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interpolanticssuperfan · 8 months

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nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 2 | 18+ only

warnings: none for this chapter except reader doesn't believe that ken isn't human and asks to touch his feet to prove it. its not going to be a thing, i promise lol. enjoy !! also i really hope my characterization of ken is good so far!!

So this is how you found yourself packing up your things, throwing a cursory farewell glance to Pat, who’d long abandoned watching your tense exchange in favor of flipping through an Avon brochure, and heading down the marble staircase with Ken glued to your side, chattering away at lightspeed the entire time.

“This is excellent. (Y/N), I just knew you’d be as kind as I thought you were. And now I never have to see the bridge guy again. You don’t have a change of clothes, do you? I mean… I assume you have plenty of dresses, jumpsuits, blazers, things like that, but I could really use something that accentuates my chest a little better. Unless you like it covered up. Do you like it covered up?”

“Aren’t you sweating your ass off in those clothes? And who is the bridge guy?” You give a slight tug at the hem of his jacket, pushing open the glass double doors for the both of you and nearly gasping at the hot wall of humid air washing past, embracing your skin in a rush.

Ken turns, locks his confused eyes with your inquisitive ones. As your hand flies away from him, Ken follows your fingers, like he’s upset that you didn’t actually touch him. “What do you mean? I feel fantastic in these. It’s my white denim. But if you… do you like them?”

“I… well, I don’t know what your chest looks like, but I’m sure it looks… great.” Your cheeks flushed as you stole an unbidden glimpse in his general direction, shouldering you as if he was convinced he’d disappear if he wasn’t essentially tethered to you.

“You really think so? Then I’ll keep it on. I bet I can wear this for a whole week and not even get a single wrinkle. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.”

Without asking, you chance a risky move, placing your fore and middle finger to the back of Ken’s neck where his hair dips down. The sunlight doesn’t seem to bother him, the punishing heat isn’t making him groan with exhaustion, and to your abject horror – there’s not a bead of sweat on him: Ken’s sun-kissed skin is frigid to the touch. Rigid, he felt wax-like, resembling the mold of a man.

In the middle of the looping sidewalk that wraps around to the block you live on, Ken freezes with a gasp, reflexively shoots his hand up to clasp around your wrist where you’re feeling him. For a moment, neither of you speak, you just allow yourself to stare into his eyes which are very much undeniably alive, bright blue with inexplicable life and bounding to chase yours, melting into your grip.

“Why aren’t you hot out here.” It doesn’t come out as a question. Ken begins to sense your hesitation, doesn’t drop his firm fingers from your hand. “It’s the middle of summer, Ken.”

You hear a passerby shove past you, can feel their leashed dog traipse by your knees, you can hear a car horn honking at traffic, but all of it feels muted, feels futile, the volume turning down on every possible source of stimulation save for Ken’s eyes, Ken’s icy cold neck.

He isn’t smiling, but he doesn’t back down from the question. “I told you. I’m not…” Ken looks upwards to the clouds, quirks an eyebrow as if drafting his response with immense care. As if he had been up there before. Like he’d never thought this hard about anything. “I’m not from here. You’re a human.”

“And you’re supposed to be – what?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it. No one’s ever… I guess no one’s ever cared to ask me about it.” With his eyes still trained on yours, you press your fingers a little harder against a cord of muscle where a visible vein pokes out, feebly exploring for a pulse point, just to find that Ken had no heartbeat, either.

This pressure between you both seemed to pull a reaction from Ken, who at once slammed his eyes shut and sucked in a harsh breath, inching his head back and baring more of his not-skin to you. You felt that if Ken could have a pulse, it would be racing right about now.

“Are you. Are you dead?”

You feel ridiculous. You feel faint. Your body wants to look every which way, maybe waiting for a prank show host to reveal themselves with a raucous cast and crew, pointing and laughing at the fool who fell for the “living wax figure” bit, and you’d smile for the camera and go home and forget this ever happened. (Mind destined to wonder how the hell they made their dummy so believable, so lifelike, so… alive.)

But no one came, and no one laughed, and glassy eyed Ken kept staring at you, scrambling for an answer to your loaded question.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Do you eat?”

