#salvage cars for sale

[benzeenautoparts2024]

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[bonebrokebuddy]

@kodedgeekthings eyo you mentioned wanting a dpxdc prompt for Howard, Batman’s mechanic!

Harold misses fixing toys for kids and in his off hours has taken up the habit of answering questions on forums about machining, electrical, engineering, mechanics, and mechanical design that are often frequented by students.

One day, he comes across a request by a college student who is trying to assemble his own car out of scrap he bought from a local wrecking yard.

Ghostly_Boy states that he has previous experience in machining and can make replacements for broken or too-damaged parts if need be, but he doesn’t know where to start and what specific requirements he needs to reach to ensure it’s street legal.

Harold willing to help, he answers a few of Ghostly Boy’s clarifying questions:

- Great questions!

It’s good to note that if you’re not careful, fixing or making your own car from parts can be a moneysink and can cost you more than a brand new vehicle. - That being said, your first major step to ensuring you can drive the car is to get the title of the body/frame of the car you plan to build. It’ll have the VIN on a plate welded to the frame usually near the lower edge of the windshield wipers on the drivers side. It’s how the DMV identifies vehicles for licensing.

- Generally, you’ll at first get a “wreck out” title that shows the vehicle is listed as a total loss, but if you can assemble the parts for the car with that frame, the DMV can check if it’s properly running and road worthy & license for you to use it on public roads if you’ve done the proper paperwork.

- Once that is done, it’s largely a case of getting the right parts and assembling them. Depending on how much you have to repair, you could be taking on a task that could give a challenge to even a seasoned mechanic. There may be additional paperwork depending on what exactly you need to repair, like the breaks, lights, steering, etc.

- If you want to build the car entirely from scratch, chassis and all, that’s an entirely different story with a much more complicated list of requirements to make it street legal, so getting a frame from a junkyard is a great first step!

- Make sure to keep all bills of sale, junkyard receipts, invoices and manufacturers’ certificates on any major parts you used in building the vehicle to prove its road worthy to the DMV when it’s complete!

Harold doesn’t always answer first but over time he’s found the adventures of this kid amusing and keeps up with it.

Ghostly_Boy keeps the forum updated with his progress:

The kid spontaneously deciding to scrap the wiring system and make his own in a span of 3 days, leaving experienced mechanics on the forum practically screaming at the kid for his updates showing him using random wires he salvaged and pigtailing them together to get the length of wire he needed.

Mixing not only multiple types of wires but ones that didn’t have the protection needed for auto use. DIY-ing his own relay and fuses he didn’t have and connecting the wrong grounds and switches. And planning on leaving the wires unwrapped and loose.

Leaving Ghost to promptly redo the wiring, correctly this time, within 78 hours.

Making a repair of a massive rusted hole on the passenger side by the bumper and the front tire via cutting 1/2in past the rust, grinding it pretty and clean, tac & seam welding the vintage aluminum housing material of a toaster to cover the hole to the response of Harold and many others in the forum just going “… I guess that would work?”

Harold and many others telling the kid that this “ectoplasm” material wasn’t cleared through the EPA’s Clear Air Act and could be illegal to drive with it as it’s fuel source unless he got the emissions tested & the center of gravity of the car adjusted to have the center of gravity a gas car has, it wouldn’t pass Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards. Nor would the previously untested on material make it easy or quick to get an Emissions testing certificate. Best to just stick with gas.

Removing what he thought was a “skid plate” that turned out to be another rusted out section on the frame on the bottom of his car and repairing it with steel he salvaged from an old medical table he had laying around. (To the multiple slightly confused commenters asking how Ghost had a spare medical table, he replied, “eh, my folks visit every so often and they’ve been giving me things they’re clearing out of the house so they can move closer to my older sister. I just so happened to get the ye olde medical table. They’re an odd couple of folks but that’s why I love them.”)

People just crying at the kid to go to rockauto.com and just buy the damn parts he needs for his car. (A good resource btw)

The kid kept cutting corners to save cash but through the badgering of Harold and many others that he actually would have to spend money to make this car be safe to drive in, he finally got it completed.

Ghost’s post of him leaving DMV waving the updated title to the car in its envelope in the air, titled, “THE DMV FINALLY SAID IT WASN’T A FIRE HAZARD! ONLY TOOK 2 YEARS! THANKS EVERYONE!” Got the most amount of responses he’d ever had with congratulations from lurkers and previous commenters.

Over the course of those two years, Danny learned how to draw his own wiring diagrams, properly solder and weld, and learning to actually plan out his projects so he got it right at least the fifth time instead of the 20th. Not bad for a kid that went straight from graduating high school with a 1.5GPA to construction jobs.

But after finally getting the car approved, Ghostly_Boy returns to the forum with a new problem. Lamenting that his parents keep coming over and “modifying” his car to no longer make it street legal.

At this point, about half of the answers to the submission think it’s either a joke project taken very, very seriously with a good chunk of money behind it, or a kid with parents that have narrowly avoided falling completely down the mad scientist rogue rabbit hole.

After all, what sort of parent would think that the DMV would approve to “anti-ghost missiles” being attached to the outer body of the car? Either way, the submissions always had video attached showing a demonstration, proving that Ghost wasn’t just completely yanking their chain. And a good amount of money would have to be sunken in to not only pay for the fines Ghostly continued to get from the additions to his car, but to actually manufacture and make a unique working product for each plea for help request.

Harold is not only taking notes on some of these defense measures but also decides to bring up the boy to Alfred. Intrigued, they together keep an eye on Ghostly_Boy. Bruce may be their employer, but they can handle a case or two on their own.

- I wanted Danny to try to make smth for himself now that he doesn’t have access to his parent’s lab anymore but he also doesn’t have access to ectoplasm so he’s fairly unfamiliar how to wire things Not for ectoplasmic standards.

Also I wanted to make a prompt where Danny had a good relationship with his parents & went into a fairly realistic job after high school with his fairly bad GPA so he’s saving up for a technical school via construction jobs as he doesn’t like the idea of working fast food for understandable reasons.

[year2000electronics]

Are bud and honey good parents In your reverse au?

YES THEY ARE (i assume you mean mrs gleeful (i guess mrs pines in reverse falls lol) cos my headcanon name for me is Hope :] close enough) they’re definitely a bit of a dysfunctional family in canon gravity falls and a lot of people speculate on stuff but i don’t really think they’re monsters or anything. they’re just a group of people in a small town whos kid found an amulet that made him even worse and things just went out of control from there. for the record i don’t buy into any of the batshit stuff people tend to theorize about mrs gleeful i think she’s just stressed out and has given up on trying to salvage any sense of normalcy 😭😭 especially cos her husbands kinda gideon’s main mentor with the showbiz stuff

OH MY GOD OKAY IM RAMBLING this is supposed to be about reverse bud and hope i need to calm myself.

but yeah since gideon isn’t the one in the tent of telepathy this time he’s not a showbiz kid so their relationship is pretty sweet :] though bud does love to use gideon in his business endeavours (he switches them constantly, bud’s auto + shack of mystery is only his most current venture) where like. y’know how sometimes marketing people will tell you to hold a cute animal to seem approachable? yeah bud will hold up gideon like “look how cute my son is :) do you want to buy a used car”

gideon loves his parents but because of there not really being any kids his age in town he hangs around them maybe TOO much. he loves watching rodeos on tv with them and goes to estate sales with bud to buy clowns. they have to drive to the next town over to go to church every sunday. all that. at the end of the day he’s their lil cowboy :) they just wish he had some more friends his age (which is why they very happily accept paz into their home for the summer)

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ the earth from a distance | andrew hozier-byrne *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

ship: andrew hozier-byrne x fem!oc

warnings: references to death, alienation

summary: Gráinne moved to Dunbur to escape her past, to live quietly and write, and wallow in all the grief she had acquired. Andrew has other ideas…

word count: 3663

a/n: dedicated to my beloved @ath3nasgard3n who came with me to see bogfather in concert and held me while I SOBBED to Abstract (Psychopomp), even though she had never listened to hozier before that night.

Also, the setting for this fic is the Old Wicklow Head Lighthouse in Dunbur, which is now a BnB that you can stay in.

How to pronounce Gráinne and Máire

It began, as all good love stories should, with the death of a stranger. This time, it was the old lady who lived in the disused lighthouse by the battered shore, dying as the leaves turned to copper. I had lived in Dunbur for almost a year by that time, I never saw the heather part for any cars that might wind along the gravel path to the sea- but, then again, I was not watching for them. Either way, Lady, my poor MX5 was not built for such terrain and I could feel the scrub catching in sods under her chassis all the way down to the grass flat that had been designated as parking.

My gumboots squelched on the sopping turf as I hopped out, squinting at the pallid sun that tried so hard to reach me through the permanent duvet of cloud. It was a nice day by County Wicklow standards, no rain, minimal mist, and nearly, nearly sunny. The only reason to rug up was the damn wind billowing off the sea. I caught a gaggle of county gents eyeing Lady with appraisal while their wives loaded their cars with salvaged kitsch.

“She’s a beauty.” Mr Mulligan, the butcher- the most confident of the group- spoke up, peering out from beneath his tweed flat-cap with a face far too chipper for an estate sale.

“Ta.” I nod in thanks. “She’s old enough to order a pint.”

“What year?”

“‘99.”

“Ah, excellent year.” He said. I supposed it would be true if cars were like wine. “You’re a fine driver to get her up the back ass of nowhere, o’er all this shite.”

“Ta, just dumb luck, I reckon.” I moved to step away, but he cut in closer.

“We got ‘em lil’ cutlets in at the shop, I know they’re your favourite.”

“Ah, ya can’t fuckin’ get a word outta this one without him sellin’ ya some gobshite.” Mr Ronan, the newsagent spoke up with a roll of his eyes.

“Ahh, rev up ya bastard!” He aimed a light smack at his friend, and soon they were in playful fighting stances.

I took their rough-housing as my cue to retreat, finding their high spirits quite macabre and feeling grateful that the old lady’s family could not see them over the shallow rise.

The sale itself took place over the hillock and down in a scoop of grass a little ways away from the lighthouse. The townsfolk picked over fold-out camping tables laden with knickknacks and books, and a sparse supply of farm equipment and furniture on tarps nearby. I resolved to steer clear of there since Lady wasn’t known for her boot space, and I did not feel like calling in a favour from someone with an appropriate vehicle for the countryside. There was a dull hum of conversation hanging over the scene, and as I approached I must have murmured ‘hello’ and forced a smile for half a dozen of my regular customers. A few young men in black coats seemed to be dealing with the sales; grandsons of the deceased, I assumed.

I started with the books, finding a Folio Society copy of The Divine Comedy for a relative bargain,and- to my surprise- a few of Anne Rice’s Christian novels. I had little luck with anything else and was about to give up and go home, but something more caught my eye. It was a teddy bear with fur like lush, green grass. It had a curious face, with dark eyes and wide, brown nose that matched the brown on its paw-pads. Around its neck were four bells on a chain, each a different autumnal shade. Immediately taken by him, and spying a toddler staring at him with hungry eyes and grubby hands, I decided I couldn’t live without him and snaffled him up. The bells jingled pleasantly, and the fur was silky in my hands.

“Alright?” Someone sidled in beside me- Sue- the dumpy older woman who worked at the dingy smoke-and-gun shop down the street from the cafe where I worked.

“Hi.”

“Quer’n windy out, ain’t it?” Her eye contact was intense and probing.

“Aye.” I kept it brief. Once you got her talking, she wasn’t likely to stop.

“Cute.” She pointed to the bear, raising her brows. Her curiosity read phoney. “Bairns at home?”

“No. He’s for me.” I giggled in embarrassment, but she did not appear to be listening.

“Look at all this shite, would ya?” She picked up an admittedly hideous angelfish paperweight made of blue glass, sneering. “Hard to imagine such a proper woman would fill her gaff with this much cheap junk.”

“Mm.”

“You couldn’t move in that place for all the stuff.”

“You been in there, then?” Shit, she’s got me asking questions...

“Well,” She fiddled with her straw-blonde pageboy hair, suddenly self-conscious. “No, but you know that’s what its like, I mean look at it all.”

“Mmhm.”

