#chevy truck carpet

[stockinterior]

Upgrade Your Chevy Car Interior: Premium Solutions Await!

Chevy Car Interior

Enjoy a comfortable ride, while Stock Interiors Chevy car interior. Personalize your car with various colors, patterns, and stitching options for a one-of-a-kind look.

[catfuyus]

— ❝ COMING HOME ❞ ft. BAJI KEISUKE

Nothing feels right. You place the keys in a small ceramic bowl near the front door’s entrance. It’s a new smell in the same house. The smell of fresh paint that never dissipated from when you first moved in. Everything is off. As if you had suddenly awakened from a long, disassociative nothingness, and everything had changed from the moment you went under.

Everything was different, as if you were seeing it for the first time, but everything was technically, the same. Years unchanged.

You remove your shoes, hang up your bag and wander into the kitchen. It’s airy, light. The faint smell of freshly chopped herbs on the cutting board in sight. But no people. This house is empty. It’s full of things that you know you should recognize, you do recognize to an extent, but still nothing.

The sliding glass doors open to wide, green yard. Flowers blooming in the garden. There’s patio furniture placed on structured concrete with four chairs arranged for seating. Four chairs, you think absentmindedly, before shutting the doors again to wander through the kitchen and back through to the living room.

The house has stairs. Carpet padded stairs just after the tiled floor. Something tells you not to go up. Something tells you to head back out. To get out, while you still can. Get out while you still can.

So you exit the front door, bare feet padding on the cold concrete. There are flowers planted by the front door as well.

The house is a shell. Decorated warmly. Garden maintained. But there is a scent that lingers beneath the artificial candles and freshly cooked dinners. A sickening smell that speaks more to its true nature than the inhabitants can seem to admit. Or maybe they don’t notice. You noticed the smell as soon as you walked in.

A car pulls up. Your heart spikes, silently hoping, needing it not to be the person it needs not to be. You need your peace to last a little longer.

It’s a small black truck. Chevy Colorado. It’s not new, not clean on the outside. It parks on the street in the middle of the driveway. A guest not staying long. It would anger the inhabitants of the house if it did.

The door slams, and he appears around the front of the car. Smiling brown eyes. Hair pulled high into a ponytail. As he walks up the driveway you know he smells like sunlight and cologne. An old Metallica shirt you’d seen a dozen times and a silver cross necklace dangling from his neck.

He stops smiling when he sees you. Surprise taking over the features of his face. A faint, what’s wrong as he pulls you into his chest.

You hiccup. His shirt is wet where you pressed your face, tightly clutching onto the back of his shirt. You hiccup a little louder, rubbing your face into the cloth with no regard for anything else.

He leads you down the steps, the faint smell of freshly cut lawn and the summer sun passing by you with your eyes blurry. It’s a nice smell. A familiar smell. The truck door is opened and you slip into the leather seat.

We can try again tomorrow. We can try again some other time. It doesn’t have to be here. We don’t even have to try again if you don’t want to.

No it’s okay. It’s really okay.

He presses his lips against yours. Hard in a thin line. Exhaling as he pulls away. And you’re dizzied with the need for more. But his amber eyes are hard, pulled into vexing thought. And you feel protected. And needy. Arms going out to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for another, more desperate kiss.

I’ll go get your shoes. Keys in the house? You nod. Stay right here. I’ll be right back.

You duck down, low into the seat and wait for him. He’s quick. Reappearing through the window of the car and popping the driver’s door open. He sets your keys in the cup holder, shoes on the floor, slides in and starts the car.

He takes your hand and kisses the back of your knuckles. Eyes on the mirrors as you watch his face. I love you. Puts the car and drive and leaves this awful place.

I wish I could give you more. I wish I had more to give.

You’re everything I want. I don’t want you to think I need any more than you. He smiles, wraps his large hand around your thigh. I already have all of you. You’re my whole world.

And you’re mine. Your throat hurts. Sore from suppressing emotion. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be a bad person.

I never thought you were. Not for one second.

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

There are parts of the past that you miss. Coffee in the morning. Carpet under your toes. Fresh baked cupcakes and pulling out a chair for dinner.

You think those things belong there. In that house. And that’s what you miss. But all those things and their softened afternoon light. Hazy naps under the sun and a cooling evening with ice cream and tv.

These are not permanently gone. Not since you started dating Baji. He listens to the kind of music you like. Play fights with you when you’re annoying. He makes you coffee in the morning. Memorized it just the way you like. And when you look up at him with tears in your eyes and hesitant hands, he brushes your nose up against his and pulls you in for a kiss. I’ll always keep you safe.

But you don’t know that, Kei. You don’t know what’ll happen.

That’s the one thing I do know, babe. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.

And jump out of bed and bring your coffee to cling to his back all day. Taking little sips. Careful not to spill, as you keep your arms trapped around him. Keisuke is kind like that. Keeping you stuck in his arms. Under his weight. It’s almost like he needs to feel you too. Like he knows you’re safe when you’re stuck to him. His little wife. Only he knows this side of you. The softened underside of your belly that you show no one. All hard edges and growls smoothened over. When you’re with him like this, it makes him realize that you’re family. That you’ve made a home in him. That he wants it to keep growing, with just the two of you, and whatever else you make.

That your trust was hard earned, and he lives every day to be deserving of it. Knowing that he’ll always be the kind of man you need. Because he loves you, you’re the one, and no one else fits in his heart like you do. You make everything easy, and even when it’s hard, he’s still so filled with love for you. And it’s not the painful kind that your parents have hammered into you. It’s bittersweet and blossoming. Achingly beautiful and delicately loving. A tender love that protects. A fierce love that guards and releases. You’ve never known that kind of love. Not until Baji pulled you into his arms and gave you his heart.

It’s never been safe to be kind. It’s never been safe to be tender. To let them know what you’re feeling. To let them know this softer side of you. It’s never been safe.

So you became a fighter. You became strong and ferocious. A leader in part. Confident in some. Aggressive, protective, you are the one who guards, who keeps others safe. But with him, it feels so nice to sleep.

To weaken. To soften. To trust. With closed eyes and open heart. That he will take care of you. All of the parts of you. And you can connect, deeply, to the side of you that no one knows. That in safety and security, you can make a home with him. And know that he will defend it and never neglect it. Because it’s his home too. It’s his Everthing. And it means as much to him as it does to you.

[dijidweeeb]

1955 Chevrolet Bel Air Custom

Why This Car Is Special

The 1955 Chevrolet (sometimes referred to as '55 Chevy) is an automobile that was made by Chevrolet in 1955. It is considered a huge turning point for the manufacturer and was a major success.

Fast forward to now and you will see this 1955 Chevrolet 150 Resto-Mod we have at Skyway Classics has a semi-truck load of performance and comfort items added to its gleaming orange and tan exterior.

Features

1955 Chevrolet Bel Air Custom

Restored at Custom Classics

355 cubic inch modified small block Chevrolet engine

Polished aluminum intake

Performance carb with the electric choke

Chrome open element air cleaner assembly

Aluminum finned valve covers with red script Chevrolet

Performance fuel plumbing

Modified electronics and distributor

Serpentine belt drive system with billet aluminum pulleys

Power steering and disc power brakes

Vintage Air

Tube headers

3-inch dual exhaust with Flowmaster mufflers

700 R4 automatic transmission with overdrive

Engine and frame both painted and detailed

Tan custom interior

Handsome bucket seat like but bench-seats

Matching rear seat and door panels

Leather-wrapped steering wheel

Custom center console with the chrome shifter and orange shifter ball

Billet aluminum dash with VDO gauges

In-dash CD player

Vintage Air with electronic climate control

Seatbelts

Tan carpet and floor mats

Finished trunk with custom fitted partitions, carpet, Bow Tie logo back of the cargo area

Hugger Orange and Tan

Full side windows in place of the original vented pieces

One-piece front and rear bumpers

Staggered-diameter Ridler alloy wheels

Performance tires

Mechanical

You will appreciate the 355 cubic inch modified Chevy small-block V-8 residing under the smoothed hood. A showpiece all on its own, it incorporates a polished aluminum intake, performance carb with the electric choke, chrome open element air cleaner assembly, aluminum finned valve covers with red script Chevrolet on them, performance fuel plumbing, modified electronics and distributor, a serpentine belt drive system with billet aluminum pulleys to drive its power steering, power brakes, alternator and Vintage Air accessory drives, and tube headers feeding 3-inch dual exhaust with Flowmaster mufflers to deliver the kind of throaty rumble guaranteed to attract attention.

A 700 R4 automatic transmission with overdrive and four-wheel disc brakes add even more to the 150's performance capabilities with the engine and frame both painted and detailed.

Interior

The tan custom interior has had its once-minimalist accommodations traded for a handsome bucket seat like but bench-seat interior featuring a matching rear seat and door panels, a leather-wrapped steering wheel, custom center console with the chrome shifter and orange shifter ball, billet aluminum dash with VDO gauges, in-dash CD player, Vintage Air with electronic climate control, seatbelts, and tan carpet and floor mats.

It even has a finished trunk with custom fitted partitions, carpet, and a Bow Tie logo across the back of the cargo area.

Exterior

Our 1955 Chevrolet 150 Sedan is a particularly fine example of craftmanship that has went into this show car.

The first thing you will notice is the paint scheme. Tastefully sprayed in Hugger Orange and Tan with carefully considered details such as full side windows in place of the original vented pieces, one-piece front and rear bumpers contribute to setting the car apart from the pack, and new staggered-diameter Ridler alloy wheels and performance rubber give it just the right stance.

Conclusion

This 1955 Chevy show car we have at Skyway Classics was built by Custom Classics that is a nationally renowned restoration facility for customizing show-winning cars of almost any make and model, from American iron to foreign exotics and vintage rarities.

1955 Chevrolet Bel Air Bradenton, Florida | Hemmings

1955 Chevrolet Bel Air Bradenton, Florida | Hemmings

1955 Chevrolet Bel Air Bradenton, Florida | Hemmings

[teeniquedesign]

Christmas Vacation Sweatshirt: A Festive Essential for Holiday Fans

The holiday season is the perfect time to get cozy, enjoy classic movies, and embrace festive fashion. If you’re a fan of the iconic film National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, there’s no better way to show your holiday spirit than by wearing a Christmas Vacation sweatshirt. With its humorous quotes and memorable scenes, Christmas Vacation has become a beloved holiday tradition, and themed sweatshirts inspired by the movie offer a fun and comfortable way to celebrate.

In this guide, we’ll explore the popularity of the Christmas Vacation sweatshirt, the best designs, where to buy one, and how to style it for the holiday season.

Why Choose a Christmas Vacation Sweatshirt?

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation has been a holiday staple since its release in 1989. The movie captures the chaos, humor, and warmth of family gatherings during the holidays. Fans of the film love quoting their favorite lines and reminiscing about Clark Griswold’s over-the-top decorations, Cousin Eddie’s outrageous antics, and all the mishaps that make the movie so memorable.

Wearing a Christmas Vacation sweatshirt is more than just a fashion choice – it’s a way to show off your love for a classic holiday movie. Here are a few reasons why a Christmas Vacation-themed sweatshirt is a must-have:

Nostalgia and Fun For many people, Christmas Vacation brings back memories of watching the movie with family and friends. A sweatshirt featuring your favorite quotes or characters helps keep that nostalgia alive, while also adding humor and personality to your holiday wardrobe.

Comfort and Style The holidays are all about comfort, and a cozy sweatshirt is perfect for lounging at home, wrapping presents, or heading to casual holiday parties. A Christmas Vacation sweatshirt blends warmth and style, making it an easy go-to piece for the season.

Perfect for Holiday Parties Ugly sweater parties have become a holiday tradition, but a Christmas Vacation sweatshirt can be a fun alternative that’s still festive. You can stand out with a sweatshirt featuring a hilarious quote from the movie, like “Why is the carpet all wet, Todd?” or “I don’t know, Margo!” It’s sure to get a laugh and start conversations.

Great Gift Idea If you’re looking for a unique and thoughtful holiday gift, a Christmas Vacation sweatshirt is a great option. It’s a fun and practical gift for fans of the movie, and it can be worn year after year during the holiday season.

Popular Christmas Vacation Sweatshirt Designs

There are plenty of Christmas Vacation sweatshirt designs to choose from, whether you want something subtle or a bold tribute to the movie’s most iconic moments. Here are some popular themes and designs to consider:

Clark Griswold's Quotes Clark Griswold, played by Chevy Chase, is the lovable and slightly obsessive main character who just wants to create the perfect family Christmas. Many Christmas Vacation sweatshirts feature his most famous quotes, such as “We're gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas!” or “You couldn’t hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant!” These quotes capture the spirit of Clark’s determination to make the holidays magical – no matter what goes wrong.

Cousin Eddie’s Iconic Moments Cousin Eddie, played by Randy Quaid, is one of the most memorable characters in Christmas Vacation. From his unique fashion sense to his hilariously inappropriate behavior, Eddie has plenty of moments that are perfect for sweatshirt designs. A fan-favorite is the quote, “Merry Christmas! Shitter’s full!” This design is sure to get laughs and is perfect for fans of Eddie’s outrageous antics.

The Griswold Family Christmas Tree One of the most iconic scenes in Christmas Vacation is when the Griswold family ventures out to get the biggest Christmas tree they can find – only to realize it’s far too large for their home. Sweatshirts featuring the oversized tree or Clark struggling with Christmas lights are a humorous nod to this scene, making it a popular design for fans of the movie.

Subtle References If you prefer a more understated look, there are plenty of Christmas Vacation sweatshirts with subtle nods to the film. These designs might feature a small graphic of the Griswold family station wagon carrying an enormous tree, or a simple line drawing of the house decked out in lights. These sweatshirts offer a stylish and subtle way to show off your love for the movie without going over the top.

Holiday-Themed Designs For those who love the blend of Christmas Vacation and holiday cheer, there are sweatshirts that combine traditional Christmas motifs with elements from the movie. Think ugly sweater patterns with reindeer, snowflakes, and Cousin Eddie’s RV or Clark Griswold’s light-covered house. These designs add a festive twist to your holiday wardrobe while paying homage to the film.

