#our waffle iron is in the basement

[reprehensiblewombat]

Space (and Waffles)

(For Day one of Jane Foster Week: space)

“So,” Jane said.

“Yep,” Darcy replied.

“This isn’t good,” Jane said.

“I’m so glad you recognized that,” Darcy said sarcastically. “Now maybe use that big brain of yours to get us out of here.”

The comment stung a bit, but Jane couldn’t really blame Darcy for being angry. “Here” was a “safe room,” one of the many that dotted Stark Tower… Except, for reasons Jane couldn’t explain, instead of being in Stark Tower like it had been a few seconds ago, their safe room was floating in what appeared to be an empty swath of space. Sure, Jane could probably explain it given adequate data but sadly that data was unavailable at the moment. She and Darcy were basically floating in zero-g inside a box, and the only equipment they had available was a pencil and a few notes Jane had managed to snatch as Darcy dragged her into the safe room after the alarms went off.

Jane would be angry herself if she wasn’t still stuck in the denial stage of “holy shit we are lost in space and about to die.”

“Uh… yeah,” Jane said, frantically wracking her brain for anything, literally anything, that would help them. All she was coming up with were Douglas Adams quotes. “At least Stark built these safepod things really… well?” It was kind of a miracle they weren’t dead already.

“How long until our oxygen runs out?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jane said. “It’s not lack of oxygen that will kill us. Carbon dioxide buildup is a more immediate concern.”

(Read More)

“Great,” Darcy said. She curled in on herself, floating in zero gravity in the fetal position.

Jane had to admit, despite everything, it was actually the zero g that was bothering her the most. The last time she’d been all floaty like this had been Aether-related, and Jane had been doing her level best to suppress those memories ever since it had happened.

“When I get out of here,” Darcy said after a few minutes of silence, “I am going to make out with Captain America.”

Jane snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Life’s too short not to.”

“Just gonna jump him?”

“I’ll ask nicely first. I’m not a heathen,” Darcy said.

“I don’t remember you asking Ian before jumping him.”

“He had previously made it very clear that he would like me to kiss him, and also I thought we agreed not to mention the Last Intern ever again.” Darcy and Ian had been going out pretty steadily, until an accident transported Ian back in time. Jane and Darcy would have saved him, had he not sent a letter Back-to-the-Future-II style explaining that, instead of a daring rescue, he preferred to go off and marry a lady named Rose Roberts, so would they please leave him be?  

Darcy had yet to fully sort out all of her Feelings about this development. Jane was sort of hoping she’d decide to go through with the rescue anyway, but it wasn’t looking like that was going to happen. Mostly because they were apparently going to die in outer space.

“Well, when we get out of here,” Jane said, changing the subject, “I’m making chocolate chip waffles.”

Darcy snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “And I’m putting banana slices on them.”

“I have literally never seen you do anything more complicated in the kitchen than pour milk over cereal.”

“I can cook!” Jane said. “I just don’t… usually. But I can! And I’m making chocolate chip waffles, and you and Steve are invited to help me eat them.”

Darcy was silent for several minutes before she did a little somersault and uncurled herself, looking at Jane with big blue eyes that betrayed her fear far more than her voice had. But Darcy smiled at the scientist, despite everything. “Your post-rescuing fantasy isn’t very interesting, Jane.”

“It’s not a fantasy,” Jane said. “We are 100% getting out of here, and I am 100% making waffles for you and whomever you choose to makeout with.”

“I love you, Janey,” Darcy said.

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say it like we’re going to die.” “For real though,” Darcy asked, smile slipping off her face, “what are the odds of us getting rescued?”

“Two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven hundred and nine to one against,” Jane said.

Darcy blinked. Then she frowned. Then she spoke. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t,” Jane said. “I’m just quoting Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

Darcy snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Jane was about to reply when both women were suddenly slammed into what had been the floor until the lack of gravity caused that word to lose its meaning.

“Did we just get gravity back?” Darcy asked.

The two women started floating again. “No,” Jane said. “I think that was inertia.” She pushed herself toward the tiny window in the bolted and, apparently, airtight door. Previously, it had shown her only blackness speckled with unfamiliar stars. The view now was the same, save that instead of drifting slowly, they were apparently moving much faster. Jane couldn’t tell whether they were going the same direction or a different direction. “We’re moving.”

“Where?” Darcy pushed herself beside her friend. Jane moved slightly so Darcy could also see out the tiny window.

“I don’t know,” Jane said. “What do you think?”

“Maybe we’re being abducted by aliens,” Darcy said.

“It’s not Asgardians,” Jane replied. She was pretty familiar with most Asgardian modes of transportation by now, even Loki’s secret backdoors. Whatever was happening, it was too mundane to be Asgardian.

“Maybe we’ll finally get to meet some aliens that don’t look exactly like humans,” Darcy said.

“The Chitauri and the dark elves didn’t look exactly like humans,” Jane pointed out.

“Maybe we’ll finally get to meet some aliens that don’t look exactly like humans and don’t want to murder me,” Darcy amended.

“Fingers crossed,” Jane said. Mostly to the second part. So long as they were interested in keeping the two women alive, she could care less what these aliens looked like.

Eventually, they saw the walls of something vaguely garage-like pass in front of their window. “Probably a spaceship!” Darcy said.

“I told you we were 100% getting rescued,” Jane said.

Both Jane and Darcy watched the light change and then… bam! Their safe room and everything that had been floating inside it, including the two women, slammed down. Down, in this case, being what Jane had previously thought of as up, as she and Darcy both landed on what was supposed to be the safe room’s ceiling.

“Ow,” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” Jane said, pulling the pieces of her pencil out from under her butt. She had broken it when she landed on it, but better a broken pencil than a broken her. “Hey! Gravity again! That’s a good sign.”

A face appeared in their little window. A scruffy, male human-looking face, with red hair and blue eyes. The human-looking face smiled brightly at them and moved his mouth as though trying to speak. Jane wasn’t hearing anything. She looked at Darcy, who shrugged. Jane looked back at the guy, pointed to her ears and shook her head.

The guy with the scruff turned to say something to someone else. Then he appeared to be shoved out of the way by someone Jane couldn’t see. Then…

“Uh,” Darcy said. “Jane?”

“Yeah,” Jane said.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is what you’re seeing a raccoon with a blowtorch?” Jane asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then yes, I’m seeing what you’re seeing.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

The raccoon with a blowtorch was moving its mouth as it attacked the door of their safe room with a carefully controlled flame. Eventually, something red hot popped out of the door to land on the floor-that-had-previously-been-the-ceiling, and three things happened simultaneously.

1. Air rushed through the hole the raccoon made, pushed there by the difference between the heavier atmosphere inside the spaceship and the sparser atmosphere inside the safe room.

2. Whatever had been sealing the door shut unsealed itself with a deeply unpleasant squelching noise. And finally,

3. Whatever Stark did to make the safepod things soundproof gave up the ghost and both women could hear the noises the raccoon was making to accompany the movements of its mouth.

Strangely, it was speaking English.

“-had to go and make these things locked up so goddamn tight you could lock a creclapt in one during its mating season and it wouldn’t even-”

“We can hear you now,” Jane said as the door swung open. “Do I want to know what a creclapt is?”

“No,” Darcy and the raccoon said at the same time.

The human-looking one appeared again. “Hi! I’m Peter, and this is Rocket,” he indicated the raccoon, “and we’ve just rescued you!”

“Stark hired us,” Rocket said.

“He has agreed to pay us with the coveted Terran cheeseburger!” a new voice said, sounding very excited. Gingerly, Jane stuck her head out of the safe room too see a female-looking humanoid with black eyes and antennae.

“Here,” said Peter said, helping Jane through the upside-down door. He did the same for Darcy. “That’s Mantis.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. For the helping, not the introductions.  “Thanks,” Darcy said, then turned to Mantis. “So… the coveted cheeseburger, eh?”

“Oh yes,” the female said. “We have heard much of Terran food from Peter. He especially praises the cheeseburger and the milkshake.”

Jane appraised Peter carefully. “How do you feel about chocolate chip waffles?” she asked.

He blinked and then grinned widely. “Very positively,” he said.

“Good. Because I’m making some as soon as I get back to Earth. You and everyone else who wants to come are invited to eat them with me,” she said. “I’m going to put banana on them.”

“I’d be careful about accepting that offer,” Darcy warned. “I haven’t actually seen any evidence that Jane knows how to cook.”

Peter leaned in and whispered to Darcy, “I don’t think anyone except you and me’ll notice the difference,” he said. 

“I can cook!” Jane said. “And I won’t burn them.”

Spoiler alert: She totally didn’t burn them. But that turned out not to matter much when Rocket convinced an alien named Drax the chocolate chips were a far less palatable substance, and it took a lot of effort on the parts of Jane, Peter, and a green woman called Gamora, to convince him otherwise. Jane had to create a slideshow on the history of cacao. Darcy was no help. She was too busy making out with Steve. 

[jungwonenthusiast]

Friends Don't Lie Ch. 2

Pairing: Jungwon x reader

Warnings for this chapter: none :)

Chapter word count: 1k

Based on: Stranger Things

Jungwon

“Do you know your parents’ phone number?” he asks you. Sunghoon found a jacket lying around and placed it over your shoulders, hoping it would stop your trembling.

You stay silent. Your eyes are darting all over the basement like prey hiding from it's hunter.

“Did you run away?” Sunghoon asks.

“What happened to you? Is that blood?” Jay reaches out to touch your neck and Jungwon slaps it away.

“Stop it, you’re freaking her out!” he exclaims.

“She’s freaking me out!” Jay argues.

“Leave her alone, she’s just scared and cold.” Jungwon rummages through a hamper of clean clothes and hands you a crewneck and sweatpants. “Here, you can wear these.”

You take them and stand up to lift your shirt over your head.

“Hey hey hey!” Jungwon reaches out to stop you.

“What the fuck!” Jay and the boys whip their bodies around.

“Jesus christ.” Sunghoon curses.

Niki laughs. “She’s crazy.”

Jungwon points to the bathroom. “You should go change in there.”

You walk quietly to the small room and when he starts to close the door on her, you stop him.

“Can I close it?” he asks.

“No,” you say quietly.

His ears perk up. “So you can talk? Here, I'll just keep the door cracked open like this.”

He closes it so that there’s still a couple of inches left. “Is that cool?”

“Yes.” you say.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“This is fucking insane.” Jay crosses his arms.

“At least she can talk.” Jake says.

“Are you giving her brownie points for saying two words?” Sunghoon remarks and Jake rolls his eyes.

“She’s probably a psycho.” Jay says. “Why’d we even bring her here.”

“We couldn’t have just left her there, she would’ve died and we’d all be damned to hell.” Jungwon badgers.

“We were already damned to hell anyway.” Sunghoon sighs.

“We went out to find Sunoo, not some nutjob.” Jay snarls.

“Why are you so mean?” Niki says. “She seems cool.”

“Since when did you think nutjobs were cool?” Jay grumbles.

“Don’t call her that.” Jungwon says.

“Is she not?” Jay widens his eyes and Jungwon rolls his.

“We should tell your mom.” Jake shares.

“No way,” Jungwon shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“Because if she finds out, the cops will find out and we’ll go to jail. JAIL!” Jungwon yelps.

“Okay, goddamn.” Jay lifts his hands.

“She’ll sleep here tonight and in the morning I’ll have her sneak around to the door where my mom will find her.” Jungwon states.

“How is your mom gonna know what to do?” Jake asks.

“I don’t know, don’t adults know everything?” Jungwon shrugs.

“If this doesn’t work, we’re in deep shit.”

“I know I know, it’ll work I promise.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The gang heads home and Jungwon spends some time building a little fort that you can sleep in.

He helps you settle in and sits on his knees in front of you.

“So what’s your name?” he asks.

You  stare at him before lifting the sleeve of your sweater, revealing a tattoo that says 011.

“Holy shit, is that a tattoo?” He leans to get a closer look but you flinch away. “Sorry sorry. Eleven. Is that your name?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“That’s cool, well my name is Jungwon. The mean one’s name is Jay, the nicer one’s name is Jake, the little blonde one's name is Niki, and the sarcastic one’s name is Sunghoon.”

“Sarcastic?” you tilt your head.

“It means to be ironic.” he says and you just furrow your brows even more. “Nevermind.”

"Niki is not little." you say and Jungwon chuckles.

"I know, it just feels like he is since he's younger."

“So what does Eleven mean?” he asks.

You point at the number then point at your chest. “I’m Eleven.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Do you have a nickname?”

“Nick...name?”

“It’s a short version of your name. My name is Jungwon and sometimes people call me Won. Sometimes we call Sunghoon Hoon too.”

“Won. Hoon.” you say and he nods.

“Maybe we can call you El, short for Eleven.” he suggests and you nods. “Okay well, goodnight El, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight Won.” you say and he lowers the bed sheet, completely covering any signs of you.

El

You feel cold, despite being in a warm room. You don't like being alone. You wish Jungwon was there.

Jungwon

The next morning Jungwon scrambles to wash up and pop two Eggos in the toaster for you.

“Stop eating like a barbarian.” Jooyoung sneers as Jungwon shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Take your time Jungwon-ah, it’s not running away from you.” Mrs. Yang says with an endearing smile.

“I’m hungry, I’m a growing boy.” he says through a full mouth.

Jungwon rushes down the stairs and lifts up the bed sheet. He’s relieved to find you there messing with his walkie talkie.

“Hey, how was your sleep?” He hands you the waffles.

You take a reluctant bite.

“So all you have to do now is go through the back door, knock on the front door and talk to my mom. She’ll help you.” he tries to smile at you.

You frown and shake your head. “No.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you need help?”

You shake your head.

He waits a moment. “Are you in trouble? Who are you running from?”

“Bad.” You say.

“The people are bad?” he asks, desperate to get more answers.

You hold a finger gun up to your temple then to his chest. His eyes widen.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. “Uhm, just stay here, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” you ask.

“Mhm,” he nods. “Just stay put.”

Jay

“Why isn’t he here?” Jay says while settling down into his desk.

“That means his plan went to shit.” Sunghoon chuckles.

“We should’ve left her.”

Jungwon

Jungwon detours his car while on the way to school and makes it back home right after his mom went off for work.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“This is the living room.” Jungwon says.

You trail your fingers over everything that you can reach. You stop at the array of picture frames over the fireplace.

You point at a photo of Jooyoung. “Pretty... like you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Like me?”

You nod nonchalantly.

He brings you up to his room. You plop down onto his bed.

“It’s a queen, pretty nice huh?” he smiles smugly.

You turn to look at the photo on his nightstand.

“That’s us at middle school graduation.” he says and your eyes get beady. “What's wrong?”

You point at Sunoo and his eyes widen. “Do you know Sunoo? Did you see him on Mirkwood?”

“Su-noo.” you pronounce his name.

“Yeah, he’s our friend that’s gone missing. Do you recognize him?”

You nod.

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taglist: @shawkneecaps

[thewidowsghost]

Fox - Chapter 58

Previously on Fox:

Natasha gazes up at (Y/n) fondly, blinking drowsily, her eyes are full of a soft affection. She smiles and rests her head back on (Y/n)'s chest, letting her eyes close again.

The two remain like this for a few more minutes until Natasha lifts her head again. "Is that waffles I smell?" Natasha asks, the drowsiness leaving her.

(Y/n) fixes a loving gaze on her redhead, and Natasha flushes at the sheer affection in her wife's (E/c) eyes.

"Yes, I made breakfast," (Y/n) says and Natasha grins, nuzzling her wife's cheek with her nose.

"I love when you make breakfast," Natasha says, rising from rolling off the bed, landing on her face.

(Y/n) blinks, confusedly, shifting over on the bed to gaze at her wife lying motionless on the floor.

"Um, are you okay?" (Y/n) asks, her eyes wide with concern.

Natasha jumps up from the floor and all but sprints out of the room and down the stairs.

(Y/n) chuckles, sliding out of the bed to follow Natasha.

3rd Person POV

"What are you thinking?" Pepper Potts asks as she and (Y/n) walk into Tony's basement lab.

"Hey, I'm thinking I'm busy," Tony replies, turning away from the two women. "And you're angry about something. Do you have the sniffles?" He asks Pepper. "I don't wanna get sick."

"Did you just donate . . . " Pepper begins but Tony cuts her off.

"Keep your business," Tony says.

" . . . our entire modern art collection to the . . . "

"Boy Scouts of America," Tony finishes.

". . . the Boy Scouts of America?" Pepper questions.

"Yes, it is a worthwhile organization," Tony says. "I didn't physically check the crates but, basically, yes."

(Y/n) and Pepper follow the eccentric billionaire around the lab, (Y/n)'s eyes rolling in exasperation.

"And it's not 'our' collection, it's my collection," Tony says.

"Actually, I think Pep can call it 'our' collection because she's spent over a decade putting it together," (Y/n) says, her gaze resting on her father.

"It was a tax write-off," Tony says. "I needed that."

"You know, there's only about eight thousand eleven things that I really need to talk to you about," Pepper goes on, both women moving to follow Tony around the lab.