“You know, I sold her fags.” She lifted her chin, prideful, yet almost disapproving. “Seven packs, each week on a Tuesday.”

“Maybe that’s what got her.”

I regretted the words as soon as they escaped my mouth, smiled tightly at her aghast expression and made a run for one of the young men dressed in black. This was a sad town, I reminded myself. A sad town, with sad gossip, and sad old ladies who die alone in bleak, majestic places full of items haunted by memory. What do I care if Sue starts spreading rumours?

The man served me quickly, seeming distracted. I wished him well and expressed sorrow for his loss. He thanked me in a robotic way, as if this were the hundredth time he was hearing those sentiments that day, and gave me a paper bag for my books. I took my cue to leave, hiking up over the rise to my car. As I went, my eyes strayed to the lighthouse. It burst up from the earth like the trunk of an enormous tree, though it lacked the natural curvature of wood, instead taking the form of an eight-sided prism. Ringed around the top was a deck with a railing just visible from such a distance. My feet slowed, suddenly intrigued by the memory held within the stones. I cast about a furtive glance. Nobody around, and all the patrons out of sight behind the slope. A closer look couldn’t hurt anyone, could it? Without another thought, I made a break for it, trying to walk swiftly without appearing to be hurrying in case the eyes I felt boring into me were not just a figment of my active imagination.

The gorse and heather grew all the way up to the base of the structure, which stretched high up above me in six tapering sections. I tilted my head back, I shielding my eyes against the glare. It was so tall, yet not even the domed top could scratch at the clouds. It was too windy to see the mist settle low enough to swallow the top, yet the idea of such a sight was glorious in my mind’s eye, like a tower from a fable. I wandered around the base, picking my way across the brush, until I came to the door. It was enormous and fortified, and appeared to be locked. I pushed on it hard, expecting nothing, but it swung in with a creak and a great feeling of resistance.

The surprise drew a gasp from my lips as I slipped inside. The inside seemed tiny in comparison, with low ceilings yellowed by years of indoor smoking. The inner walls were rounded, rough with crackled plaster and faded yellow wallpaper hanging off in sloughs. The air smelt of mildew and damp, and I noticed that the window at the rear was open in an attempt to flush out the smell. I crept over, laying my feet lightly. There was a book laying face down on the sill and a pair of reading glasses folded beside them. A chill ran over me at the realisation that these people may still be using this space.

Get out of here Gráinne, what the hell are you doing? I scolded myself internally as I abandoned my package of books and made a beeline for the stairs. You stupid woman, they’re gonna catch you! Sue’s probably told them all you spit on their grandmother’s memory by now!

The stairs ran openly up the walls of each floor, and I found myself gripping the iron railing as I climbed. They creaked and popped as they took my weight, the sound amplified by the empty stone interior. I saw that the second and third floors were as empty as the first, each showing signs of water damage and decay. The fourth floor was home to a frankly enormous four-poster bed that took up almost the whole room. The fifth floor appeared to be a bathroom, while the sixth was a kitchen. I was out of breath by the time I reached the top, and I had counted 109 steps from the ground floor.

As I bent over, holding my knees while I caught my breath, I noticed that in the corner there was a pull-down attic style door that hung open invitingly. It looked a tad rickety, and the fact that it was open at all should have read as suspicious, but the climb had taken a good five minutes and I’d be damned if I would leave without seeing the view from the very top. Gritting my teeth, I took the final climb, white-knuckling the rail as I popped my head out into the brightness. The wind howled against my ears, cutting through my beanie. I blinked my dry eyes against it, peering through my lashes and rubbing furiously against the sting.

“Hello, miss.”

Such a cheerful voice had never struck such terror in a person. A shock like falling galvanised my blood and before I had time to register what had happened, I had sprinted backwards down the stairs and stood frozen at the bottom. A beat passed, then he appeared, kneeling at the top of the trap door like a gargoyle: a young man with a soft face and a nest of dark hair poking out from beneath a knitted beanie. He seemed to be suppressing a smile, and when he spoke, it burst across his face with a giggly laugh.

“I see you down there.”

“Sorry!” I blurted out. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He put a hand over his heart in an old-fashioned gesture of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya.”

“N-no, I shouldn’t be up here anyway, I…”

“Well, strictly speaking, no you shouldn’t. But I left the door unlocked, and if it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.” He tilted his head, offering a kinder smile than I deserved. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I-” I took a deep breath, trying to swallow my stutter. “Thank you for… understanding.”

He shrugged.

“S’alright. People get curious. It’s not like there’s much left to steal, anyways. Unless you think you can get that bed frame down the stairs.”

“I-I don’t think I could, no.” A nervous giggle found its way into my voice.

“Alas, neither can the movers. She’s a beauty though, ain’t she? Though I think I’ll have to burn some sage before I sleep in it. I’m not the creepiest thing in this place, I’ll tell you what. Banshees and spooks in every corner.” He seemed amused at my wide-eyed confusion. “You may need to sage the bear too. I think I see Aunt Máire’s ghost peepin’ out through its beady eyes.”

“Right…” He raised an eyebrow as I held the bear close to my chest.

“Sorry, I’m just messin.’”

“I know.” I said quickly, taking a tentative step back, eyeing the stairs. “Well, I’m gonna…”

“What? You’re not coming up?”

“I-I shouldn’t. I’ve already basically broken in.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, his smile almost exasperated. “You’ve climbed all this way, surely come out and have a look. I don’t mind, I promise. I’m invitin’ ya.”

In that moment it occurred to me that this was a stranger- albeit a kindly and handsome one, but a stranger nonetheless- and we were in a very secluded spot. He could be anyone. He could want anything. I felt my phone pressing on my leg from my jeans pocket. He put his hand up in surrender.

“I won’t twist your arm about it, but the door is open if you like. I’ll let you get on, or would you like me to walk you back down?”

“No.” I left myself no more time to think on it. After all, it was the middle of the day, and the folk at the sale could see us standing by the railing. “I’ll come up. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

He moved aside obligingly, offering a hand to help me up. It seemed rude not to accept such an offering, and I could not say I regretted it. His hands were huge and soft, his grip firm but gentle. He kept hold of me for a beat longer than he needed, meeting my gaze with eyes narrowed against the glare. He was gorgeous up close, with down turned moss-green eyes that resembled those of a creature far older than any human, half hidden beneath thick, dark lashes. He smiled as he stood up, and as my stare dropped to his cherub lips I noticed his close cropped beard was auburn in the watery sunlight. He rose up, and up, and up, and soon he was towering over me like a beech tree.

“Wow, you’re tall.” I had to shout over the roaring wind.

He laughed. A husky sound that made his shoulders shake.

“Aw, and you’re such a tiny ting, I feel like I owe you a couple inches.” Instantly, he blushed. “That’s not what I- uh- oh, forget it.”

He tore off his beanie and buried his face in it. Bubbling up from the depths of me, for reasons unknown, was some of my old sense of humour.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Ugh, inappropriate, missy!” He swatted at me with his beanie, then sniffed in mock offence. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Hey! You’re the one who started on about all your inches…”

“And I do have a few.”

“See what I mean? Unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes, then contained himself no longer and let loose his infectious laughter. Soon enough, I was in bits. When we could both hold a straight face, he leaned in and offered me a handshake.

“I’m Andrew, by the way.”

“Gráinne.”

“Gráinne” He leaned in as he spoke, the sound softening as it passed through his mouth. The ‘r’ rolled gently like the crest of a wave into the breathy final syllable, and the name I once found so masculine and harsh sounded like a prayer to my ears. “Borrowed name for an English girl.”

“Not borrowed,” I sniffed, suddenly protective of the name I once considered an unflattering mouthful, and embarrassed at my obvious lack of an accent. “I’m a quarter Irish on my father’s side, if you believe in splitting yourself into fractions. It’s my great grandmother’s name.”

“I apologise for my rudeness.” Again, he put his hand on his heart. I had to stand close to hear his soft tone as the gale whipped my face. “I was only surprised. Gráinne isn’t such a common name these days, which is a shame ‘cause I find it quite beautiful. Do you speak any Gaeilge?”

I shook my head, heat marring my cheeks.

“If you fancy learning, I’m your man. These courses…” He shook his head. “They teach you how to speak it, but they can’t help you with the feeling.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I would be lying to myself if I denied the thrill of excitement I felt at the prospect of getting to know him in some small way.

“I certainly hope so.” He took a step back and gestured broadly. “Such a view is surely incentive enough.”

I looked around, realising that in my fascination with this sprite of a man, I had failed to take in my surroundings. One one side, the prairie hills rolled gently out toward the horizon, marbled in a thousand shades of green, brown, bronze, even pink and yellow where the gorse and wildflowers grew dense through the grass. Clusters of trees and scrub broke up the smooth flow of the turf, crosshatched with paths carved out by hares and foxes. Further out, I saw a sparse gathering of cottages, and an ivory freckling of sheep over the surrounding hillside.

We wandered the circumference of the deck, looking down first upon the rows of reliable utes, and one fragile sports car; then, at the people milling around the tables like tiny crabs on a beached porpoise. Finally, we regarded the stark, white shape of the new lighthouse and control centre; unnatural, yet homely against the shore. Down there, the brilliant tapestry of colour gave way to grey stone that formed jutting structures along the shore, growing smaller and smaller until they reached the small stretch of beach that must have been made from gravel, or even coarse sand. The sea there was deep grey, roiling with pale breakers that threw up jets of foam as they crashed against the rocks. Above the water, yet still strangely beneath us, grey gulls wheeled on the wild wind. Their cries carried over the roar of the sea, reaching us on a breath of sharp, briny air. I inhaled deeply, feeling the spirit of this ancient place come into me, cold and fresh.

“It is… beautiful. Do you mean you’d teach me up here?”

“If it was a bit less windy, yeah.” He scrunched his nose. “Otherwise, I’m renovating the kitchen in the next few weeks. Once its done up and not so decrepit we could use that.”

“So, this really is your place, then?”

“Aye. And about a hundred acres worth of peninsula. The workers at the new lighthouse have right of way, of course, but whatever. It’s a good deal.”

“Wow,” I allowed myself an awed gasp. “You inherited all that?”

“Well, my cousins did.” He itched the back of his neck, as if about to confess to an embarrassing fact. “They were gonna put it on the market and split the money, so I said I’d buy it sight unseen if they come down to help me clear out all the stuff.”

“Wow. How can you afford all that as such a young age?”

“I’m older than I look.” He admitted with an awkward laugh. “But younger than my soul, ma says.”

“You’ve been here a few time before?”

“More’n a few, I’d wager.” He turned his glittering eyes to me. “You don’t seem new either. We’ve probably met before, once upon a time.”

“You’d think I’d remember someone like you.”

“Ah, I’d say the same about you.” I did not miss the redness on his cheeks. “Memory is a fickle thing. Anyway, I can afford this place because I lead a charmed life. I work hard, yeah, but luck has so much to do with it. You collect your share of four-leafed clovers growin’ up ‘round here.”

“You’re from Dunbur?”

“Newcastle, up the coast a ways.”

“I might have driven through on my way to Dublin.”

“Might’ve.” He checked his watch. “Sorry, I better get back to the vultures.”

He strode over to the stairwell, and I took it as my cue to follow.

“Oh, you can stay up there as long as you like.” He assured me. “Just make sure you lock the door on the way out.”

“Oh, no, I better go home myself. Dinner to cook, laundry to do…”

“It never ends, does it?”

“Mm-mm.”

We made our way down, moving quickly as he took two stairs at a time. He reached the ground before me, but I found him waiting for me with an amused look on his beautiful face and my book bag under his arm.

“Sorry, I forgot about your poor, tiny legs.”

“Rude.” I tried to take my bag from him, but he was already digging through it.

“What have we got in here… The Anne Rice novels, very nice, and oh! The Divine Comedy! Have you read it before?”

“No, never.”

“You’ve got to.” He handed it over with gravitas. “Do not let this gather dust. Read it, it’ll change your life.”

“I will.”

“Good.” He glanced over his shoulder as we stepped outside, pulling the enormous door closed behind him. “Alright, I’ve gotta run, but it’s been lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” I was about to let him go, but I wanted to see him for just a moment longer before he dissolved like mist. “Oh, Andrew?”

“Mm?”