Where to Buy a Christmas Vacation Sweatshirt

Now that you’ve decided to add a Christmas Vacation sweatshirt to your holiday wardrobe, where should you shop? Here are some top places to find the best designs:

Online Retailers Websites like Amazon, Etsy, and eBay are great places to start your search for a Christmas Vacation sweatshirt. These platforms offer a wide variety of designs, from officially licensed merchandise to unique, handmade options. On Etsy, you’ll find a range of creative, custom designs that cater to fans looking for something more unique.

Official Merchandise Stores For authentic, officially licensed Christmas Vacation apparel, check out online stores that specialize in movie merchandise. Websites like Warner Bros. Shop or Shop National Lampoon often carry officially branded sweatshirts featuring iconic movie quotes and images.

Department Stores and Holiday Boutiques During the holiday season, many department stores like Target, Walmart, and Kohl’s carry seasonal sweatshirts, including those with popular movie themes. You might also find Christmas Vacation-themed items in specialty holiday shops or pop-up stores that focus on festive clothing and accessories.

Custom Design Websites If you’re looking for something truly unique, websites like Zazzle or Redbubble allow you to create custom sweatshirts. You can choose your favorite quotes, images, or even upload your own designs to create a one-of-a-kind Christmas Vacation sweatshirt that perfectly matches your style.

How to Style Your Christmas Vacation Sweatshirt

Once you’ve found the perfect Christmas Vacation sweatshirt, it’s time to figure out how to style it for the holidays. Whether you’re keeping it casual or dressing it up, here are a few ideas for creating a festive look:

Casual and Cozy For a laid-back holiday look, pair your sweatshirt with jeans, leggings, or joggers. Add a pair of cozy socks and sneakers or slippers for the ultimate comfy outfit. This look is perfect for lounging around the house, watching Christmas movies, or wrapping presents.

Festive Layers If you want to elevate your look, try layering your Christmas Vacation sweatshirt over a collared shirt or turtleneck. Pair it with tailored pants or a skirt, and add festive accessories like a Santa hat or holiday-themed jewelry. This style is great for holiday parties or casual family gatherings.

Themed Outfit for Holiday Events Attending an ugly sweater party or a movie-themed event? Go all out by pairing your Christmas Vacation sweatshirt with matching accessories, like a Cousin Eddie hat or a Clark Griswold Christmas light necklace. You can even coordinate with friends or family by dressing up as different characters from the movie.

Final Thoughts on Christmas Vacation Sweatshirts

A Christmas Vacation sweatshirt is the perfect way to combine your love for the holiday season with one of the most beloved Christmas comedies of all time. Whether you’re lounging at home, attending a party, or looking for a unique gift, these sweatshirts bring humor, nostalgia, and festive flair to any holiday occasion.

With so many designs to choose from, you’re sure to find the perfect Christmas Vacation sweatshirt that captures the spirit of the movie and makes your holiday season even brighter.

[twoguysandaride]

John’s Super Slick C10

The second-generation C/K was introduced for the 1967 model year. Designated the "Action Line" generation by General Motors, the C/K largely carried over its drop-center ladder frame and its coil-sprung rear axle, but the body was redesigned from the ground up to improve its capability as a multi-purpose vehicle. Alongside a utilitarian vehicle intended for work or farm use, the C/K was also offered with optional features carried over from Chevrolet sedans, including automatic transmissions, AM/FM radio, carpet, and two-tone paint.

While the Action Line would not undergo a definitive model revision through its production, the series underwent gradual changes on a biannual basis.[1] The drivetrain line underwent multiple revisions, as a large-block V8 was offered for the first time in 1968. After 1969, GM switched entirely to Chevrolet-produced engines for C/K pickup trucks.

This generation marks the debut of the Chevrolet Cheyenne and GMC Sierra nameplates; introduced in 1971 and 1972, respectively, General Motors still uses both nameplates for full-size pickups in current production. The Action-Line pickup also served as the basis of ancestors of modern full-size SUVs, including the Chevrolet K5 Blazer, an open-body off-road vehicle, and the Chevrolet Suburban truck-based station wagon.

For 1973, GM replaced the Action Line trucks with the long-running Rounded Line series; the Action Line trucks are the final C/K trucks offered solely with a two-door cab.

#chevyc10build #chevyc10restoration #chevyc10longbed #chevyc10lsswap #chevyc10squarebody #chevyc10stepside #chevyc10burnout #chevyc10forsale #chevyc10needforspeedpayback #chevyc10exhaust #chevyc10shortbed #chevyc10cammed #chevyc10restomod #autotopiala #autotopia #c10 #truck #classiccars #chevy #chevytruck #ls3 #shortbed #restomod #classiccar #superchargedc10 #1967c10 #1967chevyc10 #protouringtrucks #hotrod #luckysgarage #luckycosta

[savagenewcanaan]

Savage New Canaan Leading 5 Classic Muscle Vehicles

Today the term muscle mass auto refers for all sorts of cars with large engines and great performance. Nevertheless, "in the past" it defined mid-sized cars that had large engines packed between the fender wells. Corvettes, Camaros, and also Mustangs were not considered muscle vehicles by the purists. Also today many gear heads just think about the mid sized vehicles from the 1960's as real muscle automobiles. Everything else is a sports car, pony auto or simply a plain old car.

 So what was the most crucial of these initial muscular tissue autos? We have actually chosen 5 of the most popular vehicles for a retro contrast to establish the king of the hill. The selectees are the 1961 Chevy Impala SS, the 1964 Pontiac GTO, the 1964 Ford Fairlane, the 1966 Dodge Charger and also the 1968 Plymouth Roadway Jogger. Let the face-off begin.

 1961 Chevy Impala SS

 Lots of consider this the first true muscle car. A 409 cubic inch electric motor was gone down right into the Chevy Impala and also a legend was made. With the assistance of the Coastline Boys and their tune regarding the car (' She's so fine, my four-oh-nine') it became a symbol for the child boomers. Chevy's advertising and marketing for the automobile described it as made "for young men on the step ...( that) will not choose less than REAL driving excitement."

 Performance was great for the period with Electric motor Fad driving one from no to sixty on 7 seconds as well as finishing the quarter mile in 14 seconds at 98 miles per hour. The vehicle became a tale.

 1964 Pontiac GTO

 The GTO was one more advertising success for General Motors. Although the vehicle was not the fastest auto on the market it swiftly ended up being effective as an all a rounded muscle mass car. It was relatively budget-friendly, relatively quick and also fairly handsome. Lots of consider it the first modern-day muscular tissue car. Although that is open to question, it is absolutely the initial effective muscle mass car in regards to sales.

 Efficiency was great with Cars and truck Life and Motor Pattern both determining absolutely no to sixty times of much less than seven seconds and also quarter mile times of about 14 secs.

 1964 Ford Fairlane

 In 1964 the Fairlane was revamped and also the tail fins were gotten rid of. Other renovations included upgrades to the suspension in order to improve ride-quality. Interior improvements consisted of full carpets for the floors and also transform signals that transformed themselves off after the guiding wheel was turned. However, the large news for 1964 was the Thunderbolt. The Thunderbolt was one of fastest dragsters ever created by a producer. Ford packed a greatly customized 427 cubic inch engine with 2 four-barrel carburetors mounted on a high-riser manifold into the fairly light weight Fairlane. The cars and truck had a ram-air induction system with air vents installed in openings in the grill left by deleting the inboard fronts lights.

 Various other alterations consisted of: equal-length headers, a trunk-mounted battery, fiberglass hood, doors, fenders and also front bumper, Plexiglass home windows, and various other lightweight choices included erasing the back door window winders, carpets, radio, sealant, sun visors, armrests, jack, lug wrench, heating unit, soundproofing, and also guest side windshield wiper. Efficiency was impressive. Gas Ronda dominated NHRA's 1964 Globe Champion by running his Thunderbolt through the quarter mile in 11.6 secs at 124 miles per hour. Later, the NHRA changed the rules to call for 500 versions of an auto to be manufactured for Super Stock competitors, as well as Ford, which had actually been losing $1500 to $2000 on each Thunderbolt cost the price tag of $3900, surrendered. Ultimately, it was the NHRA as well as its capability to transform the rules that quit the Ford from dominating the drag strips for years.

Savage New Canaan

 Although the Fairlane discolored form Ford's performance limelight as the Mustang removed. It came back in 1966 as well as 67 as a very great looking automobile. Huge engines 'urged' great performance numbers additionally.

 1966 Dodge Charger

 Although it looked like a Coronet with a fastback, the manufacturing Charger carried design signs from the Battery charger II idea automobile. Both kept the swoopy fastback that was preferred throughout the mid-sixties. The electrical razor grill utilized fully rotating headlights that when opened or closed made the grill resemble one-piece. Inside, the Battery charger made use of 4 individual pail seats with a full size console from front to back. The back seats as well as console pad additionally folded up down which permitted even more freight space inside. In the back the full size taillights lugged the Charger name.

 The vehicle was substantially different than anything else on the road and when fitted with a street Hemi it was one of the fastest automobiles when traveling. A Hemi complete vehicle can do absolutely no to sixty in less than 7 seconds and the quarter mile in around 14 seconds. It was a large and radically created vehicle. As well as best of al, it was quickly.

 1968 Plymouth Road Jogger

 By 1968, muscle mass cars and trucks had become fast, extravagant and costly. The youngsters that included the key market for these kinds of transportation had actually been evaluated of the marketplace. Plymouth recognized this as well as manipulated to its greatest possibility. First, the stripped down a Gazebo to its most fundamental type and after that provided it a big electric motor. After that the advertising department discovered a simple way to change the picture of the auto from that of a bare bones racer to an one-of-a-kind auto. A preferred animation character as well as an one-of-a-kind horn was all that was need to bring this cars and truck to the masses.

 The Roadway jogger was an instant success. The combination of affordability plus exceptional efficiency had won the day again. Performance was remarkable with 13 second times for the Hemi and 15 2nd times for the base engine in the quarter mile.

 The Champion

 All 5 of these muscle mass vehicles were pattern setters in their day. However the one that attract this author as the greatest of the early muscle vehicles is the 1966 Dodge Battery charger. It was an extreme departure from the past with its rapid back design as well as the 4 traveler pail seats. It just resembled a muscle mass auto. Efficiency was solid as well as the price was reasonable. The 1961 Chevy Impala Super Sporting activity is a close 2nd and also if even more had actually been made it may have really won this little compression.

[hummelberries]

glee kids as the car i think they have

rachel: little two-door chevy sedan from the 90s, because her dads are loaded but they still thought her first car should be a cheap used car on principle. planned on getting her a nicer car once the chevy crapped out but it's still hanging on and she's emotionally attached to it at this point. her windshield shade is gold star print, she has three sets of seat covers, and the carpet is vacuumed. it has a cd player and a tape deck. her glove compartment full of music is alphabetized. "bernie" - short for bernadette.

finn: one of those SUVs that you have to climb into, with the step-up ledge on the side. it's huge, and it seems even bigger on the inside, but he loves it, because everything on a regular chassis had the steering wheel in his lap. it's pretty recent and he feels guilty that his parents spent so much money on him so he's a really careful driver, but the car is an absolute mess of laundry and trash until once every couple months rachel or kurt starts bitching at him about how disgusting it is. he didn't name it, but he calls it "buddy."

kurt: his baby, the navigator, of course, but hear me out - he has access to an auto shop, and he loves working with his hands. what if he had a project car? a rundown 60s lincoln continental that he bought from the scrapyard, because how dare they, sure it's falling apart and has moth-eaten seats but it's gorgeous, it just needs some love. he's made a moodboard for it complete with paint samples and fabric swatches for the carpet and the upholstery, and burt was there to hug him the first time he got it to run. "sweetheart" -- blaine's a little jealous.

blaine: bmw two-seater convertible. bright red with black-trimmed white leather interior. daddy's money, yeah, but blaine doesn't resent it -- he picked it all out himself. if his dad thought he could buy blaine's love, blaine could at least have some fun with it. it makes him feel like a badass, which was something he really needed after freshman year. dad called it a ladykiller car, but blaine's boyfriend seems to like it pretty well when they're parking. "desdemona."

quinn: a pastel green volkswagen beetle, the same car she's wanted ever since she was a little girl. a present from her parents. she keeps clothes folded in the back seat out of habit; there's a picture of puck holding beth taped to the dashboard, another one of sam's little brother and sister, and one of herself, santana, and brittany. there's a picture of the whole glee club clipped under the visor, and a bible and a half-empty pack of newports in the glove box. a cross necklace dangles from the rearview mirror. she never named it.

puck: bigass ford pickup truck that always smells like marijuana. there's pool chemicals in a box on the floor in the back and a skimmer in the bed, and there's a star of david sticker on the tailgate. the only other one has the logo for ac/dc. he's pretty bad about the laundry, too, and there's a pile of cds in the passenger seat that's half fallen off into the floor next to a can of dip that he always has to fumble for. there's a big dent in the left rear door from when he and finn were taking turns doing donuts in the school parking lot when they were fourteen and one of them ran into a streetlamp. puck swears it was finn. he has menthols in his glove box, too, even though he doesn't smoke cigarettes. the ashtray is only roaches and lipstick-stained filters. quinn doesn't mention it. "the puck-mobile."

santana: a wood-paneled station wagon that was a hand-me-down from one of her tias. it's old enough that the back seat seatbelts don't have cross-straps. the breaks are iffy and something's always rattling and she claims to hate it, but selectively does not hear when her mom tells her "we can get you a better car than that deathtrap, mija." there's a hula girl on the dash and the radio's preset to the channel brittany likes, lipsticks rolling around on the bench, and a charm of saint christopher from her abuelita stuck to the inside of one of the visors. there's pom-poms and one of brittany's stuffed animals in the backseat. "bitch" or "puta."

brittany: big old minivan. and she wanted a minivan, she picked it out herself. the dashboard, bumper, and back windshield are all covered in stickers of kittens and unicorns and rainbows; there's a cat bed on the floor of the passenger seat so she and lord tubbington can hang out. she has a pair of fuzzy dice over the mirror, along with a lei, a bi pride flag, and the first friendship bracelet she got back from santana. kurt helped her bedazzle the license plate frame and cried a little when she explained that the big heart magnet full of letters is the initials of everyone in glee club. "sparkles."

sam: his first car that his parents bought him back in kentucky was a truck, but that got repo'd along with everything else. he bought himself a discrete, practical four-door sedan, in black. its interior is perpetually coated in some amount of glitter, no matter how much he vacuums; he has two carseats in it, and half of the CDs he has are kidz bop and disney soundtracks. finn and puck ceremoniously hung a red solo cup from his rearview labeled "#6", and he keeps it there, taping the family photo carole took of him, finn, kurt, and burt to the other side. brittany calls it "other sparkles"; sam doesn't call it anything.

