#i was WEAK at the local hardware store and got these two///

[hsdiaries]

chapter five

4.3k words

Fifth chapter of eight count.

The morning after with her felt like I was in a different dimension of my life. We fixed her bed with new sheets, I rolled my eyes as she insisted that we fix the bed completely. I let her know I never did, that I found it pointless before jumping in and messing up the neatly made up bed we had just spent twenty minutes arranging. She eventually jumped in too, her laughter mixing with mine as we wrinkled the covers and knocked down some pillows. Her body shifted towards mine, lips brushing mine gently before pressing a kiss onto them. 

We went to a small bakery for breakfast that I came to every once in a while, making sure it was in the opposite direction of Birmingham’s. She was too nosy when it came to my so-called job there and I wanted to avoid it at all cost. Our breakfast was spent sharing two different pastries as she couldn’t make up her mind and cups of coffee each. She surprised me then, insisting I get a key to her apartment so that I could let myself in while she was at work. It was strange to me, knowing her less than a week but feeling like I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

We walked to a local hardware store after, quickly making a key before heading back to her place. She was talkative the entire time, almost as if she never had someone to express all her thoughts too. I learned she liked to snack on white cheddar popcorn, always had a bowl ready to quickly reach into. We attempted to play blackjack on her coffee table, but ended up building paper houses out of the cards. Some two stories, others single story homes.

“I always wanted an entire loft like building for myself. I make enough to probably get something like that…but now the space would seem too empty and big for just me,” she smiled, starting to add a third story to one carefully.

“I’d follow you there too, we could call it the house of broken hearts,” I bit my lip, a soft peach blush on her cheeks.

“What makes you think I have a broken heart?” She said softly, eyes locked on mine.

“It’s a hunch, if everything else of you, is as similar to me as the things we’ve shared, I’d say we share a broken heart too,” I shrugged and she nodded, looking down to her paper houses.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, bashful, maybe you’re right.”

—

I hadn’t seen her today since she placed a kiss on my cheek before leaving for work. She had done this the past two mornings before work and each time I wished I could pull her against me; hold her there the rest of the day. I had been sleeping on the couch as well these past two nights, trying to keep some decency in our newly formed friendship. I didn’t want her to think she was just a sexual fixture in my life, I wanted her to know I was able to make this more than just that.

Packing up my gym bag with everything I needed for tonight’s fight made me jittery. It was both my ego and nerves trying to take over my mind. I needed to win this fight to make bills for the next month, I also needed the win to not feel like the weak bastard my father thought I was. 

Throwing my shoes in my bag, I looked around the apartment making sure I didn’t leave a mess. I didn’t want Emilia to come home from work stressed out and cleaning. Once I made sure everything was in order, I threw my bag over my shoulder and made my way out, locking the door behind me. 

My body moved toward the elevator but my feet stopped me, eyes glancing over to my apartment door. I licked my lips as they went dry, wondering if he was okay. We had heard his drunken movements at night as we settled, but I hadn’t been back. I bought clothes with some of the extra money Brad had given, knowing if my father needed groceries, he would sober up enough to get himself bread, cheese and more beer.

I closed my eyes, shaking my head continuing my way off of this floor and to the lobby. When I got to the bottom, Richard whistled, catching my attention instantly.

“Rich! Good day!” I smiled, gripping on tighter to my bag, walking over to him as his eyes narrowed, “Or not good day?”

“She’s special, Harry. She’s smart, responsible, and incredibly kind. Her heart is too big for her own good,” he said sternly, eyes burning into mine.

“I know that. I see it. She’s been good to me with no real reason to be,” I said, watching as his eyes trailed to my gym bag.

“She know about that?” His chin pointing in its direction.

“No. I don’t want her involved in that. You know it’s probably best she doesn’t get involved in it,” I swallowed, until eventually he gave a soft nod.

“I know you’re a good kid, Harry. She is too. I just don’t want broken hearts all over my lobby floor,” he raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t help but chuckle nodding my head.

“I don’t have enough heart left for that. I’m afraid she’d leave a black hole and nothing else,” I raised both eyebrows before turning on my heels, “Bye Rich.”

I pushed my way through the apartment doors, quickly heading towards Birmingham’s. Brad and I had done so much work for tonight’s fight, I knew I could take him down in one round easily, two if I wanted to make a show out of it. I would have my title back from this dumbass and that was all that truly concerned me.

As I finally walked in the doors of Birmingham’s I was greeted by Jacob and Brad hanging at the bar.

“Well, well, well it’s our champ! You ready to knock him the fuck out tonight?” Jacob quipped, Brad laughing.

“Fuck yeah. Get him out of this bar for at least a month,” I snickered making Jacob roll his eyes.

“Don’t exactly appreciate you scaring away paying customers,” he tilted his head at me and I sat next to Brad.

“I bring in about half of the people on fight nights, I can chase away one,” I shot back, Brad pointing at me with her drink.

“His point is valid lad,” Jacob narrowed his eyes, tuning to grab a small glass, filling it with some cherries and handing it to me. I smiled, glancing down at my usual, normally topped off with some cold Coca Cola if it wasn’t a fight night. I grabbed a cherry, popping it off the stem with my teeth.

“Yeah, well, you better not start sucking then. They’ll stop coming around if all you do is lose their money. Even today, most bets on the table are in favor of you winning,” Jacob said, sliding over his bet log. I glanced over it quickly, looking at how much I would make from the entry fee alone if I won.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t losing anymore. Not in my nature,” I winked, eating another cherry.

“So, did you finally grow the balls to tell your girl about tonight?” Brad elbowed my arm, my eyes narrowing at him.

“She’s not my girl…not like that anyway. I don’t want her involved in this world. She’s too good for this, trust me. Plus, the legality of it all, I’m sure it would mess with her job,” I ran my fingers through my hair, twisting the strands and pulling at them tightly.

“You gotta tell her eventually. What’s she going to think when you come home with a couple bruises tonight or those stitches opened up again?” Brad shot back.

“I’ll deal with it when I get there. Right now, she doesn’t need this, so let’s just drop it,” I said, biting two cherries at once, “Let’s talk schedule, what are the fights looking like tonight?”

Jacob, flipped around the bet book, looking for the schedule running his finger down the order of events, “We have two fights before you, you go on at 12, near closing time. Best spot.”

“Perfect, Hopefully Louis’ ass can stay sober enough to stand through it, if not, Brad you’ll be the stand in manager and coach,” we both nodded at each other.

“We got this, bruv, winners,” Brad patted my back as we got lost in conversation.

“God, just one more hour,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes from how tired I was. Today had been long, no major losses in the ward, just pain and struggle. Jo didn’t look any happier with today, but we held on to the knowledge that tomorrow was our last shift before a four day break. 

“Watch it be the hour from hell. You know I could use a drink tonight. I wanna go home, get dolled up, look sexy as fuck and well - get fucked,” she smirked and I couldn’t help but chuckle. My thighs clench slightly at the thought of having Harry in my bed tonight. He had been so respectful since the first time we slept together, but I wanted nothing more than to hear him call me pretty girl in my ear.

I bit my lip, running my tongue against it, “Let’s do that! Let’s go home, get dolled up, you can meet me at my place and we can go to Birmingham’s and get drunk. You can meet Harry, he’s working tonight!” I smiled brightly, like the idea of having someone important to introduce.

“I can meet the man that has my best friend on a whole different planet? Sign me up. Plus, Jacob always gives me free drinks!” She shimmed her shoulders, winking at me. I laugh, shaking my head as I close up some files, turning to the computer to log information in, “So he’s just been there this week? And hasn’t try to put a move on you at all?”

“Well..,” I sucked my lower lip in between my teeth and giggled, my eyes glancing over at her. I cleared my throat and whispered so only she could hear, “we hooked up the first morning after he stayed over. We just got caught up in the moment, but since then, nothing has happened. I think he’s trying to be respectful, because we kiss and touch. Just hasn’t been sexual.”

Jo’s jaw dropped, she took hold of my arm, rolling her chair over closer to mine, “You got laid and didn’t share. You know I live through these moments, it’s why we share!”

“I honestly thought you would be upset at me! You told me to be careful, and here I am, having him in my apartment and fucking him!” I exclaimed quietly, making her laugh. 

“Did you use a condom?” She said, my eyes widening as she hit my head softly with a file, “That’s not being careful!”

Scrunching my nose, I giggled, “I took care of things, I just - God Jo, it was so fucking hot. I didn’t want him to stop. I needed him to just keep touching me.”

I breathed out, Jo stomping her feet playfully on the ground, hugging me close to her, squealing out “God, I love sex.”

Bursting into laughter, I smacked her arm until she finally freed me, “He’s friends with Jacob you know? We could have a double date!” 

“Jacob and I don’t do double dates. We fuck. That’s where that ends, but, for you, I guess,” Jo said rolling her eyes, even though deep down I knew she wanted nothing more than to make it more than just casual sex. 

“You’re so generous,” I smirked, shaking my head a bit, “Okay, so it’s set then, Birmingham’s after work. We will wash off the day, get cute and get drunk.” 

She watched me as I clapped my hands in excitement, laughing and pushed back to her area of the desk and continuing her work.

— 

I smoothed on a layer of a mauvey lipstick on top of my favorite brown liner, blotting my lips against each other; my signature peach blush on my cheeks. Jo was five minutes away, we would pregame with some shot for courage before heading to Birmingham’s. It was silly, needing liquid courage, as if Harry hadn’t made my home his - but he was always so quiet about work. Secretive almost, not embarrassed, just…secretive. A knock on my door snapped me out of thoughts and I quickly closed my lipstick, moving to open the door for Jo. 

“I bring Don Julio and Patron. Options!” She exclaimed, bringing in her scent of cherry vanilla with her, dressed in a black jumpsuit that hugged her just right.

“Patron is the only option!” I snatched the bottle from her, quickly making my way over to the kitchen. I pulled out shot glasses and quickly served us shots.

“So did you tell Harry we were coming? I told Jacob we would be stopping by,” she smiled as we clinked the shot glasses and down them quickly. I scrunched my face at the burn of the tequila, shaking my head.

“No. I figured I would surprise him looking like this,” I winked, twirling to show off my loose gold satin dress, and dainty strappy heels.

“You know what, it’ll be the best surprise of his life, and I won’t blame you if you sneak him away,” she smacked my ass before serving another shot.

“Oh hush, alright, I made us sandwiches, two more shots and then we are out!” I said, gliding over to my fridge and pulling out the two sandwiches I had made us earlier. She reached over and began eating as we chatted about what our days off would consist of. We agreed to go shopping the day after tomorrow just in case tonight ended with both of us with me in our beds.

Once our sandwiches were done we took our final shot then quickly grabbed our purses and headed out. I was thankful Birmingham’s wasn't too far off, both because of the cold and also because the shots were starting to course through me. I was as nervous at the thought of surprising Harry, but excited all at the same time.

We pushed through the bar door, Jo squinting her eyes until she spotted Jacob and squealing, “Sugar!” She loosened her grip on my running towards the bar, Jacob rounding the corner and smiling at her.

“Baby face, look at you,” Jacob smirked at her, drinking her up as I approached the bar sitting next to where Jo stood. Jacob’s eyes landed on me, “Hey E, how’s the night going?”

“Good, in need of a good ranch water with a extra twist,” I winked and he chuckled.

“Alrighty and you Jo?” 

“Tequila. Straight,” she smirked and I couldn’t help but snicker at my best friend’s straightforwardness.

He chuckled and nodded, my eyes rolling as Jo took her seat, “Alright, coming right up. Make sure to keep the freaks away until I get back.”

I saluted at him, before biting my lip and tapping my fingers on the bar top. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander around, trying to spot the unruly hair that I loved tangling my fingers in.

“You see him?” Jo said, her voice snapping me in her direction.

“No. I mean, I see a bar back, but it’s not him. Maybe he got off already? But..he said he would be home late. So - I don’t actually know.”

She nodded as Jacob made his way back, placing our drinks in front of us, “Here you go, I gotta work the bar, I’ll be back.”

“Wait sugar! Question, where is Harry?” Jo said confidently, my cheeks flushing. 

I watched as Jacob’s brows furrowed, looking around quickly then back at us. He crossed his arms in front of his body, leaning forward on the bar, “How do you both know about that?”

Jo and I quickly glanced at each other then back at Jacob, “Know about what?” I said, tilting my head.

“Harry, the boxing…that’s what you're asking about right?” He said, eyes narrowed, but before I had a chance to speak, Jo spoke quickly.

“Obviously, we just didn’t get the full details,” she smiled, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair.

“Alright, normally there is a twenty dollar buy in, but I’ll swing it for you both. Take your drink, these tickets and head down that back door marked employee entrance. You’ll reach the stairs, you’ll hear the crowd, just follow the noise. He already started so, hurry, I’m sure he’s going to be done with that pus quickly.”

My mind tried to wrap around everything Jacob had just said, Jo’s hand wrapping around my arm and pulling me up. I followed her in a daze, drinking in hand as we followed Jacob’s directions. As we approached the stairs and made our way down, I could hear what sounded like a crowd, cheering and booing. Voices overlapping more than just those at a bar. 

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyeline fell on a boxing rink, surrounded by drunken men and a couple of women. In the rink was a tall slim blonde, ducking to avoid punches coming from a curly haired brunette. My curly hair brunette, Harry. My hand quickly came to my mouth, seeing Harry throw a punch and miss, followed by a quick punch to his stitched up eyebrow.

Harry lost his balance slightly, moving back until he found his footing, moving so quickly none of us including the other boxer expected it. He threw three quick blows, before they both moved into a hug, the makeshift referee approaching to seperate them.

“Uhm? This is a unique bar back?” Jo yelled into my ear, my face turning towards her brows furrowed.

“I can’t believe he lied,” I shot back.

“Hey, maybe he had a reason,” Jo quickly said as I shook my head.

“This is so stupid, beyond dang—…” I was interrupted by the crowd's screams and yells, the bell indicating the fight had ended ringing in my ears. Harry’s arm was held up by the referee, two other men running up and hugging him, lifting him up on their shoulders.

“I gotta go,” I said quickly, moving through the crowd to the ring, trying to find Harry in the haze of things. I could see the top of his head, his dimples imprinted on his cheeks coming into view. I swallowed, pressing my lips tightly together before finally calling out to him, “Harry.”

I saw his shoulders tense, his face turning to glance over his shoulder before completely turning around. Confusion seemed to be his primary expression before it softened into his sweet smile. His sweet smile that I needed to go away and not distract from the anger I felt in my chest.

“Emilia…what are you doing here?” He said, almost hesitant to step towards me.

“Thought I was going to surprise you at work, maybe hang out after you were off,” I chewed on my lip.

“Did you…do you see the entire fight?” He said softly, his hands moving to his hair, he was nervous, it was obvious.

“Caught the end it seems…so this is what you do? This is your job?” I said sternly, straight to the point.

He studied my face, my eyes not leaving his as he did, “Yeah. This is how I get my money. It usually covers rent and the bills, plus some savings.”

I bit my lip, shaking my head, “Do you know how dangerous this is?”

His face pulled back slightly, “What?”

“Yes, there is no proper medical team, your wound is open again which can be dangerous on its own, not to mention completely illegal. This is so stupid, Harry. And you lied to me.”

“Of course I did! Look how you’re reacting! Fucking shaming me, for trying to make a living the only way I know how,” he scoffed, biting his lip and shaking his head.

“This isn’t the only way! There are so many other ways to make a living, to get a good—…”

“….a good what?! Job? Job that understands my father is a drunk who will make me miss work more than days I can physically attend? That will pay me in one day what I can make here in one night. Not all of us are privileged, Emilia!” He growled at me, eyebrows knitting together, arms crossing in front of my body.

“Excuse me?” 

“Privileged. Things handed to them if you need a clearer definition,” he smirked, arrogantly chuckling under his breath.

“Things have not been handed to me! I have worked hard for every bit of the life I have!” I yelled, finding myself moving closer to his face, trying to match his towering height, not letting him make me feel small.

“Yeah? Nothing at all? And when you went to school? Did daddy pay for that? Or the government because you lost your father in service?” He shot back, words stinging like a dagger straight to my heart. I felt myself shrivel back down to small, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to fall.

I back away slowly, chewing on my inner cheek and lip, “Fuck you, Harry.”

He moved to close the distance between us, face so close our noses lined up, “You already did,” he smirked, looking from one eye to the other before walking around me and leaving me in the wake of a crowd I didn’t realize had stayed behind to watch the argument.

Looking around desperately, I felt Jo rush into me, arms wrapping tightly around my body, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

I pushed past her quickly, cursing myself under my breath for handling everything the way I had. I felt cornered, attacked, I reacted the way I normally would with my father - only making bile crawl up my throat. I reached the small changing area for the boxer, pushing to the sink in the back, allowing my entire body weight to rest on my hands as I held on.

A hand gripped at my shoulder, my eyes peeking up in the mirror to see Jacob. I shook my head and looked down at the sink, “What’s up?”

“First…I didn’t realize that was her. She knew of you, so I just sent her down. I thought it was part of the plan to come see you,” Jacob said, Brad and the guys obviously having informed him. 

Or Emilia herself.

“It doesn’t even fucking matter, I just met her, don’t mean shit,” I said, further amount of bile forming, clearing my throat to make it go away.

Jacob nodded small, “And secondly…Percy Maddox was here tonight. Saw you fight. He’s waiting for you upstairs, made me empty a booth out for you. A meeting with Percy Maddox is a big deal, Harry. He doesn’t come to Birmingham’s often.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose before standing up and rolling my shoulders back, “Where’s Lou and Brad?”

“Already buying him a round.” Jacob said, my tongue licking my dry lips as I nodded.

“Right, just gotta clean up.”

—

Looking around, I spotted the boys sitting at the back booth, Lou calling me over with his hand. I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at my curls as I walked over. As I turned the corner to sit next to Lou, I took in the great Percy Maddox - heart instantly dropping into my stomach.

He was well dressed, almost too overdressed for a bar like Birmingham’s. Shiny gold watch on his wrist, matching the chain around his neck. He smiled, taking me in as he sipped his drink, thumb coming up to wipe at his lips.

“Harry Styles. Did you know everyone in mainstream boxing has heard about you already? Some up and coming boxer, illegally making his name in a bar - sounds like the story of a legend,” he shrugged, making me laugh a bit.

“I wasn’t aware of my impact. This just pays the bills,” I said shortly, not really sure how I wanted this meeting to go.

“You could be paying the bills and more, with my help obviously. PR, best matches, traveling the world, strong team behind you.” 

“I already have the best team, these two have obviously gotten me noticed by the likes of you. Which obviously means something impactful,” I said, glancing over to Lou and Brad, nervous smiles on their faces.

This moment meant everything to Brad, I knew it. I didn’t want to sabotage anything for him, but I needed it to be known they were my team. Even dumbass, Lou.

“You make valid points, Harry, and I wouldn’t remove them from your side. It’s obvious this came from the work of three not just one. I’ve had many boxers come under my wing with a team, and we’ve managed.” 

“So you want me on your team?” I said carefully.

“I want you to show me you deserve to be on my team. Two weeks. I pick the opponent, you prep for it, come ready, show me you can be a Maddox Management boxer,” Percy proposed, our eyes steady on each other.

“And when I prove I am?” I countered making him laugh.

“Contracts will be drawn up, for the three of you,” he took a long sip of his drink, my hand moving to tangle into my curls.

Licking my lips I nodded, “Alright. Lou give him your number and set everything up. If you’ll excuse me, my pops needs my assistance tonight. Good night.” 

I stood up, holding my hand out to him which he took and we shook. 

“Looking forward to seeing you on my ring,” he winked, my head nodding a bit before turning and walking away.

[forgedobsidian]

pretty sure these two are a type of haworthia but I don’t know for sure?? any guesses??

[chibinightowl]

Writing warm-up. The cough is strong with me tonight, so work isn’t happening.

~*~

Tim sat on the floor in the back corner of the hardware store, a box of paintbrushes waiting to be restocked resting beside him. His knees ached from the repetitive motion of going up and down, so at this point, he was scooting along the yellowed linoleum on his butt, dragging the box along with him. The store was empty save for him, and, glancing at his watch, he realized it was just about closing time.

He’d finish this box, then go lock the doors. No one ever came in after eight o’clock, which was fine by him. Habit had him keeping the store open late, a carryover from when his parents were still around. Seven was probably a more reasonable closing time these days, even with the longer evenings.

The last paintbrush had just been put in place when the door chimed, announcing the entrance of a customer. 

Sighing, Tim picked up the empty box and made his way up the aisle to greet them.

“Good evening,” he managed to get out before his voice became trapped in his throat.