“I’m… sorry, for your loss.”

“Thank you, but I never really knew her. She was the black sheep of the family, a title I’m happy to inherit. One day, I’ll tell you all about it.” Gently, he tapped my elbow with the back of his hand, a gesture that set my skin alight. “I’ll see ya round, Gráinne.”

“Bye.”

He waved as he left, the ever present smile still lingering on his lips. He turned to me again when he reached the crest of the hill and waved once more. I waved back, and when he disappeared over the rise, I bounded over to watch him walk away. One more time, he turned, as if he sensed me watching, and lifted his hand over his head.

“Gráinne.” I whispered, trying to match his lilting cadence. “Gráinne, Gráinne…”

I knew then that my name would never sound as sweet again, and wondered how much more exquisite it would be were it to pass from those budded lips in a sigh of bliss.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1960 Edsel Deluxe Hardtop

This Day in Auto History

6.7.1954

The Ford Motor Company formed a styling team to take on the project of designing an entirely new car that would later be named the Edsel. The decision came as Ford enjoyed its greatest historical success in the 1950s. The 1955 Thunderbird had outsold its Chevy counterpart, the Corvette, and the consumer demand for automobiles, in all price brackets, was steadily increasing. The Ford Motor Company consisted of four brand names: Ford, Mercury, Lincoln, and Continental, listed from lowest to highest in price range. Ford executives believed that there was a gap in the marketplace between the Mercury and the Lincoln, where a new car would compete against GM's Oldsmobile and Buick lines. In the mid-1950s, Americans seemed to have an insatiable hunger for high horse-powered, heavily styled cars, with lots of chrome and many accessories. So Ford planned to fill the public's appetite with a suitable answer. The company spared no expense in the development of its new car, even going so far as to employ famous American poet Marianne Moore to supply possibilities for its name. After an extensive name search and no satisfactory result, somebody suggested that the car be named after Henry Ford II's father, Edsel. Ford balked at the suggestion initially and later relented, on the grounds that his father deserved a tribute; he urged the car's designers to live up to his father's name. Edsel had always had a knack for design, even if his business sense hadn't always lived up to his father's expectations. The Edsel project was launched with great fanfare and vigorous advertising. During the years between the car's conception and its production, the American economy took a downturn. By the time the Edsel was released in 1957, the high end of the car market had once again contracted. Public reaction to the car's exaggerated styling was tepid at best, with particular objections aimed at the Edsel's awkward-looking "horse collar" grill. Sales for the car started slowly and foundered. Newly appointed company Vice President Robert McNamara was charged with the task of salvaging the operation. Had McNamara held the position years earlier, historians point out, the Edsel project may never have been taken on, as McNamara strongly believed Ford should concentrate on the economy car market. McNamara attempted to improve the car's construction and appearance, but when the attempt failed, he was forced to halt production of the car at a disastrous loss of $250 million. To this day, the Edsel remains the biggest failure in American car history, "a monumental disaster created for tomorrow's markets created by yesterday's statistical inputs." History has treated the Edsel more kindly, as its looks are now considered to be an attractive example of 1950s flair. Like its namesake, Edsel Ford, the Edsel has come to be known as an unfair victim of circumstance.

This 1960 Edsel Deluxe Hardtop was photographed at Das Awkscht Fescht at Macungie Park in 2022.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/1/2024

come getcher BOY in HOUSTON TX limited time DEAL he will be going to the shelter where they hopefully have more resources to place FIV+ cats on FRIDAY!!! he has gotten so sleek and healthy looking after only a month of unlimited kibble he will be SUCH a nice silly companion for someone but unfortunately that someone is not me

^worried about the air purifier turning on

listening

OWW. feat BUBBLE by Halo Boy is fun bc it’s fun to yell “gimme love bites like OWW!” brain empty just songs that are fun to blast in the car. not quite a candidate for the “SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)” playlist but certainly worthy of inclusion on the “SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (NOT GAY)” playlist

-

reading

i have a lot of uncomplimentary thoughts about frank lloyd wright. part of them revolve around the fact that buildings are really not meant to last forever, especially experimental buildings made with experimental materials. i am furious, however, that a cryptocurrency grifter couple bought his only skyscraper for $10 to "save it from bankruptcy" from a tiny nonprofit, seem to be hacking it up to sell the furnishings in pieces, and have put the building up for commercial sale on a site mostly used for fast food franchises and strip malls. the building, like many frank lloyd wright buildings, is in pretty rough shape. i've seen some walkthroughs and video tours and there's a ton of water damage and then extra water damage from oklahoma winter ice. i do not know if the building as a whole is reasonably salvageable without tens of millions put into it and a new foundation put in place to take care of it.

Liz Waytkus, the executive director of Docomomo US, an organization that works to preserve modern architecture, said it strongly opposes any sale of the Wright materials. “They’re trafficked goods,” Waytkus said. “The same that you would say of pottery or vases from Egypt or Mesopotamia that were obtained through illegal ways, these pieces from Frank Lloyd Wright should be thought of in the same exact way.”

i think the above quote is a little dramatic. what the crypto couple are doing is more in bad taste than anything, bc they do own the building. in my heart of hearts, i do think pieces and fixtures designed specifically for a site should stay with the site as long as reasonably possible. they're not going to look or function quite the same anywhere else. this is the unfortunate reality of getting a superstar architect to design The Whole Site and not just the building, you're kind of (in good taste and not legally) obligated to continue to preserve The Whole Site and not just the building.

another in the "not technically illegal but in bad taste" file, for both sides imo but i do think the misbehavior is greater on one side. idk if matt is like Unwell, or if he has tech founder brain and it's simply been more visible lately. oh my god i looked up how old he was (40) and he is local to me. ive probably seen him patio dining somewhere or walked past him at the rodeo and simply haven't noticed

But in a dispute that’s meant to clarify what is and isn’t WordPress, Mullenweg risks blurring the lines even more. WordPress.org and WordPress.com both have a point — but it looks an awful lot like they’re working together to make it.

-

watching

kind of a light week? i don’t have anything particularly interesting to say about any of these.

i did not plan this bc i was kidnapped last minute by my bestie to see Howl’s Moving Castle in theaters, which was a very fun movie to see on the big screen. i have not seen a movie in theaters since Birds of Prey in early 2020, kind of scary to be inside a theater again! wish covid had not so thoroughly broken my health and confidence and i also wish covid was Over over instead of a constantly rolling crisis!!

-

playing

i am going to preface this section with two facts: 1) i have been playing genshin impact since version 1.0, before the second major region in the game came out and 2) i have been unemployed since january and have spent more hours per day playing this game than really anyone should in the past couple months.

ive set a bunch of very silly goals for myself bc genshin impact is largely a game about making your own fun within the grindy gacha framework and i have hit two and a half of them. you can "ascend" a character six different times to up stats by a decent percentage, and i have now ascended all 64 characters the maximum 6 times. the last one was heizou bc 1) fuck a cop and 2) fuck the machine boss in the chasm for his mats. why did THREE characters need these mats. wretched.

my next goal is to get all my characters to friendship level 10. you can increase this mostly by spending the in-game renewable resource "resin". getting your characters to friendship level 10 has no in-game benefits but does give you a fun little namecard for ur profile. i have been prioritizing my five-star characters and then going through the nations' characters in order. ive been done with the mondstadt kids for a while, i just maxed out my last five-star (dehya) today. as u can see by this list sorted by friendship level, i have five liyue characters and two inazuma characters left and just buckets and oodles of sumeru and fontaine characters.

i haven't really done much with the newest natlan character, kachina, bc i do not enjoy playing as the small children characters. there are so many tall hot ladies in this game. speaking of, the next character i will be pulling for is this tall drink of water

i have also caught one of every catachable animal! this one was very irritating bc u can only buy five nets a week. finding this one specific lizard was also very irritating. none of the point in the desert the official game map assured me were spawn points were actually spawning for some reason. had to go to several underwater caves and cross my fingers

-

making

fallow week

[whiskyanndboots]

Brutal

Summary - "Dean, I care about our relationship way too much just to be your South Dakota good time while you're in town"

Pairing - DeanxReader - Platonic!BobbyxReader

Warnings -Angst, infodump for upcoming series, tension, no editing once again

Slight continuation of SNAP

Meeting Bobby Singer had changed your life entirely, he and Rufus had saved you and two co-workers from a vampire attack after several Friday night margaritas. Your co-workers were happy to forget it had ever happened, even denied it after awhile, you however couldn't let it go. You'd researched every single thing you could about vampires, your brief encounter helped you weed out the impossible from the highly probable. 

You call it some kind of early midlife crisis, you had regularly taken time off your job to track down victims of possible vampire attacks. You are well aware how unhinged that was, you even had the crazy person map on the wall with thread attached to markers detailing all the possible vampire attacks in the area you'd been able to find, colour coded and everything. 

You decided since you weren't actively looking to interact with any vampires, just gathering information tor curiosities sake that you were safe. 

The next 4 months you were practically obsessed and while on one of your solo road trips you found a lead in Colorado that lead you to another in New York. You had stopped in the small town of Sioux Falls for the day to rest before driving more. Seeing one of the men that had saved you in the aisle of a grocery store buying beer and hamburger helper was so unexpected you almost ran into a coca cola display. 

He had ducked his head when he'd recognised you, he had rushed the cashier when you'd gone to talk to him anyway and he'd started speed walking to his car when you dumped your things and followed him out. 

Bobby Singer was not happy when you told him what you'd been doing if the "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" was anything to go by. 

You'd told Bobby you weren't hunting, god no, you just wanted to know about this hidden world inside the one you thought you knew. You'd showed him the journal of vampire facts you'd written, which he immediately pointed out two wrong things you'd thought were correct.

He'd rubbed a hand down his face and stared for a moment. Then he asked how old you were, what you did and if you were married, children, basically everything about your life. He'd quickly realised you weren't going to be convinced into going home or letting this go so he begrudgingly told you his address. 

Right there in a Sioux Falls grocery store parking lot started your unlikely friendship.

You turned up at Bobby's the next morning and he grumpily educated you on vampires and let you have free rein of his extensive library so you'd go and leave him "the hell alone". Three weeks later, you'd quit your job and moved to Sioux Falls, you got a job at a tavern and rented a room nearby, you'd visit Bobby on weekends, sometimes even weekday afternoons. 

You'd never said you weren't impulsive or that you weren't escaping your old life. 

Around six weeks later you were living in Bobby's spare room, he'd said "Why are you wasting money on that shithole, I've got a room upstairs as along as you don't plan on annoyin' the crap outta me", you moved in and realised Singer Salvage was a mess on the business front. You'd spent your days researching monsters, trying to learn ancient languages which was as hard as it sounds, and organising Singer Salvage's inventory and sales. You'd quit your bar job when you'd started making Bobby money and he decided you were now his receptionist, both for hunters and the junk yard. It made it all more believable when you picked up and 'transferred' calls to your boss when cops called.

You'd later learn why Bobby was so willing to take you in. 

One night in late July, not long after you'd moved in, you'd both had a bit to drink and you built up the courage to finally ask Bobby about an old polaroid you'd found of himself and two young men. He'd told you about Dean and hell, how Sam's been of the grid ever since he died. Bobby had lost the two men he'd considered sons and you were filling some kind of void for him though he'd never admitted it, he wanted some companionship.

It was for the first time you really understood the sadness and loss that came with hunting, Bobby had many friends, not many close, but no family. 

The more time you spent with Bobby the soft spot you immediately had for him became ten times it's size. You learnt to cook more, he complained about the healthier things, but the guy had to watch his chloestrol. You cleaned when he was away and catlogued his never ending junk yard of parts and cars to sell. You still remembered the look on his face when you pulled out $2500 in cash you'd gotten on a day trip you'd taken to sell his stuff after he'd told you this 'junk wasn't worth that much". Problem was Bobby knew where every artififact, weapon, rare herbs and weird stuff was in his house, but he couldn't remember all the things he had buried out back amoungst the rusted out steel. 

Google had turned you into a parts expert, the only rule he had was to make sure he didn't need it and not to let any buyers here, public exchange only. 

