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psychedellic-phase · 4 years ago

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Fifteen (part 6)

A/N: this part contains season 7 spoilers!!

tw: cursing, regular criminal minds stuff

wordcount: 3.3k

masterlist:

He squatted down to look inside of the box, deciding not to worry about the surprise being ruined. He knows the ending, it’s already spoiled, so why not see what he has in store?

He took a mental note of each item, cataloging them in the extensive library that is his brain. For some of the items he immediately knew what they meant, for others he would have to read. He realized the bottom of the box was dirty, dusty even. When he picked up the debris, he realized they were pieces of dried flower petals that had been crushed to smithereens when he knocked the box over. He held the delicate pieces in his hands, barely even breathing, so he wouldn’t destroy them more than he already had. He sighed and tried to put the petals back together like a puzzle, but it was missing far too many pieces. Pieces that he was responsible for losing. Tears welled up in his eyes and he put the pieces on his bedside table.

He was angry now. In all his grieving since the breakup, he hadn’t been angry yet. He did the rest of the five stages, just in the wrong order. He started out with denial, telling himself it was all a dream. If he could just wake up then you would be right there, arms open, ready to accept him, comfort him, love him. Then came the bargaining, countless nights on your doorstep banging on the door begging you to let him in and just talk. You never answered. Then the depression, which lasted longer than he expected. He was still a shell of a person on most days, just moving through the motions, not feeling much of anything at all. In the few weeks prior he had grown to accept defeat, accept that this was over and done. Acceptance is always the hardest bit, especially for him. Spencer Reid doesn’t lose. But he always seemed to forget that love isn’t a game to be played; you were not a prize to be won. Love is hard work and sweat and tears and yelling and kissing and laughing and comfort. Love isn’t a game.

But then your stupid box came, causing him lose all the progress he had made.

Now, he was finally angry. He was angry at himself more than you, but he was still so angry with you. He knew he had mentally checked out of your relationship before the end, but that was because he just needed a break. Everything had changed so much so fast that he just needed to go sort himself out before jumping back into you. But you wouldn’t give him the time. You didn’t need space, you needed him; and he wouldn’t give himself to you. Neither of you would give the other what they desperately needed, so you ended it. He may have blamed himself for your relationship’s demise but he blamed you for leaving. He hated that you could just walk away from him, just like everyone else did. He hated that you could walk away from your family like that. How could you leave Derek behind? Rossi? Hotch? JJ? Garcia? How could you be so selfish?

“How could you!?” He wailed, as if you were there to hear him. Hot, angry tears ran down his face.

Spencer was seething, pacing wildly up and down in his room, pulling at his hair in a desperate attempt to feel any release. Eventually he talked himself down, but immediately following anger is depression. That damn Kubler-Ross Change curve. That familiar hollow feeling filled up his chest. He was numb again, and immediately regretted all the thoughts he had about you.

He was just hurt, in so many different ways at once and he had no idea what to do with it. Handling his emotions isn’t exactly his strong suit.

More than anything he missed you. The letters only brought back up all the feelings he had worked so hard to repress. He needed you, more than he ever did, so he turned to the one place he could find you.

“Congratulations Spence! You have made it ⅓ of the way through the letters. ⅓ of the way through our relationship. So it only makes sense that this is about our one year anniversary.

We take a time jump on this one. So direct your attention to the green velvet jewelry box and the dried flower. I kept a few flowers from every bouquet you ever got me and dried them, so I could have them forever. Remember how I had so many flowers tied up with string hanging in our bedroom? They were all from you. Throwing flowers away always made me sad, especially when you bought them because you always took such care in choosing them. Every bouquet had a meaning. I never knew about flower symbolism until I met you. This magnolia is from my favorite bouquet you ever got me, the ones for our first anniversary,”

His heart sank. The flower was your favorite, and there it was in shreds on his nightstand. He destroyed it, not on purpose, but he still destroyed it. He ran his hands through his brown hair, cursing himself for ruining yet another thing. Lately, he always seemed to be doing that.

“So let’s start with some context. Everything was going perfectly. The universe was finally on our side. Emily came back from the dead, which was a shocking but very welcome surprise. I needed her, needed my best friend. And she came at just the right time. She was different, but still our Em. JJ was back as a profiler now, which made us all very happy, you in particular. The gang was finally back together and we felt unstoppable, invincible. Hell, we even got questioned by a Senate Committee and still kept our jobs. Things got back to normal, or whatever can be considered ‘normal’ for us. It’s a very loose definition of the word. We had officially been together a year and it was without a doubt the happiest year of my life. We never fought, all our days were filled with work and loving each other. We spent all our time together, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best thing. We got a little codependent. But it worked. We worked.

I’m still sorry for how that day went. You planned it to be perfect, and I messed it up.

The flowers and necklace were the gifts that you planned to give me at your place after we got dinner at that fancy Italian restaurant downtown that I had been dying to eat at. You told me it took a lot to get the reservations, but you managed to snag a table for us, because you called three months in advance. It was the sweetest gesture. I mean that. No guy ever put that much effort into something for me. I was so excited; I went out and bought a dress for the occasion and everything. It was going to be the best night. We were going to hit the first milestone of many. There were only 3. I thought there would be infinite anniversaries for us, Spence, but we only had 3. And I’m sorry I ruined the first one.

Work happened. More specifically, Hotch sent me and Rossi to interview a prisoner at North Branch in Maryland. I originally refused, telling them all about our date. Hotch and Rossi both assured me we would be back in time for the reservations.

“Why me? Why can’t you bring Emily? Or Derek? This is the ONE night I need!” I had complained.

“Your skills are what we need for this one. It’ll be quick Y/N, I promise,” Hotch said. I rolled my eyes, not to be disrespectful but so he knew I wasn’t happy.

“Fine, but if you make me stand up Spencer Reid on our anniversary you’ll be a very sorry man.”

They both just laughed and I was whisked away on the jet to Maryland. The whole way there I was nervous and fidgeting. I barely spoke to Rossi on the flight, and I’m have the biggest mouth of anyone! I just didn’t want to ruin that night. You were so excited. I hate disappointing you. You were so nice about my having to work though. When I told you I had to go, you texted me and told me it was okay, a flight from DC to Baltimore is 34 minutes. We’d barely hit altitude before we had to come down, and that you were so excited to see me. I promised you that I’d make it, I’d even be early.

I think that’s the only promise to you I ever broke.

The guy we interviewed was a real weirdo, like a little weirder than the usual unsubs. He was on Death Row, scheduled to be executed in a week. His thing was killing women and then scalping them to make wigs.

Real nasty.

We got there earlier than expected, around noon. We interviewed him for a while, taking a lot of breaks to breathe. He even gave Rossi the heebie-jeebies and Rossi invented interviewing serial killers. Just as we were about done, around four, something happened. A riot in the courtyard. Of course. They locked down the prison. Thankfully we were not stuck in the room with the psycho, like you were with Hotch that time. They still wouldn’t let us leave. It’s not like we didn’t ask. We did. We did the whole “we’re FBI agents. Don’t make me call the director” thing. The warden just said sorry, no can do, tough shit. So Rossi and I were trapped in a hyper-max that was rioting, and the clock was ticking and ticking and my chances of making this date were fading away.

To say I was pissed was an understatement. Rossi knew I was furious. He was there when Hotch said ‘It’ll be quick Y/N, promise,” and he knows how I bite heads off when I’m mad. He’s a smart man, so he did the smart thing and didn’t talk. I tried to call you, text you, everything, but my stupid phone had no reception in that stupid concrete box.

They let us out at 5, combine the 34 minute flight with commuting to and from the air strips and taking into account 5 pm rush hour traffic? I know you can tell me exactly how long it would’ve taken me to get to the restaurant. But even I knew it was too damn long.

And the traffic really outdid itself that day! I didn’t think a ten minute drive could ever be a half hour long, but it was. As we sat I got more and more antsy and tried calling you. Straight to voicemail. I did that probably 15 times, but nothing. Your phone died. Most people would assume that you charge your phone all the time, but it’s the opposite. The thing rarely is above 30% and I used to remind you to charge it all the time. It was always sort of endearing, just another thing to love about your quirky self. That night it was just infuriating.

When we landed it was already past 6:30. I changed in the bathroom at Quantico and drove as fast as I could to the restaurant. I definitely broke some laws that day.

When I got there I didn’t see you, so I asked the hostess about the reservation. She gave me a sad look and told me you waited forty-five minutes for me. You even ordered my favorite wine for the table. And I missed it.”

Spencer recalled sitting there at the table, fidgeting with his thumbs and barely sitting still. Every time the door swung open and it wasn’t you he lost more and more hope. His phone had died because he was bad at charging it. You were the one to always remind him to plug it in before bed. He couldn’t even call you to see if you were okay, or call Rossi, or Hotch. He couldn’t do anything except sit there and eat the free bread and oil that were on the table. He knew there would be a good reason why you missed the date, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. At 6:45 he gave up and paid for the wine he barely even drank and left, everyone sending him sympathetic looks as he walked out. It was no longer perfect, and that’s all he wanted. One perfect night with you, and you couldn’t even give him that.

“So I drove to your place and knocked on the door. I was so nervous, feeling equal amounts of excitement and dread. I knocked on the door and you opened it. I smiled and went in for the hug and you blocked it. Cue our first fight.

“I’m so sorry love, at the prison they locked us in and we couldn’t leave and then there was traffic and I’m so so sorry,” I said. You just wouldn’t look at me. You just stared at the gift bag on your couch.

“Spencer? Hello? I’m so sorry. I know how much effort you put into today and I–“

“Do you know how embarrassing that is?” You said. You looked upset, brows furrowed and hands waving wildly.

“I sat there for almost an hour alone, the waitress even offered me dessert on the house because I got stood up. I kept telling them you’d be there, but I had to give up. You stood me up on our anniversary Y/N.”

I felt like a kid getting scolded by their favorite teacher.

“I tried to call you,” I mumbled, “There was no service in the prison so when we were on our way back to the jet I tried, but it went straight to voicemail.”

You just groaned and ran your hands through your hair. You had taken off your suit jacket and tie and they were thrown on the couch.

“You shouldn’t have gone! You knew what today meant to me and still went!”

“I tried! I asked Hotch if someone else could do it and he said no! And YOU said it was okay!”

Our voices were loud now, I half expected your neighbor to bang on the door and tell us off.

“Of course I did! I couldn’t tell you not to do your job. The job always comes first! I just wish you told me so I didn’t look like an idiot!”

“‘Job always comes first’” I mocked, you looked at me in a way you never looked at me. It was the look you only used on unsubs. Jaw clenched, eyes fiery, more pissed than I had ever seen you. “I TRIED to tell you! Maybe if you ever charged your damn phone you would’ve gotten my texts! My fourteen phone calls! Maybe you would’ve gotten the texts and calls I had Rossi send because I thought it was my phone that was broken!”

You moved to sit on the couch, me standing in front of you. Tears were stinging my eyes, I’ve always been an angry crier. I softened before talking next.

“Spence, Love, look at me.”

And you did. Your brown eyes looked sad, all the rage and fire behind them was gone.