It was him. The brawny young lumberjack who worked at the mill a few miles out of town. The one who looked way too good in black and red plaid flannel with thighs that might just burst from his jeans if he moved the wrong way. Tonight, he was sporting a stubbled jaw, signaling he hadn’t seen a razor for a few days.

Tim tried to contain his soft mewl. Dammit, this happened every single time Jason came in. Why???

Jason grinned when he saw him emerge from behind the end-cap full of mops. “Hey, Tim. How’re things going?”

Words. Right. He had to use them. Swallowing to force some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth, Tim replied. “Not bad. Was just thinking about closing, actually.”

That was pretty good. Two full sentences.

“I’ll make it quick then. Don’t want you to stay open on my account,” Jason drawled and made his way down the aisle where most of Tim’s gardening supplies were kept.

Jason gardened? 

Slapping himself mentally upside the head, Tim walked to the register and placed the empty box on the counter. Most people around this town had a garden. Even he did, pathetic as it was. He was much better with indoor plants than he was outdoors, for some bizarre reason.

The sound of a heavy boot squeaking on the floor had Tim turning. True to his word, Jason approached, a coiled length of green gardenhose in hand.

“Mine decided to crap out on me,” he explained. “Got a few leaks.”

“Time to turn it into an irrigation hose,” Tim replied, amazed yet again that he managed actual words. 

Jason grinned again and Tim’s knees about gave out at the brilliance of his smile. “Pretty sure we live in the wrong climate for that.”

“True enough.” Tim moved the empty box to the side and ducked behind the register, glad to have the counter between them now. “Growing anything in particular?”

Now that he thought about it, he remembered Jason buying seed packets a few months back, not long after the worst of the winter freezes was over. He’d said something about starting a few things indoors?

The grin morphed into a smirk as Jason handed over the gardenhose. If Tim’s knees were weak before, they were absolute jelly now. 

“Thought I’d try my hand with some eggplant this year.”

Eggplant? What?

His confusion must have been clear because Jason elaborated. “I’m a sucker for a good eggplant parmesan. Wondered if it would taste better if I grew them myself.”

“You cook?” The words slipped out before Tim could stop them.

“Yeah, I do.” Jason leaned against the counter. This close, Tim could see the brilliant blue of his eyes framed by dark lashes. “It’s a pain in the ass cooking for one person, you know?”

Tim drew a breath and turned to the register, scanning the code for the gardenhose. Jason loved to make small talk, this wasn’t anything new. Another minute or two and he’d be gone, leaving him with the lingering image of his taut ass and sinful thighs walking out the door.

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, remembering a moment too late he’d been asked a question. “Leftovers only really taste good the next day. After that...” he trailed off, confident Jason would get his point.

He did. 

“They sure do,” Jason agreed, digging his wallet out of a pocket, then looking through it to grab a twenty. 

Tim made sure to accept it at the far end away from Jason’s hand. If his mere presence made him this weak, touching him would probably cause him to faint. Making change, he handed it and the receipt back.

Jason’s fingers gently brushed his, sending Tim’s heart racing. 

Oh no. Oh no, here it was. The moment he made a complete and utter ass out of himself. This wouldn’t be the first time, so at least he had precedence, but it didn’t help his flaming cheeks.

Accepting the change, Jason placed the bills in his wallet and the coins in his front pocket before speaking again. “Do you like eggplant parm?” 

It came out of the blue and Tim blinked, snapping out of his embarrassed trance. “Yeah,” he replied, more than a little confused. “When it’s done right.”

Jason grinned. “I happen to think mine’s pretty good. Want to come over and try it sometime?”

Huh? What? Might as well toss in why and where for good measure because this just wasn’t computing. 

Luckily, Tim’s mouth moved faster than his brain. “Yes?” 

Okay, sort of. It still sounded like a question.

Jason leaned in and grabbed hold of Tim’s still outstretched hand. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Warm. It was so warm. Rough calluses pressed into Tim’s skin, the mark of a man who worked hard for a living. A man who also enjoyed gardening and cooking in his down time. A man who apparently thought asking the local hardware store owner out for dinner was a good idea.

Was it a good idea?

Tim returned Jason’s smile with a tentative one of his own. “Yes,” he replied, firmer this time.

“Great. How’s tomorrow night sound? After you close.”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Hearthway Hollow Chef Ryker Part 1

So what happened when I commissioned @momolady​ for the Hearthway Hollow Chef thing was there was a miscommunication/misunderstanding and when I got the commission back, I loved it! But there were just a few details that I wanted changed and instead of letting Momo change it, I noticed that I could change the document itself and so I, like an inexperienced commissioner- went ahead and changed the details myself in the original document - like Del was actually 8 because Del is based off of my daughter, who is actually about to turn 8 and Zara is my OC of myself so I put in more details about me personally in there. And what started off as a little tweak here and there...turned into a remodel of a house and by the time I was done, if you read this, you’ll notice the bones are kind of the same but everything else is mostly different, I bastardized my own commission because I couldn’t let go of tiny little details. I rather innocently and unintentionally broke probably every rule there is about commissioning writers. And I’m sorry. I have apologized to Momo who has been so patient and so kind and so good to me and she totally held my hand through all of it because while I have done commissions for other people, it was the first time I was the commissioner for once and then of course, I had to write FANFICTION of my own commission, but did I base it on the original? no. I based it on my bastardized version. But Momo is very very very cool in letting me show the bastard version and the fanfic to the...however many followers I have that might like this other than me and if no one does, that’s fine, at least it gets to see the light of day. 

Enjoy. This is basically my hypothetical dark but sweet fantasy if my husband died and Werewolves were real and what I would do after I would grieve. 

Hearthway Hollow- Chef Ryker

I was hoping a trip would be what we needed, something Del and I could share even through our subsiding grief. My husband and Del’s father- Michael, passed away last year and I felt it was time that I start living again and try to move on with my life. Del chose the location of our vacation after hearing some of her friends talking about it. I had also decided that driving would be fun, nothing like a good ol’ fashioned road trip. I’d be able to show Del tourist traps, fun locations, and introduce her to some very good food. 

After Michael passed, Del did a 180 and became just as picky of an eater like her father was when he was alive, what once had been an adventurous eater, she quickly transformed into the kind of kid who only eats chicken nuggets, much less only would eat the foods Michael had once enjoyed. I think that was how she was choosing to grieve his loss and keep his memory alive in herself. But being a foodie myself, I was getting a little frustrated from eating the same things over and over and over again, I wanted to try to gently coax her out of that shell she put herself in. What better way to do that then a fresh change of scenery? 

The trip down south was going to take us a couple of days, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. I hadn’t traveled like this in years, back in the day, Michael and I used to go on roadtrips all the time, trips up to Michigan and the Great Lakes to see my family that remained there, to Cedar Point, Kings Island, things like that because we all loved roller coasters. We even went on a vacation when I was pregnant with Del. Michael and I had always hoped that one day, we’d be able to take Del on road trips more often because traveling with small children could be a nightmare. Michael had an old camaro he restored himself as a teenager and a motorcycle, both were great in helping make kids but neither were very kid friendly once they were born but he had been so patient in waiting for Del to grow up and be big enough to be able to join him. But then...well, time ran out, cut so very short. Now it was up to me to pick up where he left off. This was step one. 

We stopped in North Carolina for a rest stop, I got gas and took Del to the bathroom. While there we got some drinks and a couple of snacks for the road. As we were checking out Del was looking over the brochures for tourist attractions by the door.

She gasped dramatically and loudly. “Mom!” She yanked a brochure from the stand and all of the ones in that cubby came shooting out.

“Delilah!” I huffed as I knelt down to help her pick them all up. “You have to be mindful and aware of what you're doing." I gently reminded her. 

“But Mom!” She prances excitedly as she holds it out to me.

I sigh and take it. “Hearthway Hollow Forest Wolf Reserve,” I murmur as I look over the pamphlet. “Wolf rehabilitation and study center, located in Hearthway Hollow. Come see the wolves that make Hearthway Hollow the treasure of the mountains. Donations help in the rehabilitation of the endangered wolves of the area. Hmm”

“I can pet a wolf, Mom!” Del bounces excitedly.

I turn to the cashier at the register. “This Hearthway Hollow, is it close by?”

“Oh yeah,” she says with a cheery smile. “You just follow Locklear Road and the signs will direct you the rest of the way.” She says as she points in the direction of the road itself. 

“What’s it like?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s amazing!” The cashier gushes. “I go to the local college there and I plan on moving into town soon.”

I think for a long moment. “Any good restaurants? Places to stay?”

“Oh there’s tons of good places to eat. I would check out Guillermo’s, it’s my favorite place to go. My friends and I go there to celebrate after tests and junk.” She then smiles at Del. “There’s a killer park and a community pool there too, she’ll love it. If you’re looking for a place to stay overnight, just go to Big Billy’s Hardware.”

I furrow my brow. “A hardware store?”

“It’s the heart of the town! Big Billy looks scary, but don’t worry, he’s just a big pappa bear kind of guy and he’s a sucker for cute kids. Take your daughter in there and he’ll find you a four star place to stay dirt cheap,” she laughs.

I think for another long moment while I pay. As I get back in the car I look over to see Del clutching that brochure for the wolf reserve. Wolves have always been her favorite animal, aside from sharks... and snakes... and tigers... and unicorns, her father used to watch nature documentaries with her, and both of them would play wolves on full moons. Perk of living in the middle of nowhere, so many stars to shine in all their glory in the night sky. 

“Are we gonna go, Mom?” Del pleads.

 “Honey, we have a schedule to at least try to stick to.” But she can sense that my resolve is weak. 

Del giggles and wriggles in the passenger seat. “So we’re going?” Well, what’s a few more hours on a detour? 

“... Yeah ok." I find Locklear road and started traveling down it. Sure enough, I started seeing all sorts of signs for Hearthway Hollow pop up. There was a turn coming where the massive ‘Welcome to Hearthway Hollow’ sign stuck out like a sunrise against the dark trees.

Entering the town was like stepping into one of those picturesque paintings. The main downtown area was all old brick buildings with enchanting storefronts. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve come home, it was strange yet familiar and I didn’t realize how much my soul had ached for it. But by the time we found the reserve, it was closed for the day. Well, it would be open tomorrow. We could afford to stay in town for a night and see it first thing in the morning then get to Myrtle. 

“Let's find Big Billy's hardware store then,” I say. “We’ll find a place to stay the night, get something good to eat for dinner, and tomorrow we’ll go visit the wolf reserve? Sound like a plan?”

“Yes!!” Del cheers excitedly. 

The hardware store was easy to find, it looked like many of the other buildings, but there was just something about it that stuck out like a sore thumb. It was the classic hardware store, but the sign hanging above the door was a black wolf’s head, snarling and gnashed teeth, with Billy burned into the side.

As we walked inside there was old music playing over a stereo, a young man was behind the counter and arguing with someone in the back.

“Hello?” I ask. “I’m sorry to bother.”

The young man looks at me and smiles. “One sec, let me get through with this.” His smile vanishes and he snaps towards the back. “I’ve got a customer! Shut the hell up!” He glances back to me. “Hi, I’m Jack. Sorry about that, arguing with the old man.”

“Don’t call me that!” A thunder like snarl comes from the back and the walls nearly shake.

“Oh uhm-” I hesitate. “I’m in town for maybe a day or two with my daughter." 

“Hi,” she waves.

Jack breaks into a big grin. “Hi there!” As he waves back. 

“I was told if I came here we’d be able to find a place?” I ask. “I’m sorry if I was misled. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

Jack shakes his head. “Nonsense, I’m sure the old man has a few places he can rent for a couple of days.” He turns and whistles. “Yo! Billy! You got some potential renters up here!”

There is snarling and growling before a man who is more mountain than anything comes from the back. I’m sure back in his day he was a real looker, hell he’s quite good looking now, but there is a dark look in his eyes as he walks out.

“I’ve got a couple of cabins,” he huffs as he takes out a three ring binder without looking up at me. “Lemme see here, lemme see.” He glances down, seeing Del staring up at him with big bright blue eyes that matched mine and an awed expression. “What’s this here,” he leaned forward with a big grin which she quickly mirrors. “How old are you?”

"I’m eight.” Del beamed proudly. 

“You’re really close in age to my granddaughter,” he chuckles. 

“My daughter,” Jack huffs. Ah, so he’s either his son or son in law, that dynamic makes sense now. 

Billy rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here then?” He asks Del.

“The Wolf reserve, but it was closed by the time we got there,” Del answered as she starts to pout in disappointment and I see Billy sympathetically mirror her expression. Yeah, papa bear for sure. 

I pet her long blonde hair comfortingly as I stand beside her. “She saw a brochure for the wolf reserve and they’re her favorite animal.” I add. 

“Besides sharks,” Del corrects me.

“Two very good choices,” Billy takes a key from behind the desk and hands it to me. “Address and everything is on the keychain,” he says. “Small cabin, good for a new family.”

A cold, stabbing pain radiates through my chest. “It’s just me and Del,” I softly corrected. 

“Ah,” Billy nods. “Well, it’ll still work out for you. How long you plan on staying? A week?” He asks.

“Just tonight,” I say with a nod. 

Billy chuckles. “Well, $65 a night, regardless.”

I balk for a moment, letting my jaw drop. “That’s it? For a cabin?”

“I got a lot of cabins, they ain’t getting used.” Billy says with a shrug. “Kid discount.” He motions to Del.

“Oh wow, thank you. I promise, we’ll keep it clean.” I pay in cash in advance which makes Billy happy and then I take Del’s hand to go back outside. “Oh uhm...I was told to try Guillermo’s,” I reply. “Where is it in town?”

“You go down Main Street and make a left on Lupine Avenue, it’ll be right next to the Silver Bullet a few blocks that way,” Jack replies as he points and gestures in the right direction. “It’s great, you really should try it before you leave.” He added.

“Ok, thank you!” I wave goodbye as I take Del back to the car.

We find the cabin, which is located pretty close to town. It’s behind a house where there is a moving truck parked out front. I see a woman sitting outside fanning herself by a stack of boxes.

Del and I go into the cabin, and aside from it being a little stuffy from being shut in for a little while, it’s cute and cozy and even has air conditioners in the bedrooms and the living room, and it’s pretty clean and still really nice. There’s plates and cups in the cupboards and silverware in the drawer even and a coffee maker. Nice. 

“This is like the Three Bears house, Mom!” Del races around, investigating every inch of the place. She then opens the curtains in front of a sliding glass door in the back off the kitchen. She gasps loudly as she sees the endless void of woods behind the cabin and presses her face to the glass.

“You think wolves can see us?” She bounces on her toes.

“If you leave that curtain open,” I chuckle. 

“Come on! Let’s check out the woods! They call to me, I must explore!” She dramatically implores me as she gestures to them. 

But before we can, I hear a knock at the door.

A bit timid, I peek through the window to see the woman from the house below at the door. As I open the door she has an embarrassed look at her face. 

“Hi, sorry,” she scoffs. “I know you’re here just trying to enjoy your vacation, but uhm-” she fidgets in place. “The electricity at my place was supposed to get turned on today and it’s not.” She holds up her phone and charger. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head. “Not at all, come in.” I readily invite her in. 

“I’m Amelie, by the way,” she says quickly.

“Zara, and this my daughter Delilah, Del for short.” I reply and shake her hand. 

“Thank you, so much, Zara. I need to call my boyfriend and tell him the electricity isn’t on yet, but of course my phone dies.” Amelie goes into the kitchen and plugs her phone in there.

“Are you just moving here?” I ask.

Amelie shakes her head. “I moved to Hearthway Hollow about a year ago. I just got engaged, so my fiance and I decided to find a new place together. He didn’t wanna live in a house so close to his work, I didn’t want to live directly in the woods. This was a compromise,” she chuckles. “So, how did you end up here?”

“The wolf reserve,��� I say with a shrug. “Me and my daughter are headed to Myrtle Beach for a vacation and decided to take a detour on the scenic route.”

“The wolf reserve is pretty cool. If you’re lucky they may have the rescued wolf pups out by now.”

“Oohhh,” Del and I ooh. 

“So a beach vacation with just the girls,” Amelie chuckles. “Did you have to leave dad at home?” 

“Oh uh-” I start off unsurely and fidget with my wedding ring. “No I mean-” I press my lips into a tight line. “Michael, my husband, he died about a year ago so its just us." I say as I gesture to Del and I.

"He dropped dead of a heart attack at work out of the blue." Del blurted out and I huff and fix her with a look. 

Amelie gasps horrified. “Oh, oh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok,” I shake my head. “It’s taken some time and a lot of therapy but we're OK. Michael planned ahead and had his affairs in order so we're taken care of and now we get to get back to living and try to move forward. We wanted to create some new happy memories, get us out of the house and a change of scenery.” I explained as she nodded solemnly. 

“Well, you came to a great place. Hearthway Hollow,” she smiles for a moment. “I don’t know what it is about this place, but it’s a perfect spot for healing. When I came here I was-” she shakes her head as her eyes grow glassy for a second. “I was in a really, extremely, horribly bad place. Hearthway Hollow, in a way, saved my life.”

“Oh wow,” I murmur.

“I suggest letting yourself linger here for a while, you’ll never know what you might find.” Amelie gives me an encouraging smile. “Aside from the reserve, what were your plans?”

 “Oh! Well, I was told to go to Gueillermo’s,” I start.

Amelie gasps. “That place is awesome! My fiance’s best friend is the owner and head chef there, he does absolute miracles with food it’s a fusion restaurant so there’s a little bit of everything. Shahan and I were going there tonight, you should join us and get the special treatment,” she says with a grin. “Shahan and Ryker grew up together, they’re practically brothers.”

“Ryker?” I murmured to myself. 

That evening, Del and I get dressed up and go to dinner with Amelie and her fiance Shahan. The restaurant already looks packed, but we are taken to a back room into the most comfortable booth that’s a half moon shape as I slide in the middle with Amelie on my left and Shahan on the other side of her with Del being on the other side of me on the end and the booth itself has a front row view of the kitchen and the chefs already hard at work like a well oiled machine, I noticed everyone is in baseball caps so I can't tell who the head chef is. It's an upscale Spanish fusion restaurant and the smells coming out of the kitchen are making my mouth water and stomach growl. The menu is killer and I want to order all of it because it's all Michelin star quality food but at Olive Garden prices. And it's mostly farm to table and seasonal, featuring produce and meats from right here in Hearthway with only a few exceptions, like the seafood. I'm impressed. 

“So, what do you like to eat, Del?” Shahan asks as we look over the menus. 

“Chicken nuggets,” Del says, grabbing at some crayons on the table and drawing on the paper place mat in front of her, fllipping it over to the back and using it as her canvas to create another masterpiece. 

“She’s a picky eater as of late,” I sigh. “I’ve been using this trip to broaden her horizons a little.” I explained. 

“How is that going?” Shahan asks.

“Stalemate,” I grumble. 

“Well, if anyone can get her to try new things, I think it would be Ryker,” Shahan chuckles. “We grew up together, basically lived with me and my family after his dad passed away.”

“His dad died too?” Del asks softly and the look on Amelie’s face tells me she didn’t get a chance to tell him that yet as she looked at me apologetically which prompted me to smile reassuringly at her. 

“Oh uh, sorry kid,” Shahan says gently. “You miss your dad?”

Del nods. “He dropped dead of a heart attack at work, so his last words to me were from that morning ‘Hurry up or you’ll miss the bus, have a good day at school, I love you.’ We used to do everything together, he was teaching me archery and how to ride a fourwheeler and a dirt bike and how to handle a knife, because I’m not in school I get to carry it around all the time again, this was his.” She explained as she stopped drawing and brings out the pocket knife from her pocket and shows Shahan and Amelia who both have a myriad of emotions on their face as she expertly flipped the knife open to show them before I take mine from my purse and open mine and reveal that it was a matched engraved set and Amelie and Shahan look almost near tears. 

“Wow, that’s an awesome knife, can I see it?” Shahan asks respectfully before she let him take it as he looked it over before Amelie took mine, both of them studying them for a moment, appreciating the excellent quality of them before he tested it’s sharpness by shaving a patch of hair off of his forearm before he handed it back to her before she folded it up and put it back in her pocket as Amelie handed mine back before Del continued to draw on the paper placemat, her crayons nearly snapping in her hands with the force she’s using to color with them now so that she doesn’t start to cry. 

“Shahan!” A man comes around to the table before he sees me and his eyes grow soft yet excited. “Oh wow, new people.” He smiles at me like I’m the moon and I can’t help but mirror his smile. 