[stockinterior]

The Unseen Luxury: Exploring Ford Car Carpets from Stock Interiors

Most people first consider the seats, dashboards, and high-tech accessories when discussing car interiors. The car carpet, on the other hand, is an unsung hero in your vehicle's interior and deserves much more recognition. The car carpet, though it may not be the first thing that springs to mind when you think of your car, is quite important for creating a comfortable, secure, and attractive driving environment. We'll delve deeper into the world of vehicle carpets in this article and examine why they're more significant than you would think.

Insulation and Comfort

The provision of a cozy and insulated surface for your feet is one of the main purposes of a car carpet. It's the first thing your feet contact when you get into your car, and it has a big impact on how you drive.

Numerous layers of padding and insulating materials are used in the creation of automobile carpets. These layers assist in dampening road noise and vibrations in addition to cushioning your footfall. This will make the travel for you and your passenger’s quieter and more comfortable, making long commutes and drives much more pleasant.

Beauty Appeal

Your unique taste and style are reflected in your vehicle's interior. Because they are aware of this, automakers provide a wide range of options for car carpets to accommodate various tastes. You may alter the interior of your car to better reflect your style thanks to the numerous colours, textures, and patterns available for car carpets. There is a car carpet to match the aesthetics of your vehicle, whether you choose a traditional, elegant pattern or a bold, athletic one.

Maintenance and Resilience

Additionally, automotive carpets must resist regular wear and tear from passengers getting in and out of the vehicle, often with muddy shoes. Because of this, they are frequently built of sturdy, stain- and dirt-resistant materials.

Modern automobile carpets are made to require less care. They are frequently coated with stain-resistant materials, making spills and accidents easier to clean up. The interior of your automobile will stay in excellent shape for many years thanks to this durability.

Considerations for Safety

Car carpeting contributes to safety in addition to comfort and style. Slip-resistant car carpets are a design feature that helps guard against unintentional falls when entering and exiting the vehicle. This safety element is especially crucial when it's slick or rainy outside.

Conclusion

Every little thing counts in the world of vehicle design, and Ford is more aware of this than most. The frequently disregarded feature of automobile carpets is evidence of Ford's dedication to offering a comprehensive and great driving experience.

Ford car carpets are a crucial component of the total package that sets Ford cars apart, from comfort and beauty to durability and safety. Therefore, the next time you get into your Ford, take a moment to notice how soft and opulent it feels under your feet, and keep in mind that even the hidden components of your automobile were created with your pleasure and enjoyment in mind.

With Stock Interior's top-notch Auto Carpet, your Ford's interior will be upgraded. Our premium Auto Carpet is made to match your exact Ford and comes in a variety of colours. They are durable, comfortable, and original fit.

Our Ford auto carpets are created especially to offer a great fit and improve the overall appearance of your car's interior. Our Ford carpets are produced from premium materials and are designed to resist regular wear and tear. They are precisely moulded with durability and precision in mind. It's never been simpler to replace your worn-out carpet thanks to simple installation and accurate fit. To give your Ford a brand-new look, select the colours that best suit your preferences. Discover our selection right away to discover the difference between a perfectly fitting and durable Ford auto carpet.

Visit: https://www.stockinteriors.com/model/fordcar/autocarpet

[c10stepside]

🚨ForSale🚨 1965 chevy C10 patina stepper short bed. 350/350 engine and transmission combo. These are the details. It was just pinstriped by Denise Corbett from Corbett Graphics on January 2022. This truck is bagged. Registration is up to date with new legacy license plates. NEW: Aluminum radiator, Electric radiator fan, Interstate battery, Headlights, Parking lights, Parking light harness Under dash wire harness, Upholstered bench seat, Gas tank sending unit, Sound deadening mat, Carpet kit, Deluxe cab interior nobs, Front 6 lug disk brake kit, 15 inch wide white wall tires, Wood bed, Tail lights, Precision press-on door frame weather strips, Windshield, Chevron west coast jr. side mirrors, Back window blinds, Bluetooth sound system (kick panels with 6 1/2 speakers, two under seat 8" low profile sub woofer speakers with stealth bluetooth marine 4 channel amp Under the hood engine compartment is very clean! It does have a small transmission leak from the seal on the gear sleeve where the speedometer cable connects to. You just need to buy a TH350 speedo housing kit which cost around $30. If you appreciate patina classic trucks then this truck is for you. No trades. Unrealistic offers will be ignored. 📍Turlock, California (( 23k )) OBO Serious buyers please text 209-380-4485 Drive it away today! Like and share to reach more steppers 😊 ==================== Owner is @the_great_octavius Follow @C10stepside for more 💪The only IG specializing in stepside ==================== #c10stepside #c10 #c10trucks #chevy #gmc #chevytrucks #gmctrucks #shortbed #stepside #pickup #trucks #c10club #c10shortbed #oldschool #classic  #squarebodychevy #chevyc10 #stepper #squarebody https://www.instagram.com/p/CaxRnDGKV1u/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mandoalorian]

Champagne Problems [Frankie Morales x Reader]

Summary: Sitting on the night train, Frankie reminisces on the time he proposed to you, his high school sweetheart. You were so sure that this was all you ever wanted. But as it turned out, you had more on your plate than you initially bargained for, and things don’t go as well as Frankie could’ve hoped.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 1600>

Warnings: allusions to death, mention of substance abuse, addiction, relapse, allusions to depression, cigarettes mention, self induced injury, food mention, alcohol mention.

Author’s Note: BASED HEAVILY ON THE SONG ��Champagne Problems’ by Taylor Swift. Please please give this song a listen either before or after you read this. It is so beautiful.

Masterlist

Frankie booked the night train for a reason. He couldn’t stay in town anymore, knowing that you were still there. He had no place to go, but that was the least of his concerns. Embarrassed and humiliated, all Frankie wanted was to sit and drown in all his hurt. As he paid for the ticket, he considered how the train might look. Bustling crowds or silent sleepers? He wasn’t sure which was worse. So long as he was without you, he was alone and without purpose.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The living room was burning in amber candlelight, the faint smell of figgy pudding cooking in the distance was so distinct, and the crackling of the record player when the vinyl needed flipped was enough noise to give Frankie nightmares for the rest of his life. You and Frankie were the last ones dancing, your feet shuffling against his mom’s old carpet as you gazed longingly into his eyes.

When he got down on one knee and asked you to marry him, in front of his entire family, you wanted to say yes. So desperately, in your heart, you were certain that you wanted to marry Frankie Morales. And so, in that moment, you weren’t quite sure why the word “no” fell from your lips. Like every word you had ever spoken, the rejection was sweet like honey, and somehow, that only made the cut sting more.

Frankie’s face softened and he looked down at his feet as his cheeks burned pink with shame. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. How could you do this to him? Frankie made the mistake of scoping out the room, taking in the appearance of his family members who sat there with their jaws agape, watching the heartbreaking scene unravel before them like some kind of movie. You hadn’t meant to hurt him like this. You would never mean to hurt him. You loved him.

And so, Frankie shoved the small velvet box back into his jean pocket and didn’t speak another word. He continued to slow dance with you until the song ended. The melody was tainted now, and you tried your hardest to fight back your tears. Somehow, you knew, this would be your last dance with Frankie. You wish you could find the words to make things right. Would an apology be enough? For a brief moment, you and Frankie looked into each other's eyes and you still felt that familiar love… until, on impulse, you made the decision to drop his hands and run away. You left him standing there, crestfallen, in front of his entire family.

Sitting on the train, he gazed out the window. Pearly white snowflakes fluttered past him and they reminded him of your gentle nature and delicacy. Your picture burned a hole in his wallet, and his mom’s wedding ring weighed down his pocket. Frankie’s heart was like glass, fragile, and you had so carelessly dropped it.

Frankie had told his family on Christmas Eve when he thought you were tucked up in the warmth of his bed, fast asleep. The excitement was bubbling within him and he just couldn’t keep it in anymore. He had told them of his plan to marry you. But his delight was short-lived when he acknowledged the concern that crossed their faces. You were Frankie’s only ever love; his highschool sweetheart, but they knew you were a ticking time bomb. You were about as self-destructive as they came.

The Morales’ had known you long enough to recognise your history of mental illness; although they didn’t take the liberty to understand it. You hadn’t had the easiest of lives, but neither had Frankie. You had grown up with them. Whether they liked you or not, they were your family.

Between the pile of ash and the burned out cigarettes that cluttered every surface of his childhood bedroom, you felt yourself slipping into relapse. You weren’t sleeping like he thought you were. When the panic swelled into your lungs, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was racing, your sobs were hysterical, and you were smashing up the cheap beer bottles so the glass cut your fingers. You desperately searched for a quick and easy way out. For once, you just wanted to feel something.

Frankie was the love of your life. He deserved to know about your struggles. You knew that, deep down, he would want to know. He would want to help you. Frankie was so caring, holding your hand through every battle you ever fought. But he wasn’t without scars either. He’d finally recovered from his own problem with addiction, and you had promised him that you were getting better too. You didn’t need to drag him down when he was doing so well.

That’s the thing. You were so sure you were getting better. With Frankie having retired from the force, he was by your side every second of the day, and you had truly never been happier. But any person who suffers with mental illness will tell you that Christmas is the hardest time of the year. In fact, you were surprised to see him coping so well, not knowing that the thought of marrying you was the only thing getting him through the season.

You couldn’t enjoy yourself. The thought of eating all the delicious foods that Mrs Morales had prepared made you feel sick to your stomach, and it would be so easy to mess up and have one too many glasses of wine before you were spiralling again.

The night of the proposal, Frankie’s brother, Abel, had splashed out on the finest bottle of Don Périgon.

But nobody was celebrating.

Not even bothering to wrap up warm, you had left for good, into the darkness of the woods behind the Morales family home. The cold of the winter night stung every inch of your bare body, and the ice slipped through your shoes as you trenched through the thick white snow.

The memory replayed in your mind over and over again, tears free-falling down your face at this point. Your sobs echoed through the bare trees and as you crossed the frozen lake, you made no effort to be careful. This was your fate.

As Frankie sat on the train, contemplating his rejection, he couldn’t help but let out a deflated chuckle. He felt pathetic.

He had a whole speech planned out; about how he knew that you were the one for him the day he met you. It was sophomore year of high school and you and your friends were hanging out by his Chevy truck. Your cheeks were flushed with the colour of November and you were wearing a brown and blue flannel shirt that dropped down to your knees. It was identical to his.

By the time college rolled around, you had already been dating for a year, and had decided to move in together.

“This dorm was once a madhouse.” Frankie exclaimed incredulously, his dark eyes going comically wide as he read the pamphlet that had been presented to him by the university landlord.

You joked with a half smile and tugged on his arm. “Well it’s made for me.” With the jangle of the keys, you both entered your first ever home together — a shanty little apartment located in the corner of campus. Little did you know, those four walls were where you’d really begin to lose your mind. Nevertheless, those were his memories of you, and he wouldn’t change them for the world.

Frankie considered yours and his friendship group in college ‘evergreen’; a symbol of perfection, but now he didn’t think he’d ever say that word again. In a life without you, no such beauty could exist.

He had a speech, now he’s speechless. His love slipped beyond your reaches, and you couldn’t even give him a reason. His hometown skeptics called it champagne problems. It was a glamourised reference to your addiction.

As you walked over the lake, you didn’t even notice the way the ice slowly began to crack beneath your feet. Your thoughts were too loud as you tried your hardest to justify your actions. Maybe you just weren’t cut out for marriage. Sometimes you just don’t know the answer until someone’s on their knees and asks you.

Not long after you had run off, Frankie broke down in front of his family. His parents and siblings surrounded him, shushing him and holding him tight. In a desperate attempt to comfort him, they put you down, making it out as if he deserved better.

Frankie didn’t know if he deserved better. All he knew was that he wanted you.

“She would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head,” they said. “but you’ll find the real thing instead.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the ice finally shattered, you were already completely numb. Blue lips and snowflakes balancing on your eyelashes — and yet all you could think about was your Frankie. You were sure that he’d move on eventually, he had to. He deserved happiness. If you could have it your way, you’d apologise for wasting his time all these years.

As your body sunk into the depths of the river, you could only hope that he’d eventually forget about your champagne problems.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie ​ @stardust-galaxies ​ @wickedfrsgrl ​ @goth-topic ​ @nerdypinupcrystal ​ @wonderfulfluffer ​ @kiwi-the-first ​ @pedroepascal ​ @castiel-barnes ​ @honeymandos ​ @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot ​ @dybalalover10 ​ @girl-obsessed-with-things ​ @elena-myth ​ @moth-guillotine ​ @pedro-pascal-love ​ @hayley-the-comet ​ @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya ​ @autumnleaves1991-blog ​ @artsymaddie ​ @harrys-stan ​ @kennedywxlsh ​ @cripplingmoon ​ @cheekygeek05 ​ @mrschiltoncat ​ @rye-flower ​ @theamuz @persie33 ​ @sleepylunarwolf ​ @martellthemandalor ​ @pedro-pastel ​ @steeevienicks ​ @rrtxcmt ​@saphic-susperia

[capsteddybear]

Our Playlist: Did it For the Girl - Greg Bates

*" I got the Chevy all shined up. Paid a little more for a hair cut. Ironed up a pearl snap. Left that old ball cap. Gave myself a little extra smell good splash"**

The next day you took a cab back to Nikki's house to pick up your truck from the night before. When you drove up Joey was taking out the trash. He looked like how you felt on the inside: tired and still a bit hungover.