“Never tried. But there’s a bunch of food in Barbieland. It’s more for decoration, if that makes sense. Sorta like clothes. An apple here is very different from an apple there. Trust me.”

Sudden shakiness claiming your knees, you knew you’d have to find a place to sit soon or you were liable to fall over in the middle of the sidewalk, which would pose a massive problem for you and your new cargo (friend?) who claimed to neither sleep nor eat, let alone seemed capable of getting you medical help.

These newest revelations which you’d felt for yourself seemed to quickly overshadow the old worries which had plagued you – the stalking, the casing out your apartment, those were all old news now.

Ken was one step ahead of you, noticed the pallor painting across your face, and without another word took your bag from your shoulder, slipping a shockingly strong arm around your waist effortlessly. “Come here. You look… really scared.” He jolted his head to find an unoccupied stretch of grass, then walked you both over to it, hand never leaving your back.

Once you felt yourself on the ground, you were able to take a deep breath. Ken sat cross legged in front of you, your bag still strewn across his body, his face entirely drawn with intense concern.

“(Y/N)?” The consideration in his tone was so palpable, you couldn’t help but to trust him, let him continue to keep his hand on you, just to make sure you were still with him. Black splotches had entered your vision but dissipated once you got your bearings, due in part to the reassuring feeling of Ken’s thumb pressed against the ball of your kneecap.

“I’m sorry, I. I don’t know what just happened. I didn’t mean to freak you out, Ken.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Do you feel any better?”

In the middle of the day, broad daylight assailing your back, your cheeks, your arms, and still on the clock, you lifted your head up to address Ken.

Ken, who had been there to help you, who had fixed you with such tenderness in his eyes and didn’t know the first thing about you. Ken, who glimmered in the sun, who waited five hours at the library by himself just for a chance at seeing you. Who had been bursting at the seams to show you a book about… horses.

“Did you really follow me home?”

Ken nodded, smile tugging at his lips. “I should have said hi. Would you have said hi back?” The way he balanced back on his tailbone revealed even more of his abdomen, his glistening muscles that managed to appear slick though they were devoid of actual sweat. Ken really did look to be covered in… well, lacquer, or some kind of perfect finish that made him perpetually shine.

“I think I would have said hi, yes. For sure. Why do you keep talking about – um. Barbie? And please be honest with me.”

Ken didn’t miss a beat, looked down to where his thumb was still resting on your leg. “Don’t freak out again. You don’t have to worry about her, by the way – we are not a thing anymore.” He pointed tersely with his free hand.

“That’s not what I was wondering… about.”

“I’d rather you hear it from me first, (Y/N). I’m from Barbieland. That’s what I was trying to explain before. You know Barbie and Ken? That’s me. I am Ken.” A laugh would be appropriate, but you didn’t feel like giving one. Not considering the dead serious look Ken wore as he talked, measured and severe.

“Okay. So… okay. What does that mean? You live… like a Ken doll? Like extreme cosplay? Plastic surgery to look like him and stuff like that?”

“I don’t know what roleplay is. I am literally Ken.” He blinks at you, waiting for the cogs to turn, waiting for it to click for you.

“A mega Ken fan.” You might be in denial still.

Growing frustrated, Ken snatches your hand back to his lower neck, brusquely forcing your clammy fingers into the dip right above his clavicle, the base of his throat to prove his point.

“See? I don’t feel like you. Feel yours, and then feel mine. I’m not lying. Why would I lie about who I am?” With your other hand that Ken hadn’t captured, you did as he said and mirrored the motion, felt your arduous pulse, blood coursing through your veins, and felt speechless again at the sensation of nothingness coming from the guy who looked more male than any man you’d actually seen.

“I don’t know what to say. You’ve never been to a doctor?”

“Oh, Barbie is a doctor. But I haven’t needed to see her for anything in a while. She used to call me accident prone. Or attention seeking. I can’t remember which one.”

“Right. Have you ever been sick?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Of course not.

“Broken a bone?”