“I’m sorry, what can I do?”

I sat next to you and put my head on your shoulder. You leaned your head on top of mine. Such a small gesture, but so romantic at the same time.

“I just wanted today to be special,” you croaked.

“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve called the restaurant or something. I could’ve found a better plan.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry too, Y/N.”

You wrapped me up in a much needed hug and kissed my cheek. We sat like that for a while.

“Well this isn’t how I wanted tonight to go but,” You said and reached behind you.

I sighed, “I didn’t get you anything, we said no gifts.”

You smirked and handed me a bouquet of flowers and a bag, “They’re magnolias.”

“They’re beautiful,” I said, and I shoved my face in them to smell.

“Magnolias are considered one of the first flowering plants. Fossil remains show they have been around for 100 million years. They symbolize longevity and perseverance. Men historically gifted women magnolias as an appreciation of their beauty, essentially saying ‘you are worthy of a beautiful magnolia.’ But more recently the idea of a steel magnolia, a strong southern wom—“

I cut you off with a kiss, “I love them. Stop rambling.”

You blushed and motioned for me to open the bag. It held a small, green velvet jewelry box. Inside was a vintage locket, gold with little blue stones and beautiful etching. I gasped when I saw it. I opened it up and it was empty.

“I wanted you to pick what goes in it, Y/N.”

I held it delicately in my hands; the chain was so thin, “It’s perfect.”

You grinned practically ear to ear, those dimples coming out full force. I asked you to clasp it for me and it hung just below the base of my neck.

I wore the locket daily. The gold started to tarnish and chip, but I still wore it. I only took it off to shower and sleep. On one side of the oval I put a picture of you, the one from the fourth of July when I painted the kids’ faces at Rossi’s party. I painted a flag on your cheek. You laughed as the brush tickled your skin. You smiled wide in that picture. I love that picture. It’s still in there. It hurts to look at.

I can’t wear it anymore. I thought long and hard about keeping it. It was a part of me for two years. It kept you close to my heart always, no matter where we were. I thought maybe I could change the picture out, or just leave it in a box to collect dust. Both options feel wrong, so instead I’m giving it back to you, along with the magnolia that has long since dried up. Much like our feelings for each other.

I don’t care what you do with any of these things. I don’t even know what to do with them, with any of this. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings, Spence. I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know how to do this without you. You always know. So do with these what you see fit. I trust you.”

Spencer put the paper down and held the box in his hands and opened it. He remembered picking it out and thinking how wonderfully the blue and gold would contrast your skin tone. He remembered clasping it around your neck a thousand times because your fingers just couldn’t seem to do it. He remembered how you used to play with it when you got nervous. He remembered the rows of flowers you would hang on the wall. It just inspired him to keep buying you more and more. He loved those little things about you.

As you promised the picture of him was still inside. He stared at himself with a huge grin and a red, white, and blue cheek. He was so happy. He looked nothing like the man in that picture anymore. His hair was longer and shaggier now and he couldn’t remember the last time he smiled like that. Smiles like that were reserved for you.

He held the locket in his hands and stared out the window, admiring how the snow blanketed the street.

Then he heard something, a knock at his door.

He jumped up, part of him thought it would be you. Could it be? Has rainy Seattle already been too much for you?

A familiar voice from behind the door spoke, “Hey, it’s me.”

Part 7!

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sbobetonlinefootballbetting · 3 years ago

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herownwrite · 4 years ago

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Woman in Baltimore Unable to Go Home During Pandemic, Because of Squatter

I’ve been silent about something during the whole pandemic, but it’s time to open up. I’ve been following the conventional wisdom about not discussing legal matters publicly, but with COVID related court closings causing delay after delay, I need to say this. I have been unable to go home. I’ve been couch surfing in my partner’s home for 9 months, because an abuser has driven me out of my own home, and he will not leave.

Some people in Baltimore may remember me from about 10 years ago. It will become clear why I’m going back this far, so bear with me. As a member of Friends of The Senator, I served a dual role of advocating for the preservation of the historic Senator Theatre, while also honoring the legacy of the former owner’s efforts, and trying to protect him from what I saw as an abuse of power against him. I don’t regret caring about the beautiful theater, or trying to protect someone from abuse. What I do regret is my failure to see clearly the former owner’s role in his own downfall, and my participation in his blaming of others. I regret any pain my actions may have cause others in the community. I’m sorry. To quote Monty Python, “I apologize for that, but I think you’ll find this a bit more interesting.”

After former Senator owner Thomas Kiefaber lost his business and his home, I thought it was unfair that he would become homeless after serving the community for many years. About 2 years after he lost the theater, I invited him into my home. I was trying to give him a chance to get back on his feet. I regret this most of all.

Cut to 2020. Mr. Kiefaber is living in my basement. He hasn’t worked in over a decade. To the best of my knowledge, he hasn’t looked for work in over a decade. When he first lost the theater, he had people willing to hire him, but he preferred to nurse his wounds. He’s been nursing them for over a decade, while his mental health has steadily deteriorated. He’s been in and out of legal trouble, and as far as I know, he is still on probation for malicious destruction of property and breaking and entering: crimes he committed against his own sister.

What has Mr. Kiefaber been doing to fill his time, if he hasn’t been working? You may ask. The answer is, he’s been indoctrinating himself into a far right, alternate reality conspiracy world, and posting irrational rants on facebook. In these rants, he periodically calls for the deaths of public figures he disagrees with. He has often expressed sympathy for known white supremacists, and reveled in misogyny. Mr. Kiefaber would undoubtedly claim that he is not a racist and does not hate women, but I beg to differ. “FAKE NEWS!” He might scream, in response.

The other thing Mr. Kiefaber has been doing to fill his time is endlessly modifying my garden, and sometimes my house, and bringing home other people’s discarded items that he finds in the alleyways, junking up my property. His endless projects started with me asking for a little help maintaining the pond in my backyard, but they quickly devolved into endless modifications, which I never gave him permission for, and endless piles of junk he claimed to have some use for. I lost the use of my own backyard at least 4 years ago.

His endless unauthorized modifications have included digging up and killing almost all of the plants that I originally had in my garden, switching out the back basement door for one that I do not have a key to, and putting a kitchenette into the basement for his own use, which I still haven’t even seen. He has been expressly forbidden, in writing, 4 times in 2020, from continuing to make modifications to my property. The most recent changes, after these written notices, have been stripping the paint off my front door in preparation for painting it, painting the basement steps, and sticking a couple of 2 x 4s up under the siding on the back of my house, thereby causing the siding to stick out from the wall by about 5 or 6 inches at the bottom, and creating a funnel for rodents and cold air to get into my kitchen walls.

I’ve been asking him to move for over 4 years. He has ignored every request, hint, and written notice. I have chronic pain from Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and it severely impacts my ability to work and make a living. I’ve been working as hard as I am able all this time, while Mr. Kiefaber has been sitting around listening to conspiracy theory internet broadcasts, and deciding whether or not he can spare any money for his rent that month. The stress has been slowly killing me, and I have informed Mr. Kiefaber, on several occasions, that I can barely afford my mortgage. The last time I told him that, around October 2019, I raised the rent on him. That was when he decided to stop paying me almost completely. At this point, he is delinquent since January.

Around the first of this year, I concluded that he will never leave, unless he is escorted out by the sheriff. In February, I psyched myself up for what I knew would be a long battle ahead, and told him I was about to start the legal process of having him removed from my property. After this, he ranted, raved, cursed, muttered, screamed and shouted obscenities for 3 weeks solid. I got little to no sleep for 3 weeks, and at the end of this time, I had a nervous breakdown and fled my home, afraid for my life. I filed a peace order against him, but then the pandemic shutdown hit. The courts closed, the peace order was never served, and there was a moratorium on evictions. Since March 12th, I have never been inside my own home without an escort.

Finally, at the end of July, 2020, when the CARES act eviction moratorium ended, my attorney sent him a 60 day notice to vacate, which is all the legal notice that Baltimore City requires. He ignored that notice too, and as of now, he is still living in my basement. I was supposed to have a hearing about his failure to vacate the property on December 7. With the toll from the virus spiking again, the District Court has now closed again, and postponed all such hearings indefinitely.

I can’t take much more of this, so I have decided to speak out. Being away from my home, with a person I can’t trust in the basement, during the pandemic, has been an absolute torture. It has been impossible to focus on much else.

My small eBay store has taken a big hit from the pandemic, with my vintage jewelry sales down by about 60%. I had to move my small business to a temporary location. I have to completely rethink my business now, since it will not survive in its current form. I can’t even focus on that. Although our mail carrier has been extremely helpful, I have been unable to reliably get my mail. I have had several temporary forwarding orders expire. I was unsure whether I would get my stimulus check, or other important mail. I can’t be sure that I’m not missing important notices or bills.

Mr. Kiefaber has more income than I do, in the form of a monthly government check; he also has occasional income from his 1/4 share in a million dollar commercial property. But every time he is reminded that he has to move, he pleads poverty, and makes it clear that he expects me to provide him charity. He has turned me into an economic hostage, and put me at risk of losing my home.

I have had enough. I am outing this abuser.

#covid #pandemic #squatter #eviction moratorium #court closing #shutdown #abuser #destruction of property #i want to go home #Baltimore #Maryland

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bestjewelersbaltimore · 1 month ago

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Explore Stunning Wedding Bands Sets in Baltimore for Lasting Love

Choosing the perfect wedding band set is one of the most significant decisions couples will make while preparing for their special day. In Baltimore, a city rich in culture and history, couples can find stunning wedding band sets that symbolize their love and commitment. With numerous options available, including customizable designs and ethically sourced materials, Baltimore offers a vibrant jewelry scene that caters to every style and budget. This article explores the benefits of shopping for wedding bands in Baltimore, highlighting various types of wedding band sets, tips for selecting the right one, and the services provided by local jewelers.

Why Choose a Baltimore Jewelry Store for Your Wedding Bands?

Baltimore is home to an array of jewelry stores that specialize in wedding bands, offering couples the opportunity to find something truly special. From high-end boutiques to affordable shops, the city's jewelry landscape is diverse, providing options for every preference.

Local Expertise and Personal Service

Shopping at a Baltimore jewelry store means receiving personalized attention from knowledgeable staff who understand the significance of wedding bands. Many local jewelers pride themselves on creating a welcoming atmosphere where couples can take their time exploring various styles and designs. This personal touch ensures that you receive guidance tailored to your unique needs, making the shopping experience enjoyable and memorable.

Unique Designs and Customization Options

Baltimore's jewelry stores offer a range of unique designs that reflect individual styles and preferences. Couples can choose from classic styles, modern twists, or even vintage-inspired pieces. Many jewelers provide customization options, allowing couples to create a one-of-a-kind wedding band set that perfectly embodies their love story. This level of personalization ensures that your wedding bands are not just accessories but cherished symbols of your commitment.

Quality Craftsmanship and Ethical Sourcing

When you purchase wedding bands from a Baltimore jewelry store, you can expect high-quality craftsmanship. Local jewelers often source their materials responsibly, ensuring that your wedding bands are made from ethically sourced metals and gemstones. This commitment to quality and ethics adds an extra layer of meaning to your purchase, allowing you to celebrate your love while supporting responsible practices.