"Dummy. Hey." Tony knocks on the robotic arm. "Hey, stop spacing out. The Bridgeport's already machining that part."

"The Expo is a gigantic waste of time," Pepper tells Tony, her nose stuffy.

"I need you to wear a surgical mask until you're feeling better," Tony says, placing his hands on Pepper's shoulders. "Is that okay?"

"Dad, that's rude," (Y/n) scolds, furrowing her eyebrows.

"There's nothing more important to me than the Expo," Tony says. "It's my primary point of concern." Tony continues walking down the path through the desks, computer monitors, and filing cabinets. "I don't know . . ."

"Dad, even I'll admit that it's our egos blown straight out of proportion," (Y/n) says and Tony glances at his daughter, shrugging in apparent disagreement.

"Wow, look at that," Tony says, finding an Iron Man poster.

"That's modern art. That's going up," Tony continues.

"Oh, no," (Y/n) rests her head in her hand in exasperation.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Pepper says, closing her eyes.

"I regret getting him that now," (Y/n) mutters, watching as her father crosses the room to where another piece of art is hanging.

"Stark is in complete disarray," Pepper continues, the two women following the billionaire. "You understand that?"

"No. Our stocks have never been higher," Tony retorts.

"Yes, from a managerial standpoint," Pepper argues.

"You are . . ."

"Well, if it's messy, then let's double back," Tony says.

"Let me give you an example," Pepper says, and (Y/n) decides to drop out of the conversation for a moment, letting the two older adults talk about Stark Industries.

"Let's move onto another subject," Tony goes on.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Pepper scolds, you are not talking down the Barrett Newman and hanging that up!"

"I'm not taking it down. I'm just replacing it with this," Tony replies.

Let's see what I can get going here," Tony says, pulling one of the paintings off the wall and replacing it with the Iron Man poster.

(Y/n) kind of zones out but then she hears, "Pepper, you're not listening to me! I'm trying to make you CEO."

. . .

"The notary's here!" Pepper calls, walking into Tony's gym. "Can you please come sign the transfer paperwork?"

"I'm on happy time," Tony says from inside the ring with Happy.

"Sorry," Tony says unapologeticly as he punches Happy in the face. "It's called mixed martial arts. It's been around fro three weeks."

"It's called dirty boxing," Happy retorts. "There's nothing new about it."

"All right, put them up," Tony tells Happy. "Come on."

A woman with dark red - almost brown - hair and a Norwegian Elkhound trotting at her side, wagging her tail happily.

Happy's eyes flick over to the doorway and Tony looks as well, both men seemingly entranced by the woman.

The woman's eyes rest on Tony momentarily and the husky nudges her with her jet black nose. The woman spares a glance at the dog and a slight smile twitches on her lips.

"I promise you this is the only time I will ask you to sign over your company," Pepper says and the woman and husky walk down the stairs.

The dark red haired woman walks over to Pepper, the husky sitting beside her. The woman opens a binder, showing to Pepper.

"I need you to initial each box," the dark haired woman says softly, handing Pepper a pen.

The dark haired woman's emerald orbs widen with exasperation as Tony Stark kicks Happy into one of the pillars. The husky lets out a single yip and nudges the woman.

"That's it, I'm done," Happy says, his eyes narrowing angrily.

"Hey! What's your name, lady?" Tony asks, turning and pointing at the woman.

"Rushman. Natalie Rushman," the woman replies.

"Front and center," Tony tells the woman. "Come into the church."

"No. You're not seriously gonna ask . . ." Pepper trails off.

"If it pleases the court, which it does," Tony says.

"It's no problem," Natalie says, closing the binder and smiling at Pepper.

"I'm sorry," Pepper tells the shorter woman. "He's very eccentric."

"Cinder," Natalie says and the husky looks up. "Sit."

Cinder sits, her tail brushing the floor as she wags her tail.

The dog watches her owner, her ears pricked, but she relaxes when Pepper strokes her ears.

. . .

Natalie walks down the hall, Cinder padding after her, her tail still wagging.

(Y/n) morphs back into once they get in Natasha's car, and the woman smiles bemusedly at her wife.

"Had fun?" (Y/n) asks Natasha as they drive away.

"Your father is . . . " Natasha trails off and (Y/n) laughs.

"Eccentric?" (Y/n) offers, quoting Pepper from earlier.

"Yeah, that's the word I'd use," Natasha says and (Y/n) grins. "Where do you want to go to eat?"

"I'm not really that hungry," (Y/n) admits.

When Natasha stops at a stoplight, she turns, looking at (Y/n) in disbelief.

"What?" (Y/n) asks.

"Are you alright?" Natasha asks. "You're always hungry."

"I am not!" (Y/n) retorts, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Natasha continues driving, "You are too." Natasha smiles. "That's where Lena gets it."

"You're ridiculous, Mrs. Romanoff," (Y/n) says with an adoring smile.

"I could say the same about you, dear," Natasha replies, the redhead pulling up to the house SHIELD had given them.

The two women walk into the house, Natasha collapsing on top of (Y/n) on the couch.

"It's eleven o'clock in the morning, babe," Natasha says as (Y/n) lets her eyes close. (Y/n)'s eyes crack open again, gazing softly at the redhead. "You tired?" her voice is softer now.

"Going undercover in Dad's house is the most exhausting thing I've ever done," (Y/n) admits.

Natasha moves over to a closet, pulling out a blanket and crossing the room to lie with (Y/n) on the couch, pulling the blanket over themselves.

(Y/n) smiles softly, her arms wrapping around her wife's waist, Natasha's head resting on (Y/n)'s chest.

Word Count: 1411 words

Taglist:

@mariawilson24

@just-dreaming-marvel

@marsromanoff

@procrastinatingsapphictrash

@theofficialzivadavid

@chickenhavewisdom

@fayharper

@acertainredhead

@capsicle118

@rail-me-romanoff

@ssa-sapphic

[pallasperilous]

Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash.  It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp. 

He almost unloaded a clip into it ��� unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

 An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

 They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

  By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

 “Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

 Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

 Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

  Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out.  I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

 After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs.  “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

  Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

 By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

 What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

  Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.   

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

[mykie-min]

Come Home - Part 2

Themes: Poly!BTS, Hybrid AU

Warnings: none that I can think of yet

Word Count: 4k

A/N:  I didn’t play on posting this for a few more days, but the first part got so much love that I wanted to just do it now. I have most of part 3 thought out, so I’ll try to start on it this weekend. Thank you so much for reading! 

The sun had set by the time you reached their home. Jin parked in front of the house, turning to look at the scene behind him, an adoring smirk gracing his face. In the duration of the half hour drive from the city, the maknae’s had all managed to curl around you, the excess warmth and sound of rain against the windows effectively lulling all four of you to sleep. You’d turned on Taehyung’s lap, side curled into his chest, head tucked under his chin. Legs bent over Jimin’s lap, who himself was slumped against Tae’s side, head on his shoulder. Jungkook leaned against your back, face pressed into your hair while your tail curled around him.

The four still awake slowly made their way out of the car, Hobi quickly a picture of the sleeping pile, briefly stretching from the car ride. Namjoon shook Jimin’s shoulder while Jin attempted to wake Jungkook. The resulting grumbles are what brought you back to the moment. You felt warm fingers gently brushing the hair from your forehead. “Wake up kitten, we’re home.”

Yoongi. You knew without even seeing him. You pulled yourself away from the comforting scent of Taehyung’s neck, who was still in his own dream world. Yoongi smiled at you, reaching out to help you from the car. You took his hand, sliding off of Taehyung and out of the car. “Looks like you had a good nap.” He chuckled as you rubbed your eyes, letting him lead you into the house. Your eyes took it everything they could manage in your still waking state. The size of the house was quite large, but given how many occupants it held, it made sense.

It was also very simple, compared to your master’s house at least. But it was perfect, it showed the humble nature of the people who lived here. “I ordered dinner on the way home. Jimin, Tae can you set the table?” Hobi called out as everyone took off their shoes at the door. You slipped off the simple black slip on sneakers (also stolen from someone’s doorstep) and followed the group into the living room. “On Saturdays we always order our favorite take out and have a movie night. I think its Jungkook’s turn to pick the movie tonight.” He informs you with the smile that never seems to leave him.

“We’re watching the second Avengers movie.” The pup said, tail wagging as he stood next to you. “Or we can watch something else, which marvel movie is your favorite y/n?”

“I’ve never seen one.” You answered, curious eyes still taking in every aspect of the interior.

“You’ve never seen a marvel movie?! Okay, new plan. We’re starting with the first Iron Man then.” He smiled at you, “He’s the best hero anyway.” He ended with a wink. You smiled back at him, unable to stop his excitement from sinking into you. The sound of the doorbell brought all eyes to the front door where Hobi was walking, taking out his wallet. “Foods here, come on y/n, lets go sit down.” He left his hand on the back of your neck, leading you beside him into the other room.

Everyone took a seat around the large dining table that had two long benches in place of regular chairs. Jimin pat the spot next to him which you easily took while Jungkook sat on your other side. Namjoon sat across from you, his dimples showing as he watched the three of you. Seeing how the younger ones had taken such a liking to you, it made him feel protective of you already, like you were already a part of his pack. Jimin took the cup sitting in front of you, pouring a dark red liquid into it.

“What is it?” you asked as he set it back down in front of you.

“Black currant tea. It’s made with berries.” He couldn’t help but smile at you. It was sad how little you knew about things they thought were so commonplace, but he was happy you were so curious about everything. A curious little kitten. He thought to himself.

Jungkook took it open himself to fill your plate with food like Yoongi and Tae had done at the park. Your eyes widened at the sight of fresh cooked meat in different sauces in front of you. “Yah Jungkook. You can’t just feed her meat. Give her some vegetables too.” Namjoon scolded the youngster, trying not to laugh. He picked up the container of steamed veggies, spooning some onto your plate in the one spot Jungkook hadn’t filled.

“But it’s the best part. y/n, these are the best lamb skewers in the whole city.” Jungkook picked up a stick, holding one end with each hand and bit off a large piece of the grilled meat. You copied him, holding it the same way and eating. Unknowingly you started copying every bite he took. Though Jungkook did notice, and so he begrudgingly started to eat his own vegetables. Namjoon watched it all fondly, happy that the maknae seemed so concerned with you that he would eat better just to set a good example.

“y/n what’s your favorite breakfast? We’ll make it in the morning.” Jin asked. He desperately wanted to make sure you ate all that you wanted while you were with them.

“I don’t know, he would have the maid only give me hybrid pellets before.”

“Hyung, we should make waffles. Everyone loves those.” Taehyung spoke up, trying to keep the groups mood from dipping lower the more they learned about where you came from.

“Or kimchi rice.” Jungkook said through a mouth full of food.

“Chew your food, you’re not an animal.” Yoongi scolded.

“Technically we’re all at least 30% animal.”  

“And I’m 30% ready to kick your ass if you don’t fix your table manners.”

The table erupted in laughter around you at the two bickering. The mood lifted from just a moment ago. You smiled as you continued eating, happy taking in every bite that was offered to you. This felt like everything you’d ever dreamed a real home would feel like. Family spending time together, laughing and smiling with each other. It’s all you ever wanted from a home. But all you’ve ever known is a dark basement and cruelty.

“Alright everyone clear the table. Tae, it’s our turn for dishes.” Namjoon spoke as everyone stood from the table, disposing of the empty food containers and piling dishes in the sink. You watched Namjoon turn the tap on and grab a sponge, while Taehyung stood next to him with a towel.

Ears perking, you hopped over to join them by the sink. “I want to help.” You really wanted to help, not just because you felt guilty about how much they’d already given you, but because this seemed like a part of their family dynamic. They did everything together and helped each other. You wanted to be apart of it, to know what it was like while it lasted. The two smiled at each other before looking down at your giddy expression. No one had ever looked so happy to do chores.

“Alright, you dry the dishes and I’ll put them away when your done.” Tae handed you the towel and pet your hair back lovingly. The others watched the scene with content smiles. With every moment that went by it seemed more evident that you fit in perfectly. You were supposed to be here all along.

“I’m going to make a few calls. See what I can dig up on her.” Hoseok whispered to Jin and Yoongi once they had moved into the living room. He didn’t want to get the younger ones hopes up in case there was nothing they could do to help. Chances were your owner was looking for you and if he was rich enough to afford a black-market exotic hybrid, he probably had money for good lawyers. Their best chance was to have you declared an emergency rescue and taken under his shelters name. The older women who owned the shelter had a big heart and would do everything she could to help every hybrid that came thru their door. Once he told her about you, there was no way your owner would get you back without a fight. Not if you didn’t want to go back willingly.

Yoongi vocalized those thoughts exactly. “y/n’s not going to that prick. Not with the way he’s been treating her.”

“We don’t know any details for sure.” Jin tried to reason, though he felt the same. They had to do everything by the book.

“She thought she had to ask for permission to eat Jin. He’s never even given her a proper meal, no wonder she’s so small if she’s only had pellets for the last five years.” Angrily sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “And her clothes don’t even fit her. I lived on the streets long enough to know what stolen clothing looks like. She probably had no choice.”

“I know, Yoongi, I know. We all want to help her. But we have to do this right. There are new laws now that can help her if her owner really was the terrible. But we have to move carefully.” Jin pulled his friend into a strong hug. “For now, no one knows she’s here. Tomorrow we’ll ask if she wants to stay with us.”

“We should ask her tonight.” Yoongi grumbled. He didn’t have the patience the humans did to deal with this on his own. To him it was black and white. You hated your old home enough to run away, so why should you have to go back? Surely your owner would treat you even worse as punishment. But there were gray areas were the laws were concerned. Yes, hybrids had more rights now. But they were still considered property.

“Tomorrow. After she gets a good night’s rest. I’m sure she hasn’t had that in a while. We don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow, so let’s give her a good night here at least.” Jin didn’t want to admit how worried he was that things would go bad. Your owner could find out where you were and demand you back. Without the proper steps laid out, they’d have to let him take you.

He let Yoongi join the other two hybrids on the couch. They’d all changed into comfier clothes and were playing video games while they waited to start the movie. He walked back into the kitchen to see you all nearly done with cleaning. You were laughing at a story Tae was telling you about why Namjoon can’t be trusted to use the stove without supervision. The sound of your laughter lifted the worry from his heart, just a bit.

“y/n, would you like to take a bath before the movie?” Jin asked as you dried the last plate Namjoon handed you.

“A bath?” you couldn’t stop your tail from giving away your excitement. You’d never had a real bath before, just rushed showers before you had to dress up and be a good little trophy. Taehyung took the plate from your hands, leaning over to press a kiss to your hair.

“Go on, don’t forget to scrub behind your ears.” You giggled as he hit your bum with the towel as you walked past. “Jin-hyung, use the good bath stuff! The one that smells like honey!”

Jin pet your head as he led you through the living room and upstairs. “Jimin, can you get something for y/n to sleep in? I think you’re closest to her size.”

“Coming hyung!” he called as he ran to catch up to you. “I’ll get you something super soft. Have to be comfy to watch movies properly.” You smiled in thanks as he walked further down the hallway while you followed Jin into another room. The bathroom was huge, bigger than the little corner of the basement that was your room. Even the bathtub was bigger than you had ever seen. You could easily sit in it completely and only your head would stick you. Jin pulled a fluffy white towel out of one cabinet and grabbed a few different products out of another.

You watched as he leaned over the faucet, turning it on and letting the water fill the tub. After pouring in a sweet-smelling liquid you heard Jimin enter behind you. “Hyung, you should use a bath bomb. One of the colorful ones.”

“A bomb?” They both tried not to laugh at your shocked face.

“Not really a bomb. It’s a something that dissolves in the water. It makes the bath a different color and smells really good. Some even have glitter in them.” Jimin led you to a basket full of different colored shapes. “Kookie and Tae love these, they collect most of them. They don’t mind sharing though. Pick whichever one you like.” Your eyes were immediately drawn to a bright pick star shaped one, picking it up Jimin smiled. “Good choice. That one smells like strawberry cake.”

Taking you back over to the bath, he took your hand in his and helped you drop it into the water. They watched your eyes widen at the sight of the bath instantly turning pink, the color swirling around as it dissolved. “All set then. Clothes are on the counter. Take your time, we’ll be downstairs when your done.” Jin started to lead the calico out of the bathroom to leave you to yourself for a bit.

“Jin.” Immediately he turned back to you, seeing your ears turned low. “I’ve never…washed my hair by myself before…the maid always helped me.” You felt like a bother, but he just smiled softly at you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait outside, just call for me when you need my help.” The request wasn’t that strange to him. All of the hybrids had needed help with something or other at the beginning. More then anything it warmed his heart to know you weren’t afraid to ask it of him. Maybe that meant you felt safe with him, knew he wasn’t anything like your master.

After ridding yourself of your stolen clothes, you let your body submerge in the water, the warmth seeping into your bones, easing the tension every muscle for the first time. After relishing in the feeling for a few minutes, you set to cleaning yourself up. Scrubbing away at the weeks of hidden grime on your skin. You’d made sure to stay as clean as you could so as not to look to much like a runaway. Washing yourself at the sink of empty public restrooms. But finally ridding yourself of all of it, you could die happy in this moment.

