get it there, they'll try and squeeze me in and get this sorted. Some people have good luck using super glue to get broken keys out and then jury rigged back together. With my luck, I'll make a mess and fuse the tumblers and need an entirely new ignition system. The key is also a newer blade style, not a normal tooth house lock key. It's supposed to be stronger, amusingly enough. But it's not the sort of thing local locksmiths should be able to replicate, it needs a Dealership. So even if I got a Fort McMurray locksmith to fish the main part out, if he can't make a new one, I still can't Go.

AND there's the pressing matter of the battery.

During all this my battery on the tender has completed charging. I restore it into the bike, or try to, as the damn nut in the contact for the red lead slips out of the holder and falls precisely through the ONE (1) hole at the bottom of the compartment and somewhere onto the engine block. I don't hear it hit the belly pan, and wedging my fingers into every nook, curve and cranny yields nothing but grimy hands.

I call CAA anew. I get the same woman as the night before, so that helped since she already knew the first part of this story. I now have Multiple Problems that can not be fixed locally. St. Albert is outside the Alberta tow range of 350km. But my membership is from Niagara, and I'm covered for 500km. She calls them to approve it. They say 'of course'. One hurdle down.

She contacts the tow company. New hurdle.

Due to the nine hour round-trip commute, they don't run every single broken vehicle south to Edmonton every time someone breaks down. They wait for multiple items, load them all on a long truck, and do a couple runs a week. So. Yes, they can get my bike to St. Albert. Eventuallllyyyyy.

I get it; from a logistics and efficiency and financial perspective it makes perfect sense.

From a "but... my bike..." and waiting for a nebulous amount of time in a hotel somewhere just for it to get TO the mechanics, nevermind the unknown timeframe of the shop having time to look at it, figure out what's wrong, order new parts if needed, and install them.... Hrrrggggnnnnn.

So EMI came with the short bed and picked up the bike from 4G. The logic being, now it's in their secure compound, ready to go, and when they have a load ready, they'll shove it on and take it south for me. Solid.

How do -I- get back to Edmonton.

Well, there's several buses that run the corridor, presumably for the mine workers to get up and back around their shift days. Awesome!

Oh but they don't run again until Monday. Less awesome!

But what can you do.

My bike won't leave until monday at the /earliest/ anyway, so me being there any sooner really makes no difference.

I book a ticket - cheap at 65$! For a nearly five hour trip? I paid 85$ plus tip for the 20 minute taxi ride from Supertest Hill to Fort McMurray the night prior.

Leaving Monday at 8:30am, arrive near downtown Edmonton. Found a hotel for 80$ within a block of Riverside Honda, not as cheap as my beloved Whitemud, but Whitemud Inn being at the south center of the Edmonton bubble, I'd be paying more than the 15$ a night difference in a cab to get up to St. Albert region. So I'll be right nearby the bike if we can get it going, or I need something from my bags.

In the meantime.

I found an RV campsite literally next door to the bus stop. I called the owner and explained my experiances, and my need for somewhere to simply hide in a tent until Monday morning. Sure, I could try and hide -anywhere-, but for my own safety, and nerves, if I can do this cheap and legal, the better for it. She says she can help me out. She offers a site for a price considerably cheaper than the nearby hotels, which I of course agree to. It's a twenty minute walk from 4G, made longer by hauling two drybags of tent/sleeping bag and essentials, and a third partial of food. Plus wearing my gear. And being somewhat small and scrawny. I take several rests. I drink my Gatorades. I make it. She has the sweetest tabby cat with white socks, no tail, and the SOFTEST fur. Name 'Trouble'. Awwww.

Transaction complete, I set up my tent, kindly serenaded by a curious magpie.

I hear a nearby RV owner pull up, truck doors closing, and then I see a giant white monster making a beeline straight for me. My best guess would be Lab/Samoyed. The head was very much the rectangle block and jowls of a lab, but the pelt was definitely a living cloud. It gives an very quick sniff at my tent, and promptly accepts me petting it. I realize I've been pet-starved during my journey. All my stress is put on pause as I scruffle the heck out of this random dog's sides. In fact, twice I tried to move one hand to teach for my phone for a photo, and he turned in annoyance to see why I'd partially stopped. I hear a woman calling, and ask if he needs to go. He makes no move. In fact he tries to push backwards closer. On a whim, I drop to my rear and make a bowl with my legs. He promptly fills said bowl with his rump. Me on my butt and him on his haunches, I came up to his shoulders.