“Don’t think I have those,” Ken pressed on, returning your nervous hand to your lap. He then stretched his leather-covered legs out across the gross, positioning them to the side of your knees, and started playing with the strap of your bag. “This is pretty heavy. No one carries this around for you?”

“Is it okay if I touch your leg?”

“You can absolutely touch it. But, do you think I can do that for you from now on? Carry the bag?” Ken pleaded at you with his eyes, so open and honest and innocent like a newborn fawn, and you found it impossible to tell him no. Talking with him was almost like conversing with a child, and that made your skin crawl when coupled with the knowledge that you found him overwhelmingly attractive, impossibly beautiful, even.

Jesus, the heat must be getting to you after all.

“Sure, you can carry my bag, Ken.”

“Yes,” Ken celebrated privately, too initially excited to notice that you’d started prodding at his shin in little tentative bursts. At first, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, it just felt like… a leg. So you eyeballed his ankles, his feet where the cowboy boots sat against the grass, and Ken seemed to know what you were about to ask. “Do you wanna see my feet? Will you believe me then?”

“I know how crazy this might sound. But I think I kind of do need to see them. Is that okay?” You fought to suppress your embarrassed grin, but this only made Ken laugh.

And what a beautiful laugh he had. Boyish, charming, airy like an angel; something you wanted to keep hearing again and again until this self proclaimed “Ken” had run out of things to find funny.

Had you always been this easy?

Or was it just easy with him?

Ken bent forward immediately, removing his spotless white boots, to reveal bare, spotless feet, angled perfectly and without any sort of distinct smell. No calluses, no odd toenail, no hair. They enticed you to get closer, to touch them, but you realized how bizarre this looked and how odd Ken must feel.

“I’m sorry, god, this is probably the weirdest day you’ve ever had, and I’m not making it any –” But as you looked up to give him this apology, Ken wore not an uncomfortable expression, but one instead of… unnamable, sober emotion. Like he was likely to break down in tears of relief the longer you regarded him with such curiosity.

“You don’t think I’m weird?” Ken asked, voice barely above a whisper. This response wasn’t what you expected, and you bit your lip, learning fast that Ken was as sensitive as he was bold. “When Barbie was here, people were awful to her at first, they were calling her horrible things and I don’t think I could…”

“I think that I have never met anyone like you. I think that… it’s insane that your feet are… I mean, can I touch them?”

This brings a hopeful spark to his face again, and he nods eagerly at your request, hungry to hear what you have to say. As if his future hangs on your opinion of him. As if he would die without your attention, good attention, bad attention, any of it. As if the prospect of being touched would save him from damnation, eternally.

All this to hold a stranger’s foot (a stranger with no heartbeat, a stranger with hypnotic blue eyes that could look so inviting looking down at you, would look even better blown open in surprise after a kiss, or – wait, why are you thinking about this?) on the grassy courtyard by a Catholic church while you’re still ignoring your work and still getting paid for every minute.

You knew there’d be more than a handful of angry emails waiting for you when you finally returned home.

But that could wait. It could all wait, because you scooted forward to cradle Ken’s bare foot in your lap, and you inspected with all the great care of a scientist inventing pharmaceuticals or something equally as important to mankind. He was right. It wasn’t like yours, his skin, his body wasn’t like anything you’d seen before. So… smooth. No hair except for Ken’s head of blonde, his arched brows. What kind of human being could live this long and not have a pimple on their face, no bumps or ridges on their feet, no scars anywhere whatsoever? You dragged your fingertips across the rounded arch, but again, nothing.

“You’re not even ticklish?”

“I’m not sure what that feels like.”

“Is Barbie ticklish?”

“I never tried tickling her.”

“You can feel me doing this, right?” Ken nodded, watched you caress him lightly, then with effort, as you squeezed tentatively. “So you can feel pressure.”

“Yeah, I can feel everything you’re doing.”

“But there’s no, like. It’s not tickling you, it’s not hurting you, it’s not. Sorry if this sounds weird, I promise I’m just trying to get information. Does it feel… good?” Something in you was begging you to just let go, stop worrying that this was probably the strangest day you’ve ever had, like you had anything else nearly as interesting going on besides quiche recipes in library magazines and buying lettuce for your guinea pig.