Soon enough your entire body was clean, tail shampooed twice and conditioned, just leaving your hair and ears. Looking to the door, you nearly hesitated to call him back in. After folding your knees up to your chest, you finally did, “Jin?” thinking you weren’t loud enough, you almost called out again when the door opened, he peeked his head inside.

“Ready to wash your hair?” you nodded in answer. He smiled, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him. After retrieving a cup from the cabinet, he sat on the edge of the tub. “Just tilt your head back and close your eyes. Don’t worry, I’m a pro at washing hybrid ears. Once Jimin hurt his hand, and he stretched the fake injury out for a whole month just so I would wash his hair for him.” You giggled as he poured water over your hair.

Silence filled the room as he lathered the shampoo through your locks. Like you’d done to your tail, he did this twice before adding conditioner. “You already look a lot better, getting some color back to your cheeks.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in one day before.” You mumbled as you relaxed at his gentle touch. Jin looked at your sadly, wanting so much to know everything that had happened to you, only because he wanted so badly to help you. He kept himself from asking, afraid it would scare you away after you’d started opening up. He was sure you would tell them when you felt confident, when they completely earned your trust.

“All clean little one,” he said but kept running his fingers through your now silky hair. “Dry off and come down when your ready. Jungkook always gets really excited to watch Iron Man movies.” Jin leaned to press a kiss to your forehead before pulling himself from the bathtub, smiling at you as he moved out of the room. You returned his smile as he shut the door, stretching your body out once more in the water before finally standing and wrapping the towel around yourself.

After dressing in the clothes Jimin had left you, black track bottoms and a dark green flannel shirt, you bundled up your folded dirty clothes in your arms and left the bathroom. “All done y/n?” Yoongi asked as he met you in the hallway. “I’ll put those in the wash, go on downstairs.” He took the clothes from you, before continuing down the hall, “I’ll be right behind you, don’t let them start the movie without me.” You watched him disappear into another room further down before making your way downstairs they way you remembered.

Upon entering the living room you found almost everyone gathered on the couch or on blankets on the floor. Unsure where to sit you stood nervously at the edge. Only a few seconds later Yoongi was beside you, hairbrush in hand. “Come sit down, I’ll brush your hair out for you.” He took your hand, leading you into the living room and sitting on the couch, ushering you to the floor in front of him. You leaned back against his legs before he starts running the brush through your locks, starting at the ends to smooth out any tangles. You relaxed more as the bristles moved over your scalp.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying themselves.” The voice suddenly next to you chuckled. You felt another warmth to your other side and looked to see Jimin and Taehyung on your sides. Everyone was in their spots, ready for the movie to start that Jungkook was currently putting on. Namjoon sat next to Yoongi, Jin laid on the other couch, leaned back against the arm with Hobi’s back against his chest. Everyone looked so relaxed sitting together, it made you want the same thing.

“Ready to watch the greatest superhero of all time?” Jungkook asked, looking back at you, the smile falling from him when he saw the spaces next to you already taken. “No fair, there’s no room around y/n.” he whined. You looked back at how Jin and Hobi where laying and crossed your legs, leaning back against the couch. His smile returned, beaming when you pat your lap shyly. Before someone else could take the offer, he rushed over, sitting down and leaning back against you, head resting of your chest. “I have the best seat in the house now.” He boasted, bringing your hands to his chest and holding them there. The elders laughed at the youngest males giddy state, hearts warming at the sight of you so readily offering to cuddle with the needy pup.

“Everyone ready to start the movie?” a sound of agreement went through the room, Tae and Jimin settling against you. Minutes into the movie you were sucked into it, barely noticing Yoongi’s fingers moving again through your hair, or Jungkook’s thumbs caressing circles against your pulse points as he explained every scene. Usually the others would have shut him up, but you seemed excited to hear everything, quickly asking him to clarify anything you didn’t understand. It seemed you and Jungkook were the only ones watching the screen, as everyone was watching you two interact. Halfway through Taehyung went into the kitchen, coming back minutes later with bowls of popcorn, handing them out. Sitting down with his own he offered it to you, but you couldn’t remove your hands from Jungkook’s grasp. Smiling to himself, trying to not to laugh at how conflicted you looked, he fed you himself.

As the credits were finally rolling Jin looked over to see you both asleep, your low purring lulling Jungkook into a coma while your head rested on his. “We should move them to bed, they’ll wake sore if they stay like that.” Hobi said, raising from the couch while the others started to clean up. Leaning down in front of Jungkook, he lightly tapped his nose. “Kookie, time to head to bed.”

“Comfy here hyung…” he mumbled back.

“I know, but you’ll hurt y/n’s legs if you sleep here all night. Come on, you can play more in the morning.” He took the pups hands, prying them from your own and pulled him to sit up, waking you in the process. Namjoon pulled him to his feet, leading him to the staircase. Rubbing your eyes while you yawned, Hobi pet your twitching ears.

“Did I miss the ending?”

“We can watch it again tomorrow, it’s been a long day, lets get some sleep.” You let him lift you from the ground, carrying you through the room and up the stairs. Your ears twitching tickled his chin, making him smile. Stepping into a small bedroom, he gently set you down in the bed, letting you get comfortable before pulling the covers over your curled up state. “Tae and Jimin are right across the hall and I’m next door if you need anything, okay?” he giggled and your lazy nod. “Good night y/n.” he left a kiss at your temple before standing to leave, hearing you just before he shut the door.

“G’night Hobi.”

He smiled as he wondered back into the living room where Jin and Namjoon were waiting. “Did you find anything out about her yet?” the wolf asked.

“A bit, I have a friend doing some digging, I should know more tomorrow when I go to the shelter.”

“So what do you we know.”

“Some good news,” he answered hesitantly. “There’s no feline hybrid in the system matching her breed and name.”

“What does that mean?” Jin asked.

“It means it’s likely her owner never had a hybrid license, which isn’t that surprising since her breed is so rare. If he didn’t have the paperwork to have her it might not be hard to keep him from taking her back.”

“But.” Jin knew there was always a catch with rich hybrid owners.

“But, after five years in one place he could try to claim legal ownership.”

“She said she was with him for five years.”

“I know,” he sighed, hand running through his hair. “It’ll be a close call. I already have the emergency rescue forms being processed. I’ll call our usual lawyer in the morning and see what she can do. Maybe if we act fast enough we can get into the system before her owner catches word of it.”

“So y/n can stay here?” they all looked back to Taehyung and Jimin at the doorway, looking to their elders hopefully.

“I can’t promise anything, but we’ll try everything we can.” They knew it wouldn’t be an easy task to undertake. “Now come on everyone, its late. Tomorrow might get a bit crazy, so lets get some sleep.” He ushered them all back up the stairs and into their rooms. Taking one last glace at your door before continuing down the hall.

Tomorrow they’d ask if you wanted to stay with them. And hope that your owner didn’t come looking for you.

tag list: @sessi03​ @i-jinlaugh-at-u-peasants @sami4life​

[larryfanficwriter98]

Chapter Eight

Harry woke up the next morning drowsy and exhausted, but he grinned when he saw Louis still fast asleep beside him. Yesterday Louis and his friends had been in the pit at the show and after the show, they had hung out in the park then went back to Harry's and hung out. They got to know each other in person without a phone screen in the way. Around 10 they had all retired and not wanting to get made fun of or teased he took up big spoon rope since he was bigger than Louis. He was broader and taller so it meant Harry was the big spoon. Just like he had been with his ex a few years back. Harry looked at Louis, studied his sleeping features, and couldn't believe someone so cute and small had such a big personality. He also could remember his softer more childish features from years ago when they were teenagers.

He could still remember the way his whole body stopped working when he saw Louis. He had been 14, almost 15, and had just come out to his family a few days prior. Then there he was kissing and snogging for the first time with Louis in a closed-off hall after obviously flirting and staring on both sides. It was a perfect kiss too just like yesterday’s, well except it was a lot more awkward since Harry was 14 and never kissed anyone. No wonder Harry felt an instant connection to Louis, they felt an instant connection to each other. They had met so many times prior that Harry would believe in soulmates at this point.

Harry climbed out of bed after kissing Louis' cheek then walked into his closet. He grabbed some clothes for the day then headed to the bathroom to start his morning routine. Afterward, he headed downstairs and started on breakfast hoping he had his heart-shaped waffle iron here and didn't take it somewhere else. Finding it under his many many skillets he plugged it in then got to work on the waffle mix. Minutes later he was flipping the waffle iron to start the cooking when he felt arms wrap around his waist from behind and he grinned.

"Good morning Lou." Louis hummed as Harry turned in his arms and wrapped his arm around Louis' shoulders.

"I feel exhausted even though we slept for like...10 hours."

"That's the jet leg hitting you. You just need a bit of breakfast, some fresh air, and something to do to distract yourself from it. It'll go away in a few hours. Probably around 12."

"Damn and here I thought we missed the jet leg when we took a flight that would let us sleep to get adjusted to the time zone change."

"You beat the worst of it. That's always the best way to travel so you're able to sleep and wake up to the city's morning. I'm surprised you guys thought of it."

"Liam, Niall, and Zayn planned it." Louis told him as he sat on the countertop as Harry went to go get the bacon from the fridge.

"So what do you want to do today? There's Universal, Disney, a zoo, an aquarium, museums, there are a few beaches not far from Orlando. Or we can just stay here, I have an indoor and outdoor pool, a game room, tons of movies with a movie room in the basement. Tampa is only an hour and a half drive as well. How do you want to spend our first Valentine's day together?"

"How about we just explore the town and see what we find to do. You can take me to the places you go to when you're here."

"I actually don't stay in Orlando that much unless I have shows here. I  bought the house when I was 19 and was dating my ex. We went to Universal a lot together so much so that he convinced me it was a good idea to buy a house here. Of course, now I know it was because he needed somewhere to cheat on me that wasn't my LA home. For obvious reasons. If I wasn't in Manchester then I was in LA and he lived in LA so I stayed there a lot. Whenever he came to visit family or cheat I went home to visit my family."

"He made you buy a home in Orlando so he could cheat on you?" Louis asked

"Well, his reasoning was because we went to Universal so much because he liked it but yeah it was also to cheat."

"Did he tell you he cheated when you broke up?"

"No, actually I found out when I came to Orlando and walked inside my room to see him fucking a girl in my bed. I knew he was bisexual, but his reasoning was because I wasn't having sex with him even though we had been together for quite a long time actually. Also since it wasn't a guy he wasn't technically cheating."

"Please tell me you dumped him after that."

"Actually no. I stayed with him for another six months and in those six months I had been guilt tripped each time he was hard into giving him a hand or blow job. I broke up with him when he tried to talk me into having sex with him before I was ready. He had been pushing it for a month and this particular time he just wasn't taking no for an answer. I realized what he was doing. I told him to grab his stuff and leave." Harry told Louis who stared at him

"Who stayed with someone who cheated on you then was manipulated and talked into performing sexual acts because he didn't want to wank in a shower? What a dick head. I am- if someone has ever done that to one of my sisters I'd have murdered him. If he still alive because your sister is scary."

"She doesn't know what happened. Well, she knows it was because I wouldn't have sex with him, but not everything." Louis wrapped his arms and legs around Harry and pulled him in close to his body, Harry's hands falling to his hips smiling at him.

"Well just know that he was an asshole and a selfish prick and I never want you to feel obligated to do anything you don't want to. Because trust me I get hard pretty easily, but that doesn't mean I am going to pressure you in any way. I forced myself my first time, I wanted to get over with and I regretted it minutes later. I wasn't ready but I was 18 and I had convinced myself and forced myself to go through with it when I was drunk at the pub. It was in a dirty dingy bathroom with spit, water, and precum as lube, and never again will I trust a guy who said 'Relax I got this' with his hands down my pants. My dick and ass were sore for days because of the dryness. So trust me when I say if you ever feel ready with me I will be sure to make it very very special and memorable and you will be the most comfortable person ever. No matter what position we take."

"First..ew...that just sounds gross and horrible. If you ever spit on me I will sue you. I don't care what the reason is if you dare spit on me I will sue you. Do you understand." Louis laughed as he nodded, "Good. Secondly, I trust you and am comfortable with you more than I have been with anyone. I, unfortunately, came into fame as a virgin, and also my first boyfriend was a manipulative verbally abusive ass. So it's harder to trust anyone, believe me, there have been times when I've wanted to just get it over with too, but you don't know who to trust anymore. The media offers people money for a story, even if it's not true. I trust you though. I've always felt you to be trustworthy and honest. I'm not worried about you going off to any media outlet that offers you money, which is why I refused to make you sign an NDA when my lawyer and label wanted you to when we started face timing."

"I can sign an NDA-"

"No. I trust you. Besides if you were going to say anything you'd have done it by now. You have enough information to make a few million."

"Really? I don't have that much that isn't exactly common knowledge." Louis said

"You have enough." Harry said with a shrug as he moved to out a skillet on the stove to start the bacon as the waffle maker timer went off.

"Want my help?"

"Please tell him no. We would like it to be edible." Liam said as he and Zayn walked into the room with Niall following only moments later

"I got it. Go sit with your friends then after breakfast we'll leave for town. We'll explore together."

"Sounds good." Louis said, leaning over to press a kiss to Harry's cheek before  jumping down and sitting on a stool, "So what are you lads doing today?" Louis asked his mates

"Us three have a taxi coming in an hour so it can take us to a car rental since it was closed yesterday when we landed." Zayn said

"I have three cars in the garage you can drive. A 2013 Audi S8, a 2011 Mercedes SLK, and a 2011 range rover. Then my car that I'll be taking today is a 2015 Audi A5. My newer car that I bought for my 21st birthday."

"Are you sure you want them to drive? They're not the best-"

"Excuse you. Who has an accident here and who doesn't?" Liam said looking st Louis

"An accident that wasn't my fault. He hit me when I was parked."

"Still an accident." Liam said

"I'll put you guys on my insurance for the week, it's not that big of a deal. If anything happens it's not like I can't afford it. I hardly drive them anyway. I drive my new Audi and my new Range Rover all the time. I've sold most of my other ones and I've been meaning to sell these three. I just keep forgetting about them. The keys are up on the key hanger in the front entrance." Harry said with a shrug