"Good morning, buddy."

"Oh hey, (y/n)." Joey said as he was rubbing his eyes. You gave him a hug as Nikki came outside too.

"Good morning Nikki. Looks like I'm the last one to pick up their car."

"Yes. Oh yeah, you just missed Chris. He came to pick up his car too. He mentioned that he really liked meeting you last night."

You blushed and tried not to smile as much as you were feeling inside. Nikki and Joey both noticed and laughed.

"Why are you guys laughing?" you asked nervously.

"Oh come on, don't act like you don't find him attractive, (y/n)." Nikki answered.

"You guys really hit it off last night." Joey added.

"Oh god, stop. Before I die of embarrassment."

You gave them both a hug goodbye before jumping in your truck and driving back home.

======================

It had been a couple of days since you met Chris at Joey's welcome home party. Each morning while getting ready for work you would get a good morning text from Chris which made you smile. You would reply back and go about your day. Every once in awhile when you had time by yourself at work you'd find yourself day dreaming about him and about your upcoming date. You guys still hadn't figured out what to do, but you didn't really care as long as you got to spend time with him again.

It was Friday night and you had just gotten home from work when your phone rang and Chris’ name popped up on your screen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, (y/n), it’s Chris. Are you busy right now or can you talk?”

“I’m free. What’s up?”

“I have a quick question about tomorrow.”

“Uh okay what is it?” You were nervous to know what the question was.

“Do you know how to roller skate?”

You let out a little laugh before answering. “did you say roller skate?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice to go roller skating tomorrow.”

You stayed quiet a bit too long that made Chris nervous. “Hey we can pick something else to do if you don’t wa-“ “No, skating is fine. Sorry for not answering. I was just thinking back to the last time I’ve skated and I can’t remember.” You heard Chris laugh on the other end of the line.

“Okay, if you don’t have a pair of skates we can rent the ones at the rink. What’s a good time for me to pick you up tomorrow?”

“Hmm, 1 okay? I kinda wanna sleep in tomorrow.”

Chris laughs again before answering, “Okay 1 it is. Can you text me your address?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Okay, I’ll let you go so you can sleep. See you tomorrow, (y/n).”

“Okay bye, Chris.” You hung up and quickly text him your address. He replied back:

Thank you. Good night. :)

You decided to pick out your outfit for tomorrow just in case you slept in a bit longer and didn't have enough time to get ready. You picked out a thin dark grey hoodie, jeans, and your favorite pair of green Vans. You figured that since you guys were gonna go skating that it was a casual date and didn't have to dress up. After laying out your clothes on the chair next to your bed you then tried looking for your pair of skates, but no luck. Looks like you'd have to rent a pair from the rink. You then jumped in the shower. When you got out you felt refreshed and ready for bed. Surprisingly you feel asleep fast with the fact that you were really excited for your date with Chris the next day.

The next morning you're woken up by your alarm clock. You moan and cover your face with your blanket and turn in your bed. You're not a morning person even though it was noon. But you then woke up in a hurry when you remembered the reason why your alarm clock was going off. Your date with Chris. You quickly turned back to the night stand next to your bed and hit the off button on your alarm clock. You grab your glasses and stumble to the bathroom with your eyes not fully open to freshen up before you head to the kitchen and grab a bowl of cereal for a late breakfast. As you're eating your cereal on the couch you catch up on a few emails for work. After eating you get dressed. You have music playing on your phone when you're doing your hair and suddenly it pauses and starts ringing. You look at the screen and Chris' name shows, you answer it:

"Hi Chris!"

"Good morning, (y/n). Just letting you know I'm on my way to your place. I'm like 5 minutes out."

"Okay cool, I'm almost ready."

"Okay, see ya soon, (y/n)."

"Bye."

You hang up and continue doing your hair. You also put on your favorite diamond stud earrings. You walk back to your room and grab your shoes and walk back to the living room to put them on. You then grab your keys, wallet and phone and head for the front door. As soon as you open it you see Chris standing there ready to knock. He has a huge smile on his face and quickly puts his hand down. You noticed the color of his eyes, light blue. You didn't really notice the color last week at the party because it was nighttime and he was also wearing a hat. However today he wasn't wearing a baseball cap. He had his hair combed back. A red and blue plaid shirt, again with the sleeves rolled up. Was he trying to kill you with his handsomeness? If so it was working. He also had jeans on and white sneakers. Going casual with your outfit too was a good guess.

"Hi (y/n). Haha, I'm guessing you're ready to go?"

"Hi Chris. Yes, I am." You give him a hug. You lock the door behind you and you guys head to the parking lot.

"Hey, I didn't know you wore glasses. You weren't wearing them at the party last week."

"Oh, yeah I had my contacts in then. I'm not really a fan of them. They bug my eyes."

Chris smiles, "Well I think you look cute with glasses."

You blush a little and adjust your glasses. “Why thank you.”

You guys come up to Chris' car and you stop in your tracks. “Woah, wait. This is your ride?” It's an army green 1967 chevy camaro. Your dream car.

Chris let’s out a little laugh and opens the passenger side door for you. “Yeah.”

“If you don’t see your car in your driveway tomorrow morning, I stole it.” You slide your hand across the hood before getting into the car. Chris shakes his head, “Haha, there’s no way you’re stealing my baby.” He gently closes the door before making his way to the driver’s side. You take a glimpse of the inside interior. There’s wood paneling and brown leather bucket seats. Chris notices you admiring his ride as he puts on his seat belt.

“I’m guessing you’re a car person?” Chris asked as he started up the car. The engine roars to life and you close your eyes loving the sound.

“Yes, especially of classic cars.” You answer and buckle your lap seatbelt. You look over and notice the logo on the steering wheel. It’s the captain America shield. “Ha, nice touch.” You point.

Chris looks at the steering wheel and then to you. “Why thank you. So you’re still good to go skating or do you wanna do something else?”

“No, skating is fine. It’s been awhile since I’ve skated, but I’m up for the challenge.” Chris smiles and puts the car in drive and heads to the skating rink.

When you guys arrive to the rink and find a parking spot you reach for the door handle, but Chris stops you. “Wait, hang on, let me get that for you.”

You turn back to him with a smile. You wait as he quickly steps out of the car and does a quick jog over to your side and opens the door for you. “Thank you.” You get out and Chris closes the door behind you. “You’re welcome.”

You both make your way to the doorway of the building and Chris yet again gets the door for you. You smile at him and say, “I need to get used to this. I normally open the door myself.” Chris smiles back and replies, “It's the gentleman in me.” You walk up to the counter and pay for your rental skates and walk over to the lockers to switch into your skates. Chris finds an empty bench and sits down as you take a seat next to him. As you’re putting your skates on one of the clips are stuck and doesn’t wanna close right.

“What the? The clip is stuck.”

Chris looks down at your skates, “Here let me help you.” He gets up and kneels down in front of you. You slide your skate towards him for him to get a better look. “Oh, the shoe lace is stuck under the clip.” He grabs your foot and places it on his knee and starts to untangle the shoelace. Once he successfully does he snaps the clip shut and gently puts your foot down back on the ground. The whole time he was helping you leaned forward to watch him work so when he looked up your faces were only a couple of inches apart. You stared into those gorgeous blue eyes of his as he stared back into your beautiful (y/color) eyes. The moment was over when Chris cleared his throat.

“Okay, I think you’re ready.” He stood up with his hand out to help you up.

You thanked him and took his hand. Just skating on carpet to the rink was a challenge. You knew you were gonna look like Bambi on ice once you guys got on the rink.

Chris was holding your right hand the whole time as you guys were waiting at the gate of the rink for an open spot between the other skaters to enter.

“Okay, I see an opening. You ready, (y/n)?”

You squeeze Chris' hand, “Uh not really, but let’s go.”

Chris looks at you and smiles and squeezes your hand back, “Don't worry, I won’t let you fall.”

You calm down a bit as Chris guides you onto the rink. It has been a long time since you’ve last skated and it shows. You’re super stiff and not really picking up your feet to move forward. Chris is pretty much pulling you along.

“Hey (y/n), you doing okay there?”

“Uh yeah, it’s just been awhile. I forgot how to move my feet.”

Chris then speeds up enough to get in front of you so he’s skating backwards and he takes hold of both of your hands. “Alright, so first off bend your knees a bit for better balance.” You do as he says, but you kind of lose balance but luckily Chris pulls you forward so you don’t fall down. “Woah, easy there. You good?”

You look up from your skates at Chris and let out a little laugh, “kinda.”

“Haha, you’ll get the hang of it soon. Okay, now try to push off with each leg to go faster.” You give him a worried look. “(y/n) don’t worry I won’t let you fall.”

Chris continues to skate backwards while still holding both of your hands. He looks behind him every once in awhile to make sure not to crash into anyone. He gives you a few more pointers to help you out as you guys go around the rink a couple of times. You start getting the hang of it so Chris decides to let go of your left hand and turns so he’s skating next to you still holding your right hand.

As you guys go around the rink you exchange a few smiles and laughs every once in awhile when you lose your balance on the turns. Chris pulls you in closer by your waist to catch you. You grab onto his strong forearm for balance and look up at him. “Woah, I got you. You okay? Do you wanna take a little break?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You let out a little laugh and push back a bit, with Chris still holding onto you. “Uh yeah, a break sounds good.” You guys exit the rink and find a booth nearby to sit. You take a seat and Chris sits next to you.

He looks at the snack bar across from your booth. “Oh hey, do you want anything to drink or eat?”

“Sure, let’s go see what they got.” Chris scouts out of the booth and helps you up. You and Chris check out the menu before deciding what you want. “Ooo, they have ice cream.”

Chris laughs, “haha, I was thinking the same thing. What flavor do you want?”

“Hmm, chocolate sounds good.”

“Chocolate it is.” Chris skates closer to the counter and orders for you guys.

“Hi, what can I get you guys today?”

“Hello, she’ll have a cone of chocolate ice cream and I’ll have a cone of cookies and cream please.” Chris reaches for his back pocket to pull out his wallet, but you beat him to it and pull out your wallet and card and give it to the cashier. “Wait, what are you doing, (y/n)?”

You smile, “I'm paying for our ice cream. Don’t worry you paid for our skates.” Chris shakes his head and puts his wallet back in his pocket. The cashier hands you back your card and gives you guys your ice creams and you skate back to your booth. Chris sits next to you. While you guys are enjoying your ice creams you guys watch the other skaters go around the rink. “Gosh, I’m so jealous of the little kids that can skate backwards.”

“Haha, don’t worry you’re getting better at it.”

You turn to look at him, “Yeah only because you’re holding me up.”

“Eh, I don’t mind.” As he takes another bite of his ice cream and nudges your elbow.

You laugh. “Thank you for reteaching me how to skate. Sorry it isn’t as cute as you thought it would be skating with me.”

Chris looks back at you, “what do you mean not as cute? I still get to hold your hand. I count that as being cute.” He smiles at you that makes you blush a little.

“Haha, well okay then.”

You guys talk about your guys week as you finish your ice creams.

“Okay, I think I’m ready to go back on the rink now.”

Chris take one last bite of his ice cream before answering, “Okay, let’s go.”

You look at Chris and start laughing. “Haha, um Chris?” you point to the corner of his mouth where a bit of ice cream is. “You got a little something there.” You grab a napkin and wipe his face. He closes his eyes and grins as soon as you touch him. You freeze for a moment when he opens his eyes.

“Thank you, (y/n).”

You smile back, “you’re welcome.”

Chris scoots out of the booth and takes you by your hand and heads back to the rink. As you guys are skating you exchange flirty smiles. Every once in awhile Chris skates backwards and shows off his skating skills, but still has a hold of your hand. You can’t stop smiling and laughing the whole time.

You guys spent another two hours going around the rink before you mention that you're hungry.

"Hey Chris?"

Chris turns to you, "Yeah, (y/n)?"

"I'm getting hungry."

"Haha, more ice cream?" as he raises an eyebrow.

"Hmm, don't tempt me. I was thinking maybe pizza?"

"Haha, pizza it is. Let's go take off our skates."

Chris guides you both off of the rink back to where the lockers are.

You take a seat on the bench and Chris sits right next to you. You both start untying and unbuckling your skates when the same skate that was giving you trouble when you were putting it on was giving you trouble taking if off.

"Aww man, this again."

Chris looks down at your skates, "Is it giving you trouble again? Here let me help."

He kneels down in front of you and unbuckles the clip for you. He slips off your skate. You sigh in relief because the skates were starting to get a bit uncomfortable. He laughs and gives your foot a massage before you quickly move your foot from his grip. Chris looks up quickly at you with his hands up.

"Sorry, did I do something wrong?"

"Haha, no, I'm just ticklish. Thanks for the gesture though." You smile down at him as you undo your other skate.

Chris laughs and gets back up to sit next to you as he puts his shoes back on. Once both of you guys have your regular shoes back on you walk to the front counter and turn in your skates. You guys walk back to Chris' car when he does a little power walk to get to the passenger door to open it for you. You can't stop smiling at how much of a gentleman he is. You jump in and watch Chris smile at you through the window as he closes the door and walks to the driver's side to get it.

"Okay, so where do you wanna get pizza from?" Chris asks as he starts up the car.

You shrug your shoulders, "Hmm, I don't know. You pick."

Chris thinks for a second and puts the car in drive. "Okay I know a place."

A little while later you guys pull up to a restaurant called Leone's. In addition to opening doors for you he also pulls out your chair at the table for you to sit. You guys look over the menu and decide what to order. Chris notices you looking around at the place.

He smiles, "Have you been here before?"

You turn to him, "Uh no, this is my first time."

Chris gives you a shocked look, "What? You live in Boston and you've never been to Leone's? Ah, this is gonna be life changing for you."

"Haha, I've only lived in Boston for a couple of months now."

"Oh yeah, I remember you telling me that at the party. What made you move to Boston?"