Ken raises his light brown eyebrows, like he hadn’t considered this, face still content as he processed your handiwork, rotating in circles now and occasionally swiping up to his smooth ankle. The cuffs of his leather pants had rolled up and afforded you a bit of access to more skin, if you could call it that.

“You’re the first person to touch my feet before. I don’t know… give me a second.”

“Should I stop?” Suddenly, you began to worry this might be putting Ken off. After all, you literally didn’t know him, and you’d asked him to show him your feet. Christ, you hoped he wasn’t taking you for a lunatic. You knew this was probably stupid. It was arguably unsafe – this guy had admitted to following you home.

However, with context, you were beginning to understand this might be the only course of action that fit Ken.

“No – don’t stop. Please, keep going.” The tone he’d just used was vastly different from the others – it wasn’t quizzical, wasn’t reassuring or conversational. He sounded… pleased, voice almost cracking at the end as you pushed a little harder at where his ankle bone would be and felt none of the give a human would have, none of the pores or follicles of hair. You’d started to really start massaging him now, gently rolling your fingers across his lower shin and then moving back down to his feet, compressing him.

How could this be real? It didn’t make any sense. You had half an idea to ask if you could try this on his neck, but when you looked up to gauge his physical state, Ken’s eyes hadn’t opened, but his mouth had fallen open in satisfaction, brows relaxed and easy. At first, he seemed peaceful, but when you stilled your breathing, you could hear him almost purring under your touch, like he’d never felt this before and wanted more – wanted something more acute. Something heightened. His chest rose and fell, mouth twitching as you worked, but you knew this was a peculiar way of getting to know someone, and you knew that Ken would probably never tell you to stop.

You gingerly laid Ken’s foot back in the grass next to his boot, and he snapped his eyes open, staring at you with a protest at the unexpected loss of contact.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t know. This is weird. Am I making you feel weird?”

“(Y/N) – you’re making me feel incredible is what you’re doing. What’s that called, anyway?”

“A foot massage, I suppose. And it’s not something you typically do the first day you meet someone.”

Ken turned this over in his mind, evidently not picking up on the undercurrent of… something heavier than enjoyment he’d been displaying so openly, and put his boot back on.

“You don’t even need socks, huh?”

“Guess not. Can we do that again sometime? Maybe you can teach me how to do it for you? (Y/N), I promise I can learn really fast.” His mind racing a mile a minute, you had the good sense to rise above in this situation, regardless of how electric it felt to touch him – even if it was a little unorthodox.

You rose to stand once Ken had adjusted his (perfect) foot, and Ken held onto your bag like it was his job, clutching the strap with unnecessary force.

“Maybe, Ken. Listen, I really need to get back to my apartment and keep working, my boss is probably furious with me. And. I also am sorry if that was weird, asking to see your feet and then… doing that. I promise I’m not a creep or anything.” Very convincing – great work, he’s sure to buy that.

“Don’t say that. Seriously, (Y/N), I do not want to hear you say that again. You’re not a creep – you’re amazing, you’re so smart – no one’s ever even been interested in seeing me like that, no one’s ever questioned that I’m a doll, so I –”

“Is that what it is?” You asked, feeling like the clouds may have parted and the word dancing on your lips the entire time finally made itself known to you. “You’re a doll?” Ken bounded to his feet in a fluid motion, something that would’ve been difficult for any normal man to do.

He made it look easy – made everything look easy.

Ken chuckled, couldn’t help but wear that irresistible grin as he waited for you to start leading the way, assuming that wherever you went, he would naturally follow. “You are so funny. I told you, didn’t I? I am Ken! That’s me.”

“That’s you.”

“That’s me, baby.”

It rolled off his lips a little too casually. It wrenched your heart to correct him – with Ken’s understanding of the world, he probably had no idea that touching someone’s bare feet in the middle of the day did not mean you were romantically involved.

You wondered what he understood of romance. You wondered if he’d ever been touched anywhere else, what was underneath his pants, what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped massaging him, but this started to make your head spin with more ferocity than before.

“This is important, Ken, so please listen.”

“You got it.”