"Are you sure?" Niall asked

"I'm positive. Rental cars are a pain in the ass don't even bother. They require so much and for international travelers like you guys it could take hours before you're approved. So just take one of mine."

~~~

After a wonderful breakfast of heart-shaped waffles and bacon for everyone Louis took a shower and got dressed in black skinnies and one of his graphic tees the boys gave him over the years. It has a graphic of a vanilla cone and on the shirt, it read "vanilla is for ice cream". Louis loved this shirt and didn't think much of it as he pulled it on then headed downstairs. The front door was opened and when Louis stepped outside he saw the garage was opened. He headed inside and saw all four shiny cars well taken care of and all of his mates in one of the three cars mentioned while Harry leaned against an Audi.

"Niall is going out on his own so he isn't third-wheeling anyone so I'm letting him pick the car first much to Zayn's disappointment."

"Niall can come with us."

"I offered, but I think he just wants to explore on his own. Is he ever away from you three?"

"Not really. Zayn and Liam have monthly date nights and they've been busy planning their wedding. So it's been very coupley at the house."

"The wedding is what..three months away now?"

"Yeah. May 14 to be exact. You're invited by the way, as my plus one if you want to come."

"They told me I was invited, they actually asked if I would sing their first dance song for them then I told them I can ask Ed himself to do it and they got excited. So remind me to call Ed in a few hours, I want to get him before he goes to sleep as it's only 5 in London."

"Sure so about 3?"

"Yeah, about 3 or 4. Around the time we end our exploration and go to the shops to get groceries for our romantic dinner tonight."

"Sounds good."

"Well, are we ready to go? The lad knows to lock up before they leave, they have the codes for the security box outside, and they have a house key. Also, they each have mine and my security team's number should they need anything. As well as copies of insurance cards."

"Already?"

"Paper temporary ones. You have one too in my glove box but figured since I'll be driving for now you won't need it right away."

"Then yeah I'm if you're ready." Harry pushed off from the car and opened the passenger side door letting Louis into the car before closing it once Louis was settled in the seat.

[atc74]

The Promise

Square Filled: Slow Burn

Warnings: Character death, nudity, smut (not graphic, more implied) name calling and fat shaming (not our Dean). This is fluffy, and lovely, then...BAM!

Summary: Dean and Y/N settled in to live the life they promised Sam before he jumped into the pit with Lucifer.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, former Sam x Reader

Word Count: 4055

Written for: @spngenrebingo, @saxxxology‘s Plus-Size Challenge, @georgialouisea‘s 2k Quote Challenge - my quote is in bold italics below. 

Thank you all for hosting such great challenges for inspiration!

Beta’d by: @hannahindie - Han, you keep me going with your kind words. 

A/N: I am maybe a little sorry, but mostly I am damn proud of how this turned out. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, along with your comments and reblogs. Thank you!

None of the images used a mine. Found on Tumblr /Google - credit to the artist. 

“Dean, I won’t be coming back from this, I know that. But I need you to promise me something, can you do that?” Sam turned to his brother, waiting for his answer.

“Sam…” Dean started.

“No Dean. Just promise me one thing. That you and Y/N will go on with your lives; get out, go live a normal life. I need to know that you are going to take care of my girl. You can both live the apple pie life you’ve dreamed of, man,” Sam told him. “Promise me.”

“Sam, you know I will always take care of her. She’s family,” Dean assured his brother, but the words never came out of his mouth. Sam looked at him expectedly and Dean nodded his silent promise.

~*~

“Y/N, you gotta come out of your room sometime. Come on, please. I made dinner and if I keep eating it all, I’m going to get fat,” Dean pleaded with her through the door but was only met with silence. “Fine, it’s on you when I get fat.”

Dean returned to the kitchen, the food laid out buffet style on the counter of the little house they had rented two weeks ago. He put away all the leftovers after another quiet dinner alone. He retired to the back porch with a bottle of whiskey and a picture of him holding baby Sammy.

He spent every night drowning in a bottle of whiskey, so he didn’t have to feel the loneliness of not having his brother by his side anymore. He supposed she felt the same, except that Dean had been in love with her since they first met, but she had chosen Sam and now he was gone.

The only thing that separated them was the way they chose to grieve and her bedroom door. Only when he couldn't’ see straight, he stumbled his way to his bedroom, falling into the bed and passing out.

~*~

Y/N laid in her bed that night, surrounded by the fading scent of Sam on the flannel she wore. She felt guilty for the feelings that had been plaguing her from the day she met the Winchesters. As a hunter she never thought she would find someone to love, but then the brothers came into her life and she found herself having to choose one over the other.

Dean drove her crazy in the best ways possible, but Sam felt like the safe choice, so that was the one she made. There wasn’t a day that went by that she hadn’t thought about how different it could have been if she had picked Dean over Sam. She wiped her tears away. There was nothing she could do to change the past. All she could do was move on and hope Dean felt the same for her.

~*~

Dean woke to the smell of coffee and bacon the next morning. For a moment he thought he had died and gone to heaven. He shuffled to the bathroom and brushed the whiskey from his mouth, before following his nose through the house.

Dean froze as soon as he hit the archway to the kitchen. Y/N stood at the stove in a pair of sleep shorts and one of Sam’s old flannels. She was humming lightly as she flipped bacon. Dean must have gasped at the sight of her as she turned quickly only to find him staring.

“Come on, sit down,” she gestured to the fresh cup of coffee sitting on the table. Dean’s eyes shifted from her to the coffee and back.

He cleared his throat before taking a seat. “M’glad to see you up and around, Y/N. I’ve missed having someone to talk with.” The coffee was strong and hot as it hit his throat still raw from the previous night’s whiskey.

“Well, I have been thinking long and hard these last few days, and Sam wouldn’t want me to wallow in my sorrow,” she shrugged as she flipped the waffle iron. She turned to face him. “‘Sides, I’m not the only one here who lost someone, Dean. You lost your brother and I am sorry I haven’t been there for you.”

“‘S’okay, Sweetheart,” Dean smiled at her over his cup of coffee. If she only knew how much he wanted her to be there for him, to have her hold him at night and chase the nightmares away.

“No, it’s not. But I am done locking myself away. From this moment on, we are going do what Sam wanted and start living,” she sniffed even as she said it. “Now, I can’t have you gettin’ all fat on me now, so I’m gonna share all this food with you. Eat up.”

“Oh, so you did hear that,” Dean smirked as he forked a waffle and a few strips of bacon on his plate. “Your solution to keep me from getting fat is to make waffles and bacon?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” she smiled for the first time in two weeks and Dean started feeling a little better because of it. It wouldn’t be an easy road for the two of them, but at least they had each other.

Dean’s face lit up when she smiled at him and she felt a warmth fill her. This could be the start of something. She sat down across from him and they enjoyed breakfast together.

~*~

Two months later

“Dean!” her scream echoed through the small house and he took the basement stairs two at time to find her.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, seeing the look of fear in her eyes when he entered the room. “What is it?” He knew it wouldn’t be long before something found them, even though he had carefully warded the house when they moved in. He drew his gun from the waistband of his jeans.

“A mouse…” she whispered and pointed to the corner cupboard. Dean slowly opened the door, but found nothing but some chewed up cereal boxes. He started laughing. He laughed so hard he doubled over and clutched his stomach.

 “What the fuck are you laughing at Winchester?” she demanded from her perch on one of the kitchen chairs, a broom in her hands.

“A mouse?” he laughed. “We have hunted some the evilest sons of bitches on the face of the planet and you are scared of a little mouse?” He tucked the gun back into his jeans.

“Yes!” she didn’t hesitate and swung the broom out, hitting him solidly in the ass.

“Did you just hit me with a broom?” he turned to glare at her, taking a few steps towards her.

“Maybe?” she said, not breaking eye contact with him as he stalked closer.

“You hit me. With a broom,” he repeated. “Now you’re gonna get it! He reached for her, pulling her off the chair and into his arms, attempting to tickle her sides while he held her. She struggled against his strong arms.

“Dean, stop! Put me down!” she squealed, continuing to wriggle in his hold.

“Oh, okay. Right here on the floor where you saw a mouse?” He moved to put her down, but she jumped back into his arms, their chests heaving from the horseplay. He locked eyes with her and craned his neck like he was going to lean in and kiss her.

“Are you going to kill it?” she whispered, feeling her cheeks heat up under his gaze. Dean snapped back to reality and set her back down on the chair.

“It isn’t even there anymore, Sweetheart. But I’ll go to the store right now and get traps and some of that poison. I’ll be back soon.” he grabbed the keys to his work truck and headed for the door.

“No! Don’t leave me here,” she told him. “I am not staying here with that thing.”

“Okay, then let’s go,” he motioned for her to come with him, but she pleaded with him, turning on the puppy dog eyes. “Dammit woman.”

“Thank you, Dean,” she kissed him lightly on the cheek as she crawled onto his offered back and he carried her to the truck. “You’re my hero.”

Dean closed the door and ducked his head, hoping she hadn’t seen the blush run up his neck and settle in his cheek where she had pressed her lips.

~*~

One month later

“You want some popcorn, Sweetheart?” Dean shouted from the kitchen. It was movie night and her turn to pick so Dean gathered the snacks.

“Yes, please. With some of that caramel stuff!” she called back.

The movie was some action comedy and wasn’t bad, but Dean was barely paying attention. Her body was too close to him and felt too good. His eyes glanced sideways at her. She looked good, better than she had a couple months ago. She hadn’t left her room and hadn’t eaten anything for the first couple weeks they lived there.

She had put back the weight she had lost and then some. Dean had always thought she was too thin before, but Sammy had always liked smaller girls. But not Dean. Dean thought she had never looked better and she was more beautiful in his eyes each and every day. He loved the way her thighs now filled out her jeans instead of them hanging off of her. He noticed a little more how full her breasts were and occasionally spilled over her tank tops.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his shoulder. Dean had been lost in his own thoughts when she spoke. He hadn’t even noticed the credits were rolling on the movie.

“Mmmm? For what?” he adjusted his body to face her.

“For everything. For finding us this house. For taking care of me. For staying and loving me,” her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s nothing, Y/N. We both made Sam promises before he died. Even if I hadn’t, I would still take care of you; you’re family. And I love you,” Dean tried to brush off her words, but each day he knew he was falling harder and harder for her. He wasn’t sure this is what Sammy meant when he had asked him to take care of his girl. But right now, he didn’t want to think about that.

“I love you, too, Dean,” she laid her head back on his shoulder and he laid his head on hers. She knew Dean only viewed her as family, as his brother’s girlfriend that was now Dean’s responsibility. She only wished he knew how true those words were when she spoke them to him.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. S’late,” he said a few minutes later. She simply yawned her reply. Dean picked her up, carrying her to her room and laid her on the bed. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

“Dean?” she reached for his wrist when he turned to leave. “Please stay.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Y/N?” Dean hesitated.

She sat up and looked Dean in the eyes. “Dean, you’re all I have left. My boyfriend, your brother, is gone and he isn’t coming back. We are all we have left in this God forsaken world and I am not going to waste it crying about something I lost and can never get back.

“I loved your brother with all my heart, Dean, but I made him a promise, too. A promise that I would take care of you, that I would move on. And I’ll be damned, because I didn’t know I could feel the same amount of love for two men, let alone brothers. I felt it since the moment I met the two of you on that hunt, do you remember? I made my choice and I don’t regret it. But now we’re here, together and I have a second chance at love. With you, if you’ll have me.”

Dean stared at her, slack jawed. He didn’t really know what to say. He had felt it, too. And he had been devastated when she chose his brother. But this was all new information to him.

“I-I didn’t know,” he stumbled over his own tongue. Dean pretended to be a ladies man, but he was just a blob of nerves around her most of the time. He shook his head, a low chuckle verberating from his chest. “Dammit, Sweetheart, how could I not love you? I always have. I would be a damn fool if I said I didn’t. But the question isn’t if I’ll have you. Are you sure you want me?”

“With everything I am,” she stood and walked slowly towards him.

~*~

Three months later

Dean was waiting for her in the kitchen for their date. Lifting a beer to his lips, he froze with the bottle midway when she walked in the room. She stood before him, fidgeting with her hands as she looked to him, her eyes wide and sparkling.

The dress he had picked out for her was a deep midnight blue and clung to her curves like nothing he had seen before. The swell of her breasts, highlighting her cleavage, in the deep v-neckline made him want to bury his face between them. Her hips like honey, were thick and sweet where the skirt flared.

“You look stunning, Sweetheart,” Dean breathed out. They had officially been together for three months now. Although they hadn’t taken the next step and become fully intimate with each other, but Dean had never been happier. He had never seen her happier, even when she was with his brother. “I don’t know if I want to take you out and show you off, or rip that dress off and show you how much I love you right here on the kitchen table.”

“Why don’t we do both. You can take me to dinner then come home and have dessert, after dessert?” she giggled and tried to make a run for it, but Dean was still too fast for her. He caught her by the hips and pulled her tight to him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me Sweetheart,” his hot breath fanned across her face. “At least I’ll die a happy man.”

“I just got you Winchester, I’m not letting you go anytime soon,” she vowed.

~*~

Dinner was amazing and Dean held her hand as they walked through the front door. He placed his keys and wallet on the small table, then helped her out of her shoes. She turned to face him, her clutch joining his things. His gaze met hers.

“I love you,” he breathed out, like he had been holding it in. In reality, in his head, he had been. Even with everything going so well with them lately, he still waited for the other shoe to drop. He finally felt he could let his guard down a little. “I always have and I always will. No matter what happens, I will always love you.”

She turned around and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Unzip me?”

Dean didn’t hesitate and slowly lowered the zipper on her dress. His fingertips lighting up her skin as he pushed open the dress, revealing her back to him. He slid his large hands over skin and up to her shoulders, gently pushing the dress off and letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, facing him, in just her bra and panties, more beautiful than anything Dean had ever seen.

“God, you’re beautiful, Y/N. I am going to spend the rest of my life worshipping you the way you should be worshipped,” Dean whispered as he gathered her face in his hands and kissed her like she was his life force. In many ways, she was. Y/N is what kept him going when he lost his brother.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips. His mouth left hers, trailing soft wet kisses along her jaw, down to the sweet spot, just under her ear. “Dean, if you kiss my neck, I’m not responsible for what happens next,” she warned him.

“I’ll take my chances, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. His tongue darted out, lightly nipping and sucking at the exact spot she warned him about. A soft mewl, followed by a low groan left her lips.

With quick movements, she pushed the jacket off his shoulders. She had his belt off, his pants bunched around his ankles before he could even switch to the other side of her neck. She grabbed the tails of his white button down and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere.

Y/N walked backwards toward the sofa and pushed Dean down into it. “You better be ready for this Winchester. I don’t want to take it slow anymore.” She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips. She could already feel his throbbing erection pressing at her core. She rocked her hips forward, slowly grinding down onto him. “You’re so hard for me Dean. I want you so bad. Need you more.”

“Sweetheart, I have been hard for you for years. I never thought I could have this, not with you,” Dean pulled her chest flush against him, kissing her breathless. When he finally pulled away, he saw the love he felt for her reflected in her eyes.

“Show me, honey,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean wasted no time in unclasping her bra, but took his time revealing her to him. He slowly slid one strap down, kissing from her bare shoulder down to the crook of her elbow. He repeated the process with the other shoulder, finally flinging the undergarment to parts unknown.

Dean lavished attention on her breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his capable hands. He ducked his head, pulling one firm peak into his mouth, tonguing it before sucking it between his lips. Dean repeated the process with her other breast, paying it equal attention. A low moan left her lips as she gathered the short strands on top of his head between her fingers and pulled tightly as if she were hanging on for her life. Dean growled low in the back of his throat before he stood, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Our first time will not be on this couch,” Dean told her as he started toward the stairs. “I’m going to make love to you in our bed. All. Night. Long.”

Dean crossed the threshold and gently lowered her to the bed. He knelt at the edge, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underpants. Slowly, reverently, he slid the silky fabric over the curve of her hips, kissing every inch of skin before him from her soft stomach to the milky white flesh of her thighs, to the soft globes of her ass. He couldn’t believe this gorgeous woman was all his and he spent the entire night showing her how lucky he really was.

The night was filled with declarations of love and the soft moans that accompanied their union.

~*~

Y/N slowly slid out of bed, doing her best not to disturb Dean. He looked so peaceful as he slept and she wanted him to get some rest. The pleasantly sore stretch of her muscles brought back memories of the night before. A smile and blush crept across her face. She shrugged on one of his flannels, buttoning just a few buttons to keep it on her body.

She slowly made her way down the stairs to make coffee and start breakfast. The coffee pot was filled in no time and she took her first cup out to the front porch to enjoy the crisp morning air. She sat on the swing with a light blanket wrapped around her. The morning was peaceful as she sipped at her coffee, listening to the birds as they woke for the day.

“Well, well...don’t you just look happy and content, all fucked out sitting there in my brother’s flannel,” the deep voice startled her and she jolted up from her seat on the swing, the blanket and coffee cup falling to the porch floor.