"Job offer."

"Ah, music instructor, right?"

"Yes." You had a huge smile on your face because Chris remembered talking about this at Nikki's party. A waiter comes to your table and you let Chris order since he's the local and knows that's good on the menu.

When you guys are enjoying your food Chris asks you about your music background. "So how many instruments can you play?" as he takes a big bite of his slice of pizza.

"Well I had to learn how to play pretty much every instrument, but I'm most comfortable with playing guitar, piano and viola."

Chris covers his mouth, "Sorry, but what's the last one you said?"

"Haha, a viola. It's like a violin, but better."

Chris laughs and nods his head, "Okay."

"It has a lower tone than a violin."

"Ah gotcha, I would love to hear you play someday."

A shy smile appears on your face, "I'd love to play for you."

"Do you sing as well?"

"Haha does in the shower count?"

Chris busts out laughing, "Uh sure."

"Then yes. I sing. How about you? Can you play anything?"

"Yeah, I play guitar and piano and I can fake my way on the drums."

"Ooo, so when is our first jam session?"

"Haha, you pick when."

You guys finish eating the pizza and you lean back on your chair.

"You okay there, (y/n)?"

"Yeah, it's just the food coma kicking in."

"Haha, there's a park near by if you wanna go for a walk?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Chris pays the bill before you guys head out. While walking to the park Chris walks closer to you and reaches for your hand. You look down at your hands.

"Is this okay? If I hold your hand I mean?"

"Yes, it's perfect." Chris notices a huge grin on your face. He smiles back you.

You guys had just missed the sunset, but the dim park lights turned on to light your path. While you guys are walking around the park you guys talked about your week. You asked Chris about his childhood. You felt Chris' thumb lightly rubbing the outside of your hand. You leaned your head on his shoulder. You walked around the whole park before you guys headed back to Chris' car.

Chris was holding your hand the whole car ride home. You couldn't hide the grin you had on your face that you started laughing. Chris turns to look at you.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing, just really happy."

You noticed a giant smile on Chris' face, "Good." He squeezes your hand. You guys pull up to your apartment and Chris walks you to your front door.

"So did you have fun today, (y/n)?"

"Yes! I did, Chris. Thanks for being a good skating teacher."

"Haha you're welcome." You look down and fumble with your keys.

Chris puts his hands in his pockets, "We should do this again soon."

You look up quickly and smile, "Would you like to be my date to Nikki's birthday party next week?"

Chris' face lights up. "I would love to go with you, (y/n)."

"Yay!" You give Chris a hug and he laughs. You stand there letting him rub your back as you relax and let out a deep breathe. You tip toe and give Chris a light kiss on his cheek. You noticed he closed his eyes and heard him gasp. You let go of him and walk backwards closer to your door as he opens his eyes.

"Good night, Chris."

Chris smiles, "good night, (y/n)."

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Your Move (Chibs x fem!Reader)

A/N: Unsuprisingly, I’m writing for SoA. It was just a matter of time until this new obsession caught up with me. This is my first attempt to write an accent phonetically, so I apologize in advance for the mess.

I also wanna thank @toomanystoriessolittletime​ and @penwieldingdreamer​ for beta’ing this for me and @ly--canthrope​ @wishuhadstayed​ and @chibsytelford​ for welcoming me to the SoA fam and encouraging me to write for it.

Summary: When you returned to Charming after your father passed away, you planned to only stay long enough to settle his affairs, but memories of the past and the prospect of a certain Scot in your future made you stay longer than planned.

Wordcount: 4,5K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and inebriation and that’s it.

You knew the Sons of course.

There was no way to live in Charming your entire life and not know about them or at least some of them. You went to school with Jax and Opie and you remembered having such a crush on them, like most girls your age. They were the cool guys with their air of danger and the prospect leather cuts they wore every single day.

Your father warned you to stay away from them, as most parents would. The thing about the Sons was that they were a necessary evil to your small town, but it didn’t make them any less dangerous. Your father made sure to steer clear of them unless he absolutely needed it. You watched him seek out Clay Morrow once in a while if there was a problem in the diner, but it always pained him so much to do so.

You could see in his eyes, the exhaustion and barely contained shame whenever he had to have a sit down with the President of the MC. Always at the diner because he refused to go anywhere near the Teller-Morrow Garage.

He invested every cent he had to make sure you had a good education and could leave Charming for good. Do something he could never do in his own life and you appreciated that with all your heart but once he passed away and you had to come back to settle his affairs, sell the diner and the house and everything else, you found yourself caught up in the memories and the charms of the small town.

Everyone seemed to know you. Sometimes by name, most times as Allan’s kid. They paid their respects at the funeral, even the MC. You saw Gemma and Jax at the back and when your eyes caught the bright blue of the man Jackson had become, his lips tilting into a small, sympathetic smile in your direction, you didn’t feel the same butterflies as you used to when you were a teen.

He and his mother came closer after everyone else was gone. He still had that same sad smile placed in his face as Gemma pulled you into a hug that you didn’t really feel comfortable with, but didn’t know how to refuse.

“Allan was such a good man,” she said, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you could feel the lipstick imprint Gemma left behind. “Anything you need, sweetheart, just give us a call.” She handed you a Teller-Morrow business card, her number scribbled on the back.

“Thank you.” You nodded as they stepped away letting you go back to your grieving.

The diner was quick to sell. Your father, once he got sick, already found a buyer on call, you just needed to finalize the deal. The house was harder to do so. Not because you didn’t have people interested in it but because you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on the market. Not when there were so many childhood memories in it. This was the house you grew up in, where your father raised you to be the woman you were now. It was hard to let go of that, so you found yourself searching for reasons to delay your departure.

Separating possessions that would stay, be donated, sold, or thrown away. You started doing small repairs around the house, just like your father taught you because he wanted you to be as independent as possible. Taking off old, worn-out carpets and wallpapers, fixing the yard and clogged pipes, and closing off holes in the plaster walls.

Before long, a month had passed and you were still in Charming, only making weekend trips back to your apartment to bring more of the essentials with you. Even your cat had found residence in your father’s house, taking long naps in the porch bench, apparently much more comfortable with the small-town life than you expected.

Still, you had a hard time admitting that you didn’t intend to leave any time soon. Being in the house was a constant reminder that your father never wanted this life for you but at the same time, after spending the last 10 and something years in a big city, you had never felt more at home than when you got back here.

You were even painting again, something you haven’t done since you settled for a career as an art teacher. You were even more surprised when you opened up the yard sale and a couple of people ventured into the garage while you were distracted and asked about your paintings.

“They’re not really for sale,” you replied to a woman around your age, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves and she was so familiar, but you couldn’t place her in your memory.

“You should really think about selling them. Maybe even opening a gallery? They’re gorgeous.”

Her words stayed with you after the sale was done because it had always been your dream but in a big city, renting space was expensive and there were tons of small art galleries other there. It was hard to compete. In a town like Charming? It would be a place one of a kind.

The next morning, you found a small store for rent in the main street as you walked through the wide-open space, the morning bright light filtering through the half-closed blinds from the window, you could already see your works hanging around, the small counter with the cash register to the left and the backspace for your studio so you could work during slow days.

“I’ll take it.” The words were out before you could even think it through but once they passed your lips, you knew they were the right thing to do. You just needed officially move back to your hometown after so long away.

You took a week to go back to the city, pack up your belongings, and put in the moving truck. A few boxes of more personal stuff you loaded in your own battered old Chevy to bring with you on the drive back.

The car gave out in the middle of the night, still on the highway, miles away from Charming. The engine coughing and spluttering but refusing to start, no matter how many times you spun the key in the ignition. You had to settle for your fate and call a toll truck.

It was almost like destiny that when you pull out your phone from your pocket, the TM card fell out too and you didn’t even realize it had been there all this time. Gemma’s number in pen was washed out but the printed one for the garage was still visible so you dialed it. It wasn’t like you had another garage’s number on speed dial.

You waited at the side of the road for about 50 minutes until the headlights of the toll truck lightened up the night before pulling by your car and you couldn’t help the nervous flips of your stomach as the man stepped out of the car, in tight jeans and leather cut. His longish dark hair combed back, peppered with grey strands at his forehead and the goatee gave him such a distinguished look that you had a hard time not staring. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this attracted to someone at first sight.

“Ye called for a toll, lass?” he asked in a smooth drawl and thick accent that made shivers run down your spine, and for a second you couldn’t find your words.

“Uh… yeah, yes. I did,” you finally managed, glancing back to your car. Seemed to be the safest thing to do. “The old piece of junk died on me. Sorry for the hour.”

“No problem,” he waved off your apology, setting up to get your car secured in the back of the truck, before opening the door for you. “Come on, I give ye a lift.”

He helped you into the truck’s cabin, taking your hand in his gloved one like a perfect gentleman and closing the door behind you before he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Thank you so much, mister…”

“Nah, lassie. No mister required,” he offered you a soft smile and from this close, you could see the pale line of the scar in his cheek. “Chibs is fine.”

“Alright. thank you, Chibs,” you replied smiling too as he pulled into the road and turned the radio into a classic rock station.

You remained in silence for most of the ride, sneaking glances at the man next to you. Had he been in Charming all those years ago? Before you left? Why didn’t you remember him? How many times had you seen the Sons riding through the main street in their Harleys and leather cuts? You would probably have seen him before. Then again, back then your eyes tended to seek out Jax’s slender form due to your stupid teen crush. Maybe that was why you missed him.

“Mind if I smoke?” Chibs asked, startling you out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment burning your face as you tried to ignore the way his lips closed around the cigarette and how his long fingers operated the lighter.

The flame lit up his face for a brief second, reflected in his deep, dark eyes and you had to look away, clearing your throat. You never felt this awkward and uncertain in the presence of man, so you raked your brain for something to break the tense silence.

“Why Chibs?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself and he chuckled, the sound low and husky and it went straight to your center, making you press your legs together as discreetly as you could.

“It a Scottish slang,” he started, glancing your way as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “For knife.”

“Oh,” you replied dumbly, mulling over his words. “Because of…?” Unconsciously, you reached for your cheek and froze in shock at your own insensitive action. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright, love,” he chuckled again as he slowed down the truck and you didn’t even notice he was dropping you off at home until you recognized the construction in front of you. “I dinna mind. And yes, that’s why. Bu’ Filip works too.”

“Thank you, Filip,” you spoke softly, meeting his eyes and he smiled around his smoke and nodded. “I’ll drop by TM tomorrow morning to settle everything?”

“Aye. I’ll let Gem know.”

You hesitated to step out of the truck, and you didn’t even know why. You just didn’t want to leave. Not yet, but there was no reason to stay. So you resigned with doing what needed to be done and watching as he drove away before finally getting inside the house.

Next morning, you took your dad’s old Jeep – and how lucky it was that you hadn’t sold it just yet – and headed to TM to settle payment for the toll and get the cost for the work.

While Gemma was ruffling through some papers trying to find your invoice, you let your gaze wander through the open side door towards the garage, noticing the men in overalls talking and joking while working.

“He’s not here,” Gemma said, startling you to turn back and meet her narrowed eyes. You wondered how she could possibly know. “Jax.”

“Oh!” Relief washed over you and you managed a timid smile. “I wasn’t…”

“And he’s back with Tara.”

There was a clear warning in her tone, almost as if saying you shouldn’t dare to try and intervene between the couple, not that you would want to. She finally handed you the paper so you could sign it, authorizing the service.

“How soon can I expect the car?”

“Maybe a week? Might be more,” Gemma replied, pulling the paper back and giving you a long look. “There were some boxes in the truck… You’re uh, staying in Charming, then?”

“Yeah…” it was the first time you said it out loud and it felt almost like a confession. “I am. The moving truck should be arriving soon so can I drop by later to pick them up?”

“I’ll get one of the prospects to bring them to you,” the older woman declared after an assessing look. Like she was measuring you up, making sure if you were worthy of her town.

You just offered a quick thanks and headed off, resisting the urge to glance behind your shoulder at the men working on the cars or the side building that housed the club. Even if you could feel the baby hairs in your nape prickling due to an intense gaze at your back. If it was Gemma or someone else, you didn’t find out.

The entire thing slipped from your mind by the time you got home and found the moving truck already waiting for you. The rest of your day was spent moving boxes and furniture to their designated spaces, making sure the movers didn’t break anything with their careless demeanors.

It was late afternoon when they finally brought everything in and took off, leaving you to sort out the mess. Just the sight of scattered boxes all through the wooden floor of the two-store house was enough to make you regret your decision. It would take you days to get everything in order and that on top of making sure your gallery was up and running too.

“Better get to it,” you whispered to yourself, tuning in the radio and letting the melodic beats of Pat Benatar set the tone for your work. And if you sang along and danced around the house through it all, well there wasn’t anyone around to see it, even if no curtains were covering the windows just yet.

The knock on the door made you jump midway through setting the cutlery in place and you lowered the radio before making your way through the maze of boxes, your lips tugging into a surprised smile when you found Chibs standing outside, cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Hia, lass. Gem asked me to deliver some boxes?” he explained, and you smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as you examined the biker in front of you.

“Gemma asked you?” you repeated, brow arched. “Sounds more like a prospect job…”

“Might ‘ave volunteered,” Chibs admitted, his smirk matching yours. “Memory’s a little fuzzy on the details.”

With a chuckle, you stepped aside to let him in offering quick instructions of where to put the boxes while you watch him move around. This time, there was no leather jacket below his cut, only a sleeveless shirt, and you could appreciate the flexing of his muscles and the ink adorning his skin as Chibs worked.

“That’s the last one,” he said, setting the box down by the door and meeting your gaze.

“Thank you. I really appreciate the help.”

He waved off your gratitude and silence fell over the two of you, thick and heavy like a blanket of all the things unsaid. In your brightly lid living room, you could properly see Chibs’ face and his dark eyes watching you as if waiting for something, a sign maybe, but you didn’t know what to do. Had you always been so bad at this? Or was just his presence that seemed to strip you from all functional reasoning?

“I, uh…” you looked around, searching for what to say or do. “Wanna drink?”