Good dog.

A woman shouts again, more insistent. I give him a bump with my leg. He resigns himself to getting up and heading home. I realize the owner can't see us, so I pop up and apologize for stealing her dog. She realizes he hadn't just ran off for no reason, and laughs, saying he loves people. Yes, I had learned this.

I needed that.

There's a valley beside the camp ground.

The trees are spent matchsticks, grey and charred and empty against the sky. New growth slowly fills in around the dead wood. I don't know if this is a remainder of the BIG fire of 2016, or another more recent event. It's a staggering amount of devastation, and only a small fragment of the damage done.

The clouds out here... I love skyscapes.

Beautiful.

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winterwitch611 · 6 years

Text

Concussion- Whumptober Day 20

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count: 1407

“Okay, this looks bad.”

Clint knows he messed up. As soon as his feet leave the edge of the roof the realization of his horrible mistake washes over him like a dark cloud. He really thought he could make it to the other side. It didn’t seem that far. Steve and Bucky made it look like they hopped over a curb, easy, no big deal. Some day the idiot archer will realize he’s not a super soldier.

Today is not that day.

~~~~~~~~~~

2 hours earlier:

Alarms ring through the tower. The team has only been back for a few hours. They were just starting to wind down. A collective sigh can be heard as most of them scatter to retrieve their gear.

“Wheels up in five. Get what you need and get on board,” Cap instructs. Even he sounds tired and that’s not something that happens often. Apparently super soldiers get weary of all the mayhem and destruction, too. Bucky looks completely over it all as he puts his hand out for Clint and pulls him to his feet.

“Noooo, c’mon Buck, just leave me here. I’m so tired.” He just got comfortable on the couch. All he wants now is to eat pizza and watch Dog Cops.

“If I gotta go, you gotta go. Move it, Barton!” Bucky says as he gives his boyfriend a shove and slaps his ass.

“See? Even you can think of better things for us to do,” Clint says with a wink and eyebrow wiggle.

“Can you two keep it in your pants for five minutes?” Sam has had enough of these two to last him a lifetime. “You’re making me nauseous.”

Clint and Bucky look at each, then at Sam. “Jealous.” they say in unison.

Just as Sam is about to tell them how completely wrong they are Natasha enters the room. She grabs Sam by the arm and without missing a beat, continues to stride toward the elevators. “Okay children, you can pick this up later. We have a job to do,” she says over her shoulder.

“Sorry, mom!” they all shout.

~~~~~~~~~

Once aboard the QuinJet, Tony briefs them on their current mission. Seems pretty cut and dry. Alien squids this time, same basic story different day...

“Legolas, get yourself set up on a rooftop. Give us a heads up when you can,” Tony instructs. “You can take it from here, Cap. Nat can find a good spot to land. I’m gonna scout ahead. See what we’re dealing with.” A few moments later Tony is flying toward a plume of smoke coming from a burning building.

“Are we ever gonna get peace and quiet for more than ten minutes at time? Is that really too much to ask?” Clint asks no one in particular.

“Apparently it is.” Natasha directs his attention to the burning building that is now a pile of rubble. “Let’s get this over with,” she adds as she begins to bring the jet in for a landing.

“And you’re supposed to set up on a rooftop? Yeah, that’s a great idea. What could possibly go wrong?” Bucky snips at Clint, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Don’t worry about me, Buck. I’ll be fine…most likely. And if I’m not, just think how much fun it’ll be taking care of me when I inevitably break something.”

Clint shifts in his seat trying to get closer to his boyfriend. His attempt to butter Bucky up fails, if the eye roll he receives in return is any indication.

“Can we avoid that, please?” Steve asks. “Bucky’s murder glare gets more intense when you’re hurt. Not to mention it stresses Bruce out and makes the interns cry.”

Sam doesn’t miss a beat as he chimes in, “Don’t kid yourself, Cap. It makes Clint cry too.”