It was an oddly simple life considering Bobby's profession. You became receptioinist for Singer Salvage by day and various FBI and Department of whatevers assistants in the shadows,he'd taught you how to answer phones while he was gone, what to say to keep the hunters out there covered and what kills what so you could help any hunter who called when he wasn't around. You were no Bobby, but you were getting better. 

Bobby had decided a beat up 1970 Chevy Chevelle was going to teach you all things cars, told you that you should know how to do things on your own, this one wasn't going so well, honestly Bobby had done most of it while you watched and admittedly zoned out for majority of it. 

The only thing Bobby wouldn't do was let you hunt. That was a hard, solid line and you did not mind in the slightest, you'd had to help on one salt and burn once when Bobby needed and that was enough. Monsters, ghosts and demons in theory were interesting, the reality of it you could miss. 

Bobby's drinking had you more worried than any supernatural creature did, you enjoyed the occasional alcoholic beverage, but the empty bottles you'd fine some mornings that weren't there when you went to bed worried you, but he would snap if you ever pushed. You were planning on a more subtle intervention.

You'd gone to a friends wedding in September and returned to absolute chaos of a resurection and an apocalypse. Bobby wanted you to pack your things and leave, you refused. You now wondered if that choice was a huge mistake. 

That was the first time you'd met Sam and Dean Winchester. 

It felt like a lifetime ago. 

It was February now and they'd missed both Christmas and New Years, you'd forced Bobby into swapping gifts on Christmas and by gifts you meant a bottle of scotch and some skincare gift pack Bobby must have grabbed at the grocery store, which strangely made you feel warm inside. 


You, Sam, Dean and Bobby were now sitting on Bobby's front porch and had been for the last few hours, just talking, it was nice considering how intense things had been for the last few months.


Sam and Dean had been through alot with the snippets Bobby had told you, despite how very much involved you were Bobby was still keeping it vague with what was going on out there. You'd heard them talking about a demon named Alistair, Lilith, Angels and Seals when you had turned on the shower and snuck out to listen to what they were talking about when they thought you couldn't hear.

Lilith. 

She hadn't come for you, it'd been months. Your rescue from her demon minions was miraculous and you'd been living on the edge ever since, Lilith had said she needed you for something, you have no idea what. 

You laughed loudly with everyone at Bobby's story about a hunt with Rufus, you were pleasantly buzzed after a few vodka limes on this particularly hot afternoon. You liked when Dean and Sam came, especially when you had moments like this, moments when you could pretend the apocalypse wasn't looming over you all. 

You stood up asking if anyone else wanted another drink with an all around yes. You said you'd get some snacks too.

Three days ago when Sam and Dean arrived was the first time you'd seen Dean since the motel room incident two months ago. Some nights you couldn't sleep thinking about that night, just rolling around unable to get comfortable or relaxed because you couldn't stop relieving the way Dean's hands felt on your skin, how his mouth felt against yours. 

Neither of you had brought it up again, just like you'd asked. 

You opened the refrigerator pulling out some cheese, dip and salami and crackers. The first time you'd made a glorified cheese platter for Bobby he'd scrunched his face up at 'this fancy crap' you'd stared at him incredulously, 'fancy? It's lazy dinner'

Now he's a cheese platter fiend, not that he'd admit it. You regularly drink beer on a Saturday afternoon eating too much cheese and breadsticks while watching football or reality TV.

"Want some help?" Dean's voice startled you, you turned around from cutting salami to see him leaning in the door way. 

"No, I'm nearly done, do you want your beer?" You asked grabbing a bottle from there fridge and holding it out towards him to quick not to be obviously nervous. 

Dean pushed off the doorway, his eyes moved down your body as he crossed the room, so brazenly, you were immediately off kilter. The tank top and denim shorts suddenly made you feel suddenly bare.

You wouldn't let him know, you wouldn't show him how much he rattled you. You were an adult for god sake, why did he make you so nervous and stupid? he never used to. 

You'd been lulled into a false sense of security, you weren't sure if it was going to be awkward when you watched the Impala roll up the driveway, but to your great relief Dean was completely normal, he was even back to his old self and wasn't treating you like you were cotton wool.

The blatant way he was checking you out caught you off guard, It had to be the alcohol you'd all consumed.


He took the bottle from your hand and you quickly turned back to the food you were getting ready, you took a swig of the vodka you'd made yourself to calm down.

You had to get a grip on yourself. 

"I'll be out soon" You said without turning around. You just had to get this ready and go back out and continue drinking, eating and laughing, no issues.

"You been doing ok, feel like we haven't talked?" Dean asked from behind, damnit he wasn't leaving.

He was right, you'd found yourself alone with him two days ago while you were making some tweaks to the Chevelle, you were about to get Bobby to check it over, you weren't an overly confident home mechanic without him yet. 

"She not running?" Dean's voice made you jump. 

"Jesus, Dean" You huffed holding your chest.

"Bit on edge there (Y/N)" He laughed "What's going on?" He peered under the hood beside you. 

"Making a weird noise, I think something is loose and vibrating on the engine, I'm pretty sure it's here" You pointed, looking at Dean for assurance.

“Can I have a look?" Dean questioned raising his eyebrows. 

"Sure" You smiled easily moving out of his way.

Dean leant under the hood and peered into your engine bay "Can you turn her on?" 

You moved to the front seat and turned the key until you heard Dean yell to stop. You jumped out and came back to stand beside him.

"Very close, looks like that one, but it's further back" He strained leaning further in and gestured "Over here" you peered over his shoulder. 

"We can get this apart and tighten it up this afternoon, won't take long" He smiled widely. 

So you did, well mostly Dean did while you watched.

"There' Dean grunted twisting the wrench into place. 

You were suddenly very distracted by Dean's arms, he was pulling on the wrench, tan skin bulging as he pulled it tighter, his grey t-shirt was straining against the size of his arm, Dean was talking and you realised you weren't listening when he raised his eyebrow. 

"Sorry, what?" Pull yourself together 

Dean repeated himself looking at you and the car to make sure you understood. He was so unaffected, ofcourse he was, Dean would've been with plenty of women on the road since you last seen him, you're such an idiot. You just needed to avoid direct eye contact and get through the next few days. 

"Should be good as new" Dean said as he finished putting everything back together "Start her up" 

You did as he said and naturally there was no more weird noise. 

'Thanks, Dean " You smiled genuinely "saved me alot of time and taught me something new"

"It's all good, I needed to get out of the house, there's only so much Sam and Bobby talkin' ancient languages and lore I can take" He wiped his hands off with a rag, once again the movement made his arms bulge, all that thick muscle not from a gym, from hunting because he was strong, you knew first hand how firm he was. 

You glanced up and see Dean looking straight at you, you felt your cheeks heat up from embarrassment and swallowed quickly moving to shut the hood of the car, Dean was still watching you with an unreadable look on his face. 

Suddenly that familiar feeling of being too close came over you, you could feel the warmth of his skin and you weren't even touching.

"Should get back inside" You said quickly.

"Yeah' He answered, his voice suddenly deeper. You looked back at him and you did not like the change in demeanour at all.

You really wish you never opened this can of worms. 

"Yeah there's been alot going on, I've been good, Bobby and i have had a couple of hunts, he wants to lay low for the most part" You answered. 

Dean leaned onto the counter beside you, his posture was relaxed, but his brow was pinched. You turned to look at him, you nervously licked your lips, Dean's eyes shot down to the movement, copying it himself. You knew if there was any shot of forgiveness with Jo, you could never ever do what you did again, you hadn't meant to the first time.

"You? Alot more going on out there than here, I'm sure" You tried to keep it light while you distracted yourself with placing cheese cubes.


"Nothing new so far, just your regular end of the world stuff" he'd answered with a tired sigh, a pained look flashed across his eyes which was gone just as quickly. 

You smiled weakly with the corner of your mouth and opened a pack of crackers. You were sure it was much more complicated.

"So tell me" He began fake casually after a short silence, your body tensed at his tone.

"You going to be weird around me all the time now?" He continued. 

"I'm not being weird" You replied quickly. 

"You're being weird right now" Dean's grin was teasing, definitely beer spearheading this conversation. He was also right, You and Dean had an easy connection that had been strained since that night in the motel. 

"I'm fine Dean, really" You answered, probably a little too reassuringly. 

"You won't even look at me anymore" 

You sighed deeply and tilted your head to meet his gaze raising your eyebrow. You had never let any man make you feel this jittery, you weren't going to start now. He's just Dean, a man.

You turned back to finish what you were doing, Dean chuckled, you could feel his eyes on you, this had to stop now.

if Dean wanted to talk then you'd talk.

"What are you doing, Dean?" You turned to face him fully trying to keep your voice casual.

"What are you doing, (Y/N)?" He countered grinning, like this was a game.


You frowned confused, you were ignoring this thing exactly like you were supposed to. Dean chuckled looking down for a second shaking his head.

"You tell me you want to forget what happened and then you keep looking at me like you want to jump my bones" He stared at you, you were making a huge bold mental note not to be alone with Dean when he's been drinking all day because apparently his already huge balls got even bigger.

"I do not" You whispered, eyes wide, looking at the door making sure no one was there "I meant what I said" you insisted.

"Why?" He asked suddenly serious. 

"Why?" You repeated incredulously 

"You want to" He stated. You could tell Dean Winchester didn't get rejected very often, you could see why too. That cocky grin, that handsome face and playfulness that you knew would show you a good time. 

"Really, cause it sounds like you're trying to convince me" You raised an eyebrow keeping your tone just as playful. He laughed sliding closer to you.

“Dean, we had a fight, that got out of control, thats all" You continued. 

"Sweetheart, I have fights with people all the time and they don't end like that, unless they started like that" Your heart was thumping in your chest, it hadn't started like that though, it really did catch you off guard. You and Jo were on shaky ground as it was, but almost back to normal after months of trying to fix what happened. 

"Look Dean we work together, we're friends, Jo is my best friend, there's a whole apocalypse, it's just messy" You finished making your snack platter intent on leaving this kitchen. 

"Jo?" He questioned, in your panic you'd slipped up. 

"Is that what this is about?" He leaned in closer towards you.

"No" You said quickly. 

"(Y/N), Jo is like a little sister to me, nothing's going on with us, nothing has even been going on" His face was full on reassurance, but you felt none of it. Your heart broke for Jo, little sister, ouch. 

You crossed your arms with a sigh and turned to face Dean, your face hard you needed a final blow. 

"You know Dean, I really didn't take you for a guy who needed to be told no twice" Even as it left your mouth your stomach was turning in knots. 

Dean's face feel and all playfulness and flirting was gone. 

"(Y/N) I didn't-" He looked so upset with himself.

"It's fine, really" you interupted "Dean, I care about our relationship way too much just to be your South Dakota good time while you're in town" You tried to make light of the situation.

"You're not just a good time" Dean looked insulted.

"Yeah, I'm a pain in the ass too, I know" You smiled trying desperately to get this conversation over.


"Right" He ran a hand over his mouth clearing his throat and looked away. A heavy silence fell over the kitchen.

You felt awful, but you were honest, you didn't want to be another notch in Dean Winchesters bed post. 

"You two good?" Bobby’s gruff voice startled the both of you. 

"Yeah" You both said unconvincingly at the same time. 

"Here, I'll take that for you" Dean grabbed the platter and his beer and disappeared through the doorway. 

"Should I be worried about that?" Bobby asked from behind you as you were gathering the beer for the rest of you from the fridge. 

"No" You scoffed, guilt still churning in your stomach.


"Dean's a good man, you know I love him like a son" Bobby continued.

"God, Bobby i'm not trying anything on Dean" You pleaded.

"Dean isn't the kind of guy for you (Y/N)" Bobby took his beer from your hand. 

You were surprised, that wasn't what you were expecting. 

"A hunter isn't the kind of man you should be going after" he clarified "It'll be nothing, but heartbreak or death at the end of that road"

"It's ok, Bobby. Don't worry, we're just friends" You patted his shoulder.

There was very little chance of Dean ever making a move on you again, so you weren't worried either.



[auctioncarinfo]

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[sideshow-tornado]

The car I have been driving the last year and a half was my mom’s 2009 Honda CRV, it was totaled after my accident with a big fucking deer earlier today. I cleaned it out this evening, and also cleaned what was left in my former vehicle - a 2017 Ford Focus - which has been sitting mostly idle in the driveway since March 2023 when it started having transmission problems.