“Sam?’” her voice was quiet and she slowly sidestepped to the door. It couldn’t be Sam. Sam was dead. Sam was trapped in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. This was not her Sam.

His eyes followed her as she reached the front door. He was on her in an instant as soon as her hand reached for the knob.

“I can smell the sex on you. You reek of my brother and all his righteousness, you whore,” Sam snarled, his hand tight around her upper arm, pulling the collar to the side to see the love bites and hickeys Dean left on her. “You let him mark you up like that?”

“Dean!” Her voice was loud and pierced the early morning air. She knew Sam wouldn’t hurt her, or at least hoped. She just had to keep him talking for a few minutes. “How are you here?”

“I’m out, I don’t know how, but I am. And I have been watching you, Y/N. You and my brother, living this cozy little life without me. I thought you loved me, baby?” The anger was evident in his voice, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

Y/N heard the thunder of footsteps down the stairs and the door was ripped open, Dean had his gun aimed at his brother, shirtless and barefoot in just a pair of jeans, frozen.

“Sammy?” Dean was in awe of the sight before him, he lowered his gun

“Hey, brother,” Sam greeted Dean.

Dean rushed his brother, wrapping his arms around him, forcing Sam to let Y/N go in the process. She quickly covered herself with the forgotten blanket.

Minutes passed and they sat around the kitchen table, wary, staring at each other over the rim of their coffee cups warily. Conversation was awkward and forced, even after Sam passed all the tests Dean put him through. Still, something was off.

“You think there’s something wrong with me, don’t you? Both of you,” Sam demanded.

“Something ain’t right Sam,” Dean sighed heavily, refilling their cups.

“Damn straight, something ain’t right, Dean! I come back from Hell to find my brother fucking my girlfriend. You okay with that, Dean? Fucking this whore?” Sam voice filled with venom.

She had had enough. She stood strong and tall and faced Sam.

“Fuck you, Sam. You broke me! When you decided to take it all on yourself and not let us find another way. You fucking broke me when you jumped into the pit with Lucifer and Michael!” Her rage was evident in every word that came out of her mouth. She stood behind Dean, her hands loving on his shoulders, showing Sam that they were indeed together.

“I’m all glued back together now, I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don’t get to call me a whore. Now get the fuck out of our house!” she screamed at him.

“You should put your bitch on leash, Dean,” Sam sneered as he stood.

Y/N wasted no time lunging past Dean and slamming her fist into the side of Sam’s jaw. He head whipped to side, but he just smile, his teeth coated in blood.

“She’s right. You broke both of us and you don’t get to come into our house and talk to her like that. What the hell, Sam? You loved her, now you come in here and say those things?” Dean stood now, putting himself between her and Sam.

“Yeah, I did, before I knew what a slut she was and would fuck the first warm body that would have her fat ass. You’re disgusting, both of you,” Sam jeered.

This time it was Dean who threw Sam to the floor and pummeled his face with both fists. Y/N managed to pull Dean off of Sam’s unconscious body. Dean shook her off of him, dragging his brother's body across the floor and out the front door.

He came back and found her huddled on the floor, tears streaming down her face. He knelt in front of her, pulling her to him, comforting her the best way he knew how. “Shhhh, it’s okay.”

“Wh-what’s wrong with him, Dean?” she sobbed. 

“I don’t know, but that was not my brother.” Dean admitted.

The Whole Enchilada - join the fiesta: @sis-tafics  @holyfuckloueh @gh0stgurl @hobby27  @bethbabybaby @anspgene @cyrilconnelly @just-another-busy-fangirl @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @roxyspearing @heyitscam99 @iwantthedean @mogaruke @smoothdogsgirl @x-waywardaf-x @myoutletforfanfiction @growningupgeek @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @impalaimagining @feelmyroarrrr @docharleythegeekqueen @katymacsupernatural @hennessy0274-blog @rockhoochie  @charliebradbury1104 @pinknerdpanda @hannahindie @wingedcatninja @highfunctioning-sociopath @speakinvain @evansrogerskitten @percussiongirl2017 @blacktithe7 @theoriginalvicki @mrswhozeewhatsis @sweetpeamoose @sandlee44 @mottergirl99 @meeshw777 @squirrel-moose-winchester @milkymilky-cocopuff @meganwinchester1999 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @grace-for-sale @andkatiethings @nanie5 @monkeymcpoopoo @adoptdontshoppets @drakelover78 @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace @linki-locks11

 The Dean’s List: @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles @trunk-full-of-ideas @kayteonline @ruprecht0420 @kathaswings @bringmesomepie56 @deandoesthingstome @starry-chaos  @dean-winchesters-bacon @pisces-cutie @akshi8278

The Sam Sin-dicate: @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kayteonline @hexparker @frickfracklesackles @starry-chaos 

[anistarrose]

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 3: Keep Smiling Through (Gravity Falls Same Coin Theory)

Summary: We take a few steps back in time, and see exactly how Stan reached his present state.

Warnings: Nightmares, panic attacks, and a brief mention of suicidal ideation (not acted upon)

Previous / Next

The Beginning

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

Stan had Shooting Star and Pine Tree in his hand, and as desperately — pathetically — as they struggled to get free, his grip remained tight.

“Time’s up! I’ve got the kids!” he announced. He couldn’t remember who he was announcing it to — though he knew it was someone he was absolutely infuriated with. “I think I’m gonna KILL one of ‘em now, just for the heck of it!”

Stan raised Pine Tree and Shooting Star to his eye level.

“EENIE —”

Stan was shaking Pine Tree’s hand in the attic of Sixer’s old house. Puppets were strewn across the floor behind them. This was going to be a fun day! He was thinking he might end it all off at the water tower, maybe even try and get Shooting Star to join him for the big finish…

“MEENIE —”

Stan was deciding whether he wanted Dipper or Mabel to hang up the signs for the Mystery Shack. It would probably be better to have Dipper do it — the kid could use some physical labor to toughen him up…

“MINEE —”

At the moment, Stan was on Pine Tree. On the next beat, he would land on Shooting Star. He raised his other hand to snap his fingers, preparing to snuff out the human girl’s light, her boundless energy…

Her unwavering optimism… her love for everyone around her, no matter how terribly, how inexcusably they’d wronged her in the past...

What was he doing, he couldn’t bring an end to this light, couldn’t bring an end to this life —

“YOU!”

“Mabel!” Stan nearly leapt out of his bed.

It was a dream. It was just a dream. Oh, thank fuck, it was just a dream.

Already, he’d forgotten what the dream had been about. He’d forgotten why he’d been so relieved that it wasn’t real. He’d forgotten why he was crying, why he had choked out Mabel’s name, why he felt like like barricading himself in his room and never coming out. Was it out of fear? Guilt? Shame? All of the above?

I did this it was all my fault all my fault all my fault…

All he knew was that this hadn’t been the first nightmare of the month, or the week, or even the night — although it might have been one of the worst yet.

No, don’t think yet, that’s just asking for it to get worse…

He gathered the will to look at his alarm clock — 6:56 A.M. When was the last time he’d woken up, about four? He’d been taking a long time to fall asleep recently (hadn’t really wanted to fall asleep recently), so he might have been out for a little over two hours, if he’d been lucky.

Maybe that’s why I feel even more like shit than usual, he thought. Just my old friend sleep deprivation.

Deep down, he knew that wasn’t it.

He got off his bed, dragging a blanket with him, and sat in the cold, dusty corner of his recently constructed room. He really didn’t want to sit on that bed ever again. Every time he’d gone to sleep in it, he’d woken up feeling like someone had died, and like he’d been the one to kill them.

Maybe… he could find an excuse to spend the next night in his chair upstairs? Maybe there would be something decent on TV tonight, and he could claim he fell asleep while watching that. He wasn’t sure if it would help, but it couldn’t make things much worse, right?

He sat in the corner until his butt started to hurt, which at his age didn’t take very long, then slowly made his way to his nightstand and put on his glasses. His alarm clock hadn’t started ringing yet, but he smacked it preemptively — he didn’t feel like crying anymore, but he was still in a shitty mood. He wanted someone to blame, or at least to vent to.

He couldn’t talk to his family — they’d just worry about him. Hell, Ford was already doing that. Maybe he could just find some inanimate object to yell at…

Actually, he knew just where to find a certain statue that really deserved to be yelled at.

***

He exited the no-longer-secret passageway to the basement, walked to the kitchen on autopilot, and was confronted by two familiar children who addressed him so casually and happily that it stunned him.

“Morning, Grunkle Stan.”

“We all got up early to make glitter waffles! Do you wanna to help, since you’re up early too?”

Mabel was tugging his hand, but Stan didn’t move — was afraid to move.

Shooting Star Mabel was so bright, but so impermanent, her light so prone to burning out. So tiny and short-lived compared to the rest of the cosmos, just a snap of the fingers and her light would go out forever —

And there was Pine Tree Dipper, a bundle of brains and anxiety running off nothing but the hilariously easy to exploit desire for knowledge, and just as fragile as his sister, just as impermanent, just as easily broken by a fall off the water tower —

“Grunkle Stan, is something wrong?” Mabel was frowning at him.

Stan blinked a few times. Time, which had been moving like it would in a surreal dream, resumed as normal, but he still felt… horrible. Afraid. Guilty.

But if there was one thing Stanley Pines had always been good at, it was putting on a smile when he really didn’t feel like smiling.

“Waffles, you said? I’d better not be finding glitter in my waffle iron when you’re finished!” He had a faint headache, and blurry images superimposed themselves over his view of the kids.

“We’re not using your waffle iron!” Melody yelled from the kitchen. “Soos and I bought a new one last month!”

Dipper gave him a suspicious look. “You were really quiet for a second there. Is everything okay?”

Stan shrugged, which helped disguise how much he was shaking. “Just didn’t sleep too well. Probably ate too much last night or somethin’. I think I’m gonna go for a walk.” He had to get away, as far away as possible from the poor kids who didn’t deserve any of the things they’d gone through, didn’t deserve to be around someone like him. If he stayed, and something bad happened to them because of him, then how could he —

“You know, some Mabel Juice will wake you right up!” Mabel suggested. “I can whip you up a glass —”

“And so will the great outdoors,” Stan interrupted. “You know, nature! Natural things! Unlike that unholy abomination!”

Any other day Stan would have stuck around a little longer to watch as Mabel defended her concoction, but today he rushed out of the Shack as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion, grateful to have the excuse of fleeing from Mabel Juice.

“It’s just the kids,” he told himself. “You see them every day.”

He was still shaking a little, but the panic attack — he didn’t really know much about panic attacks, but he assumed it had been something like that — was fading. “They’re alive. You’re alive.”

A tiny voice in the back of his head added: you shouldn’t be.

He convinced himself he’d imagined it. “Everything’s fine. Everyone’s safe.”

But I’m not fine, he couldn’t help but think. What’s happening to me?

It must have all started with the nightmare, but he’d been recovering from it until he’d seen the kids and… and then what? He’d been terrified of them… no, terrified for them, it was himself he’d been terrified of.

The first night back in the Shack had been when the nightmares had started, hadn’t it? Was it all because he was back in Gravity Falls, the place where everyone’s lives had gone to shit either the past summer or half a lifetime earlier? (The place where he’d made so many mistakes, had nearly killed his family?)

Ford would probably caution that correlation didn’t equal causation, but take note of the link for further research — oh, fuck. What would Ford do if he learned what had happened?

Nightmares were horrible, but it was easy for Stan to hide the worst of them, to keep smiling through his exhaustion. Random panic attacks while he was awake and walking around were harder. Ford was already suspicious about Stan’s sleeping habits, but if he learned about the panic attack he’d worry so much, too much for his own good, just like he had back when Stan was still recovering from the memory gun. He’d give himself nightmares over…

Stan had to pretend to be alright, for his family’s sake. Or better yet, impossible as it seemed, figure out how to fix himself so he didn’t have to keep lying, keep putting on a fake smile, to make sure they stayed happy.

He made a fist. If all his issues really did trace back to Weirdmageddon… well, he knew who to blame. That was where he’d been going in the first place.

So he set off towards the Bill statue, hoping in the back of his mind that yelling his frustrations at it might help him somehow.

Even further in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him it was a horrible idea, that it would just raise questions he didn’t want to answer. But once again, he lied, this time to himself, and pretended it wasn’t there.

***

“So, Bill. You’ve fucked up a lot of shit for our family, haven’t you?”

Looking at the statue, Stan felt a vague sense that he was missing something obvious, like when you forget a word that’s on the tip of your tongue. But today, he barely even registered the feeling — that was how he’d always felt looking at Bill, back since finding the first of many creepy triangles in his brother’s house.

“I thought you might have finally been out of our lives once and for all,” he continued, “but that was a dumb thought. You don’t need to be alive to be hauntin’ our dreams.”

You may be able to haunt my dreams, but you can’t enter my mind unless I shake your hand and let you in!

“You’re a real special type of asshole, Bill. But don’t think I’m gonna let you win, just ‘cause there’s nothing left to punch.” Stan figured that he could punch the statue, but that seemed like the kind of thing Bill would just laugh at.

Pain is hilarious!

“I’m not gonna let all the shit you pulled ruin my life. Nope. ‘Cause you’re just a dumb statue now, and we’re done with you.” Stan was starting to feel better — or at least convince himself that he was feeling better. “I mean, look at you. You’re still tryin’ to shake someone’s hand and make a deal, but you’re just gettin’ covered in bird shit.”

If there was anything that could improve Stan’s mood under any circumstances, it was mockery. He turned around to face the same way the statue faced, and held out his hand in the same pose as it.

“Look at me, I’m Bill Cipher! I died ‘cause I got punched by a pissed off elderly con man! Wanna make a deal with me, an even more ancient, bigger asshole of a con man?”

It took him a moment to notice it, but he felt a strange sensation in his right hand, like it had gone numb and couldn’t properly sense what he was touching. It was like he was feeling something that wasn’t fully real, that wasn’t meant to interact with the human senses…

When he sluggishly looked down to examine his hand, he could’t remember why he’d felt the need to do so. He didn’t notice anything wrong — there were just a few hypnotic, familiar blue flames flickering around his fingers.

If anything, he felt peaceful, more aware of his surroundings, with images and information passing through his senses too fast for him to process automatically but available to him if he chose to pay attention…

There were Pine Tree and Shooting Star, arguing about edible glitter…

There was Question Mark trying to coax Gompers off the roof…

Stan smiled. They were safe, happy, going about their days as normally as anyone could in Gravity Falls, and for some reason that made him incredibly relieved and glad.

And there was Sixer asking where Stan was, leaving the Shack to go find him — good old Sixer, never able to stop looking for the answers to every question even when the only way to get those answers was shaking a demon’s hand —

A deal with a demon…

Blue fire…

Stan collapsed to his knees, slowly but painfully torn out of his all-seeing trance like a bandage being ripped off skin by someone who lacked the willpower to do it quickly. All of the images and sounds faded away, leaving behind echoes that provided no decipherable information information he didn’t want to decipher.

Shuddering, he raised his hands once again, palms turned towards him. And for a moment, everything was as it should have been.

Then blue embers danced across his hands again, both of them this time.

“Fuck,” he choked out, but the word felt hollow. Fuck was for when one of his relatives did something stupid and almost died or for when someone figured out a secret Stan really couldn’t afford them knowing. Not for this. Not for Bill. There was no word strong enough for what was happening now — what had been happening for weeks now, he realized, because what else could the nightmares have been…

Stan desperately rubbed his hands in the damp grass — please go out please go out please go out — and mercifully, the flames did vanish. But not because the morning dew extinguished them, they’d disappeared too quickly for that to be the reason. They’d gone out because Stanley someone had willed them to go out — it was only a matter of time until that someone willed them to come back, and maybe took a bit more control of Stan’s body that time —

Had that been why he’d been able to see what was going on in the Shack? Was Bill trying to force Stan out of his body altogether, to take full control? If he could entirely possess Stan, what would he do to Ford and the —

Ford. Ford was coming to look for Stan right now. Ford, who’d almost been killed by Bill too many times to count — Stan couldn’t let Ford come near him, couldn’t let anyone in his family come near him, or Bill would… he didn’t even want to think about it.

He struggled to his feet. His body felt light, but everything else — his own racing thoughts, the robins chirping in the trees, the sunlight shining down on him — felt suffocatingly heavy, weighed down with urgency, corrupted by the knowledge that the beautiful morning was just the calm before the inevitable storm.

Fearing with every step that his body would betray him, Stan stumbled into the forest, frantically pushing aside branches and searching for a place where no one would find him. He wished he could trust himself enough to go warn someone, to give Ford some prior warning to prepare for another Weirdmageddon, but he didn’t have a phone and he couldn’t go back into town, couldn’t face the people there after everything he’d done risk Bill taking control there. His best bet was to get as far away as possible —

But he couldn’t risk leaving Gravity Falls, he realized. If Bill managed to escape the barrier that had contained Weirdmageddon… Stan didn’t know exactly how the barrier worked, but he guessed there was a good chance of a worldwide apocalypse — no, a galaxy-wide apocalypse if Bill was to leave it.

He stumbled into a clearing and leaned up against a lone birch tree. This couldn’t be happening, Ford had promised it wouldn’t and if anyone would know it would be Ford…

Maybe the fire had been a hallucination, caused by too many nights without enough sleep —

He cupped his hands together, and in his palms the flames appeared again, less intense but impossible to miss.

“Oh, no no no fuck go out —”

The flames vanished. Stan was horrified to realize that he was starting to get used to the feeling that came with them.

What if I’m controlling them, not Bill? he wondered, and before he had a chance to tell himself that the idea was ridiculous, they flared up again.

“Off,” he whispered, and they went out.

It might have been a while before he gathered the courage to choke out the next command.

“On.”

Again, he saw blue.

...Blame the arson for the fire…

Please let them go out again, he thought, and they disappeared.

Why is Bill letting me control them? Does he want me to let my guard down while he waits for a chance to take over? That’s got to be it, why else would…

Though there was another possibility, he knew, one that should have scared him less but for some reason scared him more. What if I’m in control because no one else is in my mind? What if there’s a different form a different time no Bill, no possession, and this is just… all me? All my power?