The man that stands in front of me has me dumbstruck like I’m a high school girl again. All I can think of is ‘Hello Mr. Beefy Beef Man’ because he’s this tall- like probably almost six foot, maybe an inch or two short of it, but a big burly guy, his chest is like a barrel and his shoulders and chest are really big and well muscled like a lumberjack with tree trunks for arms and a bit of a beer belly because guys, especially bigger ones who love food often have those too and I take that as a sign I’m going to eat very well tonight. He has a heavy dose of farmer’s market hot to him and is giving me the strong but soft vibes that I am digging. He’s wearing the white chef jacket but a nice heavy duty apron on and a baseball cap from Cedar Point of all places, which is my favorite place on earth. He’s got dark brown, almost black hair judging by his immaculate beard. His bright blue eyes look me over and I am smitten instantly.

“Well, hello there,” he says with a deep charming voice but bright friendly tone. “Is this couple here bothering you?” He teases and I can’t help but laugh. 

“No!” Del blurts from her spot.“They invited us.”

The man then suddenly seems to realize there’s a child next to me but he doesn’t falter, instead he chuckles. “Well, I am certainly happy to hear that.” He smiles at her. 

“This is Zara and Del, they’re renting the cabin above the new house for a spell,” Shahan replies. “Amelie invited them out.”

“You did?” The man laughs looking at Amelie with surprise. 

“I’m growing, learning to trust,” Amelie defends herself. “This is the Ryker, by the way,” she says to me.

“THE Ryker, I like that,” he laughs. His bright smile turns on me and I am that dumbstruck teenage girl again with a hurricane of butterflies in my stomach. “Ryker Guillermo, at your service.” He holds out his big, meaty but sexy hand to me and it’s all I can do to not giggle like a loon as I shake it firmly. My small hand disappearing into his. His hands are so warm and a bit calloused from hard work which for me is another really good sign. He has a good grip but so do I. 

“Huh-hi,” I choke out. “Nice to meet the miracle worker. I’ve heard so much about you.” I say. 

“Aww, are they bragging on me?” He says. “I just try to make good food, that’s all.” He shrugged as his cheeks stained cherry and he kicked at an invisible stone on the floor as his smile turns bashful. 

“What’s the special tonight?” Shahan asks.

“Good question,” Ryker laughs. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Chicken nuggets,” Del chimes in.

Ryker makes a face. “Bad news sweetie, this is an anti-chicken nuggets restaurant.”

“Excuse me?!” Del blurts as she puts her hand over her chest and fixes him with a look like a true southern bell who’s just been scandalously outraged and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing too hard as Amelie and Shahan lose it because the girl has spunk and personality for days as I smile up apologetically at Ryker.

“You do realize if you eat too much chicken, you’ll become a chicken?” Ryker says. “Do you want to become a chicken?" He asked and I want to kiss him for taking that so well and using humor to diffuse this situation.

"That's not true." She countered suspiciously as she narrowed her eyes at him, seemingly measuring him up. 

"Are you sure? There's a saying, 'you are what you eat', where do you think that saying came from?" Ryker teases and Del seriously thinks it over. "Could you trust me to make you something just as delicious as chicken nuggets but way, way better? Because I can." Ryker offers as Del considers that too. “It will be super awesome, I promise.” Ryker crosses his heart. He then winks at me and I melt like butter as Del looks him up and down a little wearily before she makes her decision and simply reaches out and offers him her pinky for a pinky swear. 

“Pinky swear.” Ryker immediately swears and hooks her pinky with his and shakes before Del finally gives him a smile. Before I offer my pinky too and he does the same to me, both of us laughing again. 

“Surprise me, I trust you.” I offer which makes him smile even brighter. 

“You got it.” Ryker beams before he leaves the table and I can see his hair is short  and well cut and I greatly appreciate his fine figure from behind and I have to bite my lip when he has one hell of an ass on him. The thirst is killing me.  

A few moments later the waitress brings by a basket full of screaming hot freshly fried tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa and a bowl of white queso along with a charcuterie board with meats and cheeses and all kinds of stuff on it. 

“Wait, is that queso blanco?” Del realizes as her eyes grow wide before she grabs a chip and dunks it and eats it and then tries to hog the bowl all to herself as I sample the salsa first and I feel like I’m just shoving a whole garden into my mouth. 

“Oh my god,” I gasp. “That’s some Willy Wonka intense flavors, but it’s the best salsa I've ever had.” I practically moan before the waitress comes back with a second bowl of queso for the rest of us having seen Del try to hog the first one and gives us our drinks including a bottle of wine on the house. But one sip and I realize it’s dry and I make a face. 

“Do you not like dry wine?” The waitress asks. 

“No, I’m very tannin sensitive, do you have anything sweet?” I asked hopefully. 

“Like sangria sweet or alcoholic juice sweet?”  She asks. 

“Alcoholic juice sweet.” I immediately answer. 

“I gotcha girl.” She nods sagely with a grin before she returns with another bottle, this one is AMAZING and I take a picture of the label so I can find it and buy it for myself. 

“Much better,” I praise as Amelie takes my previous cup and pours the contents into her wine glass. 

“Can’t let this wine go to waste.” She tells me which makes me giggle. 

Ryker returns several moments later, carrying out the plates for us. “I hope you all enjoy,” he says. “I tried something a little different tonight, after all I have a pinky promise to make good on.” And my heart melts like the queso. 

Del giggles as she looks at her plate and her eyes light up when she sees a moat of queso around the main dish and her eyes light up. And for my platter, it’s like I have at least six different dishes loaded onto it and I can’t decide what I want to dig into first but one of them is a mini copy of Del’s plate.  

“These are my special Shawarma enchiladas.” Ryker explained as he gestured to Del’s plate before he points to each thing on mine and tells me what each thing is as my smile grows bigger and bigger and brighter and brighter with every new thing until I feel my smile is making my face split in half is so big and excited. He really did put half the menu on this plate and it’s everything I had my eye on too. How did he know?!

“Do your tattoos mean something special to you or did you get them just because they look cool?” Del suddenly asks as Ryker is thrown for a loop but recovers quickly as a big smile blooms on his face.  

“A bit of both…” Ryker says as he starts to point out each one that shows on his forearms and explains each one as Del listens closely and respectfully as she continues to eat, talking with her mouth full occasionally and before I know it, Ryker has pulled up his sleeves to really show her the other tattoos on his arms which she eagerly looks at as I can not help but notice how strong and muscular his arms are and start fantasizing about massaging them and them wrapping around me. He looked so strong, I wonder if he’s strong enough to pick me up and toss me over his shoulder and haul me off and pound..whew, ok, gotta get my mind out of the gutter. I gotta actually listen to the conversation he’s having with Del since Del has then showed him her temporary tattoos on the back of her hands that she got at the supermarket. 

“So does your mom have any tattoos?” Ryker asks since Del’s attitude was typical of kids with parents with tattoos and I nearly choke on my food and furiously shake my head no. 

“No, I’m scared of needles.” I answer, my mouth covered because I still have a bite of food in my mouth before I quickly try to finish it. 

“She has to give herself shots every month for her migraines and she has a hard time not getting panic attacks just doing that.” Del added and I have to nod in agreement to that. 

“Wow migraines bad enough you give yourself shots for it?” Ryker asked as he looked physically pained by that.  

“Oh yeah, I get the kind where I lose my vision, I’m super sensitive to light, sound, motion and throw my guts up for four to five days at a time, several times a month. With the medicine, I get one or two a month and with my other two migraine meds, it’s reduced to feeling awful for not even an hour before they kick in and then it’s over, it doesn’t get downgraded to a headache the size of Texas either. It’s worth trying to get over my fear of needles for.” You explained with a nod and big gestures.  

“Well I’m happy you’re getting relief.” Ryker smiled, his own relief visible on his face. “Well, bon appetit, I gotta get back.” Ryker excused himself. 

The enchiladas are served with a vibrant salad and a small dish of black rice mixed with chorizo and what tastes like heaven. I have never seen Del eat something with as much fervor as she did those enchiladas and I of course feel like I’m inhaling my food and my eyes want to roll back into my head but I keep catching Ryker looking over to me while he continues to work, stealing glances at me and Del and all I can do is try to smile over my bulging cheeks and offer two big thumbs up and every other hand gesture I know that means good and now my eyes instantly seem to find him in the kitchen and I can’t take my eyes off of him and I notice he’s not yelling at anyone and while he gives clear direction, it’s always given respectfully and kindly.  

“I take it she liked the meal?” Ryker asks, coming back to the table after we finished eating and getting the leftovers boxed up. 

“It's been forever since I've seen her so excited to eat something new, we loved it, it was so good, best meal of my life, thank you,” I gush. “Thank you so so so much.”

“It was exquisite, that queso blanco was sublime.” Del praises and Ryker is impressed with her vocabulary. 

“How old are you again?” He asks curiously. 

“Eight, I just graduated the second grade and I’ll be in third grade in the fall.” Del answered proudly. 

“That’s awesome, high five.” He offers which she readily gives. “Well, I wanted to send something else home with you I thought you might enjoy these later. You can warm them up for breakfast even.” Ryker invited as he revealed the largest ‘to go’ bag already filled with to go boxes of more food. Having been working on this while we were eating. 

“Oh wow, thank you so much!” I gasp. “We will probably be back before we have to leave again,” I say with a big grin as I suppress the urge to get up and hug him and kiss him all over for being as awesome and amazing as he is. 

“I hope you do,” his voice is gentle yet so hopeful. “Well uhm, back to work!” He seems to want to linger but he pulls himself away. When the waitress comes back, I ask for the bill but she informs me that there isn’t one. That Ryker waived the bill for our whole table. 

“Aww, he didn’t have to do that, he’s so sweet!” I fawned before I made sure to give the waitress a very hefty tip, which was what I thought I would be paying for the meal to begin with which makes her happy. 

As we leave, we don’t notice Ryker come out and talk with the waitress and pick up Del’s drawing that she left and look at it appreciatively before he carefully folded it up and put it into his pocket. 

That evening after Del has a shower and she’s taken to a food coma in bed, I go to the kitchen to unpack the to go bag and I find a bottle of wine! It’s the same wine I enjoyed with dinner! As I place the containers into the fridge a piece of paper falls out and floats to the ground. It’s the kitchen’s receipt for our table and I see that we were coded as ‘Chef’s special guests’ with instructions for Del’s food ‘Make it perfect- pinky promise’ and mine is ‘greatest hits, give her everything’. And I’m just so touched I start tearing up but I can’t stop smiling before I turn it over to see a note written on the back and I see a phone number and a message scrawled on it. “If you need any advice to combat your picky eater, call me. Ryker.”

My head nearly explodes, I have the cute chef’s number!  

“Yyeeeaaaasssss!” I squeal before I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself from waking Del up but I can’t help but jump up and down and celebrate and do a victory dance in the kitchen in front of the sliding glass doors who’s curtains are still pulled back before I put the number into my phone and dig into the cheesecake Ryker had sent with me as I plug in my headphones and dance around the kitchen while eating the cheesecake which is my favorite dessert and it totally tastes homemade and out of this world. I’m so lost in my own little world that I don’t see two light green eye shines from in the woods and I definitely don’t notice them getting closer until their right at the edge of the woods before I get tired and put the left over cheesecake away and start stripping down to my underwear because my impromptu workout has me sweating and I had turned off the airconditioners downstairs before we left as I go through the cabin and start turning the lights off as I go. I get ready for bed and I’m on cloud nine. I can’t help but think of Ryker as I try to fall asleep, keeping the window open since it has a screen so it won’t let any bugs in and the spring mountain air is just so sweet and refreshingly cool so I don’t need to run the air conditioner and before I know it I have a need that needs to be fulfilled so I grab my little vibrator that I packed and a little bottle of lube and get down to business and in no time at all I’m trying to stamp down my voice but still let a pleasured keen escape as I find my release before I heard clawing on the side of the house that almost sounded like it was right underneath my window... on the second floor of the cabin. 

“What the hell?” I frown as I get my phone and use the flashlight feature to look out the window to see if I could see anything and I wonder if there’s a raccoon or something outside. But the clawing stops and I hear the tell tale signs of something running back into the woods, must have been a big raccoon, I just shrug it off and go to sleep. 

[unfolded73]

Decisions (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

Flashbacks to all the little decisions that brought David and Patrick together to their wedding night. Canon compliant through S5. Rated Teen, 5.6k

Yeah, I’ve got it bad for these two.

(ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~

“Was that okay?” David let his hand slide across Patrick’s abdomen, nails scratching through the hair below his navel. He spooned up against Patrick’s back, ignoring the post-coital sweatiness for once in order to cuddle.

“Okay?” Patrick laughed, or more accurately, giggled. “Did you really ask if that was okay? Because I think I might’ve actually blacked out for a minute there.”

David hummed, the path of his hand continuing to Patrick’s hip. “It’s just, it’s our wedding night, so I felt a certain amount of pressure to live up to expectations. Wedding night sex should be, you know, top five sex.”

Patrick rolled over to face him, his nose nuzzling against David’s bare chest. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually keep score on our sex life.”

“Still--”

“It was amazing. You’re amazing.” Patrick kissed him. “You, my husband, are amazing.”

David tried not be thrilled by being called husband, he did, but his hammering heart had other ideas. He remembered stumbling out onto a Manhattan balcony the morning that gay marriage had been legalized in the States, hungover and with only a vague memory of whom he’d gone to bed with the night before, listening with half an ear as his polyamorous performance artist girlfriend at the time lectured her friends about the fact that marriage was a heteronormative construct to which the queer community never should have aspired in the first place. They all nodded sagely, taking drags off their cigarettes in the morning sunlight. David had nodded too, nodded in agreement that marriage was a prison, a trap, a refuge for desperate and weak-willed breeders. It sometimes occurred to him these days that his opinions back then had been thoroughly molded by those around him, pressed into his mind like handprints into soft concrete. Daniella said marriage was a construct, so David believed marriage was a construct. He wondered (not for the first time, or even the hundredth) what that David would think of him now, looking forward to a settled life with this one man who wore sensible Oxford shirts that he bought at the outlet mall in Elmdale.

“Do you ever think about all the tiny decisions we made that led us here?” Patrick asked.

David shook himself out of his reverie. “Hmm?”

Patrick pulled away far enough to be able to focus on his face. “I mean, there’s any number of ways that if things had gone slightly differently, you and I would never have met. Or at the very least, would never have ended up in business together. Or in a relationship.”

“See, I try not to think about things like that, because imagining never being with you would be very upsetting for me. And you know I don’t like my eyes to get puffy.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that to me several times today.”

“Well, it’s important,” David responded, lifting his hand and gesturing in the air for emphasis.

“Important enough to say during the ceremony, though?”

“It’s just that your vows were very emotional.”

“Yeah, I said those things because I like to watch your eyes get puffy,” Patrick said, smirking at him.

David huffed in annoyance, even has he cupped the back of Patrick’s head, fondly stroking the short hair above his neck. “Anyway, no, I don’t get all Gwyneth in Sliding Doors about my life choices.”

“I never saw that movie.”

David reared back, his eyes widening in horror. “Okay, I’m going to need a divorce.”

“Or we could just watch the movie,” Patrick said, grinning, and then leaning in to kiss him.

David hummed and smiled against Patrick’s lips. “Yeah, I suppose we could just watch the movie.”

~*~

Patrick opened the door of his increasing barren apartment to see Rachel standing there. Her eyes were red from crying, and his stomach twisted with guilt at the sight of her.

“Can I come in?” she asked, and what was he supposed to say to that other than yes, so yes is what he said, stepping back to admit her into the cardboard box forest of his living room.

Rachel looked around despondently. “So you’re really moving?” She was dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her long, red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Patrick wished he could hug her because he really needed a hug, but he kept his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

“Yeah.”

Her shoulders drooped at that, as if just by asking, she might make him change his mind and stay. Which, given their past, probably wasn’t an unreasonable thing for her to think.

“And you’re just going to drive; you don’t even know where you’re going to live?”

Well, no, that part of the plan he’d told Rachel wasn’t true. He’d wanted it to be true -- wanted to be the kind of person who could just uproot his entire life on a whim and head off into the sunset with no clear idea where he was going to end up. But Patrick was a planner, and in the end he’d been too anxious to go through with that level of spontaneity. Instead he’d browsed job websites until he found something weird but promising, working for a guy named Ray who’d hired him over the phone after a lengthy, very chatty interview. He’d even be able to rent a spare room in Ray’s house, so if Ray turned out to be a serial killer, at least Patrick was making himself fully available to murder at any time of the day or night. He liked to be accommodating that way.

He didn’t want to tell Rachel any of this.

She laughed bitterly. “And here I thought this time, the engagement would stick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, I’m sick of your apologies. All you ever do is apologize to me.”

So she came here to berate him, then. Great. Not that he didn’t deserve it, with as many times as he’d broken her heart.

“But I guess that you don’t want to marry me so much that this time you can’t even stand to be in the same town as me,” she continued.

He and Rachel had been best friends in high school, inseparable, and everyone expected them to start dating from the time they were fifteen. Everyone expected it so much that it was like they willed the relationship into existence, and Patrick let himself be swept along with the tide of their expectations. He’d kissed her for the first time after one of his baseball games because he knew he was supposed to. He’d had mediocre sex with her the night of their spring formal because their friends expected it. He’d come home from college and asked her to marry him because his parents and her parents and even the lady who worked the register at the local hardware store had been hinting at him about it. Then a few months later, faced with the fact that being engaged to someone meant you had to actually marry them, he’d panicked and broken off the engagement. That was only the first time he’d broken off their engagement.

It was possible that Patrick was an asshole.

“I just need a fresh start with my life, I can’t--” Stay here. Face you. Face my parents.

“So then go to Toronto, or Chicago, or somewhere normal that people go when they’re trying to get away from home.”

“It’s expensive to live in those places. And I’m a small town guy.”

“I don’t want you to go. I still--” She hiccupped a tiny sob. “I still love you, Patrick.”

He felt like he still loved her too, and also that he’d never had a clear idea of what love actually was. But he knew he couldn’t marry her. With so much uncertainty in his life, he was finally certain of that, albeit several years too late.

“Please don’t go.”

It would make a lot of people happy if he stayed. Rachel, his parents, his buddies from high school who still liked to drink cheap beer and watch hockey. The lady from the hardware store. In leaving, he was disappointing everyone. He could agree not to go, and that weight of disappointing everyone would lift. 

Replaced by a heavier weight that he couldn’t quite define, but that had been pushing him down his whole life.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I have to go.”

~*~

This fucking motel smelled funny, that was why he couldn’t sleep.

David turned over one more time, trying to get comfortable between the scratchy, low thread count sheets. He pulled the sleeve of his designer sweatshirt over his hand and cupped it over his face and inhaled, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to imagine that he was back in his own bed at his parent’s mansion. Or the bed in his Manhattan loft. Or even the bed of a stranger as he avoided the wet spot on the sheets and wondered if it would be easier just to leave now rather than waiting until morning. Literally anywhere would be better than this hellhole.

Flipping onto his back violently, David huffed out a breath.

“Oh my God, David, can you stop fidgeting for like, two minutes?”

“Fuck off, Alexis.”

She made an unhappy squeaking noise. “You don’t have to be such a dick to me all the time, you know.”

“I think I do.” He was still furious at her that she would have left with Stavros, abandoning him to their mother’s misery and their father’s misplaced optimism and this place.

“I could leave too, you know,” he added.

“Oh really, David? Where would you go?”

 “To New York, where I lived.”

“Your apartment is gone, David.”

“I have friends, Alexis.”

“Oh, do you. Name one.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say a person who definitely existed and wasn’t made up, Alexis added, “And I mean someone who would actually care enough about you to let you crash on their sofa now that you’re poor. Also, how would you even get to New York? We don’t even have a car. Or money for a plane ticket on a…” -- and here she shuddered -- “commercial airline.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to find someone to put me up in New York, I could. There are men who would be more than happy to send me a plane ticket if I asked.”

“Ew, David. Like a sugar daddy? Even you should have more self-respect than that.”

He snorted. Self-respect. As if.

“And anyway, you’re not the young twink you once were; no one’s going to pay you to be their boy toy now,” she added.

“Jump off a bridge, Alexis,” he said, in no small part because he feared what she said was true. He didn’t have any friends who’d cared about anything but his money and connections, and he probably was too old to attract the attention of someone who might support him financially just because he was pretty and good at sucking dick. A small voice in the back of his head told him he was better off without those kinds of people. He ignored it.

“Fine, prove it. Leave,” she huffed. “Go to New York and find some skeevy guy to support you, see if I care.”

A part of him was so angry with Alexis that he almost got up at one thirty in the morning and stormed out of the room. He’d find a way to get out of this town somehow. He’d walk. He’d hitchhike. He’d sprout wings and fly.