“Sure.”

Chibs followed you into the kitchen and you were very aware of his presence behind you like a shadow as you stopped by the fridge, pulling out two beers and offering him one. You drank in silence, watching one another and you wished you could explain why this felt so strange. You wished you could make the tension and awkwardness fade away, but you didn’t really know how and Chibs didn’t seem inclined to help.

Then again, he did take the first step, coming all the way here with your boxes to see you and he wasn’t even trying to hide or deny it. It was your move but just his mere presence made you freeze and you didn’t know what to do, how to show him you were glad he came and wanted him to stay a little longer.

All you could do was watch him, the way his lips fit around the tan glass of the bottle as he took a gulp of the drink, his throat working as he swallowed. You wondered if Chibs knew how effortlessly sexy he was. How just having him leaning against the counter watching you with that heavy-lidded gaze was enough to make your knees weak and your breath speed up.

“I should head off,” he finally broke the silence, setting his empty bottle on the counter and you felt your heart sink. “Get out of yer hair…”

“Right…” you followed him to the door, hands in your pockets. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, love.” Chibs paused outside, his eyes lingering on you. “Ye know, the clubhouse has a bar. Ye could stop by some time.”

“Yeah,” you hurried to say with a nervous smile. You almost thought he had given up on you but here he was, throwing you a line. “Sure.”

“Good,” he smiled too. “‘Night, love.”

You watched once again Chibs driving off from your place until he disappeared around the corner before you stepped back inside, leaning against the closed door. It was your move and knew. You just had to figure out a way to actually take that step.

A week passed since Chibs’ invitation and you had yet to find the courage to meet him at the clubhouse. At first, you told yourself it was because of the move. You were busy getting the house in shape and then your gallery but you knew you were lying to yourself.

You were just afraid. Torn between wanting to learn a little more about the mysterious Scot that didn’t seem to leave your mind and knowing that going there, getting mixed with the Sons was getting yourself involved with a crowd your father worked so hard to keep you away from. Those two sides seemed to be at war, and you didn’t know what do to.

You knew, however, that the longer you waited, the more you made it clear to Chibs that you might not be interested, even if you were definitely were. So you needed to make a decision. Soon.

When you finally worked up the nerve to go to the clubhouse, you spent hours deliberating on an outfit. You wanted to look good but not like you were trying too hard because you knew what you were going to find there.

Several of your high school friends had sneaked in at some point to check out the Sons’ official hangout and report back. You knew there would be the club members, of course, and other friends, but most importantly, there would be other women, croweaters.

The expression always made you grimace in distaste, the implications clear in the pejorative tone used and it made you stop and consider if you weren’t exactly like them, chasing away a biker you knew nothing about.

The thought was almost enough to make you give up, turn around and go back to your car but you were already there at the garage, might as well bite the bullet and do this. With a deep breath, you crossed the parking lot, the heel of your boots crunching the cement as you walked toward the clubhouse, hands in the pockets of your jacket, out of sight so no one could see them tremble with your apprehension.

When you walked into the smoky room, you were almost expecting to see all eyes on you, the outsider in their territory, but no one paid you any attention as you surveyed the space, searching for Chibs. He was nowhere in sight and the longer you stood there, awkward and afraid, the urge to flee grew in your chest. You shouldn’t even have come.

Turning around to walk out, you ran straight into the solid chest of the man you came here to find. Chibs held you steady with a hand on your elbow, watching you with curious eyes.

“Leavin’ so soon, lass?” he asked, his voice a smooth drawl and it set your body on edge, in a good way.

“Yeah, I, uh,” you glanced around at people dancing and drinking and making out in front of everyone, verging on indecent exposure. “Didn’t really seem like I belonged.”

“Give it a chance, love,” he said with a smirk and offering you a hand. “Ye might actually enjoy yerself. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Ok,” you accepted after a moment’s hesitation, taking Chibs’ hand and letting him lead you to the bar.

A drink turned into several and before you knew it, you were playing pool against a guy named Tig, barely being able to stay upright but still managing to be the better player of the two of you to Chibs’ great amusement and loud heckling.

“You’re sure he’s not just letting me win?” You asked Chibs as he brought you another shot of whiskey, chuckling as you winced and pulled a face after downing it the shot. You had just won yet another round against Tig and his annoyed, barely conscious face was very amusing.

“‘M surprised he managin’ to hold on to his cue,” he commented as he took your cue and handed it over to the first person around. “How ‘bout some air? Sober ye up a bit?”

Chibs led you into the cold night air of the yard and to the picnic tables outside. Out there, you two were completely alone except for the stars and the random passing car but it was late enough that the town was mostly silent, the only sounds coming from inside the clubhouse, the music leaking out muffled due to the soundproof walls.

There were just the two of you, sitting side by side as Chibs lid a cigarette, and before he could even take a drag, you snatched out of his lips, bringing it to your own, making him smirk. The alcohol had dissolved most of your reservations, leaving only you desire for the man next to you.

“Bigge’ men 'ave lost fingers stealin’ ma smoke, lass,” Chibs commented, turning his body towards you.

“Good thing, I’m just a little lass, then,” you teased, trying to mimic his Scottish drawl as you shifted your position until you were straddling the bench and facing him.

“Wee lassie,” he corrected, watching intently as you took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out the smoke.

You liked this, being alone with Chibs. Having his dark eyes focused on you and only you. Being close enough that you could smell the whiskey, leather, and the heady sweat of his skin. Feel the heat of his body. You reached over to trail the black Reaper etched on his biceps, daring to touch without asking permission first.

As Chibs allowed the touch, you grew bolder and moved closer, letting your fingers travel higher, over his shoulder and on his neck, until your thumb brushed his jaw and cheek, touching the rough stubble beginning to grow there.

His own palm had settled over your clothed thigh, large and hot, making you acutely aware of how close you two were and how it would barely take a move for your lips to find his. You wanted that more than anything. Chibs had to know that, right? He had to see it in your eyes.

“Ye should head home, lass,” he said instead, pulling away from you and you felt the loss of his heat. “'t’s gettin’ late.” Then you felt the burning shame as he refused to look at you.

“Yes,” you croaked, eyes darting around at anything other than him. “You’re right.”

You had put yourself out there for this man and he was shipping you off like unwanted cargo. You didn’t even know why.

“I’ll get one of the prospects to drive ye, just…”

“It’s fine,” you didn’t let Chibs finish, getting to your feet and stepping back. “I brought my Jeep. I can drive myself.”

You walked away before he could say anything else because you could feel the familiar lump in your throat and the burning behind your lids. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. You already made a fool out of yourself enough for one night.

You were almost at the car when you stumbled on your own feet. Fortunately, you never met the ground as a strong arm surrounded your waist, keeping you upright and pressed against his strong chest. You could feel his breath tickling your nape as both of you stood there, neither daring to move.

“If I ‘ere a good man, I’d let ye walk away,” Chibs sighed and you sagged against his warmth, letting him inhale your scent on your neck before you turned around to face him, hands resting against his chest.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be a good man,” you whispered, looking up at him. “Maybe I just want you to kiss me.”

His lips were softer than you expected, just a gentle press against yours the whiskers of his goatee tickling your skin. It was almost as if Chibs weren’t really sure if he should do this. Like he was giving you the chance to pull away and change your mind.

Your fisted his vest, pushing closer to him, pressing harder against his lips in search of more. Letting your own lips part in invitation and soon enough, his tongue was exploring your mouth, tangling with yours, bringing forth the taste of whiskey, nicotine, and something dark and addictive that you could have for the rest of your life.

One hand on your hip, the other on your nape, adjusting the angle of your head so he could better deepen the kiss, Chibs pressed you against the cool metal of your Jeep, his body crowding yours, one of his thighs between your legs as he devoured your mouth.

Everything seemed to fade away then but the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands on your skin, burning a bright fire within you as his calloused hand sneaked under your shirt, exploring your back, his rings catching lightly on your skin, making you shiver as he nipped at your bottom lip and allowed you a second for breath.

“Go home,” Chibs grumbled, his lids even heavier than usual as he peered at you with what you could only describe as bedroom eyes. “Before ye do somethin’ ye might regret at the light of day and without the haze of alcohol.”

You paused, considering his words, licking your lips as if to chase the aftertaste of his kiss.

“And if come tomorrow morning, stone-cold sober, I still want this?”

“Ye know where to find me.” Chibs let his lips brushed over yours one last time, just a small temptation of what he could offer before he took a step back and pulled the car door open for you. “‘Night, lass.”

“Good night, Filip.”

xxx

[dcbbw]

Sixish Sunday and Update

Hello, Tumblr! Miss me? I know it’s been a (hot mess) minute since I have been around these parts and a lot has happened. (it’s all under the cut)

I quit my job in DC (and worked three full days AFTER my end date because apparently the 11 page spreadsheet, calendar of everything I was responsible for complete with internal deadlines and vendor deadlines and notes, as well as examples of all the things was not clear enough) and packed up my life and made the move to NC.

My cousins moved me because no way was I paying someone $3800 to haul my stuff 300 miles and renting a car. I ended up paying $1300 + meals for the move and got a ride to boot. All I’m gonna say is I got what I paid for; it was a two-seater panel truck and we put a metal folding chair between the seats. We looked like Bonnie, Clyde, and Curly coming down the road, and the passenger door didn’t close properly, so it randomly swung open at inopportune times.

But I made it one piece; my laptop was not as fortunate. It looks like a rusted out Chevy sitting on bricks at the moment but it saved my stuff and I can type, so YAY!

While I am excited about a fresh start here in the Tarheel State (new job starts Tuesday), I am sad to be away from my studio; I lived there for 17 years and swear it’s the home I (emotionally) grew up in. It’s where I rediscovered my love of writing and became family with a building full of strangers. But I am certain I will find that again here.

While I try to maneuver a huge chunk of my life into what used to be my brother’s bedroom, I have found time to jot down thoughts and ideas that will eventually become full-blown stories. I plan to work on Burnsy’s incredibly late birthday fic, answer some asks for SGL, Dramien, JGL, and a writer’s choice ask. I want to follow-up on so many of WIPs and to post my follower appreciation poll.

And on that note, I do have a little somethings to share for Six Sentence Sunday!

From Remixed: The Social Season, Chapter 3:

“I got a text message from Drake,” Bliam said as he tucked his crisp white shirt into silk black trousers. “He says House Beaumont has a sponsee.”

“Did he say which one?” Asiam asked eagerly as Whiam tried unsuccessfully to knot his necktie.

Bliam shook his head negatively. “When I asked, he said he needed a “what the fuck” emoji.”

Asiam looked at Whiam impatiently. “I could have tied this thing three times by now!”

“You had it wrapped around your waist saying it was your belt!” Whiam retorted, his eyes squinted in concentration. “I can get it, it’s just this is harder than it looks.”

“That’s what she said,” Asiam smirked.

“WHY are you like this?” Bliam complained.

“I’ll be happy to get some real food in me,” Whiam commented as he finally looped the cravat.

“I took the liberty of requesting prime rib and yearling potatoes.” Bliam pulled his arms through the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket.

Asiam frowned. “I ordered curried lamb with rice.”

Whiam sat on the edge of his bed, clumsily buttoning his shirt. “I asked for seafood pasta!”

Bliam rolled his eyes. “Can we EVER agree on anything?”

Whiam pulled on his socks. “Madeleine!”

Bliam nodded in agreement. “Amen to that, brother!”

Asiam said nothing, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead. Feeling two pairs of blue eyes staring at him, he gave a loud exhale. “WHAT?”

Whiam shook his head in disapproval. “You didn’t! Did you? I mean, she was engaged to … Leo!”

Asiam ran a comb through his raven locks. “All I’m going to say is the drapes and carpet match.”

 Original song lyrics for Love Grind from the next chapter of my Platinum/TRR crossover fic:

You workin’ so hard to bring home the bacon

Hustlin’ a grind, no time for lovemakin’

Giving your keyboard all your strokes

All your strokes

All your strokes

You ain’t kissing these lips

You ain’t grabbing these hips

Baby come home, let me clear your mind

Put this peach in your lap

And take you for a love grind

Bounce, roll, thrust, hold

Kiss, moan, scream, groan

Give me that eggplant, make me eat vegetarian

Then lay back so I can ride like an equestrian

Lemme give you that love grind

That love grind

Slap this ass, fill all my holes, make me say your name

Gimme that love grind

Bounce

That love grind

Moan

That love grind

Roll

Gimme all your strokes

Groan

All your strokes

Thrust

All your strokes

Fill all the holes

 Mr. Sonny’s Children, Original Work:

“Hello, Ma.”

There is silence for a few moments; my mother is caught unawares because I rarely answer her calls during the day. There is baggage between us, and demons who play messenger with us. I can’t deal with that when I am trying to heal and cure people.

I gave up on trying to save anyone a long time ago.

“Mabel?” Her voice is hesitant and laced with a warble.

I wonder if she is holding back tears or curses. My mother doesn’t hate me, but she is scared to love me.

I am a child of rape. To love me is to admit she is okay with the violent assault that conceived me. To acknowledge that I survived the rusty hanger and jagged forceps that tried to kill us both is to accept I was meant to be here, destined to be hers throughout all eternity.

Nothing good comes from an evil act.

“Hi, Ma.” I don’t bother to remind her I go by Ann now. She knows.

More silence, thick with tension and unspoken emotions.

I set the spoon back in the bowl and use my chopsticks to toy with a sushi roll instead. I idly roll one side in wasabi that is more pasty than creamy and dunk the other side in soy sauce. I speak into the phone pressed to my ear.

“Ma, I’m at work. Is everything okay?”

“Mr. Sonny died,” she exhales.

I set the chopsticks down carefully before blinking my eyes and staring out at the rain again. “When?”

“Last night. Lung cancer.”

I nod slowly. Mr. Sonny was notorious for consuming all types of tobacco products: he smoked cigarettes, cigars, and pipes. When he wasn’t smoking tobacco, he was chewing it. When he was younger, he was quite handsome: tall with dark, wavy hair and deep green eyes. He was a persuasive speaker with a raw confidence unheard of rural Mississippi, even for whites. That is how he became the Imperial Wizard of our county’s chapter of the KKK.