But that was impossible. He would have noticed it before now, right? He wouldn’t have gotten through sixty-two years of life not realizing he could set his hands on fire whenever he felt like it, only to finally figure it out while standing in front of a statue of a demon that could do the exact same thing.

And it wouldn’t have explained the nightmares, either… fuck, Ford had never really known about the nightmares, had he? He’d realized something was wrong, but Stan had refused to even acknowledge it, much less give Ford details…

Stan collapsed to the ground, back still up against the tree.

No wonder Ford hadn’t seen Bill’s return coming. Stan had been too damn stubborn to give him the whole story.

If Stan had just told him about the nightmares, Ford would have recognized what was happening, Stan was sure. Ford would have been able to come up with something to help before… before this happened.

Stan just hadn’t wanted his family to worry about him. But he’d doomed them all, hadn’t he? Bill was going to kill them and it would be all his fault…

He couldn’t do anything right — couldn’t tell what was wrong with him until it was too late, couldn’t kill a demon and have it stay dead, couldn’t protect his family from anything, even the consequences of his own mistakes.

And there wasn’t a single sacrifice he could make to save them this time — he didn’t know if offing himself would stop Bill or just speed up his return, but he might have been desperate enough to try it if he had a gun on him. Though of course, he didn’t. He didn’t have a single heroic choice or desperate gamble to make, didn’t have a single chance to do anything other than hide and pray to beings he’d never really believed in… and one being he’d never known what to think about.

Axolotl? he thought. If you’re out there, and you’re really the opposite of Bill like Ford thinks, can you please stop him? I don’t care what happens to me, just make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else…

He hadn’t been expecting a response, but the lack of one still drove him deeper into despair.

It’s all my fault. Dipper, Mabel, Sixer, I’m so sorry.

He let out a small sob, hiding his hands beneath his legs so he didn’t have to see them light up when the end of his time in control came, when the end of the world came.

He looked up to see an almost cloudless sky, which felt horribly wrong. The apocalypse was supposed to begin with a red-tinted sunset, or maybe a stormy gray evening. Not with some perfect sunny day.

A song lyric popped into his head, and for some reason he couldn’t help but whisper it.

“Keep smiling through, just like you always do, ‘til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away…”

Says he’s happy, he’s a liar. Blame the arson for the fire.

Lie until you’re not lying anymore.

Stan didn’t hear his brother stumble into the clearing until Ford yelled his name.

“Stanford?” he gasped. No, no no no, this was what he was trying to delay from happening —

“Shit, Stanford, why are you — shitshitshit you gotta get away —”

“Stanley, it’s alright,” Ford told him, his voice calm but his eyes justifiably terrified. To Stan’s horror, he began to walk even closer as he continued trying to sound reassuring. “I’m here now, you don’t need to worry. I don’t know how much you remember right now, but I promise…”

Ford was terrified for the wrong reasons, Stan realized. He was terrified for Stan’s sake, rather than for his own. So he kept walking closer —

Stan jumped up and dodged Ford’s outreached hand, scrambling to the other side of the clearing. He wished he could just disappear into the forest, but Ford would come after him, keep looking for him until it was too late to save himself or save anyone — Stan had to warn him, let Ford know how badly he’d fucked up, how undeserving he’d been of Ford’s trust —

“P-please, Sixer, don’t get any closer! I might — I could — DAMMIT, didn’t you listen to what I just said?! Get the the fuck away — no. Get you and the kids and Soos and Melody and Wendy and — shit, just get everyone away from me! No one deserves — deserves — deserves this!”

He wished he could wipe away his tears, get a clearer view of what Ford was doing, but he didn’t dare to bring his hands out from behind his back, not with Ford so close. He’s not leaving. I need to make him leave, or he and the kids are gonna die and it’ll all be because of me —

“Stanley, please listen to me.” Most people would have thought Ford’s voice sounded brave and determined, but Stanley could tell it was an act, a facade Ford put on with the hope it would help calm down his poor innocent amnesiac hero of a brother. But Ford didn’t know that that brother, that hero, was just a facade himself, a lie accidentally constructed by a stubborn old con man that had just doomed the world — again — and didn’t deserve Ford’s help.

“I don’t know what you’re afraid of, or what you’re remembering, but I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think. We’re all safe now. Trust me, we can —”

“BILL IS BACK, FORD!” Stan yelled.

He hated to break that facade, to destroy the trust Ford placed in him, to ruin the good thing they’d had for close to a year now, but Ford deserved to know — only had a chance of surviving if he knew.

“Listen to me! He’s back and it’s all my fault and he’s in my mind and you gotta get away before he’s completely back and he destroys the whole goddamn town — and who knows what else, because who knows if that barrier will even stop him anymore?!”

Ford was silent for a moment, and Stan couldn’t bring himself to look directly at him, only take brief glances to make sure he wasn’t moving any closer.

“Stanley, I swear Bill is dead,” Ford said slowly — Ford, the stubborn, trusting idiot who had never learned his lesson about putting too much faith in his brother. He launched into a description of all the things he and his hillbilly friend had done to make sure Bill was gone — all the things that meant nothing now, because he didn’t know about the flames, he didn’t know about the nightmares.

“If you’d let me come closer just for a moment, I can verify that you don’t have slit pupils,” Ford slowly continued. He pulled out his phone and added: “Here, I can even use the camera like a mirror so you can see for yourself that everything’s fine. You know that Bill can’t hide those eyes.”

Stan looked to his left and then his right, trying to figure out which way he should run if Ford tried to get any closer.

“Sixer, you don’t understand. You — you don’t have to check anything. I know he’s in here. You’re running out of time to save —”

“How did you — what is it that makes you think that?” Ford interrupted. Of course Ford would never believe it without evidence, but Stan couldn’t bring himself to explain how he knew, to just explain the nightmares and the fire and the feelings even he didn’t understand himself — and even if he could put it into words, Ford still might not believe it. And then what would Stan be able to do then, except…

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation — could it have been a nightmare? Or simply sleep deprivation? I know you haven’t been getting much rest, and that can —”

“Ford, stop,” Stan told him. It would be a gamble to show him — a coin flip, more or less, that could release Bill and doom Ford just as easily as it could convince Ford to save himself… but he wasn’t sure he had a choice. He couldn’t even fucking form coherent sentences at the moment, much less convince his stubborn, trusting, idiot of a brother to leave him behind.

Before he could lose his nerve, Stan raised his right hand in front of him. “If — if you won’t fucking listen to me any other way, I — I’ll — I’ll show you, Sixer. Just look. And please, just… don’t come near me.”

Ford took a step back — the first of many, Stan hoped, and nodded. “I… a-alright.”

Stan closed his eyes. If Bill took over, he didn’t want to see what he’d do to Ford, and even if he remained in control, he still didn’t want to watch Ford’s reaction. He’d seen that horrified, betrayed, angry look on his brother’s face too many times for one lifetime where does that portal really lead? and even though Stan knew he deserved all that anger and horror, he decided in one (last?) act of cowardice that he didn’t want to see it again, didn’t want his last look at his brother to show Ford realizing he’d fallen for such a poorly disguised yet sinister lie.

Stan took a deep breath and called the fire back to his fingertips, and even without opening his eyes he could tell that it had obeyed him.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and a moment later, the sound of panicked footsteps backing away.

About time you finally got smart about me, brainiac, Stan couldn’t help but think — not for the first time, but with much more regret than in the past.

Oblqj wr brxu idplob lv kdug hqrxjk. Krz orqj fdq brx nhhs oblqj wr brxuvhoi?

Thanks for reading! I tried to load this one up with irony and double meanings, and I would really welcome any feedback about that (whether it was to obvious, too subtle, etc). Actually, I’d love any sort of feedback. Please don’t be shy!

(I honestly planned to update this earlier, but first I was focusing on a one-shot and then I was on a road trip with family (still am, technically, but now I have more consistent Internet access). Hopefully this was worth the wait!)

[jeramymobley]

6 Ways To Use Nostalgia In Marketing

While nostalgia marketing isn’t new, it is particularly relevant today at a time when people feel increasingly lonely on one hand and distrust brands and corporations on the other.

Although nostalgia is not for every brand. In some cases, nostalgia can marginalize your brand by emphasizing that it is out of touch and is no longer relevant to consumers. Radio Shack initially scored big with its 2014 Super Bowl ad, featuring icons from the 1980s such as wrestler Hulk Hogan, the iconic DeLorean car from the Back to the Future movie franchise, and extraterrestrial Alf. But its past could not save its future and just three years later Radio Shack filed for bankruptcy, closing its 187 stores for good. To implement nostalgia successfully, your brand must still be valuable and relatable in the present. Here are six ways to use nostalgia in marketing:

1. Leverage Brand Heritage: In a country founded on mobility and opportunity, heritage matters. Everyone loves a good story, and having a heritage story to tell will considerably strengthen your brand. This applies to any category including sports apparel (Patagonia), leather goods (Vuitton, Goyard), Ice Cream (Ben & Jerry’s) or speakers and headphones (Marshall). Charles Bergh, Levi’s CEO, underscores the importance of finding the right balance between heritage and being contemporary. A brand that capitalizes too much on its heritage comes across as old and dusty. Conversely, disregarding history means walking away from one of the brand’s strongest assets.

2. Go On A Scavenger Hunt: Search the corporate basement and attic for old sketches, notes, purchase orders, pictures, products. Pick one or two finds from your scavenger hunt and write a short narrative. What you are looking for is a connection with the past, whether it is with a person (KFC and Colonel Sanders), a place (upmarket Laguiole knives are manufactured in the eponymous city), a purpose (Levi Strauss initially created clothes for gold miners in the early 1850s) or an experience (L.L. Bean started as an outfitter of fishing and hunting supplies).

3. Use Your Close Or Distant Past: You don’t have to have hundreds of years of history to use nostalgia in your marketing. All you need is a time period that your target market is going to feel nostalgic about. As long as your brand was around when your target audience was in its childhood or teenage years, you can use elements of this time period. If by chance your brand is older, you can easily refer to a romanticized and idealized past that your audience did not even live through. Celebrate anniversaries Just like with people, anniversaries mark milestones of brand histories. Anniversaries are a powerful reminder of the viability and tenure of your brand. When implemented properly, they are an easy and powerful marketing tactic. Here’s an example of what not to do: It’s the Goodnight Mattress anniversary weekend!!!! 40 percent OFF!!!! Too good to be true. Prices this weak must be inflated by 40 percent. Or this: Voted #1 mattress store!!! Everything must go!!!! By whom? Who cares?

4. Take Your Customers On A Trip Down Memory Lane: On the day of its 10th year anniversary, Facebook notified its users that a video of their life to date on Facebook was ready to watch. The “look back” compilation was made of 15 of each user’s most-liked status, photos, and life events. A great way for Facebook to remind us of how central the platform has become in our lives and the way we document our memories.

5. Play To Your Customers’ Senses: Of our five senses, smell is the most powerful to recall our childhood memories. At Jenny’s ice cream in Calabasas, California, staff makes waffle cones by hand with an iron prominently displayed at the entrance of the store. As you walk by the store, the smell of warm waffle instantly transports you back to your younger years. Jenny’s ice cream could have set up the waffle maker in the back room. By setting it up at the front, it triggers nostalgia, authenticity, and helps upsell the (more expensive) waffle cone, at no additional marketing cost.

6. Leverage Today’s Technology To Revive Yesterday’s Brands: Polaroid recently launched its Z2300 camera, which merges analog and digital photography by allowing users to save pictures as digital files as well as printing them instantly. Such products enable the 1940s camera company to stay relevant by balancing its nostalgic vibe with modern technology. Polaroid also harnesses the power of Instagram by retaining independent content creators to create premium content for its brand. While being 60 years apart, Polaroid and Instagram fulfill the same meaning for their users: bringing people together by sharing pictures instantly. Hashtags #FBF and #TBT Using the hashtags #FBF (Flashback Friday), and #TBT (Throwback Thursday) are an inexpensive way to spread the word about your brand’s nostalgic appeal.

Where do you want to transport your customer? A simpler time? A happier time? A warmer place? A slower pace?

You will find many more techniques for building brands in my new book Brand Hacks: How to Grow your Brand by Fulfilling the Human Quest for Meaning.

The Blake Project Can Help: Meet the new requirements of competitive advantage in the Branding 4.0 Business 4.0 Workshop (NOW ONLINE)

Branding Strategy Insider is a service of The Blake Project: A strategic brand consultancy specializing in Brand Research, Brand Strategy, Brand Growth and Brand Education

FREE Publications And Resources For Marketers

[abqhouseholdservices]

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[glenmenlow]

6 Ways To Use Nostalgia In Marketing

While nostalgia marketing isn’t new, it is particularly relevant today at a time when people feel increasingly lonely on one hand and distrust brands and corporations on the other.

Although nostalgia is not for every brand. In some cases, nostalgia can marginalize your brand by emphasizing that it is out of touch and is no longer relevant to consumers. Radio Shack initially scored big with its 2014 Super Bowl ad, featuring icons from the 1980s such as wrestler Hulk Hogan, the iconic DeLorean car from the Back to the Future movie franchise, and extraterrestrial Alf. But its past could not save its future and just three years later Radio Shack filed for bankruptcy, closing its 187 stores for good. To implement nostalgia successfully, your brand must still be valuable and relatable in the present. Here are six ways to use nostalgia in marketing:

1. Leverage Brand Heritage: In a country founded on mobility and opportunity, heritage matters. Everyone loves a good story, and having a heritage story to tell will considerably strengthen your brand. This applies to any category including sports apparel (Patagonia), leather goods (Vuitton, Goyard), Ice Cream (Ben & Jerry’s) or speakers and headphones (Marshall). Charles Bergh, Levi’s CEO, underscores the importance of finding the right balance between heritage and being contemporary. A brand that capitalizes too much on its heritage comes across as old and dusty. Conversely, disregarding history means walking away from one of the brand’s strongest assets.

2. Go On A Scavenger Hunt: Search the corporate basement and attic for old sketches, notes, purchase orders, pictures, products. Pick one or two finds from your scavenger hunt and write a short narrative. What you are looking for is a connection with the past, whether it is with a person (KFC and Colonel Sanders), a place (upmarket Laguiole knives are manufactured in the eponymous city), a purpose (Levi Strauss initially created clothes for gold miners in the early 1850s) or an experience (L.L. Bean started as an outfitter of fishing and hunting supplies).

3. Use Your Close Or Distant Past: You don’t have to have hundreds of years of history to use nostalgia in your marketing. All you need is a time period that your target market is going to feel nostalgic about. As long as your brand was around when your target audience was in its childhood or teenage years, you can use elements of this time period. If by chance your brand is older, you can easily refer to a romanticized and idealized past that your audience did not even live through. Celebrate anniversaries Just like with people, anniversaries mark milestones of brand histories. Anniversaries are a powerful reminder of the viability and tenure of your brand. When implemented properly, they are an easy and powerful marketing tactic. Here’s an example of what not to do: It’s the Goodnight Mattress anniversary weekend!!!! 40 percent OFF!!!! Too good to be true. Prices this weak must be inflated by 40 percent. Or this: Voted #1 mattress store!!! Everything must go!!!! By whom? Who cares?

4. Take Your Customers On A Trip Down Memory Lane: On the day of its 10th year anniversary, Facebook notified its users that a video of their life to date on Facebook was ready to watch. The “look back” compilation was made of 15 of each user’s most-liked status, photos, and life events. A great way for Facebook to remind us of how central the platform has become in our lives and the way we document our memories.

5. Play To Your Customers’ Senses: Of our five senses, smell is the most powerful to recall our childhood memories. At Jenny’s ice cream in Calabasas, California, staff makes waffle cones by hand with an iron prominently displayed at the entrance of the store. As you walk by the store, the smell of warm waffle instantly transports you back to your younger years. Jenny’s ice cream could have set up the waffle maker in the back room. By setting it up at the front, it triggers nostalgia, authenticity, and helps upsell the (more expensive) waffle cone, at no additional marketing cost.

6. Leverage Today’s Technology To Revive Yesterday’s Brands: Polaroid recently launched its Z2300 camera, which merges analog and digital photography by allowing users to save pictures as digital files as well as printing them instantly. Such products enable the 1940s camera company to stay relevant by balancing its nostalgic vibe with modern technology. Polaroid also harnesses the power of Instagram by retaining independent content creators to create premium content for its brand. While being 60 years apart, Polaroid and Instagram fulfill the same meaning for their users: bringing people together by sharing pictures instantly. Hashtags #FBF and #TBT Using the hashtags #FBF (Flashback Friday), and #TBT (Throwback Thursday) are an inexpensive way to spread the word about your brand’s nostalgic appeal.

Where do you want to transport your customer? A simpler time? A happier time? A warmer place? A slower pace?

You will find many more techniques for building brands in my new book Brand Hacks: How to Grow your Brand by Fulfilling the Human Quest for Meaning.

The Blake Project Can Help: Meet the new requirements of competitive advantage in the Branding 4.0 Business 4.0 Workshop (NOW ONLINE)

Branding Strategy Insider is a service of The Blake Project: A strategic brand consultancy specializing in Brand Research, Brand Strategy, Brand Growth and Brand Education

FREE Publications And Resources For Marketers

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[joejstrickl]

6 Ways To Use Nostalgia In Marketing

While nostalgia marketing isn’t new, it is particularly relevant today at a time when people feel increasingly lonely on one hand and distrust brands and corporations on the other.

Although nostalgia is not for every brand. In some cases, nostalgia can marginalize your brand by emphasizing that it is out of touch and is no longer relevant to consumers. Radio Shack initially scored big with its 2014 Super Bowl ad, featuring icons from the 1980s such as wrestler Hulk Hogan, the iconic DeLorean car from the Back to the Future movie franchise, and extraterrestrial Alf. But its past could not save its future and just three years later Radio Shack filed for bankruptcy, closing its 187 stores for good. To implement nostalgia successfully, your brand must still be valuable and relatable in the present. Here are six ways to use nostalgia in marketing:

1. Leverage Brand Heritage: In a country founded on mobility and opportunity, heritage matters. Everyone loves a good story, and having a heritage story to tell will considerably strengthen your brand. This applies to any category including sports apparel (Patagonia), leather goods (Vuitton, Goyard), Ice Cream (Ben & Jerry’s) or speakers and headphones (Marshall). Charles Bergh, Levi’s CEO, underscores the importance of finding the right balance between heritage and being contemporary. A brand that capitalizes too much on its heritage comes across as old and dusty. Conversely, disregarding history means walking away from one of the brand’s strongest assets.

2. Go On A Scavenger Hunt: Search the corporate basement and attic for old sketches, notes, purchase orders, pictures, products. Pick one or two finds from your scavenger hunt and write a short narrative. What you are looking for is a connection with the past, whether it is with a person (KFC and Colonel Sanders), a place (upmarket Laguiole knives are manufactured in the eponymous city), a purpose (Levi Strauss initially created clothes for gold miners in the early 1850s) or an experience (L.L. Bean started as an outfitter of fishing and hunting supplies).

3. Use Your Close Or Distant Past: You don’t have to have hundreds of years of history to use nostalgia in your marketing. All you need is a time period that your target market is going to feel nostalgic about. As long as your brand was around when your target audience was in its childhood or teenage years, you can use elements of this time period. If by chance your brand is older, you can easily refer to a romanticized and idealized past that your audience did not even live through. Celebrate anniversaries Just like with people, anniversaries mark milestones of brand histories. Anniversaries are a powerful reminder of the viability and tenure of your brand. When implemented properly, they are an easy and powerful marketing tactic. Here’s an example of what not to do: It’s the Goodnight Mattress anniversary weekend!!!! 40 percent OFF!!!! Too good to be true. Prices this weak must be inflated by 40 percent. Or this: Voted #1 mattress store!!! Everything must go!!!! By whom? Who cares?

4. Take Your Customers On A Trip Down Memory Lane: On the day of its 10th year anniversary, Facebook notified its users that a video of their life to date on Facebook was ready to watch. The “look back” compilation was made of 15 of each user’s most-liked status, photos, and life events. A great way for Facebook to remind us of how central the platform has become in our lives and the way we document our memories.

5. Play To Your Customers’ Senses: Of our five senses, smell is the most powerful to recall our childhood memories. At Jenny’s ice cream in Calabasas, California, staff makes waffle cones by hand with an iron prominently displayed at the entrance of the store. As you walk by the store, the smell of warm waffle instantly transports you back to your younger years. Jenny’s ice cream could have set up the waffle maker in the back room. By setting it up at the front, it triggers nostalgia, authenticity, and helps upsell the (more expensive) waffle cone, at no additional marketing cost.

6. Leverage Today’s Technology To Revive Yesterday’s Brands: Polaroid recently launched its Z2300 camera, which merges analog and digital photography by allowing users to save pictures as digital files as well as printing them instantly. Such products enable the 1940s camera company to stay relevant by balancing its nostalgic vibe with modern technology. Polaroid also harnesses the power of Instagram by retaining independent content creators to create premium content for its brand. While being 60 years apart, Polaroid and Instagram fulfill the same meaning for their users: bringing people together by sharing pictures instantly. Hashtags #FBF and #TBT Using the hashtags #FBF (Flashback Friday), and #TBT (Throwback Thursday) are an inexpensive way to spread the word about your brand’s nostalgic appeal.

Where do you want to transport your customer? A simpler time? A happier time? A warmer place? A slower pace?

You will find many more techniques for building brands in my new book Brand Hacks: How to Grow your Brand by Fulfilling the Human Quest for Meaning.

The Blake Project Can Help: Meet the new requirements of competitive advantage in the Branding 4.0 Business 4.0 Workshop (NOW ONLINE)

Branding Strategy Insider is a service of The Blake Project: A strategic brand consultancy specializing in Brand Research, Brand Strategy, Brand Growth and Brand Education

FREE Publications And Resources For Marketers

[westhavenrvparkandcampground]

Things to Leave Behind:

Gourmet Indulgences

At home, your reputation as a culinary champion is well-documented. And you’ve got every cooking appliance on-call ready to defend that hallowed reputation at a moment’s notice. That’s all well and good for the Duck ala Orange back home, but RVing doesn’t really lend itself to such gourmet faire – not the cooking apparatus to create them. Sure, there’s probably a nook onboard to stick the bread machine. The wok could – in theory – double as a way to haul in firewood. And yes, waking up to a stack of Mickey Mouse waffles (courtesy of that special waffle iron) and a frothy cappuccino (another space-hogging appliance) is indeed a nice treat, but I’m guessing all this superfluous gear is just getting in the way. Naturally, it’s up to you to decide if there’s enough room (and patience) to haul all these things around, but the family would be just as well served by a couple large pots and pans, a placesetting for every member of the crew, and a handful of utensil than such one-trick pony cooking aids listed above.

Can It

While we’re on the subject of food, it’s time to shakedown that ever-expanding pantry of yours, with the shelves laden with canned goods of every persuasion, “just in case.” Many travelers (especially newbies) suffer from a kind of hunger paranoia on their initial few trips. “I’ll just bring along a few cans of soup,” you say. Next thing you know, those innocent little trips to Costco are getting longer and more expensive, creating an army of aluminum onboard. Put the six-pack of refried down and walk away from the shopping cart. All this stuff is adding up, and besides, you’re never going to eat your way through all of it. Planning meals ahead of time is the best way to avoid over packing on foodstuff. Approximate what you’ll need and buy accordingly. Otherwise, the idea of “stocking up” is more appropriate for a Cubs Scout sleepover than a typical RV jaunt. Remember, you can always buy more if you run out.

Tool Time

I respect the pioneering spirit many of us have in terms of servicing our rigs. RVing is one of the last bastions of active do-it-yourselves and I’m certainly not looking to change that. You love your tools, I love my tools. With that said, there’s a limit to what we can (and should do) in terms of service and maintenance on the road, with self-imposed limits on our tools always a smart move. A basic tool kit? You bet – throw it in a compartment and hope you won’t need it. Duct tape? You bet your life. A Home Depot-like inventory taking up every valuable inch in the pass-thru storage? Better not. That ball pine hammer is heavy; that collection of socket wrenches for every occasion isn’t feather-light, either. Ask yourself two questions before bring tools along. First, Am I likely to need this tool? Second, Do I know what this tool is for? If you answer No to either probe, leave it on the workbench in the basement.

Getting Tanked

Water is heavy. Don’t’ believe me? Just ask the poor motorhome lugging around that 100 gallons of fresh water and who-knows-how full the tanks are in terms of the gray and black. Even half-empty tanks can add hundreds of needless pounds to your travels, weight that could be used instead for a drum set, a dozen extra pair of shoes, and Uncle Vern. Get in the habit of dumping tanks early and often. While it’s always good to keep a small level of fluids in those tanks (to prevent materials from sticking, for instance), as a rule less is definitely more. And unless the trip calls for a secluded, boon docking (e.g. dry camping) getaway, you can probably skimp on the fresh water tank by connecting to the campground’s aqua supply.

Storage Enhancers

I don’t fault the design or the use of extra carrying devices such as a roof-mounted storage pod, an auxiliary trailer, or a receiver/hitch-mounted bin for extra items. The problem comes when an RVer then believe it’s his or her duty to fill the newfound space to capacity, which only lends to an overloaded condition. If you’re disciplined enough to know about such an impact to your RV’s GVWR, great. However, if you’re about as likely to visit the dentist as a weigh station, it’s probably a good idea to skip these add-ons. They’ll only feed your over packing desires, worsen aerodynamics and/or fuel economy, and make loading/off-loading that much more of a chore.

More here!

[homedevises]

31 Things You Didn’t Know About House Interiors Designs | house interiors designs

A collaborative New York-based practice, a Milan duo, and three alone talents are in the active for the hotly contested Artist of the Year as voted for by our academician and adeptness jury. See the absolute Judges’ Awards examination here.

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India Mahdavi

This year, Iranian-born artist India Mahdavi lent her alluringly aberrant eyes to macaron able Ladureée’s new salon de thé in Tokyo and additionally took the reins on the renaissance of the Monte-Carlo Beach hotel, evoking homesickness for the Riviera of the 1920s. She arranged a beheld bite during Salone del Mobile with a accumulating for bath specialist Bisazza Bagno, presenting soft, adaptable curves in three adorable shades – pistachio, blueberry and birthmark – and additionally advised a pop-up bistro for Nilufar Gallery, complete with Mahdavi-drawn patterns on a across-the-board cottony mural.

Established: 1999Based: ParisKey projects: Bath accumulating for Bisazza Bagno; pop-up bistro for gallerist Nina Yashar; rugs for Golran; Ladurée salon in Tokyo; Monte-Carlo Beach hotel

Snarkitecture

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Daniel Arsham, Alex Mustonen and Ben Porto, who calm accomplish up Snarkitecture, activated their signature connected appearance to a ambit of contempo projects, including ‘Fractured’ basement for Berlin casting Pentatonic, which was complete from post-consumer decay and ergonomically heat-formed into a two-seater bench. The flat additionally created an accession with Caesarstone during Milan Architecture Week exploring the alteration forms of baptize and, in July, it acclaimed its tenth altogether with an exhibition, advantaged ‘Fun House’, featuring a all-embracing foam-block gabled house, at the National Building Museum in Washington DC. It launched its countdown monograph, accoutrement added than 70 projects, and additionally ventured into fashion, accommodating on an accession with COS that complex a coil marble run abeyant from the beam of the Gana Art Gallery in Seoul.

Established: 2008Based: New YorkKey projects: ‘Fractured’ bank for Pentatonic; ‘Altered States’ accession for Caesarstone; accession for COS; ‘Slip’ armchair for UVA

Piero Lissoni

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Lissoni has had a abounding year. He steered the barrage of Velò, a accumulating of copse finishes fabricated application avant-garde technology devised by copse appearance aggregation Alpi. He additionally active the acceptable cast-iron radiator in accord with Antrax IT �� casting in recyclable aluminium in bristles arresting finishes, the ‘Waffle’ balances technicality and architecture fluidity. His ‘Grid’ table for Glas Italia, featuring an centralized metal mesh, is a assignment in affable transparency, while his avant-garde multi-living ‘I-table’ for Kartell additionally doubles up as a baby cooktop. For celebrated aperture handle aggregation Olivari, he offered a simple, slender, failing design, while his soybean-inspired ‘Eda-Mame’ daybed for B&B Italia is a admixture of three altered types of basement – high-back chair, accessible armchair and pouf.

Established: 1986Based: MilanKey projects: Velò for Alpi; ‘Waffle’ radiator for Antrax IT; ‘Grid’ table for Glas Italia; ‘I-table’ for Kartell; ‘Plume’ aperture handle for Olivari; ‘Eda-Mame’ daybed for B&B Italia

Pierre Yovanovitch

This year, French autogenous artist Pierre Yovanovitch added his acceptability for authentic style, in which accustomed capacity are affiliated with avant-garde forms. He launched his admission appliance collection, ‘Oops’, at a alone exhibition at R & Company, New York. At the Architecture Parade Toulon festival, the accumulating was displayed in the accommodation of ‘Mademoiselle Oops’, alone by its fabulous aborigine and larboard complete for visitors to discover. Included in the accumulating was Yovanovitch’s characteristic ‘Papa Bear’, ‘Mama Bear’ and ‘Baby Bear’ chairs based on the Goldilocks fairytale. Anything but a one-hit wonder, Yovanovitch has accepted himself to be a adept of both furniture-making and scenography.

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Established: 2001Based: ParisKey projects: Admission appliance collection, ‘Oops’; assorted interiors projects, including the redesign of a 1910 clandestine abode in Brussels and an accommodation on Paris’ Larboard Bank

Studiopepe

Studiopepe has become accepted for its aesthetic furniture, altar and interiors. Contempo architecture collaborations with the brand of Agape, CC Tapis, Botteganove, Atelier de Troupe and Solid Nature authenticate how founders Arianna Lelli Mami and Chiara Di Pinto accept transitioned from set designers to ample creatives. The flat showcased its biggy achievement with the Club Unseen installation. A anchorage from the animated fizz of this year’s Salone del Mobile, it was conceived as a clandestine members’ club that spanned seven audible rooms. It featured bespoke interiors that alloyed clear shapes, filigree patterns, pastels and brownish finishes and complex all the new pieces launched this year by the duo, including three wallpaper patterns advised for Wall & Decò. The Milanese accouterments has additionally angry its duke to fashion, teaming up with womenswear characterization Alysi to architecture a adult bazaar in which the accouterment and interiors allotment a accepted cilia – a beeline beam anatomy of atramentous metal cleverly alluding to accouterment racks.

Established: 2006Based: MilanKey projects: Club Unseen at Milan Architecture Week; appearance bazaar for Alysi in Milan; a attic for Amsterdam homewares abundance Co van der Horst §

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[bigjohnsadventuresintravel]

LIfe is Good When You're the King of Bruges

I used to be a run-of-the-mill, regular Joe just like the rest of you. I did all my extensive shopping at Walmart; got my six-dollar haircuts at Superclips; and spent my annual vacations at the Shady Palms motel, conveniently located only a breezy twenty-minute walk from the beach. I’ve never owned multiple properties (or any property not on cinder-blocks for that matter); I’ve never mingled with celebrities; and I’ve certainly never claimed to come from any line of royalty. I was an ordinary Andy, trying to do my best just to survive that daily grind. This would have been the sad and mundane story of my life, had not a simple DNA testing kit changed everything.

               The kit that changed everything.

  When my wife told me she picked up something intimate and personal for my 45th birthday, I was thinking Victoria’s Secret for sure. Every woman knows that there’s no greater gift than to dazzle her man in something made of satin and lace. Well, apparently in my wife’s inner-circle, she was never privy to such valuable information. In my wife’s inner circle, the very best birthday gifts are those that you never knew you wanted. So, you can only imagine my feigned excitement and very real surprise when I unwrapped a DNA testing kit called 23andMe. Honestly though, it was a thoughtful and unique gift. Had I known that I would soon be filling a large vial with spit, I just would’ve eaten less chocolate and Doritos prior to opening it.

After mailing off the completed kit, It only took about 3 short weeks before the results were back in. By that time, I had totally forgotten I had sent the thing away. I had even stopped asking my wife why it was we never really celebrated my birthday. Frankly, my wife was a bit more eager to see the report than I was. Those sort of things are expected though when you’re constantly asking yourself the question, “Who the heck did I marry… and why?” Anyways, nothing could have prepared us for what my lab results would reveal (posted below).

       Ancestry Composition:

       European – 99.3%/ Other – 0.7% 

British & Irish – 47.5%

Eastern European – 10.0%

French & German – 7.7%

Scandinavian – 2.7%

Iberian – 1.8%

Broadly Northwestern European – 25.7%

Broadly Southern European – 0.3%

Broadly European – 3.9%

King of Bruges, Belgium – 0.7%

It wasn’t the discovery of my Anglo-Saxon roots that sent a shockwave down my spine. Anybody that has ever seen me on a dance floor would’ve contested to my heritage. It was the last line of my report; that last line that told me I had always been destined for greatness; that last line that informed me I was so much better than all of you commoners who aren’t 0.7% royalty. Within a week of receiving my DNA report, I had sold off my prized purple Dodge Neon and vacated the Exquisite Estates trailer park forever. With two economy-class tickets, my queen and I were off… off on a one-way mission to fulfill my destiny, take my seat as the rightful Lord of Flanders, and proclaim myself “King of all Bruges”.

  [evp_embed_video url=”http://bigjohnsadventuresintravel.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/Bruges-movie-1.mov”]

A short video clip in the center of Bruges, Belgium.

  Bruges, Belgium, a UNESCO world heritage site, is the capital city of the province of West Flanders. Due to its numerous canals, Bruges is often referred to as the Venice of the North. During the Golden Age (12th to 15th century), Bruges was considered one of the most important commercial cities in all of Europe. Foreigners, most notably Portuguese tradesmen, would regularly travel to Bruges to barter their peppers and other exotic spices.

    The Kruispoort Gate is one of four remaining gates leading into the famous walled city of Bruges.

The Kruispoort Gate was the first structure I encountered upon my arrival in Bruges. Built in 1400 AD, the Kruispoort Gate was said to have been used by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Napoleon, and the entire German army back in World War II. Considering it was the closest thing I had ever seen to a real-life castle, I decided then and there I would claim it as my regal abode. My only real concern was whether or not it had WIFI.

  Rebecca stands ready to measure the drapes at the Kruispoort Gate.

  Bastiaan the Bell-ringer greets the next king of Bruges.

As luck would have it, Bastiaan the Bell-ringer was the first person I encountered when arriving at the gate. Judging by his traditional garb, I immediately recognized him to be a prestigious representative of the city. When presented  with the undisputable evidence of my 23andMe report, Bastiaan wasted no time rendering a curtsy and asking how he might be of service. I instructed Bastiaan to prepare the Kruispoort to serve as my future castle-home. I then ordered him to assign me some temporary lodging until my dwelling was made suitable for its royal inhabitants.

  Bastiaan informed me that he would require a hundred or so Euros to purchase the renovation supplies needed to restore my castle up to city-code. After paying the guy his money, I was advised to report to Hotel Duke’s Palace and tell them, “Bastiaan the Bell-ringer sent me”. Before leaving, Bastiaan ensured me that my castle would be ready in only a couple of days. He told me that he would toll the bells of the belfry seven times when he was ready for my return. Even though it wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and Bastiaan appeared drunker than Cooter Brown, I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t deliver on his promise.

  Cobblestone streets leading into the center of Historic Bruges

  The Hotel Duke’s Palace is the former residence of Burgundian aristocrats and features 110 luxurious rooms.

The Hotel Duke’s palace was even more exquisite than what Bastiaan had described. Unfortunately, the proprietors were unacquainted with my bell-ringing friend and they were equally unimpressed with my royal bloodline. Oh, the insolence of some people! To think, he had the nerve to ask me to pay money like I’m some sort of common guest. I see now it won’t be easy restoring the rule of law around these parts. I was going to have to rule with an iron fist.