“People you’re just friends with – you can’t call them baby.”

“But we are friends. We are, right?”

“Yes – yes, we are friends. But baby is for when you’re with someone. You know?”

Ken chewed on this, followed you down the sidewalk even further, passing by a string of old houses.

“With someone.”

“Dating them. Seeing them. Committed and whatnot. You have that in… Barbieland too, don’t you?” It felt completely and utterly insane saying that sentence, but you were beginning to realize you’d have to stop caring about how you sounded when you talked to Ken if you wanted to get anywhere with him.

“Sort of. I meant it when I said you don’t have to worry about Barbie, okay? Don’t worry about that, (Y/N). We are just. Friends.”

This wasn’t going where you thought it would. For now, you decided to postpone educating Ken a little further on the boundaries you’d have to set – the ground rules to keep this from turning into something unfair.

Ken smiled at your side, hated to tear away from your shoulder even to let other people pass, and for now it was enough to hear Ken call you ‘baby’ even if just once, and even if he had no idea what it really meant.

#ken #ryan gosling #ken x reader #ken x fem reader #female reader #ken barbie #barbie movie #ryan gosling ken

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bigtimesinsmallspaces · 10 days

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Post 7: Springing into Glenwood Springs

The ride into Glenwood Springs was a joy and not just because we were enjoying a great breakfast in the dining car. Utah indeed looked like all the pictures I had ever seen of Utah. Now that sounds like a crazy sentence— but when you’ve seen pictures of something all your life but never seen it for real— it’s almost overwhelming when it looks just as you had imagined— only better. So there we are barreling toward Glenwood Springs and watching Utah roll by. As we crossed into Colorado the train ran parallel to the Colorado River.

Having fully enjoyed 24 hours of Part One Zephyr, featuring the high life of sleeper sleeping and diner car dining, we were nonetheless happy to de-board, say a fond goodbye to LaShonda and other Zephyr Part One friends, and hop off the train.

We were excited to visit Glenwood Springs, a resort town in the Rocky Mountains featuring the “world’s largest hot spring pool”. Folks, we are talking about untreated therapeutic water. After sleeping several nights sitting up (or on a 2 inch mattress), just who doesn’t dream of geothermal soaking in 125 degree healing water or strolling into vapor filled underground caverns breathing in air featuring 34 minerals and trace elements of sulfate, nitrate, zinc, and potassium?

We walked directly from the station to the Yampah Spa Vapor Caves. Quoting from the Yampah brochure:

“Enter a realm where the ancient whispers of Mother Earth cradle you in warm, mineral rich vapors . . . and invite you to surrender to the ethereal dance of steam that detoxifies your body and caresses your senses, leaving you in a state of peaceful abandonment.”

Now that I have waxed poetic about this amazing experience (and amazing it was) I will now describe this experience in its reality— that is—what it feels like to be 68, asthmatic, admittedly high anxiety, and asked to lower yourself in 125 degree water that smells like rotten eggs? No worries— there is no bad ending here— just some thoughts to ponder. If you read about 125 degree water you will see it is not recommended. But if people have been doing this for hundreds of years, what makes me special?Upon energing after the full thirty minutes looking suspiciously like a Maine lobster I can vouche that my muscle aches had fully dissipated in the face of my newly acquired third degree burns. What could top that? Only the opportunity to descend about 90 dimly lit rock stairs into a maize of vapor filled 110 degree 100 percent humidity cave like dark rooms (not “cave like” it WAS a cave) for the opportunity to breathe “forty two minerals and trace elements of sulfate, nitrate, zinc, and potassium.” Now this is the SPA life. And I will mention that PG was indeed having the time of her life while I was holding on for dear life. Fortunately for me I met a woman who was having a rather full blown panic attack and I am here to tell you there is nothing as healing as helping your fellow man. As I talked her through her panic, advising ice on her face, I suddenly began experiencing a lightness in breathing and it became obvious that the “forty two minerals and trace elements of sulfate, nitrate, zinc, and potassium” were effectively healing my asthmatic lungs. And that was good because the magnificent in every way (including its collection of dust since 1893) Hotel Colorado was next up for its “historic charm in the heart of the Rockies”.