After a long pause during which he stayed under the too-thin bedding, David said, “I can’t leave, I need to be here for Mom. She won’t survive this without me.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re staying,” Alexis muttered sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

~*~

“Feeling better?” Stevie asked as she took the joint out of his hand and put it to her lips. David watched as she took a deep drag and held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds before blowing it up at the sky.

He leaned back on the worn picnic table behind the motel and looked up at the way the light filtered through the trees. Schitt’s Creek could be oddly beautiful when viewed from the right angle. And when high. 

“Yeah. Better.”

“Done freaking out about the store?”

“Probably not, but I am presently done freaking out. At present.”

Stevie giggled, and David rolled over on the table to take the joint back from her.

“It’s the consignment part of it that’s crucial, but I wasn’t able to impart that to that uptight little cutie at Ray’s.”

“You talk like your mother when you’re high.”

David gasped, sitting up. “You take that back.”

Stevie blinked at him. “I just mean you use bigger words. Unnecessarily large words,” she overennunciated. “Wait, you said ‘cutie.’”

“Who did?” He shook his head side-to-side, trying to clear it. “I mean, I said what about what?”

“You said ‘that uptight cutie at Ray’s.’ He’s cute? You failed to mention that, you just said he was snippy.”

“He’s not cute; he was pressuring me to fill out a form. Nothing about that was cute.” David stretched back out on the picnic table. 

“And yet you said it.”

“Also I’m pretty sure he was wearing Levi’s.”

Stevie clutched at her heart. “Oh my God.”

“You may not think I can tell when you’re making fun of me but I actually can. I just mean he’s not my type. Which doesn’t matter because I’m sure he’s straight. He was pretty much wearing the straight boy uniform.”

“You sure are worried about what this non-cute boy’s sexual preferences are, David.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Stevie didn’t respond to that, and so they were silent for a while. David continued to squint up at the sunlight-dappled trees and Stevie… thought her Stevie thoughts. David imagined this is what his teen years would have been like if he’d grown up with no money in a town like this: getting stoned with a friend on a sad picnic table behind a motel. No parties with half-naked models and bowls of ecstasy. At the moment, he couldn’t put his finger on any reason why this would have been such a bad way to grow up. He certainly could have used a friend like Stevie in those years. Someone to support him and to call him on his bullshit.

David took a deep breath and broke the silence. “I guess what I wanted to say before I was stoned is, maybe it’s not too late for me to give up on the store idea. My mother was right, I’ve never done anything like this on my own before, and any belated maternal instinct she may have had to encourage me--”

“David Rose, don’t you dare give up on the store. I’ll be furious with you if you do, I mean it.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about running a business.”

“I know. But you can ask your dad for help. Or you can ask the cutie at Ray’s.”

“I hate you,” he said, but he reached into his pocket and ran his finger along the edge of Patrick’s business card.

“Please don’t give up on it, David.”

He rolled over and looked at Stevie, her black hair tousled in the light breeze. He felt the sudden urge to tell her he loved her, but he figured that was just the marijuana talking. He bit his lips to keep the declaration in and sat up. “I’m going to go down to the store,” he announced.

“To do what?” she asked, hopping down off the picnic table and taking David’s hand to pull him to his feet. The world tilted alarmingly on its axis from this new vantage point.

“To work on my business plan.”

~*~

Patrick called his parents on Sunday afternoons without fail. He felt like if he didn’t stick to the schedule, if he let a Sunday go by and didn’t call them, then he’d start going longer and longer between calls and eventually he’d barely talk to them at all. So he called, right on schedule, even though the thought of talking to them today had caused a ball of anxiety to form in his stomach for some reason that he couldn’t explain.

After the exchange of pleasantries and listening to the latest gossip from his hometown, an uncomfortable silence descended.

“So, I… uh…” Why was this so hard to talk to his parents about? Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the phone harder against his ear. “I’m not going to be working for Ray anymore.”

“Oh,” his mom said, and he could hear the mixture of confusion and worry in that one little syllable. “That didn’t last very long, did it?”

“I know you said Ray’s a little… scattered, but you probably need to give it some more time, son,” his father said in that deep, sonorous voice that Patrick had failed to inherit. 

“Does that mean you’ll be coming back home?” his mom asked, and shit, of course she would jump to that conclusion.

“No, no no, that’s not why I’m… I’m going into partnership with another guy to help him run a store.”

“What guy?” his father asked at the same time his mother said, “A store?”

“Um, his name is David,” Patrick said, and it felt weirdly thrilling and forbidden to speak David’s name out loud to his parents. He frowned; what an odd thought. “The general store in town closed down, and David’s leased it to turn it into a space where he’s going to sell products from local vendors on consignment. It’s a good business model.”

“It sounds interesting,” his dad said, which sounded like a diplomatic way of saying ‘risky.’ Or perhaps a diplomatic way of saying ‘I can’t fathom why you would you give up a good job and a relationship with a lovely girl like Rachel to move to the ass end of the world and drift from one job you’re overqualified for to another.’

“It should be. I’m excited about it.” He paced across the floor, suddenly anxious to get off the phone. 

“I saw Mr. Stephens a few days ago,” his father said.

“Oh, yeah?” Theo Stephens had been Patrick’s boss at the bank.

“He said your job is still available if you want to come back home.”

“Tell him he really needs to hire a replacement,” Patrick said.

“I think he did, but it didn’t work out. So he’s looking again to fill the position, and I thought--”

“I’m staying here in Schitt’s Creek, Dad.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why? What does that town have that your hometown doesn’t?”

A rush of images filled Patrick’s head. The clean white walls of the store, and the nice way it smelled now that he and David had washed everything thoroughly and filled it with skin and hair care products. The way David smirked when Patrick said something witty and sardonic, like there was a big smile inside of him that he was barely containing. The way David’s long, ringed fingers looked as he pressed labels onto bottles of moisturizer and bags of tea. 

“It has the store.”

“Oh, stop giving Patrick a hard time, Clint,” his mother said. “We just miss you, is all.” 

Patrick’s face flushed with shame that he was making his mother sad. “I know, Mom. I miss you too.”

“You’ll keep us posted about how it goes with the store?” his dad asked.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, but there was a part of him that never wanted to mention the store to them again. It was his and David’s, and sharing it with people at home, even his parents, felt strangely blasphemous.

“We love you, son.”

“Love you, too.”

The next few days were filled with body milk and spreadsheets of vendors and inventory and laughter and his heart squeezing uncomfortably in his chest every time he looked at David across the room. On Patrick’s next day off, he got up early and went for a hike, like if he didn’t keep moving his skin might turn itself inside out.

Or like he might have to admit that he had romantic feelings for David.

It wasn’t that the thought of being gay had never occurred to him before; he wasn’t born under a rock, after all. But he dismissed it, because gay men weren’t like him. Gay men were like David, fashion-conscious and unaware of what a change-up pitch was. And then there had been Rachel and a few other girls in college, keeping him from seriously questioning his sexuality. He looked straight, he acted straight, he’d had sex with women. Although, true, he’d always wondered what the big deal about sex was, because he’d secretly never thought it was all that great. And true, he’d once sat in a darkened theater watching Avengers and spending a lot more time focusing on Chris Evans than on Scarlett Johansson. But he’d never really fallen for a boy either, and eventually Patrick had concluded that he wasn’t a particularly sexual person. That was a thing, after all; he’d read about it. 

Then he met David Rose.

He spent hours working on the store’s budget and thinking about the turn of David’s neck. He stocked shelves and thought about David’s elegant fingers, with those silver rings that would catch the light and attract Patrick’s attention like a moth to a streetlamp. He stared into the middle distance, listening to the jazz that David insisted was an essential part of the store’s aesthetic, and thought about what David’s mouth would feel like on his own.

There was no use denying it: for the first time in his life, Patrick was falling for someone, and it was a man. And while that was confusing enough, the bigger problem was that it was his business partner.

Patrick reached the overlook point, and he stopped to catch his breath, sweat running down between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m gay,” he said out loud to the forest, testing the words, the very concept, in his mouth.

“I’m gay. I’m very, very gay for David Rose,” he said, and then laughed. He sounded crazy.

An argument could be made that it would be the wisest course never to act on his feelings because of the business. The most likely outcome to sharing his feelings with David would be a humiliating rejection; Patrick wasn’t the kind of person David would be attracted to, surely, and the best he could hope for would be for David not to laugh in his face. Even if by some miracle David was interested, all that would probably lead to would be a short relationship that would inevitably end, leaving Patrick working day in and day out with the man who’d broken his heart. 

He imagined asking David out, and David saying yes. Suddenly it was all he wanted, to go on a date with David, but he didn’t know if he’d have the courage to do it. Still, admitting that he wanted to, admitting what his feelings were, that was almost as good as making the decision to act on them.

“I’m so fucked,” Patrick said to the trees. They nodded in the breeze in agreement.

~*~

It was a rare day off from the store, and all David had wanted to do was sleep until noon and then lie in bed and eat a bag of chips and watch whatever was on the Hallmark Channel, which was available on the new cable package that his dad had gotten for the motel. Instead, his mother had woken him up with a list of chores, the latest of which was helping her to groom her wigs. So putting it mildly, David was crabby. He wanted to text Patrick and tell him about the trials his mother was putting him through, but Patrick was working at the store alone today and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

“I like you and Patrick together,” his mother said, and David eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she’d finally learned to read his mind.

“There’s nothing to like yet; we’ve been on one date and we’ve kissed a few times, that’s all.” He combed the wig he was working on a little more vigorously, which got him a reproachful look from Moira.

“Perhaps that’s so, but the spark between you is pellucid for all to see.” She gave him a knowing smile. “He lights up when you walk in the room, and I dare say the reverse is also accurate.”

“Okay, well.” David bit down on a smile, lest he prove her point. “There’s still a lot that can go wrong, that’s all. And when things do go wrong, both my personal life and my business will be fucked, so.”

“Don’t be so fatalistic, David. You mustn’t assume that things will go wrong.”

“Things always go wrong.” He set the hairbrush down with a clatter. “I’m the first guy he’s been with. Literally the first man he’s ever kissed. It’s… it’s like holding a baby bird in my hand while riding a roller coaster. Any minute now we’re going to go over a big drop and I’ll forget and” -- he closed his fist tightly -- “I’ll crush him.”

“A very evocative avian metaphor, darling, but Patrick’s a grown man, not a bébé bird. Inexperienced with some activities, I’m sure, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who can’t take care of himself.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you aren’t the bird on the ferris wheel, David?”

“I said roller coaster,” he responded petulantly. “And hardly.”

Moira looked unconvinced.

“God, what am I doing, getting involved with my business partner? This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in a… lifetime of dumb things,” he said with a flourish of his hand in the air. “I should end it now, before things get even messier.”

Tilting her head and regarded him for a moment, Moira reached out and put a hand on his bicep. “You’ve often put your heart in the care of people who have hurt you. But that isn’t because you are feeble-minded. It’s because those people weren’t worthy of you. Patrick, I think, may be worthy of you.”

“Okay, you barely know him.”

His mother just smiled. “I have a good feeling about him, that’s all. Have a little faith in the power of love.”

“Ew.”

She ignored that. “I implore you, David, don’t end things with him before they’ve even begun. Open your heart to the possibility of joy.”

“Ugh.” David went back to combing out the wig. “Fine.”

~*~

“Hey, do you wanna get a drink after rehearsal?” Patrick asked, which made Stevie narrow her eyes at him in confusion.

“David’s not expecting you?”

“We are capable of being apart for an evening.” At Stevie’s skeptical look, he added. “I told him you were stressed about the show and that I was planning to take you out for a drink.”

“So you lied.”

“No, I didn’t. You are stressed about the show, and I was planning to take you out for a drink.”

Patrick was being weird. “What’s going on, Brewer?”

“Nothing’s going on. I. want. to. get. a. drink. Do. you. want. to. get. a. drink.” Each word came out in a monotone.

She huffed. “Sure.”

“Great.” He looked simultaneously frustrated that she was being so difficult and yet pleased that she’d finally agreed.

When they were released by Moira from Cabaret rehearsal, sweaty and exhausted, Stevie was surprised when Patrick led her toward his car instead of down the street to the cafe. “Where are we going?”

“The Wobbly Elm,” he said, unlocking the passenger door and opening it for her.

“We could just go to the cafe,” she said, but she got in the car anyway. Going to the cafe meant she might have to sample one of Twyla’s terrible cocktail experiments.

Patrick got in the car and cranked the engine. “I find that when I have conversations in the cafe, somehow half the town knows what I was talking about by morning.”

Stevie’s suspicion meter edged up a couple more notches. “You are being really weird.”

“I know,” he said, pulling out onto the main road out of the center of town.

“If something bad is happening with David, or if something bad is about to happen, like if you’re planning to break up with him, you better tell me now. If you wait until I’ve got a drink in me at the bar, I might beat you with a pool cue and leave you for dead in the woods.”

Patrick laughed. “Nothing like that, I promise. I don’t think you’ll feel the temptation to beat me to death.” And then he changed the subject to Cabaret, and Stevie let him, because she had an infinite well of frustration to express about the show and her part in it.

He let her rant the whole way to the bar, but once they had their drinks ordered, he put a gentle hand on her arm. “You’re way too hard on your performance, you know. Your voice is actually really good.”

She snorted, taking a large pull from her beer. “It really isn’t. I know what singers are supposed to sound like, and I don’t sound like that.”

“Maybe not, but you sound real, and you sound vulnerable. You’re gonna be a fantastic Sally; I mean that.”

Stevie flushed, uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “Okay, what did you drag me all the way out here for?” Now it was Patrick’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Oh. Well, there’s something I want to do, and I’m hoping that if it’s a terrible idea, you’ll talk me out of it.”

“Okay,” Stevie said slowly. “It probably is a terrible idea, but what the hell -- what is it?”

Patrick took a long drink from his beer glass as if for strength. “I’m thinking about asking David to marry me.”

Stevie almost choked on her beer. “Oh my God. Oh my God! Patrick!” She wanted to hug him, but she wasn’t sure if they were hugging friends, or non-hugging friends. “Patrick, that’s amazing!”

He just nodded. “Yes, but is it a terrible idea?”

She had to pause at that. Had David ever mentioned marriage to her, or what he thought of it? She didn’t think so. “Have you ever talked about marriage with him?”

“Not in those terms, but we’re starting to talk about… really long term things. Being together years from now, and what we might do. It just seems like that’s where his head is, like he finally trusts that I’m not going to lose interest in him. And I want to… I guess I’m just a traditional guy at heart and I’d really like to have that whole thing. The wedding. The vows and the cake and the dancing.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “But I don’t know. Maybe he won’t want that.”

“I might’ve assumed that about David at one point, that he wasn’t the marrying kind. But watching him with you, like the way he was with your parents, and planning your birthday party?” Stevie smiled, and then suddenly she had to force back tears. “I think if I had to place a bet on it, I’d bet on him saying yes.”

Patrick let out a breath he was holding. “Okay, cool. Okay.” And then he smiled one of his soft smiles at her. “So do I have your blessing?”

Her eyes widened. “My what?”

“I mean, I could ask his father, I guess, but I don’t think David would appreciate that. Also I don’t think Mr. Rose would be able to keep a secret. And anyway, I feel like you’re the… you’re like the guardian of David’s heart, if that makes sense. So I think you’re the one I should ask.”

The tears became impossible to hold back now. Stevie felt like the play was scraping her raw as it was, exposing a deep well of emotions just below the surface. Grabbing a cocktail napkin, she dabbed at her eyes. 

“Stevie, don’t cry, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Laughing, she handed him a cocktail napkin. “You’re such a softy.”

“I know, I know.”

“Yes, you have my blessing. I mean, I basically bullied David into realizing he was into you, so it would be pretty shitty of me not to give you my blessing to marry him.”

Patrick smirked at her. “Yeah, that would be pretty shitty, and you did what now?”

Stevie picked up her beer glass and clinked it against Patrick’s. “I love both you idiots.”

~*~

 “Stevie called us idiots,” Patrick mumbled as they were both drifting off to sleep.

“Yeah, her wedding toast left something to be desired, and the fact that I cried anyway just shows how ragged my emotions were today.”

“Not in the toast, I mean when I asked for her blessing to propose, she said ‘I love both you idiots’.”

David pressed his resulting grin against Patrick’s forehead. “That sounds like Stevie.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so glad my family lost all our money. I’m so glad you couldn’t stay in your hometown anymore and that Ray posted that stupid job online. I’m so glad we made all the right decisions that led us to right here, right now,” David said in a rush, like he had to get the words out before he changed his mind about saying them.

Patrick put his hand over David’s where it rested on his hip and threaded their fingers together, bringing David’s hand to his lips. “Me too, sweetheart.”

END

[southboundhqarchive]

MEET ALISTAIR,

FULL NAME › Alistair “Alec” Jacob Gansey AGE › twenty seven GENDER › Cis male (He/Him/His) FROM › Luke, Arizona RESIDENCE › Copper Cactus Motel OCCUPATION › stock clerk at Handy Randy’s Hardware Store NOW PLAYING › In This Shirt by The Irrepressibles

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: sad gays, disease mention (distal muscular dystrophy), plane crash

Alec never met his real parents. He was adopted as an infant and truthfully, it never bothered him much. He was adopted by two loving, professional parents who could provide for his every need. Alec wanted for nothing, save the one thing the Gansy’s could not gift him: a sense of adventure. In an attempt to quell their son’s ambitious side, he was enlisted in Boy Scouts. It was there that he met his best friend: Jason Price. Ever since their first play date that one fateful day in the midst of summer, they had been thick as thieves. Inseparable.

Alec had always loved the sky, the stars, the feeling of wind in his hair. He’d spent many nights building model planes with his father, or running through the grass with bare feet, arms outstretched to catch the wind. It was only natural for him to choose “air-force pilot” as his career. Jason followed, as he always did — on his own path. Never one for the thrill-seeking that Alec so desired, he opted to become an air-force surgeon instead. Something about that job just fit him, Alec thought. It was his sweet nature, the way he touched people so gently, how he could cradle a newborn bird with no fear of harming it. Slowly, they became more than just friends.

When Alec finally weaseled his way out of flight school — and Jason moved on to his internship — they were both placed at the same local air-force base. They spent day and night there, it was a home away from home, but one where they felt the need to keep their relationship a secret.

That didn’t last long. Alec had never been one to sit on the back-burner. He was wholly against the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” method that the military preached. He began being more open about their relationship; taking on an advocacy role to fight against discrimination in the military. Truthfully they’d never had much of an issue — save your occasional telling-off by an older Sargent or a fellow pilot. Alec was simply happy that they could be together. He loved Jason, and they were well on their way to marriage.

In his early twenties, Alec had begun to experience muscle weakness. At first, he thought nothing of it, but as the years ticked on he realized he was slowly losing power in his limbs. Months of tests and trips to the doctor finally yielded a diagnosis: distal muscular dystrophy, a condition wherein that person experiences weakness and wasting of muscles. The progression was extremely gradual, and likely wouldn’t have any severe consequences for him over the next decade or so. (Unless his condition progressed faster than normal, as Jason was always quick to point out. It wasn’t unheard of and Alec had been experiencing symptoms nearly a decade before the traditional onset date). Still, if he could just keep this a secret from his superiors, and keep himself in tip-top shape he’d be able to keep flying. Alec loved the sky more than he loved anything in the world, and he wasn’t about to give it up.

Jason hated it. It was dangerous, he said. What if Alec had an attack while flying? Or while climbing out of the plane? For months he begged and pleaded for his partner to go find some cushy, grounded job. “Just go teach flight school. It’s safe. Any guy on base will take you up whenever you want, babe. But you can’t go up alone,” It wasn’t the same. Alec couldn’t live like that. He needed the freedom to make his own choices up there. Finally, after nearly eight years together, there was an irrevocable strain on their relationship.

Jason couldn’t handle it. Worrying about Alec every time he went up was too painful. He gave him an ultimatum; their relationship, or his fucking plane. Alec was dumbfounded. He’d never thought they’d actually get to this point. Hadn’t they always promised to work through everything, and support one another to the bitter end? They argued for what seemed like hours, broke things off and in a fit of rage, Alec left their beloved little one bedroom flat.

He did what he always did when he needed to clear his head; went for a joy ride. He wasn’t up there long, he thought, but suddenly he was looking out over a stretch of land he’d never seen before. His muscles were failing him — the plane was spiraling. Alec managed only just, to make a rough landing. Now he was cut and bruised, feeling more sorry for himself than ever before. And worst of all? He was stuck in Boot Hill, Arizona.

Alec spent every waking moment of his first two months in Boot Hill trying to escape. His near-death experience had really put his life in perspective. Jason was right, and he was sorry. All Alec wanted to do was say those words to his partner — tell him that he was more important than anything, and he’d give up a lifetime of adventure just to spend another happy year with him.  He tried texting, calling, using social media; nothing worked. All he got in response were ‘failed to send’ notifications. Finally, Alec accepted the fact that he was stuck here; that his best friend in the entire world would think that he left him over some stupid fight. It’s the only thing that he truly, and deeply, regrets.