The last time I saw him was three years ago. He had shrunk, walking with a hunch in his back. His face was wizened and wrinkled; the pate of his head speckled with brown liver spots where hair no longer grew. The backs of his hands were wrinkled and knotted with bright blue veins, his fingers gnarled.

He looked at me as if I were shit on his shoe.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask slowly. But I knew why.

Mr. Sonny was my father.

[taking-over-his-life]

Colt

 Written by my internet friend Colt many years ago.

     I woke up to the intense pain like that of a migraine headache.  I could feel every hair on my body it seemed, with an undertow of muscle aches all over my body.  My mind was spinning round and round, trying to figure out where I was.  The room was dark, I could sense that the room was strangely familiar, but I couldn’t make the connection.  Oh, the pain, how I wished it would go away.   As I grappled to sit upright, the pain instantly started to tighten its grip on my head.  My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room.  Fear and panic started to run through my mind, this just wasn’t where I remember going to sleep.

       The last thing that I remember was that I had gone to a friend’s party.  I had started feeling strange at the party so I had left and went home.  I vaguely recall entering my house and going to my bedroom and falling face first onto my bed.  And that was all I wrote. 

       But, now here I am in this room that I have no idea how I came to be in.  My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room.  I could make out that there were two small kids sleeping on cots, and another person that I could hear breathing but couldn't place where they were.  I realized that I was now sitting up on a sleeping bag that was on the floor.  My brain struggled to figure out where the hell I was.  Completely paralyzed by the fear I felt continued its grip on me.   And the ungodly pain in my head.  I couldn't even wish that much pain on even my worst enemy.  Yet, for some reason, the surroundings were so familiar, but I couldn't make the connection with my excruciating level of pain.  I must be having one of my migraines and hallucinating at the same time.  That was the only explanation that I could think of at this point.

       When I quit trying so hard to remember my surroundings, the answer hit me with a vengeance.  The room I was in was my Aunt and Uncle’s basement.  Their basement had a one very large room with a pool table, tables, couches, and a bar.  Ok, I must be dreaming, this just can’t be real.  It didn’t make any sense to me.  As I sat up on the sleeping bag, I realized that I was wearing full biker leathers.  Judging by what I could feel against my skin, I had on a pair of leather pants tucked into tall boots, a leather shirt, a leather jacket and tight fitting gloves on.  The leather felt very warm, moist, and sweat soaked against my skin.  The leather felt like it fit me like a glove all over my body which felt soothing on my ragged nerves. My eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and I could see well enough to get around the basement.    

       I NEED air!  I couldn’t make any sense of how I come to be in these surroundings.   I was still petrified of what has happened to me, and maybe some fresh air will help.  I carefully stepped around the obstacles in the basement, acting like a cat trying not to make a sound as I made my way upstairs.   The boots and leathers I was wearing started to make plenty of noise, so I did my best to adjust my movements to quiet down the leather creaking.  It seemed as though my hearing abilities were magnified greatly over normal, it must have been the fact that it was dark in the room and of course the fear I was experiencing.  It seemed to take forever climbing up the non-carpeted steps without making any discernable level of noise.  After climbing up the steps, I found myself in the kitchen.  I needed something to drink to my quench my dry mouth.  I carefully opened up the fridge and grabbed a Mountain Dew (I almost did not recognize the Mountain Dew can) and left the kitchen.  Finding the back door to the house, I gently opened the door so as to not wake anyone up.  I stepped outside onto the cool patio cement floor, it was obviously summer time.  I set my Mountain Dew down on the patio table.  The night was deafening to me, it just seemed too quiet for some reason.  As I sat down on a bench on the patio in the bright moonlight, I could see something that almost gave me a heart attack.  In the driveway were my cousin’s Torino, '40 Ford and my Uncle’s Dodge truck that they had back in the early 70s.  Also in the driveway were two Harley Davidson motorcycles.  The Harleys could explain why I'm clad in full biker leathers. This can’t be real!  I went and looked at the license plate of truck, and it had 1973 stamped into it.  Looking out towards the front of the house, I could see my Dad’s GMC pickup truck with its camper shell on it that we had back then too.  In front of Dad's truck, was a Chevy Malibu.  It looked as though we were on one our annual summer vacations back to Denver Colorado.  I could feel something in one of the pockets of my jacket; it was a pack of Marlboro reds in a box that were just a bit smashed.  I managed to pull out a few cigs without breaking them.  The cigs were not totally damaged, just a bit bent from being squished a bit in my jacket from laying on them.  My hands were very shaky trying to strike a match to light up that magic first Marlboro.  My leather covered hands finally made the match come to life and lit that first Marlboro.  I took a very slow and deep drag, feeling my tenseness starting to subside 

somewhat.  Exhaling slowly making smoke rings in the night air with the bright moonlight casting its light on the rings.  The smoke rings against the bright moonlit night fascinated me for a few minutes distracting me from my situation.  I was completely puzzled, trying to figure out a rational explanation for my predicament.  I could only remember that when I went to sleep last night, the year was 2003, 30 years from where I was now.  And all of a sudden I realized I’m NOT the same person.  In the summer of 1973, I was only 9 years old, how could I be this adult sized person?  As I finished that first cig, I started to panic again with a new found fear, I lit another cig.  Then I popped the top of the Mountain Dew can on the table.  I took a big gulp of the magic Mountain Dew, cooling my throat all of the way down to my stomach.

       Realizing that there was something in one of the jacket pockets, I reached into the pocket pulled out a wallet.  I slowly opened the wallet, afraid of what I would find; I hadn’t even looked at myself in a mirror yet.  Using the bright moonlight, I looked at a driver’s license for someone that never existed, yet here it is.  The license was a Florida driver’s license.  Well, my family used to live there in 1973.  I carefully inspected the license, looking at the picture, the printed information, realizing that I must truly be this “new” person.  The name printed on the license was Kirk Derek Colten McCormack; the birthday was October 15, 1956; and the address was where we had lived in Florida at that time.  OOOOOh my God!!!!!  I must be somebody else, but in my own family?  The Twilight Zone was REALLY  happening to me I thought.  My hands still shaking, I lit another cig.   Right now, I couldn’t get enough nicotine to alleviate my fears and anxieties.  At that point, I couldn’t discern one reality from the next.  I was in a REAL Twilight Zone.  Where was Rod Serling?  He had to be around here somewhere telling the television audience of my predicament it seemed.   Did I really look like the guy in the license picture?  My curiosity compelled me to run over to my Uncle’s truck to look in the mirror to see what I looked like.  The reflection startled me so much that I jumped back a bit after the initial view of myself in the mirror.  It was ME, the guy in the license picture and in the mirror.  Yikes!  I could swear I must be having a nervous crack-up or something. 

       I know I must be dreaming this whole thing.  I thought I should just go inside and go to sleep and I will reawake in the year 2003 where I belong as Jeremy McCormack.  Quietly opening the back door to the house, I slipped inside.  I decided to lay down on the couch in the family room.  To my relief I fell asleep rather quickly. 

 Chapter Two

       I awoke suddenly to someone shaking my shoulder.  I opened my eyes slowly, hoping that I had just been experiencing a vivid nightmare and that all was back to normal.  My Aunt Ruth and I made eye contact and it startled me.  Oh, my God!  It looked as though I was going to continue to suffer this mind bending nightmare.  Aunt Ruth was talking to me, but I really couldn’t make sense of what she was saying.  She repeated what she had just said to me.  Aunt Ruth kept saying that I didn’t look very well, and that I appeared to have a very high fever.  Her hands were like ice on my face.  Aunt Ruth said it must be all of the leather I was wearing.  I think I was delirious to say the least.  All of a sudden, my “brother” Jeremy and sisters Rebecca and Jeanette popped their faces in front of me asking me if I was alright.   I jumped back a bit again, seeing my “own” self in front of me. At that moment I was truly freaked out and jumpy to say the least.  It seemed like everyone in the house (my parents, cousins, brother and sisters and my Aunt and Uncle) were surrounding me like I was the star attraction, looking at me making their own diagnosis of the situation.  I could sense that they must have thought I was high on something, because of the way I was acting (not realizing at the moment that Colt experimented with drugs occasionally).  Finally I sat up, still feeling dizzy.  I finally convinced everyone that I had a migraine last night and just needed to take a shower and clean up and that that would help me feel better.  I somehow managed to stand up even though I was a little disoriented and negotiated the steep staircase to the basement.  I now realized that I was feeling the same way I did when I went asleep in 2003.  Someone must have slipped me some kind of drug back in 2003, and I was just having a brilliant nightmare.  My thoughts were that I must go with the flow of this “dream” so I could survive it and then it would be over and I could return to who I was originally. 

       I went downstairs into the basement.  I found where "my" stuff was which was in a duffle type bag next to a sleeping bag on the floor near my Uncle's pool table.  I opened up the bag to go through the duffle bag looking for some clothes to change into after I took a shower.  Somehow I had to get some time alone, to try and get my wits together.  While I continued to be in deep thought, Dad walked over to me asked whether or not that I felt good enough to still go on our planned motorcycle ride.   I quickly answered that I thought it sounded groovy. Going for a motorcycle ride would most definitely give me the time to sort things out without too many interruptions.  I could then deal with my situations without my family thinking that I was an absolute stoner and high on something.

        I went back to rummaging through the duffle bag so I could get a better idea of who I was now, that is when I discovered quite a surprise.  I had mostly motorcycle leathers, 3 or 4 pairs of leather pants, several pairs of tall boots, several pair of leather western shirts, a leather vest and several motorcycle jackets completed the leather gear.  The scent of the leather gave me a momentary "high" that I could never get enough of to tell the truth.  I was rather stunned for a minute.  The leather gear was very soft and actually rather stylish for the time.  Several pairs of the leather pants, some were the 70s style bell bottom styles.  A couple pairs of pants were vintage (to me any how) motorcycle styled with zippered pockets instead of the regular kind of pockets.  What surprised me was the fact, that there were motorcycle leathers in the suitcase.  My last “lifetime,” we didn’t own any street motorcycles, just an old dirt bike. The rest was the usual 70s styled clothes and stuff of the like.  There was also a small box that was full of Indian turquoise silver jewelry.   

       I settled on a set of leathers similar to what I was already wearing.  A sleeveless black leather western shirt, a pair of breeches, and a pair of highly polished knee high engineer boots (which I had on at the moment).  I went to the bathroom, closed the door, and began to take off my sweat soaked leathers.  I started with taking off my gloves. On my fingers were several Indian silver rings and a wide silver bracelet laden with different colors of turquoise.  When I slipped off my jacket, I noticed a wide black leather watchband.  I sat down on the toilet and pulled off my glossy boots.  When I took off my leather shirt, I felt that I had a few silver necklaces around my neck.  I pulled off a leather strap that held my long hair into a pony tail.  I felt a thick mustache on my face that was shaped like an upside down horseshoe.  I finished getting undressed and turned on the hot water to the shower and slowly entered the stream of hot water.  The hot steamy water of the shower beating down on my face felt so refreshing.  

I soaped myself up thoroughly not paying attention to my "new" body.  I did notice that when I was washing my hair that I had several earrings pierced in my left ear.  I must be really into jewelry.  My life in 2003 I could have cared less when it came to any kind of jewelry.  The hot water soothed and relaxed my entire body.  After I was rinsed clean I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off.  That was when I noticed that there was a full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door.  I took a towel and cleaned the steam off of the mirror.  I looked in the mirror, and I noticed my “new” body was quite attractive.  The reflection of my “new” face in the mirror was a young teenager and those pearly whites were flawless looking.  I stood probably about 6' tall and my body was very muscular as though I spent years lifting weights.  My straight, thick, long, dark brown hair fell between my shoulder blades.  My long brown hair was so soft and silky.   My face had chiseled features with a pearly white smile that was just flawless.  My thick soft manicured mustache made me look like a rock star with my long hair.  I could now see the ear piercings in my left ear.  My darkly tanned skin was smooth, tight, with a soft and fine covering of dark brown hair all over.  My eyes were an unusual purple color that could mesmerize anyone.  My strong hands started feeling all over my body sensing the newness of it all.  My hands of course found their way to my crotch.  My hands found my cock with huge balls and started working it over a bit.  In just seconds, it stood tall and proud at least 12 inches long and nicely thick.  Within another minute, I shot a huge load all over the full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door.  The orgasm seemed to last for minutes, and a release that I so desperately needed.  At that moment, I froze for a moment as I shockingly discovered that I was staring at TWO cocks both hard as a rock.  When I had shot my load, it came from BOTH cocks.  Ok, so now I am some sort of freak was the next thought on my mind.  But then I realized that two cocks were better than one, with double the pleasurable sensations.  I guess it won't be that bad being a freak.  

 Chapter Three

        My mind realized that I had better finish getting dressed.  I slipped on the cool black sleeveless western leather shirt.  The shirt fit like it was tailored for a perfect fit.  I only snapped the front of the shirt about halfway exposing the valley of my chest between my well defined pecs and the brilliant silver necklaces.  I placed the wide watchband on next.  I kept all of the jewelry on while I took my shower as didn't want to deal with that detail.  Then I slipped into the black leather breeches (these breeches were non-flared) making sure that I adjusted for my cocks, one down each leg.  The fly was made with exposed metal snaps from the crotch all the way up to the waistband.  Rather sexy looking I thought.  My thighs filled out the legs of the breeches so smoothly.   I tucked in my smooth black leather sleeveless western styled shirt.  Then I snapped up the fly of the breeches and buckled up the wide basket weave belt.  The pant legs, now that was a different story.  Each leg had a zipper that extended from crotch to the bottom of each pant leg.  I put on a pair of socks and then I zipped myself tightly into each leg of the breeches.  The leathers that I had just shoehorned myself into were the tightest leathers that I had ever remembered wearing in my other life.  At the bottom of each leg was an elastic stirrup that looked like it was designed to keep my breeches from bunching up when I sat or stood up.  The breeches fit perfectly like the shirt.  The breeches fit so smoothly that there was no way I could put much of anything into the pockets.  Next, I pulled on my highly polished tall engineer boots which the boot shafts came to just under my knees that were made by Dehner Boot Company.  The closest way I could describe how I looked for the most part was that of Maxwell Caulfield in the movie "Grease 2" when he was in his slick full leathers at the end of the movie.  I stared at myself in the full length mirror on the door admiring myself for a few minutes and absolutely delighted with what I saw.  I was a little narcissistic for a few minutes at my killer looks.  I finished getting ready by brushing my hair and teeth.  I tied up my long hair into a pony tail with a strip of black leather with a snap on it.  I was as ready as I could be to face more of my continuing dream.