  Rebecca stands on the balcony of our room at the beautiful  B&B in Bruges.

After receiving such a cold reception at the Hotel Duke’s palace, I was prepared to return to my castle and give Bastiaan a piece of my mind. Rebecca advised against it and informed me that she had already gone with her “plan B”. Apparently she had hatched this alternate plan prior to our arrival into town. As I soon discovered, we already had beautiful accommodations awaiting us at the B&B in Bruges.

    The B&B in Bruges offered us a wonderful stay and the owner treated us like proper royalty. Situated close to the historical city center, the house was in close walking distance to all of that Bruges had to offer. My favorite thing about being a guest there had to be the breakfast served each morning. The owner served both hot and cold breakfast items. He was more than accomodating and went out of his way to fix any type of eggs that one might request. His Belgium-styled omelette comes highly recommended!

  Our private suite came with a sitting room, bedroom, private bathroom, and a balcony that overlooked the medieval streets.

  It’s tea-time for Rebecca!

  Looking down into the courtyard from our suite.

  This old stove was the charming centerpiece in the basement kitchen of B&B Bruges.

  A table set for royalty.

  A delicious breakfast is prepared daily at B&B in Bruges.

  Rebecca looks out over Bruges from the vantage point of her balcony.

  As the official king of Bruges, I only drink official Bruges Beer!

  If you have a taste for Belgium beers, the city has three active breweries.

  I imagine the owner of this moped probably stays pretty thirsty!

  There she is, the queen of Bruges!

  The De Vlaamsche Pot, pictured in the background serves traditional Flemish cuisine to include pancakes and waffles.

  While walking around the streets of Bruges for the first time, I pretty much stayed incognito. I didn’t want all of the cheering crowds and excessive bowing that might interfere with me getting a good feel for the place. There would be plenty of time later for people to shower me with praises and swear their eternal allegiance to me. In the meantime, I assumed the role of a lowly American tourist; and with iPhone in hand, I went about snapping photos of everything!

  Because of its numerous canals, Bruges has been deemed the Venice of the North.

  Her future is so bright, she should really start wearing shades!

      Boatloads of villagers arrive at the city square to pay homage to their new king!

As it turned out, the boat went motoring right on past me. Apparently they were just on one of the many canal tours offered daily in Bruges. It appeared that Bastiaan the Bell-ringer hadn’t yet gotten around to informing city officials of my fresh arrival.

    The Bourgogne des Flandres brews a delicious red-brown Flemish beer and offers regular tasting tours. 

During the 15th century, beer was one of Bruges’ chief exports. At that time, the fortified city had over 50 breweries in operation. Bruges produces a blonde Belgium beer so delicious that even American brewing companies often try to replicate it. Blue Moon and Shocktop are just two American versions of their highly-regarded product. As my first official duty as King of Bruges, I decided to inspect the local breweries and make sure their beers were still up to specification. This work would require due diligence and a lot of sampling, but a king’s work is never done.

  Bicycles and Breweries in Bruges

  The Chocolatier Dumon offers artisan chocolates in the heart of medieval Bruges.

Chocolate production in Belgium dates as far back as the 17th century, To this day, Belgian chocolate makes up a major part of the country’s industry and is widely associated with Belgium’s culture and identity.

  Window-shopping is always fun while out on a romantic stroll in this picturesque city.

  Truffles galore!

  They take the term sinful chocolate to an entirely different level!

  Belgium waffles were originaly called Brussels waffles. The name was eventually changed because many Americans didn’t identify Brussels as being Belgium’s capital city.

  A plate of rabbit or Flemish stew is the typical fare in Bruges.

  Käthe Wohlfahrt is a well-known German company that sells traditional Bavarian Christmas decorations. The window display reminded me of my mother’s Christmas displays when I was a child.

  A pair of lions guard the city’s coat of arms atop this decorative fountain.

  Bruges offers many well-traveled paths offering unique shopping experiences.

      The Belfry of Bruges is the town’s most recognizable feature. During the Middle Ages, this 83-meter-high tower served as the town’s treasury and contained all of its coffers.

  Visitors are challenged to climb all 366 steps of the belfry for a spectactular view of the fairytale city below.

    Big John poses in front of the statue of Jan Breydel and Pieter de Coninck on the Grote Markt.

  In 1309, Jan Breydel and Pieter de Coninck became the heroes of Bruges after leading a bloody uprising against occupying French forces. 

    Bruges’ market square features numerous open-air dining opportunities.

  The Town Hall in Castle Square, Bruges

  After spending two glorious days touring the city of Bruges, I started to become a bit apprehensive. Whatever became of Bastiaan the Bell-ringer. Why had he not yet signaled me from the belfry, informing me that my castle was move-in ready? At this point, perhaps a bit of investigating was in order.

  The King of Bruges stands for a photo in front of one of Bruges’ numerous churches.

On our way back to the Kruispoort Gate, we continued to explore all of Bruges beautiful Gothic structures and medieval atttractions.

  A scene of Jesus’ crucifixion adorns this exterior city wall.

  Throughout the centuries, houses of worship remained a constant and abundant source of spiritual enlightenment for the citizens of Bruges. The city has no shortage of churches, monasteries, abbeys, cathedrals and chapels.

  A sculpture of “God the Father” inside St. Salvator’s Cathedral

  The sight of McDonald’s hamburgers made me feel not so far from home.

I wonder if Ray Kroc ever envisioned his burgers would become internationally known?

  A pedestrian crosses the canal on a traditional stone bridge.

  Rebecca could care less about who was king of the castle; she was enjoying herself just exploring all of the wonderful sights!

  Rows of colorful brick houses line the canals.

  Visitors to Bruges can take a short walk along the ramparts to see all of Bruges’ beautiful windmills. 

During our search for the elusive bell-ringer, Rebecca and I happened upon a line of charming windmills once used to grind corn and other grains.

    Rebecca explores the site of the Sint-Janshuismill.

Built in 1770, the Sint-Janshuismill is the oldest windmill in Bruges and the only one standing at its original site. This mill is also the only one with a museum inside open to the public.

  Rebecca teased me that the wooden steps leading up to the windmill almost shattered under my weight. I might need to lay off the beer for awhile!

    With minimal automobile traffic, the medieval city of Bruges is best explored on bicycle or by foot.

    Much of these houses have stood here for hundreds of years.

  There’s nothing Rebecca enjoys more than drinking tap water from a medieval city well! She has an iron stomach.

  Rebecca was illustrating how people in medieval times were once no taller than me.

She then went on to say that my 23andMe report was wrong. I did not belong in Belgium at all. I belonged in New Zealand with the Bagginses and the rest of the Hobbits  (She always has a way of saying just the right things to make me feel good.)

      The Provincial Court building in Bruges’ Market Square 

  I may not have been in town long, but something in that canal seemed drastically out of place!

  This blue whale, named “skyscraper”, was created from 5 tons of plastic pulled out of the Pacific Ocean.

  Big John poses in front of the big plastic whale to raise awareness of our littered oceans.

  My baby-doll stands in front of the Jan Van Eyck statue.

Jan Van Eyck was an early Netherlands painter who did much of his life’s work in the walled city of Bruges. Eyck was considered one of the greatest Northern European painters of the 15th century.

  I thought these bikes lined up along the cobblestone street offered a classic glimpse of life in Belgium.

    I snapped this picture for Rebecca who by now was desperately missing her cat.

  Rebecca stands in front of the Basilica of the Holy Blood. This Roman Catholic site is alleged to house a sample of blood taken from the body of Jesus Christ. The blood was said to have been originally collected by Joseph of Arimathea and then brought from the Holy Land during the Crusades.

    The setting sun casts a splash of color along the bricks and cobblestones of this ancient street.

    The Historium in Bruges’ market square offers a virtual reality experience sending visitors back to the Golden Age.

After spending two unforgettable nights in Bruges, we eventually found our way back to Bastiaan the Bell ringer and the Kruispoort Gate. Bastiaan was located nearby, tucked away under a stairwell and sleeping off a Belgian-bottled binge. I roused him from his slumber and inquired as to the availability of my castle. “Haven’t you heard?”, the bell-ringer asked, “Wilbur from Minot, North Dakota, arrived in town just yesterday. He had a DNA report revealing himself to be .08% the King of Bruges. He’s already paid me to set up his residency in the belfry tower.”

I spent the next hour or so drowning my tears at the closest tavern. I can’t believe that I lost my entire kingdom over a mere fraction of a decimal point. I didn’t stay upset for too long though. Rebecca reminded me that, no matter what, I would always be her king (Rebecca always knows just what to say to cheer me up). Life is good when you’re the king of Bruges!

  Whether you are a king or a commoner, Bruges Belgium is worthy of your visit.

Happy travels and… all hail the king,

Big John

[aaronsniderus]

Smart Ideas for Organizing Every Room in Your House

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Sometimes it can feel like keeping your house organized is fighting a losing battle. As soon as you tidy up one room, another room falls into disarray. Not only is it physically exhausting, but living in a perpetually disorganized space can take a toll on your stress levels as you’re constantly noticing things that need to be tidied.

Ready to commit to having a truly organized home that’s not only nice to look at, but nice to live in? Read on for some of our tips and recommendations for how to win the battle of organization.

Kitchen

The key to keeping an organized kitchen: have a place for everything and keep junk off the counters. This is a good tip for every room of your house, but kitchen counters seem to be especially prone to accumulating clutter.

Allocate space for items you use every day, like your toaster or coffee maker, but don’t let your counters turn into a display for every random single-purpose appliance you own (i.e. find a spot in the cabinet for your waffle iron).

If you have a lot of things you need within arm’s reach, try hanging storage to free up counter space. Stick some adhesive bins to the wall and keep utensils, spices or other small necessities handy.

Try to avoid letting things that aren’t meant for storage, like the top of your fridge, turn into storage space. While it might be helpful to have the extra space if you have small cabinets, turning every flat surface in your kitchen into a designated spot for old newspapers, cookbooks or your big tub of protein powder can make the room look too busy.

Go through your fridge and pantry and throw out anything that’s expired. Try using storage bins to separate foods by type.

Sticking a few shelf inserts into your cabinets is an easy and renovation-free way to give yourself double the space and make the inside of your cabinets look much neater. Placing racks in your cabinets will allow you to keep pots, pans and lids organized as well.

Regular recyclers might find it helpful to have a dedicated spot for recyclables that are waiting to go out. Consider investing in a two-in-one trash can, with two separate inner buckets inside one container. It might take up a little bit more space than your current trash can, but it’ll help keep old cans and bottles off the counters.

Adhesive organizer bins – $10 – $18

Pantry storage bins – $45 (set of 3)

Cabinet organizer shelf – $18

Cabinet organizer rack – $15

Recycler trash can – $170

Bedroom

A well-organized bedroom can do wonders for your mental health, so don’t cut corners when it comes to tidying the place up (looking at you, people who shove all their extra stuff in the closet and call it “clean”).

Start with going through all the clothes you own and tossing anything you no longer wear. If it’s something you haven’t worn in the past year or if it doesn’t fit anymore, donate it. If it’s irreparably damaged or stained, throw it out.

While you’re in your closet, go through everything you shoved in there for “storage” and throw out stuff you don’t need. If you get sentimental and can’t bear to part with any of it, pick up some big plastic storage bins from the store and consider migrating these items to another room of the house, like the basement. The room you sleep in shouldn’t double as long-term storage.

Once you have your closet cleared of clutter, consider if you need to add any organizational items to make it more orderly. A tiered shoe rack, for example, will make your closet look more put together. Plus, it’ll make it easier to pick out a pair of shoes because they’ll all be conveniently on display for you.

Your next step is to create space for all the floating objects you regularly use, the things that always seem to end up fighting for space on the top of your dresser or slung over the back of that one chair in your room.

Wall hooks are great for consolidating any hangable items you use regularly, like your bathrobe or favorite lounging sweatshirt. Find one that doubles as a shelf and you’ll really be maximizing your space.

Stop leaving your laptop wherever you last happened to use it (like in bed). Find a safe spot and commit to keeping it there when you’re not using it. Bonus points if you create a “charging station” at a spot near an outlet where it can be left charging.

Look for ways to create storage space that doubles as décor. For example, an Art Deco style nightstand with ample drawer space will provide a nice statement piece for your bedroom while giving you a place to keep books, chargers and anything else you might need nearby when you’re in bed. Placing a colorful storage bench at the end of your bed not only gives you an additional place to sit, but a place to store throw blankets and pillows as well.

20-gallon storage bin – $15

3-tier shoe rack – $26

Wall shelf with hooks – $80

Accent nightstand with drawers – $200

Upholstered storage bench – $106

Bathroom

Because bathrooms tend to be small, they can easily start to look disorganized if you don’t regularly declutter the space.

If you have a tendency to hoard old products on the off chance that you might need them, do yourself a favor and toss them. The likelihood of you getting invited to a last-minute 80s party is slim to none, so that extra strong hold hairspray is just taking up space in the meantime.

Once you’ve thrown away all the things you don’t need, start organizing the things you do. If you have the counter space for it, a cosmetic organizer or vanity tray will corral all your everyday necessities so they look nice and orderly while being readily available.

If you don’t have a lot of built-in storage space and don’t have a ton of room for any additional storage units, consider making the most of the room’s vertical space with a shelf tower. These tall, thin shelving units can be nice décor pieces that add storage space without taking up a lot of room.

If your organization efforts make your bathroom space look a little too utilitarian for your taste, there are some organizational items you can buy that offer form and function. A trendy toilet paper holder is a classy way to store toilet paper and free up space underneath your sink. Plus, your guests will thank you when they don’t have to scramble to figure out where the extra rolls are kept.

Mounting a towel bar will make your space look more organized (nothing says messy quite like a pile of damp, smelly towels) and get you a couple more uses out of your towel before you have to wash it.

If you don’t have any shelf space in your shower, a caddy that hangs from the shower head will provide a convenient place for you to keep your shampoo and conditioner. No more accidentally (and loudly) knocking bottles off the lip of the tub.

Tiered cosmetic organizer – $25

Bathroom shelf tower – $82

Toilet paper holder – $26

Wall-mounted towel bar – $10

Shower caddy – $15

Living Room

The level of organization in your living room will heavily depend on your lifestyle. If you have kids or use the living room quite a bit, you’re probably going to need to do a little more tidying up than someone whose living room is mostly for show.

If you’re someone whose living room functions as a multi-purpose room – office, dining room, kid and pet play area, occasional bedroom when you’re too tired to turn off the TV and go to bed – your first step is probably to take care of any extraneous items that might be cluttering up the space. Things like slippers, half-empty food containers, books, toys and the like should be put away.

If you have a kid or pet with a lot of toys that are always strewn all over the floor, consider purchasing a toy chest or basket where these items can be kept when they’re not in use.

Fold any blankets in the room and return them to their designated spots. If you have a lot of blankets, an ottoman with storage space inside can be a good place to keep them between naps.

If you have a lot of books, you might benefit from a coffee table with a lower shelf, to give you a place to neatly display them. Get one with drawers as well and you have a convenient spot to keep reading glasses, an e-reader or any other random little device or trinket you use regularly.

People who own a lot of DVDs can stay organized with a TV stand that comes with cabinets or shelves. Having cabinet storage in your living room is nice because it can hide any useful but unsightly items (like your old board game collection), making the room look more appealing and cohesive.

And finally, to help you answer the age-old question of the disorganized living room dweller, “Where is the remote?” place a stylish tray on your coffee table and designate that as the “remote spot.” Not only will you never lose a remote again, you can use it to consolidate all the items that are normally scattered about the surface of the table, making it look much tidier.

Wooden toy chest – $50

Storage ottoman – $184

Coffee table with storage space – $300

TV stand with cabinets – $209

Coffee table tray – $38

Laundry Room

Keeping a laundry room looking organized can be a little tricky, but ultimately, it’s all about maximizing the space you have and having a place for everything.

If you don’t already have a spot to hang damp items, consider installing one. A curtain rod or a shelf with a bar for clothing hangers will help keep your clothes tidy and out of the way while they dry. Just make sure whatever you use is sturdy enough to hold the weight of wet clothes.

If you need a place to air dry clothes but are working in a really tight space, a retractable clothesline might be a better option. Because it’s retractable when it’s not in use, it’s out of the way.

If you don’t have a lot of room and find yourself running short on spaces to store things, don’t be afraid to utilize all the wall space you can. Wall-mounted storage is easy to come by and simple to install. Wall-mounted baskets can be a great way to add storage space for all your cleaning products, especially if you don’t have any cabinets or shelves.

Another item you might want to add for the sake of cleanliness is a plastic mat for muddy footwear. Since laundry rooms can sometimes end up being the storage space for wet umbrellas, dirty sneakers and dripping snow boots, it’s helpful to have a place to put these items that can be easily cleaned and keeps mud off your floor.

If you do a lot of laundry, a laundry cart might prove useful in your organizational efforts. Get one with multiple bags for sorting clothes and a table that allows for quick and convenient laundry folding.

Heavy duty laundry room organizer – $200

Retractable clothesline – $12

Wall-mounted storage basket – $50

Boot tray – $6

Laundry hamper cart with folding table – $90

What are your top tips for staying organized at home? Share them in the comments!

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