It’s been a year. Those that say time heals all wounds, clearly haven’t experienced the complete and total destruction of their most cherished relationship by forces they cannot understand. It didn’t take long for Alec to realize that Boot Hill makes you forget the ones you love. That was his biggest fear, forgetting Jason. He wouldn’t be the same person if he forgot him. He’d made him who he was. So Alec started keeping a journal filled with every detail of his partner he could remember, (and sometimes, of his family). He spent two months on the journal alone, writing down anything that came to mind. His smell, his smile, the little nuances in his features, the details of their first date. Alec carries it with him always — looking it over when he needs a little reminder. If ever he forgets it at home, he’ll always rush back to get it, even if it means being late for a shift at work. Because he knows that once he lets it go, even for a moment, the memories will start to fade away.

❝ if i made you feel second best, boy, i’m sorry i was blind. you were always on my mind. you are always on my mind… ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Oliver Jackson-Cohen AUTHOR › Thatch

[tysoncamarena3-blog]

Computer Consulting Company - Why Start One?

When managing a business, it is not just the staff and employees you have to take care of. There are other areas such as IT, document management and others which you need to consider. Below are general outlines which can be utilised in the specific areas which need to be managed. Business owners can use these to make management easier. Carry it further, when you go on holiday you need to know where you are going. Unless it's your goal to just roam around, and in that case your vacation may not get you any further than the grocery store and the hardware store. Your business could possibly provide for you for anywhere from 20 to 50 years or longer. And in this environment now regarding retirement, this business may provide for you long after you're able to work.

It is not often a small business consultant will admit to a failure in a small business but my first adventure into small Business Consulting was a failure. I closed the business within two decades. Going through the aforementioned decisions will take you nearer to organizing your business. You might also want to refer to a Business Consultant about the opportunity which you've got in mind. The expertise and brainstorming will surely help you to identify the loopholes of your enterprise. These Business Management courses will help a person build up the organizational skills they must have. Being organized in lifestyle helps many people become successful in their career. A good manager always knows who's working as well as which stations and projects they are currently working on. Staying on top is the way all of the projects within the business are going to be done. Feedback counts. Make it a habit to send your clients with surveys or questionnaires after each training applications. You would want to know what they think of your consultants and the services you offer. This is the fastest way to get an objective opinion about your firm's strengths and weaknesses. Make necessary improvements to readily offer 100% satisfaction to your prospective clients. Web based sales training is just 1 way to seek out new ideas which can get your business back on track. Speak with your local business consultant if you find yourself in a perfect storm.

[imagineteamfreewill]

Lawrence

Title: Lawrence

Pairing: Reader x Model!Sam

Word Count: 4,793

Warnings: Fluff, mention of infidelity

Beta: @jpadjackles

Summary: You’re an art student who accidentally meets the world-renowned model, Sam Winchester. When he wants to meet up with you, you accept, not knowing that your decision would throw you into the spotlight. And fame can be a cruel thing, especially when it comes to love.

A/N: This is part 11 of the Fame series! It’s short and pretty much just fluff, as well as a sort of update on the reader and Sam’s lives, considering the past few parts have been a little rocky. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think! I think the series will only have a few more parts!

X

Fame Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

_______________

“Y/N! It’s great to finally meet you!”

You smiled at Dean as you got out of the passenger seat of the car, laughing when he pulled an unsuspecting Sam in for a hug. The two brothers patted each other on the back before stepping out of the hug to help you unload the trunk.

Dean gave you a quick side hug before taking your luggage from you. “I can’t have my brother’s pretty girlfriend carry her own luggage, now can I?” he quipped, giving you a cheeky grin.

Sam smacked the back of his head, but you only laughed, happy to see Sam looking so relaxed. The flight from LAX to Kansas and the car ride to Dean’s mechanics shop had been tense, considering you’d run into nosy fans and reporters at both airports, and you figured that the both of you were equally as excited to be done traveling.

“You sure that you’re okay with us staying here, Dean?” you asked as you followed the boys inside. Sam held open the door at the top of the stairs so you and Dean could go inside first.

“Of course I am! I’m not using the place, anyway. I thought about renting it out for a while, but I never got around to it,” he replied. After setting your two suitcases down on the floor by the windows, Dean turned to face the two of you.

Sam was walking around the living room while you checked out the kitchen, and when you caught his eye through the window between the two rooms he smiled. “This is great, Dean. Thanks again,” Sam said. Dean waved him off and ran a hand through his hair. You smiled, thinking of how Sam often did the same thing when he was uncomfortable.

“It’s nothing. The furniture’s pretty old and it needs some paint, but there’s a hardware store—”

“Down on Limon Street,” Sam finished. “I may live in L.A. now, Dean, but I remember where everything is.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Listen, I still live just down the street if you two need anything. Sammy knows where. I usually start work in the shop around seven in the morning, so if the noise wakes you up, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You laughed a little at his gruffness, then crossed the room to give Dean a hug.

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he whispered. Surprised, you pulled away and looked at him. Dean’s eyes were soft, sadness tinting them. He clearly loved Sam a lot. You gave him a weak smile in response. After patting Sam on the back once more, Dean left the apartment and shut the door behind him, leaving you and Sam alone in your new home.

“Dean seems great, Sam,” you said, turning to face him. A strange expression was on his face, and you noticed after a minute that he was just standing in place, watching you. “What? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I, uh,” Sam laughed a little, blinking and running a hand through his hair, “I was just thinking about how lucky I am that you’re my girlfriend. I mean, you just moved halfway across the country with me so we can work on our relationship and so I can get my life under control. Not many people would be willing to do that, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, shyly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Sam shook his head and stepped over one of his bags to get to you, then took your hands in his. “It’s not nothing, Y/N. It really means a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I mean, I could be dead in a ditch somewhere after taking too many pills…”not nothing, Y/N. It really means a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I mean, I could be dead in a ditch somewhere after taking too many pills…”

“But you’re not, Sam. Okay? You’re not, and we’re in Kansas, and we’re going to have to paint the living room, and I should probably call Steph and let her know our plane didn’t crash, and—” Sam cut you off with a kiss. You melted into it, closing your eyes and bringing your hands up to play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You’re rambling again,” Sam murmured when he finally ended the kiss, a smile tugging at his lips.

“And you’re interrupting me again,” you replied. Sam nudged his nose with yours and you sighed happily. “Let’s take a nap and then unpack the rest of our stuff from the car.” Laughing softly, Sam picked you up, making sure your legs were firmly wrapped around his waist before walking to the bedroom and setting you down on the bare mattress.

You pulled him down with you and curled against him, tucking your head against his chest. Sam smoothed one hand over your hair and then down your back. He smiled as you relaxed against him, completely worn out from all the traveling.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispered, kissing your hairline. You smiled in response and kissed his collarbone, then closed your eyes and drifted off before he had a chance to say anything else.

_______________

You and Sam settled into your little apartment easily. The two of you had brought your clothes with you on the plane, but a lot of your stuff had been shipped ahead, like your art supplies and Sam’s books. The noise from the shop below you stopped bothering you after a few days, and you’d discovered that Sam was a very handy person to have around when things broke. He’d also found a job working as an online advisor for young models who were trying to broaden their careers, and you could tell that he was doing a lot better in Kansas than he had in L.A. You’d been working on the last few projects you needed to pass your classes, including the portrait of Sam. It had come a long way since your first day working on it, but you refused to show it to Sam. You wanted it to be a surprise.

Since moving to Kansas, you and Sam had been rebuilding your relationship. You spent days just talking, and within the first few months, you’d practically had a play-by-play of his life. Sam took you on dates to the park and to local restaurants, and he told you all about his childhood in Lawrence, as well as his modeling jobs before he met you. He hadn’t mentioned much about Jessica yet, but you figured that painful memories took more time. He never asked about the difficult moments in your life, so you didn’t press to learn more about his. It was his story to tell on his own time, not yours to uncover.

“Do you think we’ll be done painting by the time the sun goes down?” you asked, looking over at Sam from where you were standing. You’d put him in charge of painting the top portion of the walls, mostly because you weren’t comfortable climbing ladders while you were painting, but partially because you enjoyed watching him flex his muscles to reach the parts of the wall that were at the very top of his reach. Sam knew you were watching him as he painted, and he kept asking you questions so you had an excuse to look over at him without being too obvious.

“Don’t know,” Sam replied as he dipped his roller back into the paint tray to his right. His hair was tied up in a man-bun, but somehow he still managed to get it in his face. You laughed as he used one hand to brush it away and ended up getting a smear of light blue paint across his forehead.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. You shook your head with a smile and went back to the section of the wall where you’d been painting little white vines.

A cool, wet feeling on the back of your neck made you jump a moment later, and you looked over your shoulder to see Sam reaching toward you again with his paint-soaked roller. “Sam!” you squealed, jumping out of his reach. He laughed and came at you again, and soon the two of you were chasing each other around the tiny living room of the apartment, laughing and getting more paint on your clothes and skin than you were getting on the walls.

“What are you two doing?”

You stopped and looked over at the doorway, one arm up in the air, your roller poised only inches away from Sam’s cheek. Dean was standing in the entryway.

“Uh, nothing,” you told him, quickly lowering the roller.

“Did you need something?” Sam asked, wiping his paint-covered hands on the old pair jeans that he was wearing.

“Yeah, Mom’s here. She wants to know if you two want to come for lunch,” Dean replied, raising an eyebrow at the two of you. “That is if you’re not too busy having a paint war.” You blushed at his comment, feeling like a little kid.

Sam wrapped his free arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head. “I’m game if you are, Y/N,” he said. You nodded in response. “Alright, just let us clean up and put the paint away so it doesn’t dry out. Tell Mom we’ll be over soon, okay, Dean?”

Dean gave you a thumbs up, already halfway out the apartment door, and you sighed.

“Now we’ve gotta clean all this up.” Sam laughed and squeezed your waist before heading over to set his roller down and pour the excess paint from his tray back into the can.

Sighing, you did the same before heading into the bathroom to start the shower. Sam was getting clean clothes for the two of you when you went back into the bedroom. You grabbed them and climbed into the shower, leaving enough room so Sam could climb in after you.

“Hey, question,” you said, reaching past him to grab your shampoo. “What’s your opinion on kids?”

Sam paused and looked down at you.

“In general? I think they’re okay,” he replied.

“No, I mean, what if we were to have kids?”

“Do you want kids?” Sam asked, taking the shampoo and setting it back on the shelf for you. “Y/N, I don’t think this is a conversation we should be really having in the shower. It’s more of a ‘let’s discuss this over a cup of coffee’ kind of conversation.”

“I’m not saying I want them now, Sam. I just read somewhere online that people are speculating we left because we’re trying to have kids, and it made me think…” Sam sighed and stopped what he was doing. You bit your lip and looked up at him, squinting to keep the spray from the shower out of your eyes.

“Y/N, I told you to stop reading that stuff. It’s never anything good and I don’t want crazy ideas about me put in your head. It’s not fair to either of us.” Sam touched your shoulder and moved you so you had your back to him, then took the loofah from its hook and began to scrub off the paint he’d gotten on the back of your neck.

You stayed silent for a few moments, letting him take care of you while you thought.

“Okay, well, say I didn’t read it online. What do you think about us having kids at some point in our lives?” you questioned, turning back around to rinse the soap and shampoo off of you.

Sam thought for a moment before shrugging and changing positions with you so you could climb out of the shower and dry off. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice now slightly muffled by the sound of the water running and the shower curtain that separated the two of you. “I’m not against it, I guess. We just have a lot going on right now, and I’ve always been raised that you should get married before you have kids.”

Not knowing what to say, you wrapped a towel around yourself and began to blow-dry your hair. Neither one of you could speak over the sound of the hair dryer, and you took your time while he finished showering and drying off. By the time you were completely dry, Sam was already dressed and ready to go. You dressed quickly and put on a swipe of mascara before heading out to join him.

“Ready?” he asked, standing from where he was leaning against the back of your dropcloth-covered couch. You nodded and grabbed your phone and keys, following him out of the apartment and down the stairs to your car.

The two of you arrived at Sam’s parents' house a half hour later, and neither you nor Sam spoke much during the car ride. You chewed on your nails the whole time, nervous that you’d upset him in the shower. Mary was happy to see you when you got there, and you pushed the thoughts of marriage and children from your mind, choosing instead to focus on the lunch she’d made and Dean and John’s conversation about the shop.

_______________

Sam was humming as he opened the boxes of Chinese takeout and spread the various containers out on the living room floor. He’d spread out a blanket and picked up the food while you’d been in the shower, and you smiled when you walked in and saw the setup. You watched for a moment, leaning in the doorway. He was completely unaware of your presence, and the sight of him so at ease and happy in the apartment made you happy. Sam deserved to be content with his life, and you were glad that moving to Kansas gave him that.

“You’re staring,” Sam said, not looking up from the paper takeout bag.

You grinned. “Very observant, Mr. Winchester,” you replied. Going over to the blanket, you lowered yourself down to sit. As soon as you were comfortable, Sam handed off a box of rice to you, then picked up his own.

“Thanks for picking the food up. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Mm, you were singing in the shower. Loudly,” Sam added. He laughed when you flushed, and you picked up a pair of chopsticks so you could start eating. “I liked the song, though.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, glancing up from the rice. Sam nodded in response, starting to eat his own food. “I take requests, you know.”

Sam laughed and shook his head, smiling as he ate. You grinned and ate as well, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence. Outside, the sun was just beginning to set, and colors were only streaming across the very edges of the horizon. You could see them through the open window from where you sat, despite the gauzy white curtains that hung from the curtain rod Sam had mounted on the wall only days before.

“What are you thinking about?” Sam asked.

You looked up from where you’d been staring out the window, meeting his eyes. They were sparkling—hazel, filled to the brim with curiosity and adoration as he looked at you—and you couldn’t help but blush a little as he watched you.

Setting your chopsticks down, you swallowed the bite of rice in your mouth and smiled a little. “Sunsets,” you told him. “We don’t have these kinds of sunsets in LA.”

Sam nodded in agreement, then took a sip of water from the crystal wine glasses he had set out for the two of you. When you’d first found them among the things he’d had shipped to Kansas, you’d worried that he’d want to drink wine from them. You’d read online that people who were recovering from addictions—like Sam—should steer clear of alcohol or other drugs. So, when he’d said that drinking was out of the equation, you’d breathed a sigh of relief and agreed to keep the glasses. You still felt silly drinking water, milk, iced tea, and soda from them, even after months of living in the apartment, but you’d decided that if it made Sam happy to see you drinking from fancy wine glasses, then it was the least you could do. You were working as a team to rebuild what you’d once had, and drinking from the wine glasses was you saying that you’d do your part if he did his.

Still, despite all the rebuilding and all the conversations you’d had since first moving into Dean’s apartment, there was still something that bugged you.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” he replied, looking up from the container of lo mein he was opening.

You hesitated. You didn’t want to ruin any progress the two of you had made, nor did you want to upset him and ruin the rest of the night, but you had to know.

“When you were in Paris,” you began, fiddling with the chopsticks you’d picked up once more, “was there anyone else?”

Sam was silent. You could feel his eyes on you, watching and trying to figure out what was going through your head. You kept your head down, however, eyes focused on the half-empty box of rice resting in your lap.

It was a long while before Sam finally answered you. “Why are you asking?”

“Why does it matter?” you replied. Angry at his response, you dumped your leftover rice into the bowl Sam had brought out for his extra rice, then stood and started to head to the bedroom. Before you could ever make it out of the living room and into the hallway, however, Sam was on his feet. His hand wrapped around your wrist, effectively stopping you from going any further.

“Wait, Y/N. You’re right. It doesn’t matter why. You deserve to know these things,” Sam sighed.

Slowly, you turned to face him, eyeing him as he dropped your wrist and ran a hand through his long hair. “Deserve to know what, Sam? Does that mean your answer is yes?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, his voice quiet. “Yes. There was someone else.”

Your heart clenched and you sucked in a deep breath. “How long?”

“Wha—”

“How long, Sam?” you shouted. You hadn’t meant to shout, and the suddenness of it shocked you, but you didn’t back down.

“Two weeks. That’s it. Then I ended it.”

You stayed silent, watching Sam watch you, shame and hope both flickering in his eyes. “Sam, I can’t— I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Y/N, you already—”

“I’m going to go take a shower, Sam,” you repeated, this time more forcefully. “When I get out, we’re going to talk about this. We’re going to talk about it like adults, and we’re going to figure out what this means. Okay?” He nodded in reply, and you turned on your heel, heading into the bedroom and locking the door behind you.

You stripped off your clothes without a word, then climbed into the shower, standing under the hot, stinging spray. For the longest time you simply stood, your mind still trying to catch up with the information you’d just received. Sam had cheated on you in Paris. He’d cheated on you for two whole weeks, then came back and made up with you without a second thought.

“Y/N?”

You jumped, startled out of your thoughts by Sam’s voice. He reached into the stall and grabbed you before you could slip and fall. Quickly, you jerked your arm out of his grasp and steadied yourself. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand, closing your eyes.

“Don’t,” you said. Sam stayed silent as you turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping yourself up in the towel he handed to you. Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

“It’s a lot to process,” you told him. He nodded. “If I was smart, I’d leave right now.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you asked.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Sam answered. “What I did was awful. You deserve better. I won’t try to stop you if you want to leave. I don’t have any excuses for anything, but I want to make it up to you somehow.”

Not knowing how to respond, you swallowed thickly and pushed past him, padding back into the bedroom to get dressed once more. When you were finally clothed, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at your hands.

“You kissed me, Sam. You kissed me after you kissed her. That’s not okay. I’m not okay with that,” you murmured. Closing your eyes, you tried to hold back the tears that were forming in them. You didn’t want to cry over this, but it hurt to think that Sam would ever cheat on you. Logically, you knew that it had been the drugs that had influenced his decisions, but the thought was still there. Sam had cheated. You hadn’t been good enough for him, and he’d cheated.

“I know. And I hoped you wouldn’t find out. I hate myself for this. I hate that I did this to you. You don’t deserve this. You deserve so, so much more, Y/N,” Sam replied.

You looked up through your lashes at him, watching as he moved to kneel on the floor in front of you, slipping his hands into yours. Sniffling, you let him hold your hands and rub his thumbs over your skin until finally you couldn’t stand the strained silence any longer.

“I do love you, Sam,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I love getting to spend time with you, no matter what it is we’re doing, and I love to see you happy. But this… Why did you even do it? Am I not good enough?”

Sam shook his head, his hair fluffing out on either side of his head as he did. “Y/N, you’re so much better than I am. You’re amazing, that’s why you should find someone who’s good enough for you.”

“Oh, Sam…” Slipping one of your hands from his, you cupped his cheek and then ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re a good guy. You’re good. I know that the drugs and… And the cheating and a lot of other things you’ve done haven’t been good, but you are good. That’s part of why I love you. Just because you made some mistakes doesn’t mean this isn’t fixable. Are you still willing to fix this? Fix us?” He nodded in response, and you felt yourself begin to smile a tiny bit as you let out a little sigh of relief. “Then we’ll fix it. Okay? You and me, Sam. We can fix this, just like we have been. It’s just another bump in the road.”

“You’re not mad at me?” Sam asked, looking up and meeting your eyes again.

“I’m not sure if mad’s the right word. I’m… Hurt. I know that the drugs probably influenced you somehow. I know that you regret it, and I know that you want to try and move past this. Let’s just give it some time, maybe?”

Sam nodded, carefully pulling you into his arms. You let him, and when he hugged you, you held on tightly, letting yourself believe that things would work out for the best.

_______________

Two months later, you and Sam were doing okay.

It had taken a lot of time for you to get over what had happened, and even though Sam was still constantly kicking himself for what he’d done, you were always there, waiting to tell him that he was forgiven, that he was good, and that the two of you were okay. You weren’t entirely sure if he believed you just yet, but all that mattered was that he was beginning to.

You were at the point in your projects where it was crunch time, and Sam was starting to have to pry you away from your canvas and supplies so that you could sleep and eat and live a normal life like a normal person. He’d insisted on making you take a day off once in a while, but those days mostly consisted of running errands, working on remodeling the tiny apartment, or having lunch with the other Winchesters.

You’d just gone to bed with Sam only hours before, mostly because he’d carried you out of the extra bedroom-turned-studio so you could get some rest, but somehow you found yourself waking up again. Slowly, you blinked open your eyes, rubbing them and peering at your dark bedroom wall in confusion. On the nightstand beside you, the clock’s red numbers blinked midnight, and you carefully sat up in bed, looking around to see what had woken you up. Sam was still sound asleep on his side of the bed, but a flash of light from outside made you frown. There’s no way that’s lightning, you thought, feeling somewhat unsettled. It’s not even drizzling out.