       Mom (who wouldn’t be my Mother this time around obviously - because Mom and Dad hadn’t gotten married until 1961), knocked on the door to see if I was done, so Dad could clean up.  I told her a few more minutes and I would be done.  I quickly cleaned up my mess and finished getting myself together. 

       I went back to my sleeping bag and grabbed my 50s D-pocket styled motorcycle jacket which I noticed was lined in a light weight red perforated leather and a pair of black tight fitting gloves.  The gloves I placed into my breeches back zippered pocket about half way in.  I gently placed my mirrored aviator sunglasses on the front of my leather shirt where it was snapped up halfway.  Where I placed the glasses drew attention to my exposed chest.  These few details such as the gloves in my breeches pocket, and hanging the sunglasses onto my shirt just seemed to flow out of me naturally.  I could feel my raw sexual energy emanating from my body which I had no control over.  There seemed to be an overwhelming power over me on how I carried myself (as Colt).  My movements seemed to be guided by that power that I couldn't put my finger on.  I guess it must have been Colt's sub consciousness that was controlling me.  It seemed as thought my mind was an overlay on top of Colt's mind. 

       I double checked to make sure my wallet was still in my jacket and grabbed another pack of Marlboros and matches which I put into a pocket of the leather shirt.  I went upstairs to the kitchen where Aunt Ruth offered me breakfast, but I decided on a couple of cans of Mountain Dew instead.  My nerves were too shot to eat anything right now.  My sisters, brother (me before this dream started), and Mother were in the kitchen eating breakfast with my Aunt.  Dad was downstairs in the basement getting ready to go on our ride.

       I went outside onto the patio with my smokes and the cans of Mountain Dew.  Sitting there on the patio smoking and taking big gulps of Mountain Dew my mind was doing quick flashes of my "life" as Colt.  The temperature was warming up quickly.  It must have been around 80 F now, sunny with brilliant blue clear skies.  The time was probably around 10:00 am.  The warmth of the day made my leathers start to glue themselves to my skin.  The sensations of the leather against my body began to turn me on.  I was becoming highly aroused at this point. 

       I decided to find a distraction to suppress my hormones for a while.  I turned to my mounting curiosity to check out things around the house to see if I could remember more.  So I decided to walk around and check things out.  I walked around the house to the front yard and was checking out what I thought was a Malibu that I saw last night (I was a car enthusiast back in 2003 so this car was intriguing).  When I got closer to the car, I noticed that there were not any Malibu or Chevrolet nameplates on the car.  There were a lot of differences from that of a Malibu.  At first I thought it was a customized car but there were nameplates that read Beaumont SD and 396.  The nameplates had a maple leaf on them.  The car must be Canadian.  I thought what a strange name for a car and perplexed as to why it was in the States.  As I did a quick look over of the car, it became apparent that I was beginning to "remember" more and more of Colt (and less of my former self) and that the Beaumont was mine.  The Beaumont was red inside and out and appeared to have every gadget you could possibly order on a car back then when it was new.  The car just plain sparkled. I must have been a stickler for keeping it looking impressive all of the time. 

           As I returned to the patio to sit down, everybody except Dad and I were leaving to go visit our Grandparents.  I lit another Marlboro and opened the other can of Mountain Dew. I sat transfixed upon the gleaming Harleys sitting in the driveway.  One of the Harleys was a red and black Electra Glide with a bunch of accessories and goodies on it.  The other Electra Glide was silver and was a bit more spartan.  My mind was flashing more bits of Colt's memory.  I then knew that the red and black Electra Glide was mine.  It was a '70 model that I paid cash for.  I thought how could a teenager pay cash for a late model Harley?  I probably would remember the answer to that question soon as well.  The silver Electra Glide belonged to Dad and it was a '65 model (the first year of the electric start Harleys).  I noticed that the driveway was clear of the cars and truck.  Everyone but my Aunt must have gone to work.  On the far side of the garage was a trailer.  I suddenly remembered that Dad had towed the trailer from home.  Dad brought the Harleys in it and some of our luggage.   

       Dad called out to me from the back door of the house.  He said he would be ready in about 10 minutes.  I went inside and grabbed my jacket.  I slipped on my 50s motorcycle jacket.  The red leather lining felt terrific against my naked arms.  I stuffed my smokes into my shirt pocket.  Gently pulling my sunglasses from the front of my shirt I slid them onto my face adjusting them for the perfect position.  I grabbed my black leather gloves from the back pocket of my breeches and slowly worked each glove onto my strong hands.  I found the keys to the Harley in one of the jacket pockets.  I moaned softly with the pleasurable sensations of being totally engulfed in tight fitting, shiny, and highly polished black leathers.  DAMN!  I knew at that moment that I was HOT looking exuding sexual energy at full power.  My cocks started to snake down each leg with considerable strain as my tightly leather clad legs were doing its best to prevent it.  I knew that it would be just a matter of time before I would shoot a considerable size load of cum down each leg.  At that point I didn't care, I welcomed it actually. 

I loved it!  I went outside to the bikes and started my Harley.  Dad walked out of the house (and locked the door) fully clad in glistening black leather from his neck down.  I realized that I had an air of confidence that I had never felt or experienced even in my "previous life" being around my Father.  Dad's personality was totally different from my last "life".  Dad and I (Colt) seemed to have a very tight knit bond between us in this life.  Dad was now a very cheerful person and was insistent on having fun whenever possible.  He also had a very different physical build of his body.  He was much more muscular than he was in the other realm.  We both seemed to feed one liners to each other so we were laughing a lot. 

  Chapter Four

       Dad strutted over to his bike fluidly.  It was almost sexy.  He started his gleaming silver Harley Electra Glide.  My bike was pretty much all warmed up and ready to go. Oh the feel of the exhaust pulsating from the two Harleys just made my pulse quicken and start my adrenaline pumping.  Oh I was pretty excited about going for the ride.  I told Dad told me to lead the way as I knew how to get to Evergreen by going the long way.  We were going to have lunch in Evergreen and then cruise around and head back to my Aunt and Uncle's house in Westminster.   Dad thought our ride should last about 4-5 hours.  I then lowered myself on to my vibrating Electra Glide.  The vibrations made my cocks come to life again.  I slowly zipped up my 50s leather jacket up to the snapped lapels.  I reached up and turned up my collar to look "cool".  This ride is going to be great I thought.  I kicked my bike into first gear and slowly let the clutch out and I was heading down the driveway.  I gently eased the bike onto the street with Dad behind me.  Once I was on the street, I had to just let loose on the throttle and raced Dad to the end of the street.  Dad was right beside me.  Oh, my gawd, this was certainly better than the Harley I had in 2003.  Just feeling the raw power of the Harley going down the road was thrilling my senses.  We headed over to the Boulder Turnpike and went towards Boulder.  The warm sun beating down on my black leathers and the wind in my face and from the speed going down the highway was so invigorating.  I surely enjoyed the wind blowing through my long hair. Between feeling the heat from my leathers to the vibration from the engine of the Harley, I suddenly shot copious amounts of cum down my legs in my leather breeches.  Oh that felt so good!  What a way to have an orgasm!  I didn’t care that I was going to have a mess to clean out of my breeches when we were done with our ride. 

       As Dad and I approached Boulder (it sure looked different from what I remember in 2003), my mind was starting to remember more memories of Colt the “brother” I had become.  I was beginning to see more and more memories flashing in my mind.  It was so strange to feel my two lives becoming one.  More memories began to come through the more relaxed I became.  My old life was starting to fade to where it was beginning to seem like it was the dream.  The real Colt personality was taking over my old personality little by little.   I could feel the transformation take over me.  I was feeling so revitalized with more energy and drive, but with a sense of a responsibility that I was here to accomplish something that I couldn’t do previously.  On the west side of Boulder, Dad and I turned onto Hwy. 93 heading south towards Golden.  Oh, the thrill of it all.  Everything seemed to be making more sense and I started feeling more comfortable with myself being Colt.  I decided to let my mind relax enough so that I could remember more of Colt's memories.  Being on the motorcycle with the wind in my hair I now was able to be by myself to where I could just let the memories flow through.

[pcttrailsidereader]

A Visual Compendium

Excerpted from the Seattle Times Pacific Northwest Magazine, March 7, 2021

By Joshua Powell

Hiker Haven

IN 2003, JERRY Dinsmore invited three thru-hikers back to his home, thinking they were homeless and in need of help. He soon learned they were hiking the PCT, and Hiker Haven was born. Jerry and his wife, Andrea, hosted hikers every year after that and became particularly adept at helping northbound hikers make wise decisions regarding the potentially dangerous weather north of Stevens Pass.

When I visited in 2014, plastic pink flamingos adorned the yard. Andrea’s license plate read, “PCT MOM,” and next to it was a bumper sticker that stated, “Hug a logger. You’ll never go back to trees.” Hikers did their laundry and wandered about in borrowed clothing. One woman wore a tiny dress, revealing a smattering of tattoos. A male hiker donned a dress as well, the hair on his shoulders and back sticking out in large patches. A German hiker joked in his thick accent, “You look silly … but sexy.”

Jerry Dinsmore, clad in suspenders and a vintage Kenworth Trucks shirt, pulled up a chair alongside me, and we sat and watched as a train rolled past, loaded down with airplanes en route to the Boeing facility near Seattle. They were only fuselages, devoid of their wings.

“There’s a tunnel a few miles back with a pile of wings next to the entrance,” he joked.

Another thru-hiker, fresh from Stevens Pass, was dropped off in the driveway. Andrea greeted him, reaching out her arm to shake hands. He instinctively stuck out his closed hand, offering the customary thru-hiker fist bump.

“Oh, that’s not gonna go over well,” Jerry said, laughing.

The PCT community lost a very special member with the passing of Andrea in 2017. Jerry still welcomes hikers to his home in Baring.

Glacier Peak Wilderness

THE SURROUNDING RIDGES are carpeted in luminous green meadows lit up by the morning sun. The sky is free of haze, and the surrounding mountains are crystal clear as far as the eye can see. Rainier still reveals itself from time to time, peeking over southern ridges. Marmots whistle from the berry bushes, their heads protruding from the leaves like periscopes as they scan their surroundings. The trail at times crosses over snowfields and then past small Mica Lake, which still harbors floating ice. With September drawing near, the ice is unlikely to melt before the snow once again begins to fall — it has been victorious in its resistance to summer.

Glacier Peak seems to be Washington’s forgotten volcano — due in part to its location within a large, roadless wilderness area. From surrounding areas, there are fewer dramatic views of the mountain than there are of Adams, Rainier or Baker. It tends to blend in with the tall, jagged peaks surrounding it. The thru-hiker, however, gets to know the volcano intimately as the PCT skirts along its base and crosses the creeks draining its slopes, gaining and losing thousands of feet of elevation in the process.

The Big 5 Washington volcanoes visible from the PCT

Stehekin

FROM SUIATTLE PASS, the landscape seems to gradually tilt downward toward the horizon, and hikers can look forward to a descent all the way to Stehekin, the final trail town of the PCT — famous in thru-hiker lore for its bakery. It sits secluded at the northern tip of Lake Chelan, accessible only by boat, plane or hiking trail. To say that it’s remote is an understatement.

The PCT brings hikers to the end of the single road that leads into town. From there they can get on the National Park Service shuttle or perhaps catch a ride with a local fisherman. Stehekin is small and compact, with an idyllic location amid the lake and mountains. All the vehicles parked at the ferry landing seem at least four or five decades old, only adding to the feeling that time stands still in this lakeside town.

Hikers can set up for the night in a tiny campground perched on a miniature bluff above the water, watching brightly colored float planes land upon the lake’s surface and skim to a halt. When night falls, the view of the Milky Way is breathtaking. Stehekin translates to “the way through,” an appropriate name for a trail town on a thru-hike.

Stehekin’s main road curves around the marshy northernmost tip of Lake Chelan, where the Little Boulder Creek empties into the lake. It is the extreme end of a 50-mile body of water that narrowly snakes through the mountains down to the dry and sun-baked wine country of Central Washington, so drastically different from the often-overcast and rainy North Cascades.

An old Chevy pickup passes by on the road. Owned by the Stehekin Pastry Company, it is on its way down to the boat landing. A girl and dog sit atop the wooden flatbed of the truck. Farther down the road is a beautiful garden full of cabbage, kale and other produce. A row of dahlias lines a pathway, the intricately geometrical puffs of each flower leading the way toward an apiary buzzing with honey bees. On a bench rests a pile of rainbow chard, the leaves bright green and glossy and the stems neatly arranged in shifting hues of orange, yellow and purple.

The bakery truck passes again, headed back in the other direction. This time, the girl sits in the passenger seat, and the flatbed is piled high with boxes and goods that have been boated in. The little dog is positioned atop the huge pile with his chest puffed out, standing guard over his precious cargo.

Epilogue

AS YOU HIKE mile after mile across three states, you imagine that final moment of reaching the border to be an overwhelming experience, assuming the gravity of it will hit you like a ton of bricks. In reality, however, when you’ve lived out every month and week and day and hour and minute and second that transpires between Mexico and Canada, it’s not quite as dramatic as you might expect.

There was no surprise in the end, but the sense of accomplishment was hardly diminished. And with it came the realization that it was all over, and I was headed back to real life, full of its own unique joys and difficulties. I couldn’t stay on the trail forever, nor did I wish to. I simply hoped to find the next big thing to work toward, the next passion that would consume me from waking until bedtime.

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