Exploring Wedding Band Sets in Baltimore

Baltimore offers a variety of wedding band sets, catering to diverse tastes and budgets. Here, we delve into some popular styles and their characteristics, helping you choose the perfect set for your special day.

Classic Wedding Bands

Classic wedding bands are timeless and elegant, typically featuring simple metal designs without elaborate embellishments. These bands symbolize enduring love and commitment, making them a popular choice among couples. Available in various metals like gold, platinum, and palladium, classic bands can be worn alone or paired with an engagement ring for a cohesive look.

Diamond-Studded Bands

For those looking to add a touch of sparkle to their wedding bands, diamond-studded options are an excellent choice. These bands feature small diamonds set into the metal, creating a stunning visual effect. Available in various settings, such as channel or pavé, these bands can be customized to match the engagement ring, providing a unified aesthetic.

Vintage-Inspired Bands

Vintage-inspired wedding bands draw inspiration from different historical periods, featuring intricate designs and unique details. Whether you're drawn to the Art Deco elegance or the romantic Victorian era, vintage bands offer a sense of nostalgia and individuality. Many Baltimore jewelers specialize in these styles, providing couples with options that reflect their personal tastes and historical appreciation.

Matching Sets

Couples may also choose matching wedding band sets, which provide a coordinated look for both partners. These sets often include a bride's band that complements her engagement ring, as well as a groom's band that aligns with the overall aesthetic. Matching sets symbolize unity and harmony in the couple’s journey together.

Tips for Choosing the Perfect Wedding Band Set

Selecting the ideal wedding band set involves careful consideration of various factors. Here are some tips to guide you through the process:

Set a Budget

Before visiting a Baltimore jewelry store, establish a budget that reflects your financial situation. This budget will help you narrow down your options and avoid overspending. Remember, beautiful wedding bands can be found at various price points, so keep an open mind as you explore your choices.

Consider Lifestyle and Comfort

When choosing wedding bands, consider your lifestyle and how the rings will fit into your daily routine. If you lead an active lifestyle or work with your hands, you may prefer a simpler design that is comfortable and durable. Discuss your lifestyle with your jeweler, who can recommend options that suit your needs.

Match Your Personal Style

Your wedding band should reflect your personal style and complement your engagement ring. Take the time to consider your aesthetic preferences, whether you lean towards classic, modern, or vintage styles. Bringing your engagement ring when shopping can help you visualize how different bands will look together.

Try Before You Buy

Don't hesitate to try on multiple styles and sizes when visiting a Baltimore jewelry store. Each band will fit differently, so it's crucial to find the right size and comfort level. Your jeweler can assist you in determining your ring size and provide options that fit well.

Ask About Warranty and Care

Before finalizing your purchase, inquire about warranties and care instructions for your wedding bands. Understanding how to maintain and care for your rings will ensure their longevity and brilliance. Many jewelers offer lifetime warranties or cleaning services, providing peace of mind for your investment.

Baltimore Jewelry Store: Your Destination for Wedding Bands

The Baltimore jewelry store experience offers more than just stunning wedding bands; it encompasses a journey of love, commitment, and lasting memories. Local jewelers strive to create meaningful experiences for couples as they embark on their wedding planning journey. Here are some of the services you can expect:

Expert Consultations

Many jewelry stores in Baltimore offer expert consultations to help couples navigate their choices. These consultations allow you to discuss your preferences, budget, and desired styles, ensuring you make informed decisions. Jewelers can provide valuable insights and recommendations based on their experience and expertise.

Customization Services

Customization is a key service offered by many Baltimore jewelry stores. If you have a specific design in mind, jewelers can work with you to create a unique wedding band set that aligns with your vision. This level of customization allows you to add personal touches, such as engraving names or meaningful dates, making your rings even more special.

Repair and Maintenance Services

Once you've chosen your wedding bands, it's essential to maintain their beauty and integrity over time. Many jewelers in Baltimore offer repair and maintenance services, including resizing, cleaning, and refurbishing. Regular maintenance will keep your rings looking their best and ensure they withstand the test of time.

Special Promotions and Events

Jewelry stores in Baltimore often host special promotions and events, particularly during holiday seasons like Black Friday. Couples can take advantage of exclusive deals on wedding bands, engagement rings, and other fine jewelry. Keep an eye on store websites for announcements about sales and events, allowing you to save while finding the perfect rings.

Community Engagement

Local jewelry stores in Baltimore often engage with the community, supporting local charities and events. Choosing a local jeweler means contributing to the community and fostering relationships that extend beyond the purchase. This connection enhances the shopping experience and underscores the importance of supporting local businesses.

A Lasting Symbol of Love in Baltimore

In conclusion, finding the perfect wedding band set is a significant step in your journey toward lasting love. Baltimore offers a rich array of options for couples seeking stunning designs, expert guidance, and personalized service. By choosing a Baltimore jewelry store, you not only invest in high-quality craftsmanship but also support local artisans who are dedicated to helping couples celebrate their love.

As you embark on this beautiful journey, remember the importance of selecting wedding bands that resonate with your personal style and values. Whether you choose a classic design, a diamond-studded band, or a vintage-inspired piece, your wedding rings will serve as a lasting reminder of your commitment to one another. With the right guidance and a little exploration, you can find the perfect wedding band set that will symbolize your unique love story for years to come.

For more information and to explore stunning options, visit Baltimore's Diamond District and discover the endless possibilities for your wedding band sets. Embrace the beauty of love and commitment with exquisite jewelry that speaks to your hearts.

Get in Touch

Website – www.diamonddistrictblock.com Mobile - (800) 591-8408 Email - [email protected] Address- 99 Wall Street STE#791 New York NY 10005

#baltimore engagement rings #best baltimore bands #wedding rings baltimore #wedding bands baltimore #black friday jewelry deals #black friday jewelry sales #black friday deals engagement rings #jewelry store black friday deals #black friday fine jewelry sale #baltimore jewelry store #best jewelry stores baltimore #best jewelers baltimore #best affordable jewelry stores baltimore #high end jewelry stores baltimore #top jewelry stores baltimore #top jewelers in baltimore #best gold jewelry stores baltimore #luxury jewelry baltimore #best jewelry shops baltimore

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skydinzeal · 2 years ago

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😍Here's a poem from me & my robots(?)😵 Part 1! 💜🗽💜🎿💜❄️💜🦌I hand-make talismans, paintings/sculptures for you or your loved ones!🌷All of my creations are made of 100s of ancient, powerful symbols! I've tested and taught Spiritual practices via my classes at NYCs Edgar Cayce Center for 10 years. I am likely LIVE right now on http://www.skydin.com & will sense and gift you what you need! 💜💜💜💜💜 🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 Skydin Zeal has taught universal psychic practices and Norse to Egyptian Spirituality at Manhattan's best Spiritual Centers for 12 years, predominantly the Edgar Cayce Center. He offers powerful life-changing psychic readings from Norse shamanic teachings as well as authentic Ancient Egyptian Numerology and Tarot. He holds two degrees in Fine Arts: Painting & Drawing and is a self-taught silversmith of 12 years. If you enjoy please visit Skydin Zeal's website http://www.skydin.com, share what you enjoy and purchase! 🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 🌠☺️MY FEATURED HANDMADE CREATION of this post is a EXTRATERRESTRIAL/ANCIENT Fork! It's very form is made of affirmations & ENERGY so you receive better health & lose weight from what you eat! In little time you will find your creativity and drive improve as the silverware will direct you to use it as a wand during meditation! 🔭🌠💜👽✨ I am looking for a quality SPIRITUAL STORE or ART GALLERY to sell my jewelry. I am a rare, tireless entertainer, salesperson and psychic. I have huge social media reach and can work day and night continuously! I don't even need to eat, but there's one thing I won't do and that's be complacent! If you would like to make a connection happen contact me. If it works out I will pay you! . . . . . . #spiritualpoems #spiritualquotes #Newagequotes #spiritualpoetry #Channeledmessage #Spirituality #spiritualart #starseed #lightworker #fyp #witchtok #pagans #pagansoftiktok #witch #consciousness #psychicart #loveandlight #Metaphysical #mysticart #spiritualportraits #spiritualart s #alienart #Spiritualhealing #Crystalhealing #starseedstyle #Metaphysicalart #futurism #metaphysical #pleiadian #starseed #Surrealart #Newageart (at Baltimore, Maryland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnrQIqPONsJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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bestjewelersbaltimore · 1 month ago

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Best Jewelry Stores in Baltimore for Wedding Bands

When planning a wedding, every detail matters, especially the symbol of your eternal love: the wedding band. Baltimore—a city rich in culture, history, and stunning jewelry craftsmanship—is home to some of the finest jewelry stores offering an array of wedding bands and engagement rings that perfectly suit any couple’s style. Whether you’re looking for classic designs or modern masterpieces, the top Baltimore jewelry stores cater to diverse tastes and budgets, ensuring you find the perfect ring for your special day.

In this guide, we’ll explore the best Baltimore jewelry stores for wedding bands, with detailed insights into their unique offerings, services, and location-specific advantages. Whether you’re searching for the most exquisite black Friday jewelry deals or want to learn about fine jewelry black Friday sales, this article will give you everything you need to know to make an informed decision.

Why Choose Baltimore for Your Wedding Bands?

Baltimore’s jewelry scene has evolved to accommodate a wide range of preferences, from vintage enthusiasts to contemporary lovers. The city offers numerous options, from high-end luxury retailers to more affordable jewelry stores, providing wedding bands, engagement rings, and other fine jewelry pieces.

Here are the reasons why Baltimore is the perfect destination for finding the ideal wedding bands:

Skilled Craftsmanship: Many stores in Baltimore house expert jewelers with decades of experience.

Diverse Styles: Baltimore jewelry stores cater to a wide range of tastes, from traditional wedding bands to modern, custom-designed rings.

Competitive Pricing: The competition among Baltimore jewelers helps ensure you can find high-quality bands at a range of prices.

Exclusive Deals: Take advantage of Black Friday fine jewelry sale and other deals to get luxury pieces at discounted rates.

Top Baltimore Jewelry Stores for Wedding Bands

Diamond District Block

Located in the heart of Baltimore, Diamond District Block is a renowned name in the local jewelry market. Known for its diverse collection of engagement rings and wedding bands, the store offers customized solutions, ensuring every couple finds a ring that represents their love story.

The store also features exclusive discounts on their wedding rings collection, with impressive offers during the holiday season, including Black Friday jewelry sales. You can explore their collections of diamond engagement rings, eternity bands, and more online, with easy access to detailed product descriptions and guides.

Browse their exquisite Baltimore engagement rings here: Diamond Engagement Rings Black Friday Deals

Services and Offerings You Can Expect

While exploring the best Baltimore jewelry stores, you’ll find that these retailers are not only known for their stunning wedding bands but also for their impeccable service. Here’s what you can expect:

Custom Design Services: Many stores offer bespoke designs, allowing you to create a one-of-a-kind wedding band.

Ring Resizing: If your ring doesn’t fit perfectly, most jewelers provide complimentary resizing services.