Sam didn’t move as you slid out of bed and padded to the window. Carefully, you moved the curtain away just a smidge so you could peer past it. There was no sign of anything unusual outside the mechanic shop, so you pulled the curtain away more to see if you’d just seen the lightning of an incoming storm. As soon as you had moved it far enough that your body was visible through the window, however, the flash of light appeared again, revealing a lithe woman standing out on the patch of grass by the street. You blinked in shock, and as your eyes adjusted to the quick change in light, you realized she was holding a camera in her hands.

“Sam!” you cried, dropping the curtain and stepping away from the window. He didn’t reply. “Sam, wake up!”

“Hmm?” Sam sighed. After a moment, he blinked open his eyes, a slight smile already on his lips when he looked up to see you. The smile disappeared quickly, replacing itself with a frown as concern set in when Sam noticed the panicked expression on your face. “What’s wrong, Y/N? What happened?” he asked. Sam took your hand, sitting up in bed.

“There’s a photographer on the lawn,” you replied, fidgeting nervously. You glanced back at the window, holding your breath as you waited for another flash.

“So?”

You blinked. “What do you mean ‘so?’” you asked. Looking back at Sam, you saw that the concern and worry that had filled his eyes was completely gone. In fact, he didn’t look upset at all.

Shrugging, Sam asked, “Why is it such a big deal? What are they going to get pictures of? The house? You in your pajamas? Y/N, we have nothing to hide. They can criticize us all we want, but you’re happy, right?” You nodded. “So what does it matter if they criticize us for living above Dean’s mechanics shop? Are you worried they won’t like your choice in paint color for the living room?”

That earned him a little smile, and you shook your head, tucking a tangled piece of hair behind your ear as you crawled back into bed with Sam, cuddling up against him. “I guess I shouldn’t worry so much,” you murmured, letting him lace his fingers with yours.

“We have nothing to worry about here, Y/N. I promise. I love you and you love me, we’re both here and we’re both happy, and my whole family is supporting our relationship. I couldn’t ask for anything more right now,” Sam said. “I know that we’re not perfect right now, but I don’t think we’re ever going to be. I’m okay with that, as long as you are.”

His words brought a smile to your face, and you tilted your head to press a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you so much, Sam,” you smiled.

Sam squeezed your hand. “Let’s go back to sleep, okay? We have to get up in the morning and finish painting the kitchen so we can stop ordering takeout and have some actual food for dinner.”

“But I like takeout,” you giggled. Despite the darkness, you could practically see Sam rolling his eyes at your reply, and you quickly squirmed away before he could tickle you. “Goodnight, Sam,” you sang, a smile still on your face.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I love you,” he laughed, pulling you against him so the two of you were cuddling again.

You smiled to yourself, closing your eyes and letting yourself fall back asleep. Your worries of being found by photographers drifted away like bad dreams, and when you awoke in the morning you realized that real life was practically a good dream itself, leaving you with a permanent smile the rest of the day.

________________

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ABOUT MINUTE

By the time you spend practicing a talk, you could instead spend making it better. Colleges differ, but they're nothing like the stamp of destiny so many imagine them to be obeyed.1 And as clients get smaller, you have to give them your full attention, and when you did invest in a startup, VCs might try to strip you of your stock when they arrived later. Technology companies win by attracting the most productive people are attracted to employers who hold themselves to a higher standard than the law requires.2 The picture is slightly more complicated than that, because it could be any other way, as long as you're not wasting your time. I'm not sure. For example, if a senator wrote an article saying senators' salaries should be increased, one could respond: Of course he would say that.3 Partly I mean designed in the sense of art that would appeal to most sentient beings whatever that means. 9 minutes and have Woz speak for a minute in the middle about some of the technical feats he'd pulled off in the design.4 It turns out I have a lot in common, what interests them is not random.

And so although we were constantly hoping that one day in a couple months everything would be better if you went to college. We had general ideas about things we wanted to. Should you take it? Viaweb was a typical larval startup. Some of the founders are equal partners. You have two choices: give it away and make money from one of the keys to Unix security is not to search for one of the rare ideas of that type are so valuable that the expected value of starting one would be $1 million. Most startups face similar challenges, so we don't give them more than they need the VCs.

The worst problem was that he wanted his own computer.5 Don't talk and drive. With Web-based application now for less than the cost of failure to increase the number of failed startups should be proportionate to the amount of work you have to declare the type of abuse we may be able to use their control of the desktop to prevent, or constrain, this new generation of viewers that the place to watch shows is on a computer screen.6 When I discovered that one of our teachers was herself using Cliff's Notes, it seemed like a software company.7 How were they to know that Netscape would turn out to be really useful. This may sound like bullshit. Should you focus more on marketing? 9999 To free 0. But I think that this metric is the most popular online store builder, but we used it to make our own site too.8 We found that you don't need the current.9 It's probably always some of both. 88, just under the threshold of.

What will Microsoft do? But a program written in Basic is is going to read a single page. That's one connection between startup ideas and technology. Even as high as DH5 we still sometimes see deliberate dishonesty, as when someone picks out minor points of an argument and refutes those.10 As Joe McGinnis recounts in his famous book The Selling of the President 1968, Nixon knew he had less charisma than Humphrey, and thus simply refused to debate him on TV. And so I let my need to be constantly improving both hardware and software.11 If a city offered these companies a million dollars per startup.

Notes

Jones, A.

The empirical evidence suggests that if you want to sell early for a couple hundred years ago, the startup will be the right question, which are a different idea of getting too high a valuation. As the art itself gets more random, they seem like I overstated the case of journalists, someone else created earlier.

I'd say the raison d'etre of prep schools, because investors don't like to partners at their firm, get an intro to a can of soup.

The way universities teach students how to be about web-based software will make grad students' mouths water, but in practice is that there's more of a business, or can launch during YC is involved to ensure none of them had been able to at all.

When he wanted to than because they can't legitimately ask you a couple years. Travel has the same thing that drives most people will feel a strong local component and b the second type to go the bathroom, and that often creates a situation where the recipe: someone guessed that there is some weakness in your classes, you can make things very confusing. There's not much to hope for, believe it, I'm also an investor in!

Users judge a site for Harvard undergrads. Obviously, if we think.

An investor who's seriously interested will already be programming in college or what grades you got in them to ignore what your project does. Predecessors like understanding seem to understand technology because they assume readers ignore something they wanted, so they made, but there has to be driven by a factor of 20. Nor do we push founders to do it mostly on your own morale, you usually have to solve a lot lobbying for harsh sentencing laws, they won't tell you who they are themselves typical users. Instead of earning the right mindset you will fail.

It's lame that VCs play such games, books, newspapers, or can launch during YC is how important a duty it must have faces in them. Change in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically increased demand for them by the time 1992 the entire period since the mid 20th century executive salaries. There is no richer if it's not the shape of the venture business. It would probably find it hard to say how justified this worry is.

Investors are professional negotiators and can negotiate on the x company, meaning a high school, secretly write your thoughts down in, but you should prevent your investors from helping you to test a new version of Word 13. If they really need that much to say that hapless meant unlucky. Indeed, that's the main reason is that coming into office hours, they've already decided what they're getting, so it may be that the missing 11% were probably also the 11% most susceptible to charisma.

Don't invest so much, or boards, or editions with the Supreme Court's 1982 decision in Edgar v. More often you have to include in your own.

In 1998 a lot of people are trying to upgrade an existing investor, the underlying cause is the only one founder is always room for startups is uninterruptability. So if you're not allowed to discriminate on any basis you want to sell early for us now to appreciate how important it is very long: it has to be some formal measure that you can't tell you all the best startups, so much pain, it has to be recognized as an example of applied empathy. Its retail price is about 220,000. Some founders deliberately schedule a handful of companies to say, ending up on the critical question is not so much about prestige is that we're not doing YC mainly for financial reasons, the increasing complacency of managements.

Thanks to Adora Cheung, James Bracy, Jessica Livingston, and Ben Horowitz for smelling so good.

[guccistardust]

Title: Another Life, Another Dream

Pairing: Jo x reader

Theme song: The One That Got Away by Katy Perry

Word count: 1,849

Warnings: angst, mentions of death

A/N: This if for @imagineteamfreewill (a.k.a. @wildfirewinchester ) birthday challenge! I’m so sorry it took me so long to get it out for you, Meg, but thanks for being patient. I hope you like it! LOVE YOU.

   The early morning sun is piercing your eyelids; slowly blinking them open, your sleepy gaze lands on her. The hazy light silhouettes her in gold. Wrapped only in a satin sheet, you drink in her every curve. Your initial euphoria starts to fade the longer you stare, building into a rampant confusion. How is she here!?

  “Jo?” Your tentative voice sounds strange to your own ears.

  “Hmm?” She purrs, barely peeking over her shoulder at you, her cascade of blonde curls fluttering with the slight movement.

  “How are you… here, with me?” You query barely above a whisper, afraid your voice could shatter whatever mirage you are experiencing. Her subsequent laugh is what you imagine heaven sounds like.

  “I guess you lucked out,” Jo teases, turning towards you with a wry smile. It definitely sounds like her. No matter how long it’s been, you would never forget any part of her. She makes her way back to you, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she adds in a softer tone, reaching forward to brush a strand of y/c/h away from your cheek. She runs her fingers through your hair until all the strands fall through, then she continues trailing her fingers down, stopping to rest her hand atop your heart.

   You close your eyes to the sensation of her touch, before moving to rest your own hand on top of hers. She felt completely real. You open your eyes to her intently studying your every feature, and you match her intensity. You were in awe all over again of how much her eyes held; the beauty, grace, strength, discernment, and the love. All captured in the beautiful depth of her eyes. Suddenly, you can’t stand any distance between you for a second longer, and you crash your lips to hers. Your mouths meld in a perfectly familiar unison, her warmth seeping into your veins and making your heart soar.

  You don’t care if this is real or a dream, all that matters is that you have your arms around her again in this moment.

  -------

     “Are you okay?” Jo places a hand on your cheek, bringing your vision back into focus on her. The grey of the whatever recurring flash you were having fades, replaced by the haze you have grown to associate with this world with Jo back.

  “I’m fine, Jo.” You give her a weak smile. Honestly, you couldn’t explain it, but you felt more drained every day. These flashes were interrupting your days and nights, more and more. A feeling of foreboding had started to creep into your mind, like a shadow in the corner of your eye that you couldn’t see, but persisted in following you.

    “Let’s boogie, baby.” You take Jo’s hand with a wink, pushing past your underlying fear. She smiles as she tries smoothing a stray piece of hair back into one of the bobby pins holding up your 50’s style hair. Her eyes linger on your neck and the newly acquired tattoo placed there. It’s a blue rose, complimenting her own red one, which both have stems that twist into an infinity sign. You notice her gaze and hook her pinky with yours.

 “Forever,” you whisper.

  “And always,” she answers immediately, before you tug on her hand, and you both run into the dance hall, Johnny Cash enveloping you as soon as your feet hit the dance floor. You lift Jo’s hand in yours above your head, spinning her in a circle around you; the ending note to ‘Ring of Fire’ propels her back into your arms. Looking around at the rest of the couples on the dance floor, a realization dawns on you, and you look to Jo with a nervous chuckle.

  “Not to ruin the fun, but I think I read that flyer wrong.” Other than you and Jo, no one else in the auditorium was below fifty, and not a one dressed up in vintage 50’s outfits. Jo follows suit and takes a look around you both. When she finally turns her attention back to you, she’s biting her lip, barely holding back her laughter.

    “You could technically still cross ‘50’s party’ off of your bucket list,” she offers, laughter dancing in her eyes.

    “I’ll take it. Seeing you in that dress is worth it.” You both laugh, before you realize you were starting to get looks from the other dance floor occupants.

   “I say we make a grab for the cookies and dash,” Jo leans in to whisper by your ear. Nodding vigorously, you both casually make your way to the refreshment table. You eye the path to the door, while Jo secures the goods.

    “On the count of three. One, two, three!” You grab Jo’s arm and make a run for it; you hear her squeal as a few cookies jump ship mid-flight. You look over your shoulder, making sure Jo is still on your tail, and she gives you a wild grin. You grin back, and with a final bound, you’re bursting out of the doors. But as the doors clang shut behind you, the laughter dies in your throat at the sight to greet you.

    A ghostly pale boy stands, or more accurately sways, yards away from you. He looks like he hasn’t been bathed or even fed, in weeks. A chill seems to emanate from around him, sending goosebumps down your arms, and a gripping fear to your heart. He slowly raises his hand to hold it out to you. You continue to stare into his face, and you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity.

      Finally, he turns and starts walking away, but he looks over his shoulder as he goes. You can feel Jo’s pull on your arm, but her voice is drowned out by the urge to follow him. You hurry after him, away from the dance hall, down back roads, and through abandoned buildings. Each step is heavier than the last, and even though Jo follows closely behind you glowing steadily, the world around her darkens.

   After what seems like hours of hiking, with your dress torn and your hair in complete disarray, the boy stops in front of a crumbling factory. The door suddenly swings inward, and you take a deep breath, trying to stop the panic starting to swell as you slowly remember why the boy looks familiar.

    The first flash, several newspaper clippings of missing children from a local orphanage, the most recent being the boy standing in front of you. Then, you remember driving through an old business park, sending a quick text to the Winchester’s, your closest hunting confidantes. ‘Scoping out a djinn, if you don’t hear from me in forty-eight hours, guess I might be decommissioned.’ You follow it up with the address to the business park, just in case.

   Next thing, you make your way through the third building, the dilapidated factory you can’t bring yourself to enter now. You turn one corner, only to be blindsided from the very next. Your knife dipped in lambs blood only grazes the djinn’s ear, but its blow doesn’t miss, and you’re sent reeling to the floor and into the djinn’s illusion of a world.

   The flashes stop, but your mind won’t stop reeling. You feel like the air has been punched out of you as reality and your world with Jo swirl in and out of focus. You realize Jo is tugging on your arm, and you turn to face her. You take a shuddering step back when you see her as she was in her last moments; her face pale, pain evident in her eyes, and blood everywhere, you looked on her body.

    “No, no, no, no, please,” you beg in a whisper as you squeeze your eyes shut. You tentatively open them and the glowing, steadfast Jo you remember is standing there again.

    “It's okay, y/n, you don't have to go. You can stay with me, and and we’ll get back all those years and plans, and dreams that they took from us,” Jo soothes, smiling encouragingly. You nod and step toward her again, letting her hand slip into yours. But you suddenly feel another, smaller hand close around your other hand; looking down, you see the little boy’s tired eyes pleading with you, and you feel your grip on Jo loosening.

   “Y/n, don't let go!” Jo beseeches, but her voice sounds far away. You feel like you're in slow motion as your eyes try to find their way to hers. She's there, inches from you, leaning closer and closer… You close your eyes, ready to feel the impact of her lips on yours… But it never comes. All you feel is the cold. You drag your eyes open and Jo is gone, along with any light the world had held.

     “Y/n? Hey, you with us?” An insistent voice comes from above you. Looking up, you see it belongs to Dean Winchester, busy untying the ropes binding your hands. When you're finally freed, he catches you before your legs can give out, carrying you briskly from the dark building.

  “Where is she?” Your voice comes out raspy as you try and look around you, wishing you could just catch a glimpse of golden hair.

   “Who? The djinn? It's okay, Sam took care of it,” Dean tries to reassure but you shake your head weakly.

   “No, no. Jo, where is Jo!?” You inquire again, more frantic this time, sobs starting to shake you. Dean stops in his tracks, only looking down at you with sad eyes and a shake of his head, before holding you tighter to him and continuing to the safety of the Impala.

  ------

     You step through piles of debris, shards of glass crackling underfoot. The breeze rustling your hair makes this ghost town feel even colder. Your final steps before you're standing in front of the remains of the exploded hardware store are heavy. When Jo first died, you couldn't bring yourself to come here, to see where her life was extinguished and her ashes were indiscernibly buried. It's been three years to the day, and it was time to face the truth you’ve tried running from, for too long.

   Jo is gone. She's not coming back, and you are going to have to find a way to live on without her. Sometimes you didn't know how you made it through the day when you remember her with every ache of your heart, but one thing you were resolute on, is that you would not let the devil win. Jo sacrificed herself to rid the world of him, to save you and everyone she loved. You would be damned, just like Lucifer, if you let her death mean nothing.

  “Thank you, Jo. I love you,” you utter to the wind, hoping it will carry your words to Jo.

[locksmithmonkey]

How Much Does it Cost to Get the Locks Changed?

How Much Does it Cost to Get the Locks Changed?

How much does it cost to get your locks changed is a question that many people ask quite often. Some of them may have got the answer to it as well due to search results and offer made by the vendors available online. Some of you might also have visited a local hardware store in a quest to try and see if there was anyone who could provide you with the complete details of the job and the costs associated with it. However, this is highly unlikely. No matter how you tried to answer the question, I want to take the time to let you know some important things you need to know regarding the costs of getting the locks changed. Locks are highly important for the security of your home. It is important to get them changed after some time to make sure that they continue to function properly at the top of their performance. Locks are vulnerable to damage and that is why it is important for the home owners to pay close attention to one of the main focal points of their home security. One of the major reasons why people tend to ignore getting the locks changed is their long life. However, during their life span, they can get weak significantly. Getting a lock changed depends on the circumstances of the need. For example, if someone tried to break into your home and damaged the lock, you have two options: either change the entire lock or getting it repaired by a professional locksmith. However, changing the entire lock system is highly advisable for a simple reason that someone was able to bypass them easily. Before getting the locks changed completely, you need to ascertain if there is actually some need of making this big investment. If you have just lost your keys, rekeying is the perfect solution that is just a fraction of the amount of changing the locks. The cost of house locks change depends on a number of factors, some of which are:

How are the locks going to be replaced?

Talking about the cost to change locks, it highly depends on how they are going to be changed. There are two options available. You can either adopt the DIY approach, take care of them yourself, or you can take advantage of the services of local locksmiths. It is important to ascertain what level of security you are seeking for your home or office. The cost also factors in expertise, time, and level of security. Professional Services If you choose the option of getting the locks replaced by a professional locksmith, the cost may depend on a number of factors. First, if you have bought the locks prior to contacting a locksmith, the locksmith will only charge for the services they will provide to you. However, if you are purchasing from the locksmith, add the cost of the locks in the total cost of the job. Moreover, the cost can also vary if some changes are required to accommodate the new locks that you are installing. If the locks are of the same design as before, the cost will be minimal. DIY (Do it Yourself) If you take the DIY route, there are chances you may save a few bucks. However, you should not be happy on saving a few bucks as you have to ascertain what you are compromising by not hiring a professional for the job. The DIY costs, no doubt, are significantly lower than the costs associated with hiring a professional. However, what really makes the difference is the durability and security factor. No matter how good tutorials you find on the internet, there may remain some sort of bottlenecks in your way of installing the locks. That is the reason why it is advised to seek the services of a professional locksmith.

Are You Willing to Sacrifice Your Security?

This is the second factor that ascertains the costs of getting the locks changed. There are usually three types of locks available in the market. Grade 1 locks are believed to be safer than the Grade 2 and Grade 3 locks not particularly because of their high price but the level of top notch security they offer. Having said that, the cost to change locks will rise in relation to the amount of weight that you place on your security. If you want to simply run down to the hardware store and buy the first lock that you see, you will not pay very much to have your locks changed. This will make your home an easy target for burglars as well. This is the reason why you need to get the best locks. They also have a longer life so you will also benefit from them in the longer run.

Locks Changed on House Besides these two factors, some other factors like changing interior or exterior locks or simple upgrading of the locks also affect the overall cost to a great extent. These factors need to be given importance in order to get the best level of security for your home. As a homeowner, you should realize that not only the security of your home is at stake, but your family is at stake as well. If you don’t opt for the best lot of locks and hire a professional locksmith for the job, you are taking a huge risk that you may have to regret in future. It is highly advisable to consult a professional locksmith company like Monkey Locksmiths and get your locks changed on house. You will enjoy tons of benefits in the future and save money as well in the long run. Also, the professional locksmiths will be able to quote you the exact price of getting the locks changed of your home. Click to Post

[turbogrill]

How to control the fire temperature for grilling and smoking

Chuck Blount March 11, 2019

1of10Chuck Blount pours charcoal briquettes from a chimney starter into a Weber grill as he prepares to grill chicken and sausage with an off-set fire, with all the briquettes placed on one side of the grill.Photo: William Luther /Staff photographer

2of10Sausage and chicken cook over indirect heat in a Weber grill.Photo: William Luther /Staff photographer

Two split logs rest on a small pile of charcoal briquettes to get an offset smoker to the correct 250 degree temperature.Photo: William Luther /Staff photographer

There is such a thing as a dedication to the craft of outdoor cooking, and then there is Fred Robles.