“Alright boys, let’s get out there and get this wrapped up by dinnertime,” Nat says as the jet touches down.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve and Bucky race across a rooftop after a squid looking alien. They don’t realize there are five behind them closing in fast. Luckily some of these things seem to have a problem crossing distances. As the soldiers leap from from roof to roof, one by one the aliens fall to their death. For the record a squid-like alien makes a pretty sick noise when it hits pavement from a few stories up. The one they’re chasing finally falls. The duo don’t have time to stop since they’re running at top speed. They leap oven a ledge and land next to Clint who is on the roof of the next building.

“Well well, fancy meeting you here!” he exclaims as they land. “I thought you guys were staying ground level. Did you…” Clint stops mid sentence. There are two aliens bearing down on them and four right behind, closing in fast. They turn and run. Two they can take, six might be a problem.

Clint keeps up across a few rooftops, the leap across isn’t too far out of his range. They only manage to lose four aliens along the way. Four down, two to go and Clint is getting winded. Oh no, not now, this can’t be how it ends. Eaten by a freakin’ squid!

The next jump is coming up fast. Steve and Bucky are already across when Clint reaches the edge. As soon as he jumps he knows he’s not going to have the distance.

“NOOOO… SHIT… BUCKYYYYY!!!!!” he shouts and it sounds like pure terror.

Bucky stops in his tracks and whips around. He sees the last two creatures fall but there’s no sign of Clint.

“STEVE, HE FELL!!” he shouts as he runs back toward the edge of the roof. His heart is slamming in his chest as he looks over the side, terrified of what he’s going to see.

“Jesus Christ, Barton! I thought you were dead!”

“Okay, this looks bad.”

“YA THINK?”

He’s not dead. Not yet anyway. Somehow he manages to grab on to a window ledge. He’s hanging on by his fingertips. Too far out of reach for Bucky or Steve to pull him up, they call for Tony.

“He’s hanging on a what?”

“A window ledge, Tony. He’s about twenty five feet from the ground at this point. Hurry the hell up!” Bucky barks.

“Hang on, Clint. Tony will be here in seconds,” Steve tries to reassure him “You got this. You’re gonna be okay.”

They see Tony in the distance. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s short lived.

“I’m slippin’... I can’t … oh shit… I love you Bucky. I’m sorry!”

Bucky’s heart stops. His eyes widen in horror as he watches his boyfriend fall. No, he can’t watch this. A scream tears at his throat as he falls to his knees.

Steve is frozen in place, watching as his friend falls. Tony is half a second too late to catch him safely but just in time to shove an overfilled dumpster under him. He lands with an audible thud.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, Bucky. He might be okay. We have to get down there.” he grabs his friend by his tac vest and hauls him to his feet. “C’mon, snap out of it, Buck. I think Tony just saved his life!”

He’s still in shock but allows Steve to drag him toward the access door nearby. They descend the stairs in record time. Just as they reach the dumpster they hear Tony speaking to FRIDAY.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, boss. Agent Barton’s vitals are strong. But I wouldn’t advise moving him until emergency services arrives.”

Tony motions to Bucky and Steve to stand down. They both look like they’re ready to yank him out of the dumpster to make sure he’s okay.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Keep monitoring him.”

“Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“A concussion? He falls off a roof and all he has is a concussion?”

“Thanks to Tony.,” Steve tips his head toward the billionaire sleeping in a nearby chair. “If it wasn’t for him your best friend would be a treasured memory. Ya might wanna say thanks, Natasha.” She cuts her eyes at him. “What? It won’t kill you to be nice to him for thirty seconds.”

“Yeah Yeah. I’ll feed his ego when he wakes up.” She peers through the doorway to Clint’s hospital room. “Barnes isn’t done gushing over him yet? These two make my teeth hurt, I swear.”

Bucky looks at Clint and smiles.

“Jealous,” they say in unison.