Cleaning and Maintenance: Keeping your wedding band in pristine condition is crucial, and many jewelers offer lifetime cleaning services.

Financing Options: Some of Baltimore's best jewelers provide financing options, making it easier for you to afford that dream wedding band without breaking the bank.

Best Baltimore Jewelry Stores for High-End Wedding Bands

If you’re seeking luxury, Baltimore’s high-end jewelry stores won’t disappoint. These stores offer premium craftsmanship, rare diamonds, and exclusive designer pieces for those who desire only the best. Check out these top luxury jewelers:

Smyth Jewelers: Known for high-end brands and luxury pieces, Smyth is a top pick for luxury jewelry in Baltimore.

Misha & Co Jewelers: This exclusive boutique is a favorite among those looking for high-end jewelry stores offering custom engagement and wedding bands.

How to Score the Best Deals: Black Friday Jewelry Sales in Baltimore?

If you’re looking to get the best value on your wedding bands, timing is key. Baltimore jewelry stores often have special promotions during holidays, with Black Friday jewelry sales being the most anticipated. You can take advantage of these deals to secure high-quality rings at a fraction of their original price.

Jewelry store Black Friday deals are available across a range of products, from engagement rings to wedding bands.

You can score impressive discounts by visiting the store or shopping online during these sale events.

Explore Black Friday jewelry deals for incredible discounts on wedding and engagement rings here: Black Friday Deals Engagement Rings

Finding Your Dream Wedding Band in Baltimore

Baltimore offers an extensive range of jewelry stores where you can find your ideal wedding band. From the best Baltimore bands to exclusive Black Friday fine jewelry sales, the city’s jewelry market provides plenty of opportunities for couples to find the perfect symbol of their love. Whether you’re looking for a best affordable jewelry store in Baltimore or prefer a more luxurious shopping experience, the city’s top jewelers ensure that every couple walks away with a piece that they will cherish forever.

For more details on exclusive Black Friday deals and to browse stunning wedding and engagement rings, visit: Baltimore Jewelry Store

Get in Touch

Website – www.diamonddistrictblock.com Mobile - (800) 591-8408 Email - [email protected] Address- 99 Wall Street STE#791 New York NY 10005

#baltimore jewelry store #best jewelry stores baltimore #best jewelers baltimore #best affordable jewelry stores baltimore #high end jewelry stores baltimore #top jewelry stores baltimore #baltimore engagement rings #best baltimore bands #wedding rings baltimore #wedding bands baltimore #black friday jewelry deals #black friday jewelry sales #black friday deals engagement rings #jewelry store black friday deals

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authorsofparadiseroleplay · 5 years ago

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James/Melody: Of Journeys and Destinations

Thread transfer for @summerxmelodies

James

Meme response: send 💕 to just grab my muse & kiss them!

James would be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted this. Stars above, he had wanted it. Wanted her.

That was why he had taken such great care to keep a certain emotional distance. He already cared too much. He couldn’t go through this again. It had nearly destroyed him before. No, it would have destroyed him if not for that damnable curse. He gave his heart too easily, too fully, and if he permitted himself that luxury, he would be lost.

He caught Melody by the shoulders and stared down at her, his heart hammering in his chest. Every cell of his body, of the Dragon within him, urged him to reciprocate, to lock her to his body with his arms, lower his head, and crush his lips to hers. To stake his claim on her. To make her his.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Melody…” he murmured, but couldn’t say the words. He growled a curse in old Akkadian and closed his eyes.

The Dragon raged inside him, and he forced it back down. Firmly, he pushed Melody back a couple of steps, then slowly released her shoulders. “We don’t have time for this.”

___________________________________

Melody

A foolish part of her had hoped James felt the same way she did. She’d nearly convinced herself that he did; reading into small actions. However, she’d been wrong and while he did nothing so cruel as to strike her or shove her away in disgust, she wished he would have. It would have hurt less, she thought.

Shame colored her cheeks a deep red and her chest tightened painfully, smoke curling up from her nostrils as she took another step back from him.

She’d never kissed anyone before, despite having wanted to countless times. She shouldn’t have been surprised that when she finally got up the courage to do so, that the other person would want no part of it.

“Right… sorry,” she muttered, voice weak as she’d nearly choked on the words. She shuffled back yet another step, gaze cast to the ground as she rapidly blinked several times, doing her best to keep her tears at bay.

Should have known better.

Clearing her throat, she forced her attention back to him, expression neutral as she shut him out. “So… where are we going next?” she asked, steering them back to the matter at hand and firmly ignoring the mistake she’d just made.

___________________________________

James

“Melody…” Mother Night, he was already too damnably connected to her. He could feel her tears starting to well up, her valiant attempts to keep them at bay, the knife-edge of heartache that twisted inside her, and his Dragon snarled from somewhere within him, furious at the one who had caused her pain.

Of course, an obnoxiously rational part of his mind reasoned, his Dragon was him, and he was his Dragon, so in reality he was just angry at himself.

It was possible he had a few issues. He was working on them. Not very well, maybe, but working on them.

When she turned back to him, her face a deceptively placid mask, and asked him where they were going, he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave a small shrug of his shoulders, meeting her stoicism with his own. “We’re going on the road. Towards California. I have a place that will be safe for you. It’s hidden, protected there, in the Sierras. You’ll be safe.”

Placing one hand on her lower back, he began lightly steering her towards the old, rusty Chevy Coupe. He had bought the car for this purpose, certainly not his usual flashy sports car, but something old, unassuming, and reliable. It wasn’t aesthetically pleasing in any way, but it would serve its purpose, hopefully attracting as little attention as possible as they traveled. They would take cheap hotel rooms where the proprietors asked no questions, took no license plates, and accepted cash payments.

“One more thing,” he said, stopping by the back of the car and unlocking the trunk. He removed a plastic shopping bag that contained a cheap wig, chestnut-colored and shoulder length, and handed it to her. “Your hair– you should cover it.” He heard the gravely roughness in his voice and cleared his throat, making effort to speak more gently. “It’s too memorable. We want to be as forgettable as possible.”

___________________________________

Melody

She tensed at his touch and shied away from it as discreetly as possible, hands sliding into the pockets of her jacket. “How long do you plan on babysitting me?” she asked mildly, wondering if their current situation was going to be permanent or not. She couldn’t imagine that she was the only dragon hybrid in the world that needed his help and she certainly didn’t want to be stuck with him forever; she wasn’t interested in torturing herself further.

Taking the bag with a little hesitation she looked inside with a frown. “Right,” she muttered, taking the wig out with a sigh. Without a word she got into the vehicle and started the process of putting the wig on. She actually had some experience with wigs and managed to make it look believable with little effort.

Once the wig was in place, she turned her attention to the world passing by them, not bothering with trying to create any small talk. She didn’t see the point.

___________________________________

James

James drove, the silence stretching to uncomfortable lengths between them, despite the music playing on the radio. They had left Baltimore behind, its monoliths of glass and concrete slowly replaced by autumn-kissed trees, endless stretches of fencing, quaint country houses, and grazing livestock. His jaw tightened as he remembered how Melody had shied away from his touch, a reaction that was no more than he should have expected, or that he had deserved. In truth, the touch had been purely instinctive, a reflex that had surfaced with only a cursory conscious awareness. His hand had dropped to his side, then slipped into his pocket for his keys.

“Only as long as necessary,” he had replied. “I can help you get off the grid and start over, but you should learn how to protect yourself, how to stay hidden. You attract too much attention, and I don’t just mean with your appearance. Our kind have a distinct sort of aura that rings out like a clarion bell for anyone with a lick of sensitivity to energy. There are ways to conceal that, dampening tools that can be made and worn as jewelry, that sort of thing.”

The early dusk had long ago darkened to night when they drifted past a sign proclaiming food and rest areas at the next exit, and James leaned forward to turn down the volume on the radio. They had been driving for about six and a half hours, with only a quick convenience store stop along the way, and had entered Ohio a short while ago. “Are you hungry? We could stop for dinner here.”

___________________________________

Melody

She never looked at him, even when he spoke. She kept her attention trained to the world beyond the car, lost in her own mind. At one point she began to doze of, emotionally exhausted, but the low rumble of his voice dragged her back to the waking world.

“I wasn’t exactly advertising what I was,” she mumbled, eyes cutting over to him briefly in a defiant glare. However, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She needed his help. Absently her fingers lifted to toy with the wig, gaze shifting to the foreign color strands as she wrapped a bit around her fingers. She’d given up wearing wigs for a while, but it seemed she’d have to make it a permanent part of her life now. That thought didn’t sit well with her; she just wanted to live her life.

Was this order he was so scared of really so bad? What were they even planning on doing with her? She thought to ask, but decided against it. She was too tired to fight with him.

“Guess there isn’t an instruction manual I can just buy?” She was only half kidding; after what had just happened between them earlier in the day she was ready to move on with her life and put as much distance between them as possible.

Head resting against her window she was ready to tell him to stop if he wanted, that she wasn’t hungry, but her stomach chose that exact moment to loudly make its presence known. “Uh… apparently,” she huffed, briefly glancing at him before shifting in her seat.

She was ready for this little trip to be over already.

___________________________________

James

James snorted. Gods knew he could have used an instruction manual in his youth. His mother had been killed when he was very young, and his father hadn’t exactly been a stellar parent, even though in the end he had laid down his life for his son. He had spent years traveling, searching, learning everything he could from mage and monk alike, before he had found the cloisters and the hybrid that would become his teacher.

“Haven’t gotten around to writing it yet,” he told her, a dry note of humor in his voice that would probably fall flat to her, given her mood. A mood he was responsible for, thanks to his insensitivity. “You know how it is. Never a free moment. It’s been on my to-do list for about five hundred years.”

It was the first time he had dropped a hint about his age, and he wondered how she would react. Maybe she would think he was just joking. Maybe she would realize the gravity of her situation. As a Dragon hybrid, Melody would not share the functional immortality that had been “benevolently” bestowed upon James by one of the doñas de fuera so long ago, but she would live an exceedingly long time in comparison to the humans she likely knew. Hundreds of years. He well knew the toll that could take on a heart.

He pulled the car across three lanes of sparse traffic and took the exit, then navigated a handful of cross streets, slowing down so he could enter the restaurant’s parking lot. The sign in front of the diner read “Jimbo’s Eats and Treats” and featured a faded illustration of a rotund man in a white apron and chef’s hat bearing a platter of food in each hand. He had taken this route many times before, and was familiar with the rest stops along the way. Jimbo’s wasn’t fine cuisine, but it wasn’t terrible either, and the old man kept it clean and stocked with fresh ingredients.

Cutting the ignition, he glanced over at Melody to make certain her wig was in place. Her fine, delicate features were still unmistakable to anyone who knew what they were looking for, but it was late and the diner was quiet and off the main highway, so hopefully they could safely take time to safely enjoy a meal here before finding a motel for the night. There was a privately owned establishment a few blocks over that didn’t ask too many questions. Its mattresses were like concrete slabs, the vending machines ate coins and only occasionally surrendered cans of soda in exchange, and the heating always seemed to be in disrepair, but they would make do.