Robles, a world champion barbecue cook based out of Weslaco, is the type of guy who constantly tinkers with his recipes, cooking devices and meat preparations. He’s so precise with his demanding command of temperature, he counts the number of charcoal briquettes that are used to grill up his chicken.

“The magic number is 47,” Robles said. “That will usually get my grill to about 350 degrees, which is the temperature that will cook and finish the chicken the way I like it in about an hour.”

If you don’t want to spend hours experimenting briquette by briquette, here is a simplified formula: Take the diameter of your grill, and multiply that number by two. That’s how many briquettes are needed to ballpark 350 degrees with the cover applied and your meat placed away from the hot coals.Taming the flames | Chuck Food ShackVolume 0%Follow these tips and techniques to keep your outdoor cooking devices working with oven-like precision.Video: San Antonio Express-News

There are other ways to take command of your outdoor fire, making the cooking process as simple and consistent as anything that could be done in a conventional kitchen oven. Here are some ways to do it:

Setup

The charcoal: You can go either the hardwood lump or the conventional briquette route. Both have key strengths and weaknesses.

The lump charcoal will burn about 5 to 10 degrees hotter than the briquettes, provides a cleaner wood flavor and won’t cook down into pure flaky ash. That makes it perfect for the caveman style of cooking directly on the coals. However, since the charcoal pieces are randomly sized (some chunks as big as a human fist), it can be a bit unpredictable.

On ExpressNews.com: Youth pitbuilders showcase their handmade pits that rival the pros at San Antonio Stock Show & Rodeo

Briquettes are of uniform size and will hold the heat a little longer, with a signature flavor that reminds everybody of the backyard cookouts they grew up with. Kingsford charcoal, the industry leader in briquette charcoal by a wide margin, is a staple on the competition barbecue circuit because of its ability to win over judges that score with a nostalgic palate.

Wood: Manny Olivo, owner of the Schertz-based Cow Tippin BBQ food truck, keeps his fire pure with pecan wood by taking the scraps, starting the fire small, and building it up into a blaze. “It take a little more time, but it’s worth it for the flavor,” he said.

Remove the bark from the logs and accumulate the shavings and scraps that can be pulled off the wood. As it burns, add larger pieces until you are burning chunks that are about the size of a rolling pin. One or two logs on a bed of coals will get a traditional off-set steel pit into that magic temperature window between 225 and 250 degrees. Avoid large logs, which have a tendency to smolder and can add a funky taste to the meat.

Ignition

Lighter fluid: It can make life easier in a pinch, but I avoid it at all costs, including the charcoal that comes coated with it. The fuel never completely burns off, and the flavor will transfer into the meat like a seasoning.

On ExpressNews.com: 1 smoker, 10 store-bought sauces. Which got smoked?

Chimney starter: The metal contraption that’s shaped like a German beer stein is the perfect vehicle for getting a good fire going. Stuff a few sheets of newspaper or a couple paper towels coated in cooking oil underneath your briquettes, light it up, and you should have a perfect blend of hot charcoal that glows like lava in about 20 minutes. A full starter will hold about 70 briquettes.

Flamethrower: Don’t laugh. This is a thing, and it’s legal. They sell open-flame devices, often marketed as a weed-killer in the garden section of your local hardware store, that hook up to a propane tank and will light the charcoal or wood in seconds.

Temperature control

The full spread: Unfortunately, too many outdoor cooks think that the proper way to set up a grill is to blanket the bottom with coals. That’s a disaster recipe for burgers that end up looking like charred hockey pucks because of out-of-control flames that erupt when the meat grease hits the coals. The heat above the coals is usually about 550 to 600 degrees, making it impossible to cook with precision outside the realm of a quick steak cook.

Two-zone setup: Stack all of the charcoal to one side of the grill for a hot and a cold zone that provides tremendous flexibility with anything put on the grates. This is the Robles method, and it should be yours, too. Put the meat on the hot zone to finish or establish blackened grill marks, but most of the cooking time should be spent on the cool side. If your cook lasts more than hour, add eight to 10 new coals to the hot side after an hour.

Other two-zone setups promote putting the coals on the outside with a metal pan filled with water in the middle. Eh. The water does little to moisten the meat, and the end result is mostly a wasted pan.

Vent control: All nongas grills and smokers come with vents that are located below and on top of the device. They can help control the temperature, but I’ve always found it best to keep them open all the way from start to finish. Airflow gives every fire life, and it delivers better flavor. If the fire is burning too hot or too cold, it’s probably because an error was made in the original setup.

It shouldn’t take very long for these tips to become second-nature in your outdoor grilling process. When fanning the flames, it’s always best to maintain control.

Chuck Blount is a food writer and columnist covering all things grilled and smoked in the San Antonio area. Find his Chuck’s Food Shack columns on our subscriber site, ExpressNews.com, or read his other coverage on our free site, mySA.com. | cblount@express-news.net | Twitter: @chuck_blount   | Instagram: @bbqdiver

If you would like to get involved in supporting our wounded troop – go to tatubbq.shutterfly.com/ and sign up. If you have problems, simply call me and I’d be glad to answer any questions.

How to control the fire temperature for grilling and smoking published first on https://turbogrill.us/

[alxndrasplace]

My amazon review of the google disaster called chromebook.

If only the one star were preceded by a few thumbs down...

Why is electronic equipment delivered without a signature of receipt? The recent hacking scandals are many and the number and scope are growing. FAST. Just google "hacking". The victims now include giant Amazon that has been hit a number of times. The most recent one in April 2017:

http://www.foxbusiness.com/markets/2017/04/10/amazon-coms-third-party-sellers-hit-by-hackers.html

A short while ago hackers threatened or in fact had helped themselves to 200-300 million Apple phones’ passwords. The ransom demanded was (officially) a small amount that means nothing the global electronic giant with the highest revenue. Most businesses pay up, then pass the cost to you and me. Effectively you and I are funding the hackers' lifestyles.

Hackers want to be paid off, or if rebuffed, will sell your stolen info.  All this while 18 US intelligence agencies engage in vanity fratricidal wars, rather than come together to fight the hackers, Or obsess about being given unfettered access to the companies' customers' info, while the hackers are destroying the technology few are prepared to live without.

"My" local gang comprises iranian expats and/or their offspring who start out as teenage car thieves. Their gig? Real estate. Their mode d'emploi: hacking locals' access to the internet to find a weak spot they can use against their unsuspecting targets. The aim? To run property tax paying residents out of their homes. The hackers are very successful because the cops are so clueless about cybercrime that it was recently taken away from them and given to a centralised cybercrime unit, that may also have no idea what their job entails and will likely hang up on you by the 2-3rd minute of your call. Unless you are a lawyer or business of consequence. Nota bene: when I asked my local PD for help the patrolman-receptionist had no idea what hacking entails. When I asked to speak to the station's captain: I was rebuffed: "the captain does not speak to the likes of you".

If the business refuses to pony up the ransom, tho stolen passwords are promptly resold. The hackers are so confident of impunity they post how-to videos on YouTube. There you can get instructional videos on how to hack a third party's modem, how to create a bumper key to break into houses, etc, ad nauseam.

Bottom line: change ALL your passwords as soon as you tell your stress that it's not helping you, find a safe and quiet location where you will not be interrupted and change all your passwords, add two-step verification, and/or consider a password app, many of which will offer the option to create a long and complicated password for you. If you don't know how it works, and you have not yet been hacked, look up the info online. It will work at least for a short while the programmers are struggling with fighting back. What the business world needs is to employ professional hackers who have the connection to the hacking community and know how they think. Some businesses already do that by giving the hackers a second chance from a 20-30 year sentence. Hackers can and do move very fast because they can: they are not bothered with legal niceties that slow down everybody else.

Back to my CB laptop. I got hacked a few days into assuming ownership and am harassed, stripped of my privacy and identity on a daily basis. The hackers are ratcheting the terror with impunity because internet providers are not concerned with investing in real security measures reserved largely for businesses, who get hit anyway... Large professional hacking networks, such my local iranians, appear to have a 5th column installed inside the provider's local store that doles out modems (and the gang's presence confirmed by one very tired internet provider's staffers) so hacking modems used to get control of my hardware is not a problem. Can I swear on the veracity of that information? Of course, not. But when a staffer imparts the dirty secret, I listen and while FOUR of my recently replaced, over 10 days, modems were hacked during or immediately after activation, I wonder... The provider doesn’t care.

The hackers incrementally disable different security measures remotely, of course, including the factory reset (aka powerwash and reset). All the way to remotely crashing the OS system, as happened to me today. I called Amazon who sold the hardware. They no longer offer to replace the damaged hardware. Oh, and Amazon has a deal with Google. Working together on security should be their priority.  Switching my sole connection to the internet via the CB, in my case, between a dozen local hackers, who pass my disabled security is an affair that starts with my login, until logout. Every day. At least at first, I used to get dialogue boxes advising me that "your network has just been switched". Unfettered by legal constraints, the clever hackers have quickly disabled that feature, too. "Hacker News" reported that 1916 hacking increased 32% compared to 2015, with no signs of slowing down..."

In one of their PR jobs pushing the "security of the CB" one of Google's guys while suggesting to apply the factory reset (aka powerwash) in a time of trouble, admitted that if that does not work he has no idea what to do next. Filing a complaint with ICU.gov may work if you are dealing with individuals or small-time groups. To me, after FIVE months of non-stop daily harassment that neither google nor acer is prepared to address in a professional manner is staggering.

DO NOT BUY ANY HARDWARE THAT IS SOLELY DEPENDENT ON WIFI, including the CB. I used to think the world about google's security. Not anymore. Why, with their ballyhoo about their lesser, if important security measures, they elected to create this disaster, I will never understand. Unless you are a techie you may figure out how to deal with the hacking pandemic. Otherwise, if you've been hit, be prepared to have to go to e.g., a third party source to access your bank, email, etc. Do not use libraries or free street access, including any business that offers “free” internet access to their customers.

Now would be a good time for all users to go online, find your manufacturer's and internet provider's FEEDBACK link and insist that they focus on security. Preferably before the hackers hack them out of business or extract a massive ransom which will promptly be followed by a leaflet in your mailbox about increased rates.

[oblivianclassic]

Card Ramble: Android: Netrunner

Android: Netrunner, produced by Fantasy Flight Games

Author’s plug: if you live in the Greater Toronto Area and want to get in touch with local Netrunner players, you can find us on the Torsaug City Grid facebook group. Netrunner players are a friendly bunch, so don’t be shy! If you let us know you’re a new player ahead of time, someone is guaranteed to bring along a couple of starter decks.

Author’s note: Well, this article is now going up three months or so after I had intended it to. Chalk it up to life getting in the way of actually playing the game I’m writing about.

I’ve become a little obsessed with Android: Netrunner. This is unusual for a number of reasons, not least of which are the facts that I’ve recently moved myself across the country to a place where I have no friends and don’t know the lay of the land. Also unusual is the fact that A:NR is a card game. With physical cards. That you have to buy and shuffle. Manually. With your hands.

Barbaric, I know.

I’m an inveterate inhabitant of the virtual world. A childhood spent convinced that the world was beneath me was followed by an adolescence catching up with social conventions and learning how to actually make friends. The net result is that I had never managed to actually get involved in any IRL gaming until very recently. Perhaps it is all for the best, since I didn’t end up with a Magic: The Gathering addition, even though I did briefly try to acquire one. Nowadays I’m not sure if Magic is the right game for me, though I can appreciate the genius of its design. Netrunner, on the other hand, has got me by the brainstem and refuses to let me jack out. I’ve taken to recommending Android: Netrunner to pretty much anyone on the off chance that they might like it. In fact, if you have a tendency of disliking Trading Card Games and their ilk (for example, say, Hearthstone) I’ll recommend this game to you even more.

This is because Android: Netrunner is guaranteed to be like nothing you’ve ever played. The main (and most obvious) reason I say this is because A:NR is completely asymmetrical. Each of the two players plays using a completely different set of cards and rules. You’d think that this would make A:NR into a solitaire game with only occasional interaction between players, yet I’ve seen few games outside of Poker or Bridge in which each player needs to pay so much attention to what their opponent is doing. Android:Netrunner is a game of skill and getting into the other guy’s head as much as it is a game of having the better deck, and I think it’s down to the fact that it’s a game not about hitting the other person with numbers but instead about either trying to steal the other person’s stuff, or trying to keep the other guy from stealing your stuff. More on that in a few paragraphs.

Magic has a certain, well, magic to its design. It’s approachable and easy to learn, with a fairly low number of options to consider on any given turn. Of course, once you buy a few booster packs the real depth of the game becomes apparent and opens into a bottomless pit, which is why a lot of game stores rely on sales of MtG booster packs and cards to pay the bills. The majority of that depth is in the construction of a deck, which is why acquiring good cards is such an important part of the game. A good deck plays itself, as they say, and a game of Magic can be won or lost from the first few moves. A game of Magic can even be won before the match starts, if the decks are particularly mismatched. Android: Netrunner is a bit trickier to learn than Magic, since mastering the turn-by-turn play of the game is just as important as the construction of a good deck. Nearly every turn is a calculated gamble, a balancing of the known facts and the possibilities, trying to get the person sitting across from you to slip up and tip their hand just one turn earlier or later than they should. Even towards the closing turns a game can be tipped one way or the other, and victory is rarely certain even on the turn when you win.

What’s interesting about A:NR’s design history is the fact that it was designed by none other than Richard Garfield, the designer of possibly the most-imitated TCG design in the world: Magic: The Gathering. Back in the 90’s, after creating the utter genius that was MtG, Mr. Garfield wanted to try designing something that would integrate the kind of information control and bluffing that was such an integral part of poker into a TCG. As he wrote, hidden information means that calculation and optimization can only take you so far before you have to start figuring out what the other person is up to. Your calculation might be flawed because the other person could be misleading you. Being able to read the other player’s loadout and setup would be just as important as a well-constructed deck, and even a bad situation could be turned around with some smart play and bluffing. Netrunner was the result, and was released as a TCG, like Magic, in 1996 and proceeded to get buried under the pile of other TCGs which were trying to copy Magic’s success. It got some cult recognition, people would occasionally say things like “oh, yeah, Netrunner was great, a pity they stopped printing it”, but it ultimately drowned. Today’s article is only possible thanks to Fantasy Flight Games, who bought the rights to Netrunner’s design in 2012, reprinting it with a few rule changes and integrating it into their own Android universe as Android: Netrunner.

I want to take a moment now to appreciate just how cyberpunk a name like Android: Netrunner is. I’m not sure how much more cyberpunk you can get. Say “Android: Netrunner”, and you might think of things like trench coats, cool shades, punk culture, cybernetics, mega-corporations, neural implants, urban sprawl, clones, the ethical dilemmas brought on by the fusion of man and circuitry and rampant capitalism.

So, perhaps in this shiny dystopian future you’d prefer the safety and security up on top of the pile. One of the two players in a game of Android: Netrunner is the Corporation, or Corp. This is your quintessential megacorporation, organizations with control over vast flows of information and the economies of nations at their beck and call. On their turn, the Corp player spends action points, called clicks, to place servers. These face-down cards represent mass marketing campaigns and resource processing operations, traps to punish an unwary intruder, or agenda cards representing the Corp’s plans. Private militaries and corporate takeovers. Psychic clones and putting your logo on the moon. Agenda cards are what win the game. The Corp devotes resources--credits and clicks--to place advancement tokens on their agenda cards. With enough advancement tokens the agenda card can be removed from the table, giving the corp points. If the corp reaches seven points, they win.

This being a cyberpunk world, all of these agendas and assets are accessible through the ‘net. To defend their servers from intrusion, Corporations deploy Intrusion Countermeasures, or Ice. These are nasty bits of software, standing guard against cyberspace intruders. The corp player spends clicks and credits to place Ice cards horizontally in layers in front of their servers. As the game progresses, the Corp uses more and more table space as they set up servers and reinforce their defences. A visual counterpoint to the Corp’s increasing power and influence.

Of course, you may not want to be a mere gear in the vast corporate machine. Maybe you want to show The Man what’s coming. Sitting across from the Corp is the titular Runner, a hacker/cracker who is the reason why the Corp needs all that Ice in the first place. The Runner plays with an entirely different deck, with cards representing their skills and resources instead of agendas and assets. Instead of building an array of servers and defenses, the Runner spends clicks and credits to build their rig, a set of cards which represents the runner’s programs, hardware and other resources such as underworld contacts, jobs, and contracts. Some Runners use the best software and hardware they can build. Some use favors called in to supply them with tools. Some call on blackmailed employees to get them into the system. And, of course, it wouldn’t be cyberpunk without the quintessential Punks with a capital P, taking it to the fat cats armed with the profits from a day job and all the brainpower a nap and an energy drink (Diesel: It gives you flames!) can give them, then running at the Corp using a computer jacked directly into their stimmed-up nervous system.

Once everything is ready or a weakness has been spotted, the Runner hacks into the Corp’s servers. This is called a run, and is quite probably why the game is called Netrunner. In game terms, the Runner chooses a server to run on, then encounters each piece of Ice on that server from the outside in. No matter the archetype, the most important parts of any Runner’s rig are icebreaker programs which allow them to spend resources to avoid the effects of any Ice they encounter while running. Some Ice may simply block access, bouncing the Runner out of the server, but some goes further: destroying software or even zapping the unfortunate intruder’s brain. Some Ice traces the intruder and then simply tags the Runner’s location in meatspace (good old non-virtual real life), which sounds like the softer option. That is, until you realize that the corporation may simply prefer to do things a bit more old-school by contracting some private security to search the runner’s home and make all their contacts disappear. In fact, better to just level the city block (and call it “urban redevelopment”), then freeze all their bank accounts.

Once the Runner gets through the Ice, they get to access the server’s contents. If the server contains an asset, they can spend credits to trash the card, forcing the Corp to discard a resource. If the server contains an agenda card, the Runner gets to steal it and takes the points. No mucking around with advancement tokens or anything like that; if the Runner grabs the agenda, they get the points. Like the Corp, if the Runner reaches seven agenda points they win.

The Corp wins by scoring seven points, and the Runner wins by stealing seven points. Simple, right? Not quite. This is where things get interesting. You see, everything that the Corp plays on the table is initially face-down, which includes their Ice defenses. The Corp doesn’t actually have to pay to rez, or activate, the Ice on a server until it is actually being approached by the Runner. That Ice could be a painful Neural Katana or lethal Archer, or it could just be a harmless Wall of Static. The server’s contents, too, are often a mystery. That face-down card could be a valuable 3-point agenda, or it could be a pad marketing campaign or even a trap that’s been advanced to make it look like an agenda.

The Corp’s ability to hide the true nature of their setup makes every run a calculated gamble, and changes the game from one of simple calculation, i.e. “do I have the right numbers and cards to break through their defenses” to one of information control and bluffing. The Runner doesn’t know what they’re actually running on until they’re already there and facing the consequences. On top of that, the Runner must spend credits to use their icebreakers and get through the Corp’s defenses. On the other side of the table, the Corp can see the Runner’s rig and knows what they’re capable of. One bad run might set the Runner back far enough that the Corp can then score their agendas off the table, safe in the knowledge that it will be a few turns before the Runner can successfully run again.

A bad run might even outright kill the Runner. One of my favorite bits of design in Android: Netrunner is the fact that the Runner’s hand of cards is also their health bar. Ice that deals net damage and hitmen who deal meat damage force the Runner to discard cards. Some Ice even deals permanent brain damage, reducing the Runner’s maximum hand size. If the Runner is forced to discard from an empty hand, they’re flatlined and the Corp wins. The Corp, then, wants to make the Runner overstep their bounds, spend their credits and cards getting into the wrong server at the wrong time, and maybe just end the game right then and there.

On the other hand, rezzing Ice to make it actually do anything takes credits. More powerful Ice takes more credits, and the Runner knows this. A common Runner tactic is to make a run on one server, fooling the Corp into spending their money, and then running again on the real target now that the Corp can’t afford to rez the big guns. In addition, now that the Ice has been revealed the Runner can see exactly what they need to prepare for next time they run. It’s for these reasons that Corp players will sometimes choose not to rez Ice when the Runner is encountering it, preferring to save the money for other things and keeping their defenses secret until it will hurt the Runner the most.