So now I’m making plans to haul both vehicles off to a salvage yard for auction, as they are each popular/common makes & models in this area and can be used for replacement parts.

Won’t get a lot of money for them, but better than nothing. And then I will be hoping to find a new car with a great end of year sale. Most likely looking for a crossover SUV or midsize truck.

While cleaning out the glove box of my Focus, discovered this treasure trove of items. Not pictured is a few surgical and N95 masks and hand sanitizer. But there was also three pairs of non-prescription sunglasses, a pocket knife, a white handkerchief, some Apple EarPods, a fold out hair comb, a tiny FunkoPop figure of late WWE wrestler The Ultimate Warrior, a Star Wars multicolored pen, a mini USB cord.

The camo Harris/Walz hat was not in the glove box but is just there because I was wearing it, and will continue to wear it for as long as I feel like*

*until 2028 Gavin Newsome/AOC hats are available. Or Warren/Buttigieg. Or anyone sane and not a nightmarish fascist scumbag.

[salvagetrucksauction]

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[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross - Chapter 7

Bentley Comes Through

---------------------------------

See you met me at an interesting time And if my past is any sign of your future You should be warned before I let you inside

---------------------------------  

The pit stop turned out to be a tiny store in Nebraska an eight-hour car drive away, sandwiched between a tattoo parlor and a private attorney's office on a quiet street in a quiet town. “Wiseturtle Tech” was emblazoned over the front. Sly stared up at the blocky, faded lettering and was thoroughly unimpressed.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just ask your boss for a new weapon,” he said for the hundredth time since they’d started the impromptu detour. “Seems a lot easier than going out of your way to a podunk place like this.”

“Shock pistols aren’t manufactured en-masse,” the cop admitted. “They’re custom weaponry that only higher ranks like inspectors can have. I didn’t want to ask Barkley for a new one right after he gave me so much expensive equipment already, and it would have taken a while for them to ship a new one, anyway.”

“What about a regular gun, then? Doesn’t Interpol have those?”

“They do…” Her lips thinned. “I just don’t like using them.”

“...Right.” He gave the storefront another once-over, then turned to look at her holster where her broken pistol was tucked safely away. “So, what makes you think some random tech guy can salvage a mess like that?”

“You'll see.”

Inspector Fox pushed open the door to let them both inside. A little bell overhead chimed in response, but no one was actually at the desk to greet them. The counters behind the desk were covered in dismantled machinery – phones, laptops, kitchen appliances, and a million other things Sly couldn’t identify. The one intact computer sitting on the desk had a screensaver of a little green turtle head bouncing aimlessly off the edges of the screen.

There was a wall offering various tech and accessories, so the raccoon wandered over that way. “Great customer service. Really selling me on this place.”

“Oh, shush.” She stepped up to the counter and rang the service bell. “Hello? Anyone home?”

A large pink hippo in a gray uniform shirt poked his head out of one of the back doorways. His eyes widened and a big goofy grin grew on his face as he recognized the person who had called for him.

“Hi Miss Fox!”

“Hi, Murray,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “Is Bentley here? I could really use his help.”

The hippo nodded emphatically. “Yeah! I’ll go get him right now for you!”

He disappeared from sight again, and she gave Sly a smug look, who only shrugged and went back to studying the wall of stuff. It was a bizarre mix, really – half of what was on sale looked brand new, state of the art and built for the latest tech trends, while the other half looked like it had been lifted from a RadioShack in the eighties. Even if the single camera he’d noted in one ceiling corner was just for show, nothing here was really worth taking. Not for his needs, anyway.

There was a clatter as Murray bounded back out from his hiding place, followed by a tiny turtle with giant spectacles and a little red bowtie over his shirt that matched his coworker’s. He climbed onto the chair across the desk from where the cop stood and only gave Sly a brief glance.

“Hello, Inspector Fox. It’s been a while,” he said in the most nasally voice the raccoon had ever heard. “Is your computer having issues again?”

“No. I’m here for something else today.” She lifted her ruined shock pistol and placed it carefully onto the counter.

Bentley’s mouth fell open. “What did you do to it?”

“Work-related. It was overloaded with electricity, but I can’t really share any more details than that,” she hurriedly dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“I can…certainly try.” The turtle picked it up by the handle between two fingers, as if afraid it might explode. “You know, every time I think I’ve seen every way someone can destroy their tech, you always manage to surprise me.”

“I will take that as a compliment!” She shot a glare at Sly when he snorted. “So, how long will you need?”

“A few hours at least. And that’s if I already have all the parts to replace anything damaged beyond repair. Otherwise, it could be anywhere between a few days to a few weeks.”

The inspector grimaced and shook her head. “If you can’t fix it within the day, don’t bother. It would be faster to get a new one.”

“Alright.” His gaze flickered over to the raccoon, who stared back impassively. “I’ll, uh, give you a call when I know for sure what the time estimate will be.”

“Thanks, Bentley.”

As they left the store together, Sly met Murray’s curious gaze. The hippo gave him a smile as wide as he had Inspector Fox, and Sly couldn’t help but give an awkward attempt at one back.

“Well, it looks like we have some time to kill,” he said the moment the doors swung closed behind them. “What’s the plan while we wait?”

She chewed her lip. “I need to figure out which member of the Five to go after first. And you still haven’t given me that evidence yet, Ringtail.”

“I will, don’t worry. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t high-tail it out of that apartment and leave me stranded.”

The two of them got back in her car, and the fox gave him a long, searching stare. “You’re really going through with this, huh.”

It wasn’t entirely a question. He’d let his emotions slip a little more than he’d wanted the other night, and she had seen his conviction because of it. Even so, he’d had a day and a half since then to think over his decision to rub shoulders with a cop – one from Interpol, no less – and although he had plenty of misgivings, Sly still believed it was his best option for now.

He might know where most of the Five were holed up these days, but that would only get him so far on his own. She had resources, and a seemingly genuine interest in seeing justice served, and it would be so much easier to let her blaze through their hideouts and move stealthily in the chaos she created than trying to break in by himself – especially once they realized he hadn’t been arrested like the rest of Muggshot’s goons. The last place they would ever expect to find him was at the side of the cop who was out to bust them all.

And, after seeing how she had miraculously won a one-on-one battle against the bulldog, he almost dared to believe that he’d be safe with her even if they did find him.

“Yeah, I am,” he answered, honest for once in his life, before pulling out the precious information she so desperately wanted. “Here. For your peace of mind.”

The cop grabbed them and began reading immediately. Her lips moved without sound as she did so; it was a small, almost endearing detail that made his mouth twitch just a little bit upwards.

“These are emails,” she finally said in hushed excitement. “Emails between some of the Five. Muggshot, Sir Raleigh, and Mz. Ruby. But…why would he print them out?”

Because they always wipe their communications but Muggshot has the memory of a gnat, he didn’t say out loud. “Probably because he doesn’t know how to tell the difference between print’ and ‘delete’. You’ve met the guy.”

Inspector Fox hummed, only half listening. Her nose was buried in papers. Sly had already read them while waiting on the roof of her motel, and he knew what she was going to find. He pulled the car seat back until it was nearly horizontal, flipped his hood up over his eyes, and laid his linked hands behind his head like he was going to take a nap.

“The most recent communications are between Muggshot and Mz. Ruby,” she mumbled to herself, “from the same day that I busted him. And the ones between him and Sir Raleigh are from two weeks ago. That’s interesting.”

“Mhm.”

“They all seem to be talking about the same thing,” the fox continued, in a slow, thoughtful tone. “Some kind of special package they’d been ferrying back and forth. Raleigh to Muggshot, and then Muggshot to Mz. Ruby.”

Sly stared at the tiny threadbare stitching of the inside of his hood.

“But…” She tapped a line on the page. “It looks like the latter two settled on a transfer date that’s still another week away. Whatever they were smuggling between them, it never made it to the alligator before Muggshot was arrested.”

He was so still he was barely breathing. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I wonder what that package was. These emails are so vague, all I can really tell is that it was probably fragile and priceless, and with all the stolen stuff we found in his penthouse, almost anything could fall under those categories.”

“Well, no use getting our tails in a twist over something they’re never going to get their hands on again,” Sly said, a little curter than he meant to.

She shifted next to him, obviously surprised by his blunt brush off, but then went back to reading without saying anything about it. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the cop straightened in her seat.

“We’ve got locations!” She exclaimed. “The last transfer point was in Wales, and the next scheduled one is supposed to be in Haiti. That must be where Raleigh and Mz. Ruby are hiding out right now. I wonder what kind of awful schemes they’re involved in. Everyone had been speculating that the Five had gone into hiding in some kind of criminal retirement, but these clearly indicate otherwise.”

“I dunno a single thing about any of that, but between Wales and Haiti, I vote we go to Haiti first.”

“Why Haiti?”

The raccoon finally lifted the fabric from his eyes to look sideways at her. “Two reasons. Number one is that Haiti is way closer to the States than Wales is, and if Mz. Ruby hasn’t heard about Muggshot’s arrest by next week, then you have a chance to catch her at the exact time and place she’s planning to make that exchange with him.”

An exact time and place he was going to avoid like the plague if he could help it.

“Number two is that Mz. Ruby has premonition. The longer you leave her out there, the more likely she’ll look into the future, see her own arrest and disappear, or see her partners’ arrests and warn them to disappear. Then you’re screwed either way.”

“That’s true, but –” she paused suddenly, and narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Wait. How do you know about Mz. Ruby’s powers?”

“Are you kidding? It’s one of the things she’s most famous for besides literally summoning the undead. Just because Interpol has its special top-secret info doesn’t mean some stuff doesn’t reach public knowledge.”

Sly held her gaze without blinking until she backed down with an acknowledging nod. Her wariness was frustrating but understandable, especially because of how she wasn’t wrong to have it.

Just for all the wrong reasons.

“Okay. Haiti, then.” Inspector Fox pulled out a tiny notebook from her jacket’s front pocket and began scribbling down notes as she scanned the printed emails again. “That’s going to be about a long flight, so I need to book plane tickets for the earliest possible flight I can find for two people.”

He must have let something show on his face about that, because she huffed and gave him an impatient look.

“What now?”

“Nothing. I just – I didn’t think we’d be flying.” As soon as it left his mouth, he regretted it. She stared at him like he was an idiot.

“How else are we supposed to get there, Ringtail?” She asked sarcastically. “By car?”

“No. I just…I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t have to be crappy about it.”

The cop began to open her mouth again, and he just knew she was going to pry into things she had no business knowing. With an irritated sigh, Sly readjusted his seat into something actually vertical again so he could be level with her in more ways than one.

“I’m just not the biggest fan of flying, alright?”

The sharp retort prepared on her tongue vanished in the wake of confusion. “You’re not? How come?”

“Consider it a phobia. It paralyzes me.”

She squinted at him. He met her eyes without hiding anything. The truth was the truth, and he could see her defensiveness easing away as she realized it.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can get you something to help. Over the counter anxiety meds, maybe.”

The raccoon let out an audible snort. “Nothing short of Klonopin is going to help me with that. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Before the inspector could respond to that, her cell phone suddenly went off. She answered it immediately albeit with a sharp glance his way, as if to say their conversation was far from over.

“Hello? Oh! Bentley, thanks for calling back, I – okay. Okay. But you – you can? Great! Thank you so much! Yes, we’ll come back later.”

Sly picked at the seams of his gloves, waiting patiently until the fox ended the call.

“He says most of the damage was in the charge port, and he has the spare parts for it,” she told him the moment she hung up. “But it’s going to take the rest of the day even if he skips the other projects that were in line before mine.”

“All day, huh? Pretty sure we’ll have figured out a route to Haiti way before then. That’s a lot of time to kill.”

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Not for me. I have to check in with my superiors about my plan to go after Mz. Ruby first, and get an update on the evidence they’ve been sorting through from the bust on Muggshot. If there’s any new information about his cohorts, I need to know as soon as possible.”

“Sounds…fun.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The cop gave him a particular look that he decidedly didn’t like. “But it’s all confidential, and I can’t risk you eavesdropping on my phone calls again.”

“I thought we’d already established that it wasn’t actually eavesdropping if your boss was yelling so loud I could hear him across the room.”