“They have good fried chicken here,” he told her as they walked towards the low-slung, glass-fronted building. “And a fantastic cheesecake, if you like it.”

___________________________________

Melody

The little tease about his age drew her attention and she frowned, stormy eyes studying him. How long could they live? She had no clue, but that seemed the norm for her. She knew nothing about her heritage; only that her father had raped her mother and she hadn’t survived Melody’s birth. She was alone in the world and had never tried finding others like herself; she preferred pretending she was normal.

That’s a lie.

She studied him for a moment longer, but said nothing on the subject of his age. It was frightening to think how long she’d live. How long she’d have to spend hiding, running, and alone. It wasn’t a cheery thought.

She slipped from the car without a word, her mind in a dark place. She was often there, trapped in the darkness of her mind. She nodded absently, still not sure she had an appetite, no matter how loudly her stomach claimed otherwise. She hesitated a moment when they stepped inside before selecting a booth with a view of the entrance and the kitchen’s door. Part of her didn’t care if this Order got their hands on her, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear James complain about her lack of self preservation.

She picked up the menu without really seeing it, eyes distant as she looked straight through it. “Why do you care what happens to me?” she asked suddenly, meeting his gaze. “What’s in it for you?”

#summerxmelodies #The Dragon Inside (James)#Of Journeys and Destinations #It's my turn on this thread too so posting and drafting!

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tsgbaltimoreandannapolismaryland · 5 years ago

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Wedding Experts Celebrate One of Their Own in Local Wedding

(Photo by Renee Michele Photography)

“You’d think I’d have known exactly what I wanted when it came time to plan my own wedding, given the industry I’m in,” said Torie Hetzel, employee and daughter of Francesca Ripple who owns FRANCESCA’S BRIDAL and FRANCESCA’S ATELIER at GREENSPRING STATION. Torie recently celebrated her first wedding anniversary and dished to us about how she partnered with Scout Guide member ELIZABETH BAILEY WEDDINGS & EVENTS to realize her wedding dreams.

(Photo by Renee Michele Photography at St. Leo’s Catholic Church)

Torie had an insider’s knowledge of the greatest local resources, planners and certainly wedding gown designers when she became engaged. But it was her comfort level with Elizabeth Bailey that moved her to surrender total control of her wedding day to Elizabeth’s seasoned team.

“Elizabeth was one of the first planners we met through my mom’s bridal business, so we’ve known her for 20 years,” Torie said. “Using her I was able to relax. She’s one of the best in the area. She really understood my style, which you would think I would know. I had no idea what I wanted, and she nailed it.”

(Photo of Torie and her mother, Francesca, at the Winslow Room, courtesy of Renee Michele Photography)

The October 27, 2018 nuptials were held at St. Leo’s church in Little Italy with a reception at the Winslow at Parker Middle. Torie visited this new venue during construction, and with Elizabeth’s guidance was able to envision how a dreamy wedding reception could unfold there.

(Photo of the Winslow Room by Renee Michele Photography)

“All I told Elizabeth was that our main theme was Baltimore,” said Torie. “My husband and I love the city. We grew up here. The Winslow was special because it was an old can company for Old Bay with the original windows. Pictures were outside in Fell’s Point outside Henderson’s Wharf on the water. At sunset, my hubby and I went up to the rooftop at the Winslow with Ravens stadium and skyline.”

(Photo by Renee Michele Photography)

“Elizabeth really helped with the table settings, decor,” Torie continued. “We told her we wanted golds, ivories and blushes and really nothing else. We came for our decor meeting, and the table was set up perfectly. She had everything we needed, and we didn’t make any changes.”

(Photo by Renee Michele Photography)

(Flowers by Wicked Willow; photo by Renee Michele Photography)

While Elizabeth’s team began piecing together the wedding details, Torie and her mom, Francesca, shifted gears to the gown and attire for the wedding party.

“My mom and I went to New York fashion week, and I was able to try on the designer’s dresses right after they showed in New York, but I picked a gown by Ramona Caveza from our store in Lutherville in the end. I had tried it before I went to New York, and I just loved it. It was the first dress I tried on - it was so cool. Metallic thread throughout the lace that made it so different. The lining ends at the knee, then it’s shear all the way down. We had a black tie wedding, so I had my seamstress extend the lining but make it removable and extend the train three feet. At the reception, the train came off and the lining came off, so it was like a different dress.”

(Mother-of-the-bride, Francesca, with Torie by Renee Michele Photography)

“I got married during our busiest time of year,” said Torie, “and I didn’t have my first fitting until two weeks before the wedding because we were busy taking care of our clients.”

Paula Barcelona custom made the mother-of-the-bride dress for Francesca based off a wedding gown that her daughter had tried that was sleek and simple. “When we went to New York to look for my dress, mom took jewelry, and we went with Paula to see where she picks her materials and chose the beaded material for her sleeves. We love Paula. She came to the wedding.”

(Bridesmaid and wedding gowns from Francesca’s Atelier and Francesca’s Bridal; photo by Renee Michele Photography)

Everything came together perfectly on the big day, and Torie looked flawless. Elizabeth Bailey Wedding & Events and Francesca’s Bridal and Francesca’s Atelier brought their A games for one of the most unforgettable weddings within Baltimore’s wedding industry.

CONTACT: FRANCESCA’S BRIDAL at GREENSPRING STATION

2360 W. Joppa Rd., suite 108

Lutherville, MD 21093

410-372-3184

[email protected]

@francescasbridal

FRANCESCA’S ATELIER at GREENSPRING STATION

10751 Falls Rd., suite 101

Lutherville, MD 21093

443-841-7057

[email protected]

@francescasatelier

ELIZABETH BAILEY WEDDING & EVENTS

211 Old Padonia Rd., Cockeysville

443-519-5062

[email protected]

@baileyweddings

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skydinzeal · 3 years ago

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✨I have put as much effort inscribing the inside as the outside of my Talismans! Even the 2mm sides and hidden interior chambers... With my golden needle I have written the best Magical Sigils and more! ✨ When I work, I work day and night and do nothing else, sometimes for an entire month. The piece knows when it's complete and the process is like the creation of a living being - but without nature and the lower kingdoms on my side. In fact they are dubious, seek to sabotage and must be subdued within and without. It is certainly dangerous and to defeat them I have done many severe things. ✨Take a look at my site, look beyond the angry spirits that whisper lies! They don't want the world of the living to have access to this! 💜🗽💜🎿💜❄️💜🦌 Skydin began in Art, he holds a masters degree in Fine Art (painting) & a 2nd BFA in commercial design! He has forged his craft in metal over the course of 12 years apart from University. 🔭🌠💜👽✨ I am looking for a quality SPIRITUAL STORE or ART GALLERY to sell my jewelry. I am a rare, tireless entertainer, salesperson and psychic. I have huge social media reach and can work day and night continuously! I don't even need to eat, but there's one thing I won't do and that's be complacent! If you would like to make a connection happen contact me. If it works out I will pay you! . . . . . . #ascension #newageart #witchcraftandwizardry #magickal #sacredgeometry #spiritualart #runes #paganism #magick #spells #pagan #wicca #heathen #sorcery #celtic #pagansymbols #wizard #stonehenge #occultsymbols #druid #sorcerer #metaphysical #occult #norse #spiritualtattoos #germanic #pagangods #magicalsymbols #energyhealing #newage (at Baltimore, Maryland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CbRqjEhubKq/?utm_medium=tumblr

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sirkkasnow · 5 years ago

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04 Advance Planning Is For Sissies

Ao3 link

07/07/13 Sunday

Clary finally started to bust the bicycle out on a regular basis after the excitement of the Fourth. Stan and Dipper helped her swap out the nubby mountain tires for hybrid slicks. She cut a trim, handsome figure in close-fitted shorts, jersey, bandana and helmet when she cruised into town to explore. Stan had overheard Ford giving her a stern albeit somewhat edited lecture on the hazards of Gravity Falls’ woodland trails, and she hadn’t risked the forest yet, which was probably wise.

The bits of conversation he picked up while running his own errands indicated that she was plenty busy as it was, hitting up every farmstand, the museum and Greasy’s within a couple of days. She was already ‘that tourist staying with the Pines’ and the object of bored midsummer curiosity in town.

A tiny aluminum bike trailer had been unearthed from the Fairlane’s wayback. Clary used that to haul all manner of cargo, mostly provisions, as they were mowing through eggs and everything else at a terrifying pace. She’d brought back some odd bits and pieces of costume jewelry and scarves from the thrift store, too, and had promised Mabel a run to the swap meet the next weekend.

Soos had in fact dug the ‘midnight mink’ and was happily working up a new display - ‘Dreaming Denizens,’ or ‘Northwest Nightmares,’ or something else alliterative. Sketches laying out one of the exhibit spaces as a blackout room were scattered across the desk in the office. Stan admitted to himself that it might be fun. Technology had come a long way since the days of glow-in-the-dark paint and twinkle lights.

But what that meant was a new assortment of oddities, and that meant assembly work, and that meant parts, of which the Shack had next to nothing at this point. Stan walked the showroom in late afternoon, taking mental note of what could be repurposed and what they’d need to patch in.

For that matter, he needed parts of another sort for Clary’s station wagon.

“Am I interrupting something important between you and the Goosurkey?” Clary padded up alongside him, hands in pockets. Today’s kerchief was songbirds on pale blue.

“Nope, just thinkin’ ahead. Soos is on a bit of a tear as I’m sure you know.”

“He offered me a job...in case I get stranded here for good. Imaginating Consultant and Staff Accountant.”

Stan half choked before he laughed full-throated. “Thought he had more faith in my repair skills than that.”

“I’m sure he does. He wanted to make sure I felt welcome, that’s all. What are you up to this afternoon? I find myself at loose ends if you could use a spare pair of hands.”

He thought that one over, assessing her through the corner of one eye, piecing together the beginnings of a plan. “…I’ve got a couple errands t’run. You wanna tag along?”

“Depends on what kind of errands you have in mind.”

“The usual weeknight stops. I need a getaway driver and the kids aren’t legal.”

It was her turn to splutter through a laugh. “As if you’d let me lay hands on your precious classic wheels!”

“I don’t know, kid, haven’t you already proven that you’ve got a steady touch?” Watching her go pink with pique was an absolute pleasure. Yeah, this had the potential to be both entertaining and useful. “I’m headin’ out around end of day. Wear black – somethin’ you don’t mind gettin’ dirty.”

To her credit Clary squinted at him with instant suspicion. “You want me to bring extra bobby pins while I’m at it?”

“I’ve got that covered, don’t sweat it.” He winked cheerfully and left her in his wake, mentally plotting out the night’s route.

He’d gathered up all the kit he’d need by the time daylight was winding down into dusk. Stan stepped out onto the porch and nearly tripped over Clary, perched on the top step, tapping who-knew-what into her phone. He yelped, she yelped back and jerked out of the way, and he looked her over critically as he regained his balance. Somewhere in that duffel bag she’d managed to rummage up black jeans, long sleeves and sensible running shoes. The scarves snug at her throat and sleeking back her pinned-up hair were mismatched shades of navy blue, but close enough.