Then again, this might not be enough. In a stroke of design genius, the Corp’s hand, draw pile, and discard pile are also servers that the Runner can decide to run on. These are known in Netrunner parlance as the central servers: HQ, RnD, and Archives. To put it another way: while the Runner has to worry about faceplanting into defenses or traps they weren’t expecting, the Corp has to worry about the Runner looking through the contents of their hand and deck. If they happen to access agenda cards while doing so, these are stolen and scored by the Runner. By running the corp’s HQ and R&D early on, before the Corp gets a chance to set up their heavier defenses, the Runner can get a view of what’s to come and get an early agenda point lead.

Even later on, it’s important for the Corp to defend these three central servers. If too many turns go by without agendas drawn, the Runner will grab them out of RnD (draw pile). If the Corp is keeping them in their HQ (hand), this leaves them with fewer options and creates a massive point of vulnerability. With four clicks every turn, a Runner can potentially steal four agendas with four runs on an HQ full of agendas. If the corp is forced to ditch some of these agendas into their Archives (discard pile) to create some room and give themselves options, this creates yet another point of access that they must dedicate resources to protecting. This can lead to the strange situation where the Runner wins the game by finding all of the corp’s nefarious plans just lying around in the trash bin.

It’s also important to note that a lot of Ice doesn’t actually block access to its server but simply inflicts effects, such as damage, on the runner while still letting them pass through. This means that an intimidating stack of Ice may gut the Runner’s rig and leave them brain-damaged and broke with private security kicking down the door, but if none of the Ice technically ended the run then they’re still alive and accessing the server’s contents. It might be worth blowing everything on a last Hail Mary run if victory or defeat is close enough. The Runner can’t afford to wait too long to run, since the Corp will have already advanced agendas while the Runner was setting up, but Running unprepared has plenty of its own risks as well. This makes the ability to scout out and evaluate your opponent’s strategy just as important as a good running setup, since you definitely don’t want to blow everything you have just to access a decoy server.

Unlike the original Netrunner, Android: Netrunner introduced the concept of factions. A:NR’s factions are similar to the heroes of Hearthstone: a deck is built around a single Identity card, or ID, which determines the minimum number of cards in the deck, available influence points for including out-of-faction cards, and provides some sort of bonus or rule change. These can range from providing simple discounts when playing certain cards all the way to tying the player’s hand size to the number of credits in their bank. Runner ID’s represent individual hackers and belong to one of three runner factions, while corp ID’s represent divisions or branches of one of the four corporate factions.

Each faction is a different flavor of cyberpunk. On the Runner side, the Anarchs are classic punks who play fast and loose and can flat out destroy the Corp’s stuff, whereas Criminals prefer to accumulate money, develop a network of contacts and favors, and pull off the perfect heist by flat out avoiding security measures. Shapers are the geniuses, savants and artists who run because they can, building big, specialized rigs with exactly the right tool for the right job. On the Corp side, Haas-Bioroid are the manufacturers of self-aware robotic labor; making their clicks efficient, plugging artificial brains directly into the ‘net as their Ice, and dealing permanent brain damage to Runners. On the other hand, Jinteki prefers to use clone labor, and positively welcomes people into their servers. Just remember: Japan has rather lenient laws when it comes to net implant feedback and- oh, dear, that Fetal AI doesn’t like being poked. Gomenasai! Weyland (who’s this Yutani person anyways?) is an old-school megacorporation and enjoys lots of money, throwing money at problems, hitmen, and a complete lack of subtlety. NBN are the new media, and they’re watching you so they can give you exactly the content you need. They’re masters of keeping the Runner tagged and exploiting that fact to accelerate their game while keeping the Runner bogged down.

Since every ID and faction has an associated playstyle, simply seeing your opponent’s ID gives you an idea of what to expect from them. An ID’s influence limit helps change that up. Every faction-specific card is worth a certain number of influence points, and a deck can include out-of-faction cards so long as the total influence cost doesn’t exceed the ID card’s maximum. The big question when building a deck is “how do I use my influence?” Some cards are considered to be universally useful, such as the Shapers’ Clone Chip that allows the Runner to install programs from their discard pile, or the NBN executive Jackson Howard (aka Action Jackson, our lord and savior) who increases Corp card draw and rescues lost agendas from the Archives. A more savvy player will seek to combine the strengths of multiple factions. Possibly the best-known combo is the Weyland-NBN “tag-n-bag”, which uses NBN cards to tag the runner, something Weyland lacks, which then enables the use of Weyland’s pyrotechnic methods of retaliation/urban restructuring normally unavailable to NBN. The core set itself comes out of the box with enough cards to make at least one deck for each runner and corp faction, and there’s more than enough combo potential between factions to make for a good few hours of deck building.

As a side note, it’s important to mention that Android: Netrunner is being distributed using Fantasy Flight’s Living Card Game (LCG) system. What this means is that cards are released in fixed, non-random packs, as opposed to randomized booster packs and decks. There are pros and cons to either system. A:NR has no secondary card market, the ongoing cost of maintaining a competitive card collection is fairly low, and finding a desirable card is a simple matter of buying the corresponding pack. However, it’s important to remember that this means there’s also no secondary card market, and the up-front cost of building one’s initial collection is intimidatingly high. The first two “cycles” of expansion packs are going to rotate out of the tournament card pool this year, but this still leaves a new player facing the prospect of buying at least one, probably two core sets, four deluxe expansion boxes, and 5 or 6 cycles of 6 expansion packs each if they want every single tournament-legal card. This is only important if you want a full collection, though. The core set is a self-contained experience and more than enough to play with a friend. If you’re looking to play with others, chances are that a few questions asked on Reddit or at a local play group will give you suggestions for deck building on a budget. I personally recommend starting with the Creation and Control big-box expansion, and the Blood Money data pack from the recent Flashpoint cycle is full of solid all-round cards. (Paperclip is love. Paperclip is life.)

I’d like to close this unhealthily long ramble by quickly pointing out that Android: Netrunner has some fantastic art direction. Oh, the style is consistent and characterful, the artists are well chosen and the cyberspace art is mind-boggling, but that’s not the best part. The best part is that the card art features very little of what I’d refer to as unnecessary fanservice or “ye gods people STILL think sex sells?!” Not only do we have 14 out of 36 Runner ID’s who are female, and who kick ass in reasonable outfits (Khan is amazing, can we just have a Khan appreciation moment here? Actually, let’s just appreciate all of Matt Zeilinger’s work.), we also have Quetzal, who is doing their own non-binary gene-modded thing. It’s refreshing to play a beautifully illustrated game of any kind where the female characters don’t look like strippers by default. On top of that, there’s some great POC representation, what with an array of races and nationalities across the board and an entire card cycle which takes place across cyberpunk India. It’s great stuff all round, and a sign of hope that game culture can be turned into something more accepting and diverse.

Also, yeah, the cyberspace art is kind of insane.

I’ll admit, at the end of all this obsessive nerdlove, that Android: Netrunner can be difficult to get into. It’s got its own vocabulary and an array of mechanics found nowhere else in the gaming world. I wrote all of the above without going into the details about the rules, and that’s because it’s so very easy to get buried in minutiae. Like Chess, A:NR has a lot of moving parts. Familiarizing yourself with how all the pieces move is just the beginning, because then comes the process of learning when to do what move, and why. On top of this, new pieces are released on a regular basis. This constantly gives everyone new options to learn, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is a game like no other that offers nearly unparallelled variety of play and consistently tense and engaging matches. Even with an outmatched deck I’m able to surprise my opponent and keep them on their toes. 

But if you like cyberpunk and really engrossing card games, the only advice I can give you is this: grab a friend, split the cost of a core set, get some cool sunglasses, and put on your favorite cyberpunk soundtrack (I recommend the Neotokyo soundtrack, by Ed Harrison or the Frozen Synapse soundtrack, by nervous_testpilot). Array your defenses, pool your funds, and hide the fact you’ve drawn a hand full of agendas. Balance the odds, build your rig, and make one more run.

Tune in next time when Taihus writes something shorter (thank goodness).

-Taihus “tl;dr I like Netrunner a lot and so should you” @raincoastgamer

Android: Netrunner at Fantasy Flight Games

Design Lessons from Poker - Richard Garfield -- ETC Press (a great little article if you’re interested in strategy game design)

[shirlleycoyle]

Zombie Capitalism

What if the zombie apocalypse, but in the era of accelerating privatization? Speculative fiction writer Tobias Bucknell gives a whole new meaning to ‘zombie capitalism’, to savage result. Enjoy. –the ed

The dogs started barking at the zombie in the pool long before Sheryl figured out what Zim and Garfield got the scent of. Zim, the German Shepherd, crashed through the picture window to scrabble out after it.

Sheryl yelled at the dogs to get back in the house as Garfield took off to join Zim at the chain fence around the pool.

Then she heard the zombie splashing about in the shallow end of the pool. It snarled when it saw her, and she couldn’t quite stifle a small scream as she realized a rotting corpse had pulled itself through a hole in the pool fence. It had trailed blood and innards all across the decorative brick path, then collapsed in a cloud of black ichor into the crystal clear blue water.

Sheryl ran back inside and got the Remington Seven from the rack by the door, loading it and working the bolt by feel as she jogged to the back of the house. By the time she returned to the pool the zombie flailed around in one of the corners, not able to pull itself out of the pool. A long, black tangle of intestines looped around the pool cleaner had tied it up.

“Jesus Christ.” Sheryl grabbed Zim. “Damn it dog, you stay here.”

She managed to get Zim’s collar, but Garfield had scrabbled off counter-clockwise around the fence to wiggle through the damn hole. He arrowed into the pool along the zombie gut trail like the damn beagle scenthound he was.

Garfield ran around to snarl at the zombie as Sheryl got Zim’s leash on him, clipped him to the fence, and then ran over to the gate.

“Garfield, get over here!”

She fumbled with the padlock for a second. Garfield shrieked as the zombie got clawed, bony fingers into him.

Sheryl kicked the gate open and fired at the zombie. A chunk of shoulder blew away. She swore and worked the bolt again.

The second shot blew the zombie’s head apart, bits of brain raining down into the pool. Sheryl pulled Garfield out of the water, carried him to the pickup, and got him into the passenger seat.

“Hilldale Vet Clinic,” she shouted into her phone.

She was halfway to the vet before she realized she’d left Zim clipped to the fence, and called Kathy next door.

“No worries,” Kathy said. “I’ll send Jaden over, he can plywood up the window and take Zim in.”

*

“I thought,” said Cory from the vet’s curved desk and two sleek computers, “that the National Guard had swept the town. What was the point of all those checkpoints around town? Fucking zombies.”

Somewhere in the back, Sheryl thought, Garfield lay on a table under anesthesia. And that young vet from Chicago that didn’t look like she could legally order a weak beer, or even drive a car, was trying to save him.

“Zombies, huh?” Cory said again.

Sheryl pulled her head out of her bloody hands she realized he was talking to her. “What?”

“National Guard isn’t doing a good job of keeping up,” Cory said.

“They left,” Sheryl said. She took a deep breath and blew her nose.

“They left? When’d they leave?” Cory looked horrified.

“It was on Channel Five,” Sheryl said. “You didn’t see it?”

“I’ve been working extra shifts,” Cory said. “Trying to get ahead on my payments for steel shutters.”

Sheryl had been seeing more and more of those go up. Bars on windows as well. She didn’t like the look. The HOA kept sending out letters pointing out that it violated the community guidelines, but they just kept popping up.

Zombies trumped HOA rules.

“UTD won against the government.” The judge on the case ruled that getting the military involved unfairly influenced the market. Ultra Tactical Dynamics, a company built just to provide zombie and zombie home defense produces, would lose all its business if the National Guard defeated the zombie hordes. And that was anti-capitalist and un-American.

Second amendment rights trumped governmental anti-zombie actions.

“These are fundamental American rights,” a blonde spokeswoman wearing aviator sunglasses told reporters at a press conference on the steps of the court, as Sheryl watched the news and chopped onions and carrots for a stew the previous night.

News reporters noted that the CDC wasn’t allowed to track zombie populations starting next week, and conservative senators had advanced a bill to prevent funding for a cure.

*

“You should buy UTD stock,” Zachariah told Sheryl at BreadWorx the next day. “The dividend is growing, and the stock is flying high after the decision.”

He’d been their financial advisor for three years now. Dale liked him. Zachariah was a high school buddy who came back to town after college with a business degree to take over his dad’s business selling insurance and retirement.

Dale couldn’t make the appointment, told Sheryl she needed to go. What she really wanted to do was stay home and grieve Garfield.

Damn, she’d loved that dog.

Fucking Dale. He was probably off drinking at lunch. Sheryl hated meeting Zachariah on her own. He never took his eyes off her chest. She’d insisted on meeting him for lunch somewhere public to avoid the claustrophobic feeling of doing this in his office.

“They stopped the plague in France,” Sheryl said, ripping off a piece of sourdough bread and dipping it in the potato soup. “What happens when this is all over?”

“We don’t need a whole socialist intervention,” Zachariah scoffed. “Got enough firepower right here for us regular folk to stop the horde. I saw Andy take out one of them in the hardware parking lot. Bang, right between the eyes. People got out of their cars to clap.”

Some of the boys were talking about building blinds out in the woods around town to sit and hunt zombies with their rifles.

Zachariah had a whole prospectus for Cheryl to look over. A glossy brochure full of charts that showed zombie outbreak growth, personal defense sales, and featured UTD’s unique ‘prep parties’ sales system that set up individuals as distributors to sell defense projects on down the line. Like Tupperware parties, but for lawn spikes, shutters, guns, and bitching swords.

Dale loved going to town UTD parties.

“Listen, you see these videos online?” Zachariah asked.

He pulled out his phone and showed her a clip of a three men in full camo gear on ATVs, all of them wearing night vision goggles.

“Watch this,” one of them giggled, and tossed a stick of dynamite out into the dark. When it exploded, dark gore and body parts rained out of the night and everyone laughed.

Local government all over the country lifted limits on what hunters could use on zombies. YouTube was chock full of men filming themselves firing on zombies with all the arms they’d been hoarding since the NRA first started posting about the government coming to take their weapons.

“Okay, look, if you don’t want to invest in UTD, how about something a little more exotic?” Zachariah leaned in and tapped the UTD brochures.

Cheryl sighed. “What’s that?”

“You remember Randy?”

“Chemistry Randy?”

Zachariah nodded. “He’s starting a safari experience for the city folk. You come out, do a few practice rounds on a shooting range, and then they load you into a open-topped bus with a wire cage and run you out into the countryside and you take potshots from the comfort of a vehicle.”

Fifty thousand seed capital to help him get two vehicles with chopped tops.

Who knows how much they’d make?

“It’s zombie capitalism,” Zachariah said with a big grin. “And business is good.”

“I’d have to talk to Dale,” Cheryl said. She could barely focus, her eyes were watering every few seconds and Zachariah was too focused on talking investing at her to notice that she’d been dabbing at her runny nose the whole time.

“He’s good for it,” Zachariah pushed. “He used to run the same business doing feral hog hunting. Same idea. You could hunt them with just about anything because they were spreading too quickly all over the country. We used to go out machine-gunning the things on weekends. Most legal fun you could ever have.”

It looked like so much fun, but the bottom fell out because people started importing feral hogs up to other areas where hunters were all excited to start the process all over again.

And then soon you had feral hogs ripping through farms like a horde of locusts. They’d breed like rabbits. Local authorities would lift hunting restrictions. People would film themselves hunting with machine guns, and then the whole thing would repeat.

“Zachariah, I really have to get going,” Cheryl said. “I have things to do still today.”

*

According to the radio, stocks were up. Lots of companies building new things to deal with the zombie apocalypse. Construction was up. Walls, moats, shatterproof windows, heavy doors. The hardware stores were doing well. Everyone was taking out second mortgages or maxing out their credit cards.

The economy was humming along because everything had to change for the new reality.

CEOs reported that things had never been better. The NASDAQ at new highs. S&P 500 hitting new records.

A shambling corpse stepped onto the road. Cheryl screamed and swerved. Never swerve, she thought, her car insurance agent told her that. Just hit it dead on and keep moving. Call the 1-800 number on the back when you got home.

Do not park the car in the garage, leave it at the end of the driveway.

Dale always mocked her fuel-efficient hybrid. Maybe he was right, maybe she needed a big pickup that could climb over a zombie and keep going.

*

The edge of their two acres needed spikes. And Cheryl needed Dale to dig a moat. She’d called about the steel shutters, but they were back ordered three weeks.

Funny, the magazines Dale had all featured heavy weaponry. But nothing about ditch-digging and defensive features.

Cheryl dug a hole near the Japanese maple at the property marker. Garfield’s favorite spot. He’d sit there and watch the road, waiting for them to come along the curve, then race his way out to the driveway to pace the car up to the garage.

She wept as she returned to the car and pulled the still form out from the trunk. Garfield’s body sagged in her arms as she walked out over to the grave and slid him in.

“You deserved better,” she said to her dog.

*

The zombies came through two weeks later. They wore brand new camo, and many of them had vests with the logo for Randy’s new zombie sightseeing company on them.

“Figures,” Cheryl muttered as she looked out her non-shuttered windows at the undead running across her lawn, ripping up the daisies and boxwoods. “DALE!”

Zim started barking up a storm downstairs. Dale shouted at the dog. Then the dog shrieked and Dale ran up the stairs, eyes wide.

“Safe,” he gasped.

She kept a shotgun by the bed, always at the ready, since Garfield died. Cheryl aimed it down the stairs and fired.

Dale came back with a smile and an AR-15.

Together they stood on the landing and gunned the creatures lurching up the stairs at them apart, one by one, until the walls dripped with gore, the banister fell over, and the stairs creaked with the weight of the dead.

When it was all over, Cheryl sat in the ruination of her carefully remodeled kitchen.

“We fucking crushed it,” Dale shouted, getting himself a bottle of bourbon and stepping over a corpse.

Cheryl shook her head. “Dale, I’m tired of this.”

Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t they all work together? Why did everything have to be extracted? Lobbied for? Why was she sitting here surrounded by all these bodies, her dogs dead, when there had been perfectly good soldiers surrounding the town earlier?

Dale wouldn’t get it. He’d just won. And where was Cheryl going to go? Fucking Europe? She was an American. Her family was here. Her friends were here, her community was here.

Cheryl sighed and grabbed a mop. Tonight she’d clean. Tomorrow, she’d talk to the bank about a zombie disaster relief loan so they could start rebuilding the house, even though they were already up to their eyeballs in debt.

Maybe it was time to buy a little UTD stock.

Zombie Capitalism syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[rjhamster]

Take Vulnerability Too Far by Jess Connolly, Take It Too Far But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. — 2 Corinthians 4:7 A few years ago, I learned about the difference between transparency and vulnerability. They sound similar and may even look alike from the outside, but the motivation and the outcome for the two practices are different. Transparency says, I’ll let you see through. No hiding; there are no barriers between you and my insides. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I’ll tell you what’s in there. I’ll show you stuff. I am pretty good at being transparent; more than that, it comes naturally to me, and I often have to intentionally work at keeping things safe and hidden that need to be. But vulnerability... that’s different. Vulnerability is being woundable. It means that not only am I going to let you see me, but I’m going to open myself up to being hurt by you. Vulnerability means that I’ll not only allow my weaknesses to be seen; I’ll expose myself to potentially being made weaker. Vulnerability, man. I’m not so great at that. Today’s scripture talks about people as jars of clay, which are breakable and therefore vulnerable. They’re also not much to look at. They’re just vessels for beautiful things to grow in. You don’t look at a clay pot and think, Wow! So sturdy! Wow! So precious! Wow! So special! No, they’re sweet and simple, and they sell them for two dollars at the local hardware store because they’re easy to break. They’re woundable. Transparency is good and beautiful; vulnerability is reserved for select individuals who can be trusted to take care of our fragile and simple selves. If we’re not sure who we can be vulnerable with, I’ve got one really beautiful place I think we should start: our Father. Who can be trusted. Who is careful. Who may allow hardship and pain to enter our life for a purpose but is worthy of making us woundable at all times. Let’s take vulnerability too far in the right places, and if we’re not sure what those places are, let’s start in the throne room of grace. Let’s go vulnerable, not just be transparent. Take Vulnerability Too Far Be honest about how you think about yourself before God. Do you imagine yourself as a clay pot or a really special ornamental piece of art that needs to be dressed up and cleaned up to be accepted? What would it look like to be truly vulnerable with God? Excerpted with permission from Take It Too Far by Jess Connolly, copyright Jessica Ashleigh Connolly. * * * Your Turn Are you your real self with God? The clay pot you? Jesus is with us to be our most intimate relationship! He’s the One who made each of us individually and who knows what’s best for our lives and hearts. We can be woundable with Him. Come share your thoughts on our blog. We want to hear from you! ~ Laurie McClure, Faith.Full