Beta: @caramell0w

#bucky barnes #clint barton #whumptober #winterhawk #marvel fic

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cardshcrp · 6 years

Text

tiny dump of further supernatural au headcanons more geared to the show canon mostly bc @prodigil has me on a kick and never asked for this i’m sorry danny;

he’s technically a skinwalker rather than a shapeshifter, though saying ‘shifter’ colloquially as a lump term for creatures with shape-changing abilities is more common practice because it’s just shorter. he doesn’t mind being called a shifter, but if he’s mistakenly taken for a shapeshifter he’ll get very prissy about it. no nasty skin-sheds here, thanks very much.

he does not display very strong animalistic traits typically, other than a vaguely ‘catty’ attitude that is pretty well within the norm. he’s grown somewhat complacent, given the fact that his family is very established in the local scene and give no trouble, meaning they haven’t been hunted. this means he’s a fucking idiot sometimes when his life’s in danger, and less conscious about hiding himself than he likely should be, though he’s still very thorough.

he is a very pretty red maine coone, which is why so many people stop to pet him. he pretty much always takes his breaks in the alleys near lebeau’s, and he doesn’t wear a collar, obviously, which is why so many fucking people just pick up the nice kitty and take him home after a while.

his day job is being head chef in the family restaurant. it’s a complete fucking disaster, mostly because he’s so goddamn lazy he tends to arrive late (sometimes not at all if he oversleeps) if jean-luc doesn’t physically haul him there. jean-luc is the owner, henri does the books.

on a completely unrelated note, sometimes locals will witness a massive black great dane hauling a thrashing red maine coon down the street at ten in the morning, which is when lebeau’s starts service prep. like every fucking day.

while jean-luc, henri, and the rest of his adoptive little pack ‘family’ are skinwalkers by blood he wasn’t. he was originally a human child - he wasn’t bitten, either, he underwent the ritual that’s referenced in show canon extensions completely voluntarily (for his eighteenth birthday, actually). he didn’t like being so different from his family. of course, turned out his animal totem wasn’t canine like the rest of them, but he still feels much more like a proper part of the pack.

the lebeaus and co. weren’t the more domesticated brand of skinwalker that we see with like, lucky in season six, and all of the plotting to turn humans by living in their homes by that particular pack leader. they have legitimate day jobs and their more animalistic common quirk is just living in a really large house so they can pretty much just pile on each other and shift forms as they please. it’s like a really affectionate, constant dogpile. literally.

the lebeaus and extended family are varying types of dog skinwalkers, mostly domesticated breeds. for instance, jean-luc is a great dane, henri is a pit bull, and mercy is a big ole poodle. the pack is mostly just family, though there are a couple exceptions - for instance, nil is a ferret, and then of course remy himself. there’s currently 14 members.

the pack does operate on a vague hierarchy, with jean-luc as the established alpha. remy as the designated alpha-to-be also holds control, though he tends not to exercise it because he doesn’t have the same instinctive connection to the role. henri and mercy are also fairly authoritative figures (though mercy is more forceful than her husband by nature) and nil is reasonably high on the ladder.

mostly as a side effect of being brought up by skinwalkers and then later being one, he has roughly zero modesty. clothes are work things. if he’s in his own space, he’s naked and that’s that - why bother struggling in and out of clothes if he’s going to be catnapping wherever the hell half the time? it actually really helped his early dysphoria as well, because society that doesn’t exactly place high value on physical form and provides close support constantly helped him deal quite a lot better with how he felt about his body until he got on hormones and had top surgery.

the boudreauxs are mostly hunters. remy’s already been married and divorced in this verse. (becoming something your wife is contractually obligated to murder constitutes as irreconcilable differences, right?) rogue was a human that picked remy up thinking he was a stray until he was pretty much forced to reveal himself before he went fucking insane over how much she was trying to feed him cat food and his family broke in to get him out. they dated for a little while but ultimately it was a mess and she moved away.

he steals all the time. why? well, he was on the street until jean-luc took him in, and he stole food to survive as a child. he’s also a lazy fuck in the present day and forgets his wallet and keys a lot. as a result, he fell back into the habit of petty crime and breaking and entering into his own home constantly, and sometimes escalates to stealing things like designer clothing and so on. for the most part, though, it’s more an impulse habit and not a life essential.

good fucking luck trying to get him into clothes if he doesn’t want to be in them.

#AU INFO.#♣ AU — SUPERNATURAL.#♠️ HEADCANONS.

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