“Wasn’t sure you’d be coming,” he said, though really he’d been pretty sure.

“Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a private late-night tour of Gravity Falls with local legend Mr. Mystery? I can’t pass that up.” Clary rose, toggling the phone to silent and slipping it into her back pocket. “What’s on the itinerary?”

“You’ll see.” She rolled eyes at him but tagged along amiably enough, dropping into the passenger side of the El Diablo and draping a lazy arm along the top edge of the seat while he tossed the backpack of tools and a few other oddments into the trunk. They cruised out into the gathering dark with bad 80s pop for a soundtrack and a mutually-appraising silence.

She pointed an idle thumb down towards Gravity Falls proper as they passed the turnoff. “Not a grocery run.”

“Nope.”

“How far out?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe.”

Her laugh was low and brief as she studied him. “All right. Hobbies?”

“Really?” Stan smiled a little as he drove, his eyes cutting to hers in the mirror.

“I could start singing, but hair metal is really not my bag. I’ll trade mine for yours.”

“Yours‘re probably boring.”

“Ouch. The least you can do is give me a chance to prove otherwise. Besides, didn’t you bring me along to interrogate me in private?”

He did chuckle at that. “Maybe. So, yeah, I make one-of-a-kind art pieces - “ The fingers at the steering wheel’s edge went up in sketchy air quotes. “Fishin’. Monster huntin’ and general explorin’ with Ford, though that’s more the day job these days, I guess.” The quiet weight of her regard didn’t lift and he shifted in his seat. “Boxin’, long time ago. You?”

“Thought you must have been in some kind of sport as a kid. Me, you’ve seen the bike. I read a lot. Thrift store diving, I like vintage stuff. Museums.” One splayed hand obscured her smile as she turned to look out the windshield at the darkening green blur of rural scenery. “Dance, sometimes. Haven’t had much time the last couple of years.”

The likely reasons for that were fairly obvious so he didn’t pry. “There’s not a ton to do out here in the off-season, y’know, so now and then I used t’host somethin’ for the locals. I’ve been gettin’ pestered for a dance party since I got back. You want in?”

“Absolutely. Let me know if I can help out.”

“Maybe we take a turn in the ring while we’re at it. Dipper asked me to show him a few things, might as well teach you too. You’re tall enough to be a decent sparrin’ partner.” Stan spun the wheel easily with one hand, heading down a familiar long gravel drive. “With Dipper I’ve practically got to be on my knees. And I am not that flexible these days.”

There was a hesitation before she responded. “Sure. Though I’m pretty sure I’m better with my feet than my fists.”

The El Diablo eventually pulled up in a little clearing populated by battered sheds, a well-worn pickup and a trailer home that he knew hadn’t budged in decades. Clary took a wary look around, mouth drawing tight in doubt.

“Supplies,” he rumbled, setting the car in park and unbuckling. “Since it looks like Soos is determined to do an overhaul while he’s got me around to help out. Make yourself comfortable. Won’t be long.” He chuckled at her open apprehension. “Relax, kid. Nothin’s gonna pop out of the woods t’drag you screamin’ out of the car. That only happens on new moon and that’s tomorrow.” Stan tapped his chin in mock rumination. “I think.”

“Very funny.”

“You’ll be fine, promise, I’ll be right back.” He was still laughing under his breath as he headed up to the front door.

It was a quick exchange - he’d called ahead and so there was a boxload of stuff waiting for him, cash for critter bits, easy enough. Stan struggled a bit with the driver’s side back door and Clary tucked legs under to kneel on the seat, reaching clear across to pop the door latch. She grabbed the edge of the box once it hit the seat and tugged it over into the middle, peering in at the contents under the wan illumination of the dome light. “Ooh. New skulls!”

“Soos is gonna need a few more mink things, yeah. What is it with you and weasels?”

“Professional courtesy.”

He snorted softly as the car rolled along. “Just how many of those do you know?”

“All of them.” His glance of disbelief was met with her mild smile. “All right, here’s the thing, we tax types are well known as the most humorless beings on the planet. Intimate acquaintance with the IRS, unhealthy obsession with spreadsheets, all that. I figured out pretty early on that people made assumptions. I read up a little. I got to know some of the other folks on the professional circuit in Baltimore...which is a company town, believe me, everyone there is either in government, education or crime….”

“Go on.” He had an inkling where this was going, a slow smile starting to curl.

“I thought I might as well leverage those assumptions.”

“You conned your fellow ambulance chasers.”

“Hey. I am no ambulance chaser and don’t you forget it.” She levelled a fierce glare and an accusing index finger his way. “All I did was win an occasional bar bet by outlasting every loudmouth who thought I was a pushover. If I felt merciful I’d order a glass of the best brandy in the joint and nurse it all night. If I felt less merciful….” Her shoulders rolled in a careless shrug. “There was enough turnover every couple of years that I always had marks.”

“So y’think I can’t keep up?”

“I know for a fact that you’re starting to run out of stuff you can crack in front of the kids.”

Which was true. He coughed into his knuckles as she arched an amused brow at him. “Well,” he said slowly. “Kids aren’t here.”

“Bring it, Pines.”

They batted terrible jokes back and forth for nearly ten minutes as he piloted along the highway to the next destination, dipping into blacker and blacker humor as they went.

“What can a goose do, a duck can’t, and a lawyer should?”

“Stick his bill up his ass. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a rooster?”

“When a rooster wakes up in the mornin’, his primal urge is to cluck defiance! Why do they bury lawyers under twenty feet of dirt?”

“Because deep down, they’re really good people. You know the problem with lawyer jokes?”

This one was so open-ended as to give no clue at all, and Stan cocked his head at her in question.

“Lawyers don’t think they’re funny, and no one else thinks they’re jokes.”

Clary’s smile was a little wry, and he felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck. “Time for a change of subject, huh?”

“Tell me the best one you’ve got that has nothing to do with lawyers.”

“Oh ho, that’s easy.”

Once they were past the competitive call-and-response - she had definitely won that one, he’d been right on the verge of running dry, but like hell was he admitting to that - they both unspooled longer, loopier jokes, and Stan took real pleasure in coaxing a good laugh out of her. She had a nice laugh, he decided, deep and fearless, growing a little huskier as the drive wore on and she kept talking.

They cruised down one of the more remote county roads, driving nearly on autopilot until they reached the right turnoff. She was still chuckling over his last crack when he pulled over onto the shoulder and killed the engine. Clary frowned over at the tree-screened porch light up the hill. “Wow, okay, this is the middle of nowhere. More parts?”

“Not quite.” Stan drew breath, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he tried to frame what he wanted to say.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Ah. Is this the morally questionable portion of tonight’s program?”

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it. Listen for a minute?”

Clary settled back, attentive, mouth smoothing into a sober line.

“So I’m a collector. I’ve got a thing. For art.” She nodded and he went on. “This jackass up here nabbed a Gustav Klouneng out from under me at auction, he’s rejected all my completely reasonable offers for the thing, and he’s been rubbin’ my nose in it for years now. Pure spite. I’m out here to, ah.” Stan held out both hands palm up, miming the balancing of scales.

“Steal it.”

“Pretty much. I’ve been waitin’ on him to leave town for months.”

She mulled it over, then nodded and cracked her door open. “All right. Show me how it’s done.”

Stan felt a corner of his mouth twitch up. “You sure? You can wait here, if you wanna.”

“I knew we’d be getting into trouble the minute you said ‘wear black’, so let’s get into some trouble.”

They both slid out of the car, Stan chuckling to himself, heading back around to the trunk. He reached in to fish out the gear they’d need, then tossed the spare set of gloves at Clary. She caught them against her chest and tugged them on, wriggling fingers in approval. “You’re pretty light-footed, so just point the light where I need it and stay close, got it?”

“Got it.”

There was no way in hell they were going to make it up to the house in complete silence and the place was unoccupied anyway, so Stan led her the long way around through underbrush to the basement door at a brisk walk. Clary accepted the heavy little black flashlight and aimed it as directed, leaning in to watch the delicate process of coaxing the lock open.

Having an audience was new, but the lock was child’s play. Stan nudged the door open and ushered her in with a flourish. She quirked him a half-impressed grin as she passed, angling the light into a dusty storage room.

“Wait ‘til you see this,” he murmured, deftly picking the lock on the next door under the light’s beam. Clary stepped in after him, silent on the thick carpet, and he cautiously flicked up the switches.

Stan had been here in person with time to look around only once, on what he thought of sourly as the ‘I’ve got all these great paintings and you don’t, sucker’ tour, but the impact was still the same. Perfect lighting, perfect framing, walls and drapery and paneling fit for a professional gallery. The owner might have been a colossal jerk but he had taste. He took a moment to soak it in with a low sigh of enjoyment, then checked on Clary.

She had an arm folded across her midsection, flashlight loose in her fingers, one hand at her chin, expression neutral save for a faint crease of the brow as her eyes flicked from painting to painting.

“Can you believe this hillbilly chump has a collection like this?”

Her head shook fractionally. “No.”

“Overwhelmed, huh. C’mon, lemme show you the one we’re here to get.” Stan chuckled to himself, padding softly down towards their objective.

Clary’s arms relaxed once she’d taken it all in and she came along after him, voice low. “I will say that these are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best clown paintings I have ever seen. This is a very carefully curated collection.”

“One day these’ll all be mine, but this’s what we came for.” He dragged a fingertip along the edge of the carved frame, grinning up into the mournful eyes of his Klouneng, all slate blues and velvet blacks and white splashed red. “What d’you think?”

“This is the best one here,” she said without hesitation, stepping in alongside him. “Brave use of color, intelligent framing. Lovely brushwork. The shapes and lighting are pared down into something elegant and stark, which is nice, sort of playing on the underlying theme of life on the edge of the spotlight...this is an artist on a mission.” Her expression finally eased into a faint, thoughtful smile. “Though I wonder why he’s so sad.”

“Y’really do like it?”

“Not sure I’d be brave enough to hang it over my bed, but I can respect anything created with such passion.”

“Afraid of clowns?” he tossed off in her general direction as he reached up behind the canvas to find the wall anchor.

“Of course not. I’m just a sucker for landscapes.”

Stan worked quickly, coaxing the canvas out of its bulky frame and setting it delicately against the wall. Clary had wandered off to take a closer look at the rest; she’d found the closest thing to a landscape in the place, a shadowed Paris alley with a dejected mime slumped against the wall. She didn’t seem afraid, but he crept up as softly as he could and leaned in close to her ear, hands hovering a moment before seizing her shoulders.

“Boo.”

Clary made a strangled, startled noise that wasn’t quite a shout, twisted out of his grip and latched onto his forearm with a downward yank that threw him well off balance. He staggered, she jerked back, then grabbed at him for support as she teetered.

“Stanley, what the hell - “

“Cripes, lady, you tryin’ t’dump me on the floor here - “

They were still trying to disentangle themselves, Clary reddening as she finally let go of his arm and shoved free, when a soft creak from overhead made them both freeze.