“Regardless,” she continued, irritation seeping into her voice, “you can’t be around me for that. I’m not risking it happening again.”

Sly sat up straighter in his seat, not liking at all where this was going. “What, so you’re just going to kick me out of the car for the next six, seven hours ‘til you’re done? What am I supposed to do – sit on the curb with my chin in my hands all day?”

Inspector Fox began working her jaw; a tic he was starting to notice meant she was deep in thought instead of merely frustrated. Her eyes drifted up and down his hoodie.

“How prepared are you for a long-term trip?”

And that was how Sly found himself standing in front of a general merchandise store, watching his cop companion drive away, with the two-hundred US dollars she’d handed him in his pocket and explicit instructions to buy everything he needed for travel.

It didn’t bother him that she could tell he didn’t have many belongings to his name – the fact that he was still wearing the same clothes nearly two days after they’d first met had probably clued her in – but it did bother him that she seemed to think he didn’t have any money. It made sense, because to her he was just a civilian who’d probably been robbed and then captured by Muggshot’s men, but it still smarted his ego as a thief.

With a huff, the raccoon entered the store, grabbed a shopping cart, and made a beeline for the aisle with portable suitcases. Then he made a beeline for the clothing section.

It had been a long time since he’d been able to pick out things for himself. Clothes were always a necessity provided for him by the Five, and only when his previous stuff was starting to get threadbare. A few new shirts, and pants, and a pair of shoes if they were feeling generous. The hoodie he was wearing was courtesy of being stuck in stormy Wales for nearly a month before he’d come to Mesa, because as much as Raleigh hated spending money on the “orphan waif”, he hated having to deal with a sick orphan waif even more.

Even with his newfound freedom, Sly found himself following the same patterns he’d been forced to follow for over half his life; three shirts, three pairs of pants, and a single new pair of shoes were all he put in his cart. He only realized what he was doing when he compared the amount of clothes to the size of the suitcase he’d chosen. There was still far too much space left even if he added his backpack and what he was wearing.

That realization prickled his fur and made his cheeks burn, and so he doubled back and forced himself to pick another two of each despite the voice in his head screaming that he was being greedy for it.

Next up were toiletries.

The raccoon’s toothbrush was already safely tucked away in a side pocket on his backpack, something he’d always done just in case there was ever a chance for him to make a break for it, but everything else had been left behind when he’d been unexpectedly forced out of his room. He began pulling things off the shelves at random as he saw them – toothpaste, shampoo, a fur brush, nail clippers, a pack of razors, and so on and so forth. At one point he passed a jumbo first aid kit and added that to the growing pile as well, knowing that if he got hurt, he would have to rely on himself instead of the cop. She probably didn’t even know how to properly pack a stab wound; much less reset a broken bone or build a makeshift splint.

After that…Sly wasn’t really sure what came after that.

Inspector Fox had promised to be back to pick him up in a few hours, but he still had quite a lot of time to kill. He’d already gotten all the essentials he needed, and there was really nothing else to get that wasn’t wasting space and money.

For a brief minute he toyed with the idea of swinging by the pharmacy and swiping someone’s anxiety prescription meds if he could find something strong enough to last him the upcoming plane ride he was already dreading, but quickly nixed the thought. That was a particularly scummy thing to do even with his skewed ideals. He’d just have to suck it up.

He ended up wandering store aisles, looking at things that held no interest or use to him. So many frivolous, stupid things that people bought. Why buy a toaster and a toaster oven? Why get more than one bed spread unless you absolutely needed a new one? Why spend money on three different kinds of the same food?

Muggshot and Raleigh both loved to do things like that. Sly had lost count of how many times he’d watched the frog import wine worth thousands of Pounds a bottle, or the bulldog order glitzy chandeliers to hang from the ceiling of every room he spent more than an hour in. As a kid who had lived middle class until the night his world was shattered, it had confused him. As an adult who had spent the last eleven years surviving off what little he could get, it infuriated him.

At least Inspector Fox didn’t seem to be like that. Her accommodations were cramped, and a little dingy, but he would take it over glittering fakeness any day of the week. Well, except for maybe that shiny red convertible. That thing stuck out like a sore thumb and he very much hoped she’d ditch it before getting any further in this case.

Something caught his eye in the electronics section.

It was a digital camera, small enough to fit in his hoodie’s front pocket, advertised for taking quality pictures for scrapbooking needs and family vacations. SD card and charger port sold separately but at a bargain, it claimed, and the raccoon didn’t realize how long he’d been looking at it until he noticed an employee approaching him from the corner of his eye.

“That’s a really nice camera,” the deer said, giving him a smile perfected for customer service. “Are you interested? I can take it out of the case for you.”

Sly looked at them, then at the price tag. Two-hundred dollars with all the added accessories. He had nearly four-thousand from what he’d swiped from Muggshot. This would barely put a dent in that. But it still made him hesitate.

Greedy little thing, hissed the voice in his head, a familiar croak with a British accent. Always asking for more than you deserve.

“Yeah, actually, I am interested,” he said louder than necessary, ignoring the weird look the employee gave him as a result. “I’d love to buy it.”

What was he even going to use a camera for? No idea. But it shut up the stupid voice in his head for the time being and that was all that mattered.

When Inspector Fox pulled up to the sidewalk twenty minutes later in her dumb fancy car, Sly was waiting for her with a mostly-full suitcase, turning the camera over and over in his hands. She helped him load his luggage into the trunk alongside her own and all the strange cop stuff she had – was that a jetpack? – and appeared to be distracted by something that she didn't share.

“Why don’t we get something to eat?” She suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

They ordered takeout and ate in her car instead of inside, at her request. It was quiet for a few minutes as she seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

“How’d your check-in go?” He asked after a while, surprising them both that he was the one to break the silence first.

“Good. It was good.” She hesitated. “They haven’t found anything useful for my case, though. Just stuff to help put Muggshot away for a very long time. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

“’S fine. I’m not really interested in all that cop mumbo-jumbo, anyway.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be.” There was another heavy pause as she studied him.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Sly…” The use of his first name made him tense. “Did you…”

The inspector stopped, took a deep breath, and steepled her fingers together. The look on her face was pinched and intense.

“I think we need to clear the air before this goes any further.”

Sly slowly brought his fork down from his mouth and eyed her cautiously. There were only a few things that would warrant a statement like that, and all of them made him nervous. “Uh, okay. You have something specific in mind?”

“A few questions.”

“Ask away,” he said, leaning back in his seat as nonchalantly as he could manage. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay. First question, then – you said you didn’t live in Mesa. Where do you live?” Before he could open his mouth, she gave him a sharp look. “Honest answer, Sly. I want to know.”

The raccoon tapped one finger against his thigh, thinking for a moment. “Honest answer? I don’t have a place.”

Her brows furrowed together in an expression he couldn’t read. “You’re homeless?”

“I mean, I’d personally describe it as ‘between homes’ right now, but…yeah. Essentially.”

The strange look morphed into something that he definitely recognized as pity. He would have challenged it if not for wanting very much to keep his cool as she worked through…whatever it was on her mind.

“But you don’t live in Mesa.”

“Nope. Was just passing through. Really unlucky timing on my part, I guess.”

“Fair enough. Second question – do you have any family you could go back to?”

Sly blinked. “No. I don’t.”

“Any living relatives at all?” She pressed. “People who will worry about where you are or what happens to you?”

“Does it look like I do?” He snapped, tail curling around his ankle. “What’s with the twenty questions all of a sudden, huh? Having second thoughts about this whole thing?”

The cop held up her hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean to dredge up anything! I just wanted to make sure this is really something you want to do.”

“I’ve already told you twice that it was.”

“You did,” she conceded. “You’re right, you did.”

“What’s this really about, Inspector? You were just fine this morning and now it sounds more like you’re trying to come up with an excuse to get me off your back. Did –”

A thought occurred to him.

“…Did you tell your boss about this deal of ours? Did he tell you to ditch me, or persuade me to quit?”

She shifted uncomfortably, clearly called out, and a spike of icy fear shot straight through Sly’s heart.

“What did you say?” He demanded. “What did you say about me?”

“Nothing specific,” she was quick to say, watching him in that very peculiar way again. “I told Bar – my superior that I had found a civilian consultant who could help me get to my next target faster than expected. I didn’t tell him your name, or your species, or anything else. But I had to tell him I was traveling with someone, Sly!”

“Why? Is he your dad? Got a curfew you gotta follow, too?”

“He’s my boss, Ringtail. I have to be transparent in this profession or else no one would trust me. I know you have a weird – thing about the police, but I promise you I didn’t share anything that you didn’t consent to.”

He had most certainly not consented to being put on Interpol’s radar, but he kept that rebuke clamped down under an angry locked jaw. He should have expected this from someone like her; of course she would be as by-the-book as possible. The raccoon folded his arms and pointedly stared out the front windshield.

“What did he have to say about your little escort?”

“To do a background check on you and make sure you knew the danger you were getting into,” she told him. “So here I am, trying to do both before dragging you out of the country on a wild goose chase.”

He wondered if she’d tried to do a formal search on any raccoons named Sly. If she had, he knew without a single doubt that she would not have found anything.

“You want a background check? I’ll give you a background check.”

“That’s not –” she started to say, but he cut her off hard.

“I have no living relatives. My parents died when I was young and I’ve been on my own ever since.” He pulled his forged passport out of his backpack and flashed it just enough so she could see what it was but not the full name on it. “I can travel globally anywhere I want. You can do a search on me but you won’t find anything because I don’t have a criminal record. I don’t have any ties to any family, or friends, or anything in this country, so you don’t have to feel bad about ‘dragging’ me along.”

“Sly –”

“And since you’re wondering how I got those emails – because I know you’re wondering – I got them well before you saved me. I went snooping around in Muggshot’s casino while he was clearing out the locals and stumbled onto them right before those mutts you met came across me. They decided that I needed a full tour of their handiwork of the city since I obviously wasn’t scared enough of them and they were too fucking stupid to actually search my backpack because I gave them all the money I had on me when they demanded it.”

Inspector Fox was staring at him with wide eyes. He kept his chin held high.

“Well?” The raccoon challenged. “What do you have to say to that, Inspector?”

Her body seemed to catch up to her brain, because she suddenly leaned forward and locked her gaze with his, searching for deception. He didn’t even flinch.

“…Okay,” she finally conceded, backing down both physically and mentally. “Okay. Thank you, Sly. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, but I appreciate the honesty. Honesty is important if we’re going to work together for the foreseeable future.”

It was a foreseeable future he was already starting to regret, but he wasn’t ever going to let her know that.

“Yeah, well…I’m just glad you’re satisfied. It’s not every day I spill my guts like that, especially to –”

“To cops. I know.” She finished for him, and there wasn’t as much annoyance over the barb as he would have expected. “You’re starting to get predictable, Ringtail.”

“Am not,” he grumbled, without quite as much bite in his voice. The confrontation had drained all his energy and left him tired more than anything else. “So did you get a flight planned out, or were you too busy gossiping about me?”

“Yes and no. I was mostly setting up hotel accommodations and making contact with the local Haitian police so we could jump right into work once we get there.” She checked her phone. “We’ve still got another hour to kill before Bentley estimated he’d be done, so there’s plenty of time to look at flights.”

“Great. I can’t think of anything more fun than that.”

---------------------------------  

At 5 PM on the dot, with a route established and a flight to catch the next day – which Sly was pointedly not going to think about until he absolutely had to – the two of them reentered Wiseturtle Tech to see Bentley putting the finishing touches on the now-fixed shock pistol. Murray was sitting on a stool nearby to watch him work, idly swinging his legs and making the seat rotate back and forth.

Both employees looked up at the jingle of the doorbell, and both waved. Inspector Fox returned the greeting while Sly just nodded his head.

“I’m almost done, I swear,” the turtle mumbled as he went right back to crossing wires. “I just want to be sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Take your time,” she replied. “I’d rather you triple-check everything than rush a job.”

Her eyes trailed over to the wall of tech, then to Sly, then back. She grabbed his hand very suddenly, startling him.

“Come over here,” the fox said, leading him towards a row of simple flip phones. When he looked between them and her with a raised eyebrow, she sighed as if greatly inconvenienced. “Pick out a burner phone.”

“Why?”