Shit, thought Stan, then I know damn well he’s out of town, then time to go. Clary stared at him for a flat second of naked betrayal. They both jolted into motion, Clary flipping down the light switches with a single swipe of her palm, Stan snatching up the Klouneng.

“Who’s down there?”

Yeah, he maybe might’ve miscalculated on the ‘out of town’ bit.

“Pines, if that’s you, I swear to God I’m really gonna shoot you this time.”

The door at the top of the inside stairs slowly swung open, casting a shadow - bathrobe, slippers and a rifle, damn it all - along the wall. Clary’s eyes were saucer-wide as she edged towards the still-ajar gallery door. Stan nudged her out into the dusty basement, half stumbling in haste as he followed. As cautious steps turned into a slapping, hurried stampede downstairs, punctuated by curses, Stan set himself up and at just the right moment kicked the inside door to make hard contact with the owner’s face.

Clary’s fingers hooked into his and she dragged him up the basement steps and outside. They both bolted for the relative shelter of the woods. “Head for the car,” she hissed as they hit the treeline.

Suddenly his hand was free and she took off like a panicked gazelle, dodging shrubs, leaping over roots, waving the flashlight around and generally making an attractive nuisance of herself as she angled off roughly towards the road. She was fast. Apparently all that time on the bike had paid off. Stan bulled straight on through, crashing over a stand of huckleberry. He had the painting jammed protectively under one arm and kept half an eye on the trajectory of the light.

When the gunshot went off Stan nearly went ass-over-teakettle through another clump of underbrush. It wasn’t aimed at him, he could tell that much, but his heart was a lump of ice in his chest as he frantically scanned over in Clary’s general direction. She’d stopped – then he heard a distant hngh! of effort and saw the flashlight go up in a long arc, spinning, the beam slicing at tree trunks until a thwack and an infuriated shout of “Damn you, Pines!” indicated that she’d hit her target.

Clary got there first, silhouette matte black against the vague midnight glint of the El Diablo, diving right through the open passenger window to skid across the front seat and slap the driver’s door open. Stan shoved the painting at her, she pivoted to stash it in the back, and gravel was spitting out from under the tires before she’d even turned around again.

They whipped through a three-point turn that tapped the back bumper against a juvenile pine, setting off a rustle in the forest canopy. Stan nearly floored it all the way back to the county road. Clary was curled up at the far edge of the bench seat, both hands over her face. For a long few minutes there was nothing to listen to but the low drone of the radio and the slowly steadying rhythm of both their breathing.

“Fuck,” she finally gritted through bared teeth, and Stan had to bite his lip near to bleeding not to crack up.

“You all right over there?” By the time he dared to check over to her side of the car she’d uncoiled a little, dragging the seatbelt down and shoving the buckle home with a heavy click.

“Peachy. So, thanks, Stan, that was educational, but I must say my estimation of you as some kind of backwoods Oregon criminal mastermind has taken a total nosedive.” Clary settled back against the seat and draped an arm along the window ledge, eyes half closed. “Holy hell. Never again.”

Stan tried, but this time the laughter won out. He tossed his head back and cackled with glee. She reached across to swat at his shoulder, but her lips were pinched against a grudging smile. “You’d better really love that painting.”

“After all that I swear it’s gonna be the eternal jewel of my collection.”

There wasn’t much to say as the adrenaline slowly ebbed. Stan finally took a moment to latch his own seatbelt as he guided the car back in the general direction of town, humming absently under his breath. The minutes ticked past in companionable silence and occasional, wary checks of the rearview mirror.

Clary’s brows rose as they took the turnoff towards Gleeful’s dealership. “What, we’re not done yet? That wasn’t enough excitement for one night?”

“One last errand...this’s a little one, promise, just need to collect some odds and ends for your vintage rattletrap.”

“You be nice to that car. It was more or less in mint condition before it got intimate with your tourist trap.”

“And it’ll be nice again once we figure out the bodywork, but in the meantime the engine needs help.” Stan pulled up on the roadside forty yards or so down from the dealership, cars and mylar fringe glinting and still under the lot’s lights. He levered himself up and out, stretching muscles that twanged in protest. Clary unfolded herself from the far side and half stumbled, supporting herself on the El Diablo’s hood as she came around to join him.

“I’ve never run that hard in my life. My knees are still jelly.”

“Nice afterburners on you, kid. Nice grip, too.” Stan fished the trimmed end of his most recent cigar out of his breast pocket and raised brows at her in question as she settled against the fender; she nodded and he struck a match, taking his time to wake the tobacco up to a slow burn. Ten minutes left on this one, maybe.

“I had incentive. What’re we here for?” Clary folded arms and looked up to the star-dense sky, her dark figure limned in subtle silver and the sodium gold of the dealership lamps. Stan studied her sharp profile at the edge of his vision.

“Drive belt. Spark plugs. Other bits not worth explainin’.”

“I can pay for the parts, Stan.”

He huffed out a chuckle, angling the smoke away. “Yeah, about that. Gleeful an’ I don’t exactly get along, y’see, he’ll tell you to stuff it purely ‘cause you’re under my roof right now.”

Pfft, she went, eyes closing for a pensive moment. “Nothing else local I imagine.”

“Nope. Portland’s a full day round trip. Bud’s got a nice little assortment of older stuff back there he’s never gonna sell, we nip in, snag what you need, nip out. No one’s even gonna notice. Hour, hour and a half tops. All you’ve gotta do is kill the main power at the office. Fuse box, big switch, cake.” He tipped a thumb over at the cinderblock-and-plate-glass structure that anchored the lot, tucked inside the fence.

“You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

“Been hearin’ it all my life.”

He let her think it over while he worked his way through the last bit of his cigar, smoke dissipating peacefully on the warm night air. Maybe she’d bite, maybe she wouldn’t. Eventually he ground the stub out at his feet and went around to the trunk to retrieve his kit bag. Clary followed, extending a hand, and he dropped a set of pliers into her gloved palm.

“Fine. Your turf, your people, your judgment call. I trust you.” He flinched in surprise at the phrase, covering with the low thunk of the trunk’s closure. “Prove me right.”

The urge to catch her arm and suggest the day trip to Portland instead was sudden and strong - hell, she was decent company and she’d be good for the gas - but it was already too late as she pivoted and jogged off down along the lot line, choosing a badly-lit spot near the office and scaling the fence with scrabbling feet. Less than a minute later the lights went out with a distant clunk.

Stan shouldered his tools and headed in, tamping down vague apprehension as his eyes adjusted to the faint ambient light. He didn’t bring out the spare flashlight until heavy shadow made it risky to go further. The lot was a maze of gleaming hulks, the footing treacherous on thin, irregular gravel. Clary he eventually picked out by the soft crunch of her cautious steps and an occasional ow as she bumped into one car or another, slowly homing in.

“Gonna take this up as a sideline? You got decent instincts for a glorified accountant.”

Clary snorted softly. “Not on your life. I usually deal with a different caliber of crime.”

Stan grinned to himself. “See anythin’ the same make as yours before you killed the lights?”

“There’s a Fairlane sedan at the back. Not in spectacular shape, but it looked like the right vintage.”

“That’ll work. Here y’go, lead on.” He passed off the flashlight. She kept her head and the light’s beam low, creeping along with complete focus, so serious and so careful that the urge to indulge in a cheap startle eventually became irresistible.

Stan caught up with two silent strides and reached out to clasp her low on the ribs. “Gotcha.”

She didn’t even make a sound this time, convulsing in his grip, the flashlight hitting the ground right about as her elbow caught him smack in the face. Stan tucked and hit the dirt more or less completely on reflex, half stunned - there’d been some real force behind that - and she was almost a carlength away before he could even see straight.

The dim fringe of the light gave him just enough of a read on her expression, flickering through fear to fury and finally settling on horrified contrition as he lifted a hand and found himself stemming a tidal rush of blood from his bruised nose. “Holy smokes, kid.”

“Shit.” She hustled back, dropping to her knees beside him, hands hovering uselessly as he rummaged up a handkerchief and jammed it in place to stanch the flow. “I am so sorry.” A pause. “Please never do that again.”

“Not a chance. I want to keep my head on, thanks.” Stan tipped his chin up, sniffling faintly as he waited for the broken blood vessel to calm the hell down. “Quit lookin’ at me like that, I deserved to end up flat on my ass. Nice solid hit, for a girl, with a desk job.” Budding indignation was definitely an improvement over the guilt and concern twisting her features - he didn’t much want to deal with either of those. “I really could show you how t’do somethin’ with that, y’know.”

Clary seemed reassured that he wasn’t going to die on the spot, at least, as she turned and stretched way out to retrieve the flashlight. “Only if next week is a lot more boring than this one has been. You sure you’re all right.”

He pinched his nose with the hanky, wincing as he tested the bridge, then dabbed with a clean corner which stayed clean. “Not broken. I’ve gotten worse beatings than that, believe me.”

The flicker of concern came and went again, but she kept her mouth shut and stood gracefully, extending a hand down to him. “We’d better wrap up.” Clary leaned back to counterbalance his greater weight and pulled him easily to his feet; Stan snagged the backpack and refrained from any further shenanigans as they came up on the car she’d picked out.

It wasn’t pretty - the color some kind of faded bronze that she called “Sauterne Gold” in passing disgust, chrome pitted along the bumper’s lower edge - but the hood came up quietly. The internals were mostly familiar and more importantly intact.

“Hold the flashlight steady for me an’ keep an eye out.” Stan unzipped his pack, the sound muffled by a liberal coating of beeswax on the teeth, and reached in to feel for the right tools in their flannel wraps. Clary bent for a fleeting moment to squint in and hummed in amusement as she straightened up.

“Pink bunnies?”

“Old PJs of Mabel’s, cut me some slack already. Pliers?” She passed them over, propped her elbow to keep the light roughly aligned, and kept her attention on the road while he set to work. Nothing too complicated. The drive belt was the worst of it, the spark plugs were easy. Clary glanced down at him every now and then as he became absorbed in the process.

He had dumped the tools and miscellaneous bits into the pack and was softly latching the hood when the light cut out and she hissed a warning, dropping into the shelter of the fender as a distant, watery beam raked the lot.

And, inevitably, zeroed in on him. “Hey, what’s going on over there? That you, Bud?”

Blubs. “Pete’s sake,” he spat under his breath, and nudged the backpack with one foot towards Clary’s hiding spot. “Zip that, run for it, toss it over the fence.” Her hand darted out to catch a strap as he half turned. “Uh, yeah?”

“Pines? What the heck happened to your face? And what’re you doin’ here at - Hey, are you stealing parts again?”

“....No?” Clary was inching away deeper into the shadows of the lot. He couldn’t even make her out, but started strolling towards Blubs to cover up the faint crunch of her steps, hands turned out and empty. “You know we got a guest with a busted car, right? Bud an’ I still aren’t speakin’ politely, so I’m here lookin’ for somethin’ trustworthy she can use ‘til she’s fixed.”

“After one in the morning?” Blubs was one to talk; Stan could make out the perpetual sunglasses over the regulation flashlight’s beam.

“D’you really want me crossin’ paths with Bud again?” Somewhere behind him there was a distant rustle of branches, good, then Durland’s voice, far enough off to sound tinny.