“Since it’s clear we’re doing this together, we’ll need a way to communicate in case we ever get separated, and something tells me you don’t already have one of these.”

He gave her a flat stare, but she carefully avoided looking at him or any aspect of his appearance by gesturing to the electronics instead.

“Go on. It’d make me feel a lot better if I’m going to take you with me.”

Rolling his eyes without any heat behind it, the raccoon picked the cheapest one he could find. The thought of picking a more expensive one since she was paying for it popped up for about half a second, but he squashed it right away. There wasn’t any point in taking advantage of her generosity and potentially making her resent him.

Greedy, hissed Raleigh.

Sly gritted his teeth and practically slammed the phone onto the counter, making Bentley jump and Inspector Fox give him a disapproving look.

“I’ll take this one, please,” he said to the hippo, who had scampered back to his post as an actual employee so he could ring them up for their charges.

“Is this your first ever phone?” Murray asked, sounding strangely excited about the concept.

“Maybe,” he answered warily, watching out of the corner of his eye as Inspector Fox pulled her wallet out while Bentley handed her the fixed shock pistol. “Why?”

“Can I be your first phone number?”

Sly swiveled to look at him, confused. “Uh…why? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Well, sure, but – I mean, the first number in your phone should be someone you can rely on, right? And you can always rely on us to help, no matter the problem!” The hippo started playing with his hands, gaze dropping to the ground. “And – and it’s just…you seem like a really cool guy, too.”

That was…not anything he’d expected to hear at all. Sly blinked, completely caught off guard by the compliment and its sincerity, and didn’t immediately respond.

“...Sure,” he finally said, if only because Murray was starting to wilt like a dying flower as the seconds ticked by without an answer. “I don’t see why not.”

He doubted he’d ever call the guy, or even remember he had his number, but there really wasn’t any harm in letting him plug it in, was there?

The hippo beamed at him, wasting no time in doing so, and then passed the phone along to Inspector Fox, who deftly did the same thing with her own number.

“There.” She handed it to him with a smile. “Now we’re both all set.”

Sly watched her set her fixed weapon back into its holster, and thumbed the new device that was now hiding in his hoodie pocket right next to the camera. “Guess we are.”

“Thanks again, Bentley! And you too, Murray.” The fox waved goodbye to them, and this time the raccoon did the same.

“Bye! Don’t be a stranger!” Murray called after them enthusiastically. His turtle coworker watched them go with a pinched, pensive brow.

The moment they were outside, Inspector Fox pulled her pistol out to weigh it in her hands. She seemed satisfied by whatever she felt, because it went right back where it was supposed to without any further fanfare.

Sly watched her, still feeling the weight of the phone on his person. He’d never had a phone before. He’d never needed one before.

“Okay,” she said, turning to him, and all the levity she’d shown in the tech shop disappeared under determination and anticipation. “Next stop: Haiti.”

“Right.” He could do this. He was ready for this.

“Right after a six-hour flight.”

“.......Right.”

Or maybe not.

---------------------------------   

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A/N: Transitional chapter is important but still a transition. Hopefully a cameo by our favorite boys makes up for it!

A few notes on this one: 1) I did not mean for Sly to get so hostile near the end there. It was just supposed to be Carmelita questioning him to put her many misgivings to rest, but he apparently decided to take it personally and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise lol.

2) I've always had the headcanon that Sly enjoys photography either because of or separately from doing so much recon. It's such a neat hobby and I feel like it fits his introverted nature. We'll just have to see whether he uses the camera in this verse.

3) It was very fun (and kinda sad) to think up what life might have been like for Bentley and Murray if they had never crossed paths with Sly. While I do think he's the glue that pushed them all together, it's still very likely that the more "mundane" versions of them may have still built lives working with each other. Here specifically, Bentley is the tech guy and Murray helps him with deliveries and heavy lifting. Even so, they've both always felt like something was still missing...

Once again, thank you for reading!

[ahedderick]

Being Frank 2

This post would be TOO long, so I’m breaking it up into two parts. Frank continues:

   “The next project was to get timber for the floor joists. Where I got most of it for the subfloor and the joists was from the power line that was put through. The trees were cut down and left lay. I didn’t have a truck to haul these logs, but there was a 1952 Chevy two ton with the motor shot. I went to Saccos salvage and got a motor out of a Chevy that was wrecked. It fit in the truck and I used that to haul the logs to the sawmill in Palo Alto. It was twenty dollars a thousand board feet to have them sawed. I worked by myself logging. I drug the logs down and backed the truck into a ditch. I played out cables across the bed and used the tractor to winch the logs up in the bed; that was how I loaded them by myself. I had excess lumber after milling. Mike C. approached me to take down a silo and he put it up at his house. It was forty feet high. I had to take all the excess lumber and build a wooden scaffolding inside the silo. I got paid 500 dollars and I hired two guys who were tree trimmers to help. They were used to working high in the air. It took me two days to master myself to go all the way to the top of it. In those days I was afraid of heights! Everything had to go in those manholes and they’re not big! You put a round of scaffolding around every six feet. That’s how I got more seed money to build the house. I had no deadline and that was key. You can eat an elephant one bite at a time. It was a labor of love. 

   Now I began my hunt for other materials, wherever I could get them. After the trees from the farm, I bought a stone ranch house up on Brown Ave that was going to be demolished for Interstate 68. It was on a concrete slab and all stone exterior. I paid 100 dollars for it. All I wanted was the stone, rafters, paneling, 2x4 studding, and  bathroom fixtures. I sold the windows, doors, and roof to a friend of mine who was building on Oliver Belt Rd for $100. So I got my money back on that deal. I hauled all that stone and material out here on that old truck, loading and unloading by hand. The basement of this house was studded out with the 2x4s and the paneling from that house. The bathtub was square and had two seats in it. The fireplace insert came from that house. I did have an old man, Elsy C., help me haul the stone. The stone for the planter came from Costello Construction, which was located on Valley Street, and I purchased other building material for the meat shop at the same time. The planter here, Max, laid that for me. He was a mason.

    I was deer hunting over at the Gordon farm, now Hemmis, and found that big stone out front to the left. The one downstairs over the fireplace came from Cosgrove’s farm when I was plowing. There are some fossil stones on the patio that came from Wills Mountain. All the stone windowsills and lintels came from a building on Bedford street that was a tombstone company. When they were being demolished, I was able to get all the windowsills. I saved a pile of money on that! The stone slabs approaching the porch came from the parklet next to Times News when they were renovating. I bought all the cement I needed to lay the block and stone for 15 dollars from the B&O railroad damaged freight depot. Their freight agent was Tom R. One corner of the freight car got damp and I removed all the cement and cleaned the car out. When I was using the cement I had to take a window screen and put it over a 50 gallon drum. I had to screen all the cement so there wouldn’t be lumps in it.

   The steel beam needed to run the entire 48 foot length of the house. Moore farm was having a sale where the current AC College is. I bought a two steel beams there that would cover the length and hauled them on the old Chevy. I also bought a stack of pine 2x10s. The beams were over the top of the truck and 5 or 10 feet out in front. I put a flag on the longer piece and hauled it on Sunday morning when there was no traffic. I put the beam on a wagon and brought it around to the back of the house with the tractor. I had pipes on the wall and slid the ends on one at a time. I worked each end over to the center and set it by myself. Next thing was to set the floor joists. I used sidecut boards on a diagonal for the subfloor. All oak! The diagonal boards add to the strength.

   Over to the garage: the garage door came from a house in the Dingle where I was able to salvage many items. The structural steel supporting the roof/patio I set by myself with an old Dodge truck with a telephone pole on it. The header was steel, and came out of the B&O freight station on George Street. The other major steel beams came from the demolished Sears building that stood where the Holiday Inn parking lot now is. The next steel was 30ft long coal mine rails that came from Abe Feldstein’s salvage yard in LaVale. The corrugated metal decking that the concrete was poured on came from a B&O derailment at Swanton. Some of the same corrugated metal was used on the barn roof. 

Interviewer: Well, Frank, did you get anything from West Virginia?

Frank: Hell no, they didn’t have anything to throw away!

   The posts on the patio were originally pipes that I welded plates on the end of. The 6 inch steel beam that goes across the center was also salvage from a building. In later years when the Bowman’s addition flood program began, I salvaged some ornamental aluminum posts from a house behind Hartman’s Store. They weren’t long enough, so I cut the short ones and spliced them into the long ones. The ceiling joists for the patio were the 2x8s from the stone house I tore down on the I68 right-of-way. The patio step stringers were two pieces of timber from the B&O freight station. The two posts that are on the stairway came from the old German Brewery and the handrail, redwood, came from the farmhouse (Old George’s porch). All the rafters and ceiling joists for the house portion were salvaged from the loading dock at the B&O freight. All the plywood on the roof was from a ‘fire sale.’ The rail car overheated and the floor caught fire; the smoke damage to the plywood was severe enough that they couldn’t sell it. I paid 75 cents a sheet. 

   Downstairs there’s one room I didn’t finish. All the ceiling was salvaged drywall that had been damaged by forklifts at Valley Lumber. I had an Amish man swirl the ceiling down there. On the other side downstairs the ceiling was finished by tile that came out of the Woodmen of the World building, along with that maple cover over the planter. It was previously a banister at Woodmen of the World. The bedroom downstairs was finished with mismatched paneling from Valley Lumber. The interior of the closet was lined with leather-type paneling that came out of B&O. 

   My uncle Charles built these cabinets in the kitchen out of birch plywood. He was a finish carpenter. He also trimmed out all the oak trim doorways and baseboard in the house. The front doorway was custom built by Slim (Cecil), neighbors down the road here, and Don, from my sketch. The two birch doors, front and basement, solid core, I bought from the B&O freight claim agent Tom for 15$. The sidelights on the front door I bought from Bernie G. in Frostburg. The outside hanging light was from a yard sale for $5. It had a sidearm on it, but I figured I could adapt it to hang on a chain. The inside light there on the steps came from Westons department store. 

   There were many people who helped me build. We traded labor. Floyd, a carpenter, helped me frame; we traded labor. The stonework was crafted by Hayes Albert Northcraft, a WWI veteran. Elsy was the mudmixer. I was at this time working 7 days a week at the Kelly. Hayes laid all the stonework and this fireplace for $1,400 with no time in it for job completion. I had a dump truck with scaffolding I’d drive around the house and we’d throw the stone in the bed of the truck, then hoist it up on the scaffolding for him to pick out what he wanted. I was to move the scaffolding every day after he was finished. One time I missed it and he was laying the stone under the bay window. He left a divot in the stonework because I didn’t move the heavy timbers for him. That’s a forever reminder that I didn’t do my duty. Hank P., whom I worked with at the Kelly, was a part-time cement finisher. He’s the one who placed the penny in the front stoop. 

  Well, that was a long story. It seemed like I had all the time in the world in those days, and lots of energy. You might ask when I finally finished the house. I don’t think I ever have! In fact, this year (2016) I reclaimed the large plate glass windows from the solarium at Roy Roger’s restaurant when they tore it down and I’m using them to put a sun room on the back of the house. It’ll have a hot tub when I’m finished, and also the washer and dryer. So, you see, it remains a work in progress to this day.

  My note: Frank, like my parents, was born slightly before WWII and lived in this area all his life. Members of the “Silent Generation” are getting fewer these days. I had my doubts about committing to this project, but now I’m very glad I did.

[unitedbydevils]

A dressing room leakier than Old Trafford's roof: why fans must ignore the nonsense

Another day of drama for Manchester United. Another day of ridiculous media coverage because guess which club has the biggest news pull.. that's right, it's the (temporarily not so) mighty reds.

Unity is needed to fix our poor form, but I think an inquisition is needed to root out the leakers because it's boring. Years of shit being passed out from Carrington like it's a paper note in a classroom. Grow up.

Does Erik Ten Hag have favourites? Perhaps. Does this mean you should down tools? Absolutely not. The attitude here forgets several things:

You are an asset in of yourself. If you give up, other teams notice. This will lessen your value for a sale.

It also reduces your personal growth as a player. 6 months of not trying might have been the period where you level up your skill set and playstyle.

Football is a game of small margins. Anything less than your best could be the difference between a salvaged point and a painful defeat.

The rumoured leakers are obvious: Sancho, Maguire, McTominay, and maybe Donny Van de Beek (I doubt this last one). Henderson was also rumoured to be leaking before, as was Eric Bailly. Disgruntled players are the obvious suspects, and normally it's correct.

Roy Keane, seen here on Sky Sports, has the right take: players are failing to take responsibility for their poor performances, and are giving up too easily. Could ETH make better subs or quicker tactical changes? Sure. But it's his second season, having finished 3rd, won the League Cup, and reached the FA Cup final, all with Weghorst up front for crying out loud. Give the man a chance, believe in his plans. We can't keep cycling through managers. United will just be a graveyard for talent and a money pit.

The latest 'leak' or drama is about David De Gea's departure. People have short memories. He was a good goalkeeper, and kept United alive for many shitty seasons, but his last few years saw his shot stopping - the star attribute - fall off in terms of stats and success. This is an issue. Onana is a solid replacement for the keeping metrics, but with great feet to help play out from the back.

Our current form isn't derived from Onana playing badly. It's derived from an injured Varane showing the gulf of skill between him and Lindelof, and how important Varane is to getting the best out of Lissandro Martinez. Hence the need for Kim Min Jae in the summer.

Beyond that, Eriksen starting games at 31 with a heart condition. What the fuck. Casemiro looks overweight and slow and needs to be eased in to the season. Last year he played more games in the season than he EVER did at Madrid. Ever. They're playing though because Mount, Amrabat, Mainoo are all injured. All three would be playing if they were fit. They might all feature tomorrow versus Burnley, and they'll make a huge difference going forward.

The media is to blame as much as the players though. The Daily Mail published an article about Onana dropping his car keys. How is that journalism? The same goes for Samuel Luckhurst, seen above. There's a lot of stirring the pot to cause drama, to generate clicks.

The reality is that people shouldn't be taking the Manchester Evening News (M.E.N) seriously because they're clickbait these days. The death of local/regional news; clamouring for clicks and views rather than offering actual substance and building loyalty and respect.

United are in a rough spot, and perhaps this poor start means we fail to make the top 4 this season, but if - in the grand scheme of things - Ten Hag gets United playing the way he wants to then so be it. I want us fixed, and I'm willing to back this manager to get it done. If everyone was pulling the same way, trying, and it just wasn't working then fair dos, Erik might not be the man, but no. He hasn't had his preferred first XI. He hasn't had players properly trying. He's had issues with leaks, player insubordination, scandals off the field, and the takeover farse.

There are better managers, but I guarantee they cannot be arsed with United and the Glazers. Lets get behind Ten Hag, back his authority, lose the dregs and crybabies, and see what we can achieve with a committed squad of battlers and ballers. Up the reds.

[desayjames1]

Exploring the Fascinating World of Salvage History Checks in the UK

Salvage history checks have emerged as an indispensable step in the process of acquiring a used vehicle in the United Kingdom. These checks offer valuable insights into a vehicle's past, enabling potential buyers to make well-informed choices and sidestep potential pitfalls. In this article, we will delve into the significance of salvage history checks, the information they unveil, and their role in fostering a safer and more transparent used car market in the UK.

Understanding Salvage History Checks

A salvage history check, also known as a reg check, stands as an all-encompassing scrutiny of a vehicle's history, with a particular focus on its repair and damage records. The primary goal of this examination is to unearth whether a vehicle has been categorized as a total loss by an insurance company. This categorization occurs due to extensive damage resulting from accidents, theft, or other factors jeopardizing the vehicle's safety and integrity. By procuring a salvage history report, potential buyers can attain profound insights into the vehicle's true condition, enabling them to make informed decisions about their impending purchase.

Information Revealed by Salvage History Checks

1. Total Loss Status: A salvage history check divulges whether a vehicle has previously received the designation of a total loss from an insurance company. This designation signifies that the vehicle endured damage beyond a certain threshold, rendering repairs economically unfeasible or potentially compromising its structural soundness.

2. Accident History: The report may encompass details about any accidents the vehicle has been involved in, offering information about the scale of damage and subsequent repairs undertaken. This data empowers buyers to assess potential risks linked with the vehicle.

3. Category Designation: In the UK, salvage vehicles are categorized under distinct codes based on the extent and nature of their damage. These categories, spanning from A to N, indicate varying levels of damage and repair. The report specifies the category code, enabling buyers to comprehend the severity of the vehicle's historical issues.

4. Previous Owners: Salvage history checks frequently incorporate details about the vehicle's previous owners. This information can shed light on the vehicle's maintenance history and whether it has undergone frequent changes in ownership.

5. Mileage Verification: The report might also include mileage information, a crucial aspect in validating the accuracy of the stated mileage on the vehicle. Odometer tampering poses a concern in the used car market, and a salvage history check aids buyers in recognizing potential discrepancies.

Importance for Buyers and the Used Car Market

Salvage history checks play a pivotal role in promoting transparency and safeguarding consumers within the UK's used car market. Here is why they are essential:

1. Informed Decisions: Armed with salvage history reports, buyers can wield the power of informed decision-making. They can evaluate the associated risks of a specific vehicle, align it with their budget and safety criteria, and make a well-judged choice.

2. Avoiding Scams: Dishonest sellers might endeavour to obscure a vehicle's actual history to facilitate a sale. Salvage history checks empower buyers to uncover potential frauds and extricate themselves from transactions that might lead to costly repairs and safety concerns.

3. Market Integrity: The availability of salvage history checks encourages sellers to be upfront about a vehicle's history. This fosters a climate of trust within the used car market and propels fair transactions.

Salvage history checks have seamlessly woven themselves into the fabric of the UK's used vehicle purchasing landscape. By furnishing crucial insights into a vehicle's past, they empower buyers to make informed choices and navigate the intricate terrain of the used car market. Through illuminating a vehicle's repair history, total loss status, and potential risks, salvage history checks contribute to a more secure, transparent, and reliable environment that benefits both buyers and sellers alike.

[queer-jew-writes]

When I moved out of my parents house and into my grandparents house at 17, one of the first things that I did was buy these two massive boxes of puzzles from this elderly couple on facebook marketplace. I saw the listing and couldn't believe the price, 5$ for hundreds of puzzles. When my grandpa, Pepper, drove me to go pick them up, in the middle of a thunderstorm, the boxes were so big and so heavy that they barely fit in our car. We were soaked head to toe from the rain by the time that we actually got them to fit.  He had to help me carry them in the house, and I spent hours just going through the boxes. 

A lot of the puzzles were in bad shape. They'd clearly been loved for decades and then stored somewhere where they accidentally got water damage, and that's why the couple was selling them. They looked like they were carefully collected through a lifetime of garage sales and flea markets, and there were puzzles from as far back as the 60's in these boxes. 

I'd bought them because I've always loved puzzles. They've always been a special interest of mine, and even before buying those boxes I had quite a collection, with dozens of puzzles in all different styles. Me and my grandma, Sedra, used to put them together when I was a kid and I've loved them ever since. So I bought them with the hope that at least a few were salvageable to be put together despite the water damage and mold, but going through those boxes was unlike what I had ever expected. Most of the puzzles had little hand written notes on the boxes. There were two distinctive handwritings on the boxes, and two names that kept showing up over and over again. There's one note I remember in particular that really helped me to see the beautiful story that I was witnessing. I've forgotten the names, so I'll use place holders. 

In the first handwriting it said, "Chris 2hr 24min- Beat That!" and right below, in the second handwriting it said, "Eleanor 1hr 58min- Love you anyways <3" and the boxes were covered in little notes like that. Some had just the times it had taken them to finish it, some had both of their names and a single time because they'd done the puzzle together, some had the date or year that they bought and finished it, some puzzles had the number of times that they had put it together. Going through these boxes felt like I was putting together the story of their lives, and having to get rid of some of them due to mold and severe water damage was devastating. 

When I finally got to the second massive box, towards the bottom, there were tons of kids puzzles for a bunch of different ages and interests. I started crying when I saw the first box that had the woman's name beside a kids messy scrawled handwriting of their own name, and I've cried dozens of times from these boxes, their story, and how much they've grown to mean to me too in the years since buying them. I actually called my partner crying  as I was going through these boxes to tell them about how tangible the love and joy was. I felt like I was watching the couple fall in love through these puzzles, and then watching them share that joy with their kids, or maybe their grandkids. Sedra never enjoyed puzzles very much and she's never been very good at them, but seeing the kid puzzles reminded me of how much love and joy we shared when we did used to do kid puzzles together. I quickly outgrew her skill level and went on to do more challenging ones by myself, but I'll never forget that she's the reason I have this love of puzzles in the first place. 

One of my all time favorite puzzles was in that box, and I've put it together a few times over the past 4 years since getting it. It's a thousand piece puzzle that shows a collage of old mismatched buttons sitting on a table. It took my days to finish, and when I finally did I wrote my own little note on it. "Bought from Chris and Eleanor 2019 - Cayden 6 days" I hope that one day people feel the joy and love in these puzzles from my part of their story too, and I've started writing little notes on all of my puzzles when I finish them now. 

A lot of the puzzles, of course, were missing so many pieces that it would have been impossible to put them together. There was one that I'd counted that had 95 pieces when it was supposed to be a 1500 piece puzzle, and several more just like that. I got rid of a few of those that were in worse condition, and kept a few of them to make some art out of because I couldn't stand the thought of just getting rid of them. I haven't gotten around to making the art out of them yet because I'm not feeling too inspired living with my grandparents right now, but I will get to it at some point. 

A few weeks back I tried to make a timeline of my life and all I could think about was those puzzles that were missing so many pieces I couldn't make sense of them. I saw a tiktok that was talking about the difference between childhood trauma that causes memory loss and normal childhood memory loss, and the woman had said that people without childhood trauma can make a cohesive narrative of their childhood, with a few details from each year. Stuff like what they were learning in school, what friends they had, where they lived. I know that I have memory loss from childhood trauma and I knew before I even started that I wouldn't be able to make a cohesive timeline, but when I started trying to it was even harder and worse than I thought it would be. This is what that timeline looked like, exactly. 

[Image ID: A piece of notebook paper in a spiral notebook. The piece of paper is turned horizontally with the spiral and holes at the top of the page. The timeline typed below is written in messy handwriting alone the page. End ID]

My handwriting is bad at the best of times, let alone when I'm heavily dissociating and upset, so I'll go ahead and type that timeline too. 

1-4: pre-k?

5?: Maybe Travis [my half brother] moved in?

6:

7:

8: cheersport?

9:

10:

11: Living in Thomson house; self harming; relationship with Travis; alcoholism; anxiety

12: Living in Burke County?; gay; self harming; eating disorder; thinking of running away

13: Living with Sedra? [my grandma]

14:

15: Moved to Pelion; highschool; gore; abuse

16:

I actually tried to put together what was left of the pieces in one of those puzzles that was missing hundreds one time. I was an exhausting and frustrating endeavor that I have never even thought about trying again since. I spent hours looking at the pieces and back at the box and back at the pieces, just trying to see if any of the ones I had even looked like they might go together. In the end, I think I ended up with four pieces put together total. I couldn't tell where in the picture they belonged, and if I hadn't had the box, I wouldn't have known what it was even supposed to be. 

When I tried to make this cohesive timeline of my childhood, it felt exactly the same. All I could think about while I was trying to make it was that one time when I tried to put the puzzle together. I keep looking and looking for pieces that just weren't there. I tried going through my journals, I tried going through the pictures of me and my family in my phone, but nothing came of it. I started crying because it was so upsetting to not know practically anything that's happened in my own life except for trauma. Of course, I have more memories than just the ones that I put in the timeline, but I couldn't put them in chronological order, or any kind or order, and they're far and inbetween. Just like that puzzle, I have a lot of pieces but not nearly enough to make a picture. 

[bidgodrive]

2018 BMW Alpina B7 ( Walk Around Video ) | BidGoDrive

This 2018 BMW Alpina B7 sustained Front end damage. This unit is confirmed to run and drive. This vehicle has a retail value of $73715. This vehicle is being sold with a salvage title. We can assist you whether you are shipping domestic or international. We ship worldwide.

Link to website https://bidgodrive.com/vehicle-details/2018-Bmw-Alpina/47255

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