“Hey! Where you going, burglar? Yer under arrest - for burglary!”

There was a scuffle, and a sharp, high yelp like a rabbit snatched by an ambitious owl. “Hey!” Stan spun on one heel, and made it about three lengthening steps in the right direction before Blubs full-out tackled him by the knees. One of the car alarms went off, squeep squeep squeep, as he crashed into a door on the way down. “Ah, c’mon, Blubs, I saved the town from an interdimensional demon, gimme a break!”

“Sorry, Stan, we got a job to do.”

Durland herded Clary past him, her back straight, wrists cuffed, expressionless. She caught his eyes for the barest moment - she was pale, a smudge on her cheek, but seemed to be in one piece. Stan let Blubs slap the cuffs on him with an internal groan of resignation. They made a sad little parade out towards the street, the sheriff and his deputy arguing quietly.

“....aw, shoot, Durland, we don’t have the cruiser. Me and my ideas for romantic midnight strolls!”

“Well, why don’t we just commander Stan’s car?”

“Do you mean commandeer?”

“I dunno!”

“Edwin Durland, you are an absolute delight, and I cherish having you as my life partner.”

At least someone was having a good night. Blubs rummaged the car keys out of Stan’s pocket and stuffed him in behind the driver’s seat. Clary ended up on the passenger side, wedged in next to the box of pelts and bones. The Klouneng stayed precariously jammed between his knee and hers. Stan gritted his teeth as Blubs fiddled with the seat back and finally got the El Diablo going.

She stared out into the night the whole way. He could all but hear the mental gears spinning over there and was loathe to interrupt, but finally spoke up, quiet. “You okay, Clary?”

“I’m fine, Stan.” It was the first unambiguous lie she’d told him, smooth as glass. Stan left it at that, letting his temple rest against the window’s chilly surface while he tried to figure a way out of this one.

The station was a bit of a blur as he trudged in, head down, watching Clary’s feet ahead of him. They ended up uncuffed and unceremoniously dumped in one of the cells together. The door closed with a familiar, heavy clang. “You two better get comfortable. We’ll get your prints in the morning.” Blubs really did do a decent job of being intimidating when you didn’t know him.

Stan flopped onto one of the cots. Clary folded her arms, settling against the wall near the bars, angling herself so that she had half a bead on Durland and Blubs talking at the end of the hall. “How do we get out of here?” she whispered after a minute or two.

“Don’t think we can, kid.” Stan settled back onto the thin mattress with a sigh, propping up a knee. “I think I can convince ‘em that you got hypnotized into comin’ along with me or somethin’. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve heard this year or hell even this summer.”

Her mouth twitched faintly. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“I don’t have to tell you that you don’t wanna get in trouble with the law. This isn’t my first night in jail, not by a long shot.” He rolled his head a little, the better to catch her eye. “I’ve been in an’ out of this one so many times the cot’s got a dent to fit my butt.” No laugh, but at least she ducked her head to hide the ghost of a smile. “I’ve done time in worse places than this. Whatever they come up with to throw at me, this’s a cakewalk.”

Her fingers were tapping a soft rhythm against her sleeve. “And if we can get past the lock?”

“Then we slip out a window and they forget this ever happened, most likely.”

Clary’s features went carefully neutral as she fished something out of her back pocket, then leaned against the bars, hands hanging just through. “Excuse me, fellas?” Her voice smoothed out into a warm dark-caramel register that wouldn’t do a damned thing for the sheriff or the deputy but struck a pleasant thrum in Stan’s chest. “You dropped your car keys.”

Durland wandered back after a minute, squinting. “Where’d you get my keepsake key fob? I’ve been lookin’ for that.”

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t even realize I’d picked it up. Thought they were my keys in the dark.”

“Thank you kindly, miss.” She handed the fob off to the deputy, endured a long, scrutinizing stare, then settled back against the wall. Stan stared at the ceiling and listened to the slow retreat of Durland’s feet, settling in for an uncomfortable night.

“Hsst.”

“What.”

He could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Hst,” again, softer, and he turned his head to look over. Clary had one palm tilted towards him, a glint carefully contained by silencing fingers - the cell keys, how the fuck - expression equal measures smug and profoundly ashamed. Her hands were shaking.

Stan bounced upright in pure shock, feet hitting the floor with a thud. He slapped a hand over his mouth in time to muffle an involuntary laugh. “Holy - you sure you don’t have experience with this kinda thing?”

“Shh,” Clary hissed. She pressed her brow to the bars for a better angle on the hallway, both hands cradling the keys as though they’d evaporate any second. Her trembling fingers set off tiny clinks as she tried them in succession until one finally clicked. The bolt slid back with a faint thunk that made both of them flinch. Stan hovered at her side as she pulled one shuddering breath, two, then carefully, carefully opened the door.

They slipped out into the hall and crept down to the station office. Blubs snored peacefully, sprawled across the front desk. Clary leaned over and pulled a neat little switch, plucking up the Stanleymobile keys and leaving the cell keys in their place.

“Hold on,” Stan whispered as she inched towards the outside door. She held in place and watched in outraged astonishment as he sidestepped into what passed for the evidence room, then reemerged with the precious Klouneng tucked under one arm.

The El Diablo was right out front. Stan matter-of-factly unlocked the passenger side, opened it for Clary, handed her the painting - she pivoted and stashed it in the back again - then slid into his own seat, adjusted it to the proper position, and pulled out smoothly down the road.

Both of them were all but holding their breath for the better part of ten minutes. Flashing lights and sirens failed to materialize behind them.

“You know where the pack went down?”

“Yes. I counted fenceposts.”

“Let’s grab that, then, don’t know how we can get into more trouble tonight.”

Clary knocked on the dashboard in lieu of anything actually wooden. “Please don’t tempt fate any further.”

Stan pulled into the former Tent of Telepathy lot next to Gleeful’s and angled the headlamps in the general direction Clary indicated, since they were officially out of flashlights. She hopped out and delved into the underbrush. His fingertips were drumming impatiently on the steering wheel’s edge by the time she reemerged, pack slung over one shoulder.

He picked a circuitous route out of town for no real reason other than his own peace of mind.

Clary tucked herself against the passenger door, arms defensively folded. Her expression gradually wound tighter and tighter into a frown. “You know, he got it wrong, that wasn’t even burglary. At least he didn’t know we’d already done that bit.”

“Pffft.” It wasn’t even that funny, but all the same Stan propped his head in one hand, fingers splayed so he could see, and started to laugh quietly. She joined him after a few moments. There was a hysterical edge to her staccato giggles but it was better than dead silence.

“I cannot believe I did that.”

“Oh, you did, kid. Pretty professional too.” It was damned near three in the morning and exhaustion weighed down his limbs. The drive home was mercifully uneventful, the Shack dark and silent under a moonless sky. He scooped up the painting and she collected the backpack from where she’d dumped it in the footwell. Stan didn’t bother to flick on any lights until they made it to the kitchen, feet dragging, and they both had to squeeze dark-adapted eyes shut against the sudden glare of the overhead lamp.

Stan propped the Klouneng up on the table and sank heavily into a kitchen chair. Clary paced the floor, hands to hips, the mental gears spinning again. "That was a wild night. Let's see. Breaking and entering, burglary, trespassing, petty larceny, escaping custody. How much do Klounengs go for?" Stan winced; she blinked, lips parting in dismay, and burst into a fresh round of low incredulous laughter. "Grand larceny."

"He's not gonna report anythin'," Stan said, a little wounded. "Half of what he has on the walls down there is already stolen. There's, ah, kind of a runnin' rivalry among collectors of these things."

"Lost any of yours?" She padded over to the sink, turning the tap and waiting on the water to warm up.

"Hell, no, I have mine better hidden than that. None of ‘em are dumb enough to mess with the Shack."

"So that leaves a couple hundred in car parts, and we didn't leave any real traces there. Except, you know, being in physical custody for under an hour. They didn't even book us." Clary drew a long breath through her cupped hands, then let it go slowly. "Screw it," she murmured. "We got out alive. The rest is just details."

She tucked her gloves into a back pocket and scrubbed both hands and face while Stan glared at his interlaced fingers and stewed. This night had not gone as planned and really, none of that was on her.

“Want a drink?” Clary reached up into a cupboard.

“Water, sure.” She set a glass in front of him, then paused to study him carefully before pacing back to the sink. “You did good, y’know. Nerves of steel for a rookie.”

“Baltimore being Baltimore, you develop those nerves or you move someplace a lot more peaceful.” Clary returned with a damp paper towel and an air of quiet determination. “Your face is still kind of a mess. Hold still a moment, let me clean you up and then I’ll get an ice pack.”

“Don’t need ice, I can take a couple aspirin - “ She tilted her head at him a little, brows rising, and Stan heaved a resigned sigh.

Clary rested a cool palm along his jaw and tipped him up until he was looking into her eyes. She wasn’t looking into his. Instead her focus was tight and worried as she swabbed along his upper lip. “Cannot believe I tagged you this hard. I am so damned sorry.” Tiny corkscrew tendrils of her hair escaped the bandana, ash brown washed out to silvered threads by the light bulb’s corona. “You sure you feel all right?”

“’m fine.” There was a flush rising along his neck and it wasn’t embarrassment this time. Stan couldn’t tear his gaze away. He’d seen that shade of grey in her troubled eyes before, somewhere. Maybe in the glint of a tern’s wing or the glimmer of the sea at the edge of dawn. “Like I said, I deserved that one.”

"I hit you, Stan, that is not okay." With one last pass of the paper towel along the edge of his lower lip she stepped back to survey her handiwork. The grey eyes flicked up to meet his, and she seemed at last to realize how close she’d been as she withdrew. “You don’t deserve that. Just - no more grabbing me from behind, clear?”

“Crystal.”

She wrapped a familiar bag of frozen peas in a dishtowel and handed it off. A moment’s rifling through a drawer turned up a bottle of ibuprofen, which she opened and set on the table. “Anything else before I go collapse? You guys are wearing me out so completely that I’m sleeping better than I have in years.”

“Why’d you come along?”

He hadn’t meant to ask that - it slipped out unbidden. Stan pressed the improvised icepack to his forehead, peering out at her from under daisy-patterned terrycloth. She looked as surprised as he felt. “I mean - you knew it’d be trouble.”

“I made a promise,” Clary said after a wary pause, “that I’d take some real chances this year. Stick my neck out for other people.”

“How’s that workin’ out for you so far?”

A tiny smile warmed her weary features. “Mixed bag. Right now, from where I’m standing, I think things might be looking up.” Her palm pressed his shoulder in brief reassurance. “Good night, Stan.”

“G’night, Clary.” She shot him a last oblique glance as she headed out into the hall.

Stan washed down three ibuprofen with water, settled back in the chair and let his eyes slip half closed for a thoughtful while, listening to the distant song of crickets.

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She hovers uselessly at your side, wide eyes flicking between your bleeding nose and the backpack you dropped. “I am so sorry.”

Want to learn how to really hit?

Play for sympathy.

Get indignant.

#Gravity Falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #Swooning Over Stans #Stanley Pines #OClicious #fanfic

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