Perhaps you have never wondered where the world’s most irresistible toy, the Teddy Bear, originated . But in case you have it’s your lucky day reading this train blog. The story goes that it was at this very hotel that maids presented Theodore Roosevelt with a small stuffed bear in an effort to cheer him up after an unsuccessful hunting trip. His daughter named it “Teddy” and thus— the Teddy Bear is born at Hotel Colorado. The hotel, modeled after an Italian Renaissance castle, became known as the Grand Dame of the Rockies and served as a restorative mountain retreat for the 19th century elite. Even on this day in 2024 we were treated to a parade of ladies from the Daughters of the American Revolution wearing garden party attire and hats fit for the Kentucky Derby. While the hotel is lovely and well maintained, it nonetheless bears that dusty, rather dark motif and creaking stairways, that I always associate with old hotels.

You might think at this point we are in line for one of those fine fancy old hotel dinners. But we had had enough of spas and milliner wear, and headed out to find the local dive bar. I would not say that Glenwood Springs features dive bars, but we were fortunate to find two, and one was all we needed. Suffice it to say the train was bereft of dive bar burgers so here at Doc Holliday’s Saloon we were in burger heaven and fully experiencing that state of peaceful abandonment promised in the brochures, which incidentally everyone we ran into seemed to be experiencing in this Colorado town, for one reason or another if you get what I mean.

It was a perfect walk back to the sparkling hotel and our evening did not feature any ghosts, but rather a peaceful glorious night of horizontal sleep. We woke up refreshed and ready to experience ZephyrPart Two.

Pictures below: Going through Utah, the Colorado River, goodbye to LaShonda and friends at the station, Yampah Vapor Cave, Hotel Colorado and the the Teddy Bears, the Glenwood Springs Hot Springs Pool, PG in downtown with wings, and the sparkling magical Hotel Colorado,

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melanieathene · 2 years

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Suptober 2022 Day 20 - Spa Day

“I don't know why I let you talk me into this, Sam,” Dean grumbled.

“It was a nice gesture, Dean: a free spa day as thanks for us ridding the premises of their ghost. Seems only polite that we should accept. Don't you think we deserve a day off? And haven't you been complaining about your sore back?”

“You get tossed against the wall four times and see if your back doesn't hurt.”

“A massage should help fix that. Or maybe some time in the steam room. No one's saying you have to get a facial and have your nails done.” Sam rolled his eyes when Dean stuck out his tongue. “Real mature, Dean. What are you? Five?”

“The Honey Mud Mask does sound intriguing,” Castiel said, leafing through a brochure which outlined all the services the spa offered. “Honey has all kinds of healing properties. I wonder if they keep their own hives? I'd like to see that.”

“Okay, bee boy. You do you. Me, I'm sticking with the basics. Manly stuff. A massage and the steam room will do me fine.”

“And you, Sam?” Castiel turned to face the tall hunter.

“I'm going for the Deluxe Package.”

“But that will take all day!”

“Boo hoo, Dean. You can go sit in the car. Hopefully your back will kink up while you're waiting. That'll make you sorry you didn't stay.”

“Don't worry, Dean,” Castiel said. “I'll keep you company.”

* * *

Angie and Lily, the girls who greeted Dean and Cas in the massage room, were both very pretty. Dean didn't think he'd mind a bit if they laid their hands upon him. There were two tables in the room, two changing cubicles in the corner. Dean shrugged and decided not to bother asking for Castiel to have his own room. A decision he began to regret when the angel stepped out wearing nothing but a towel loosely tied around his waist.

As they stretched out on the massage table, Dean turned his head to watch Castiel settle in place. There was an awful lot of toned and tanned flesh on display over there. And the noises the angel made as the masseuse worked her magic on him! They were pornographic to say the least, even more so when Dean finally turned his head into his face pillow and all he received was the audio portion of the show. His imagination could supply the rest. Thank God he was lying on his stomach. Hopefully he wouldn't be asked to roll over. Little Dean was showing far too much interest in the proceedings.

“You're so tense,” Angie remarked, pressing harder on a particularly knotted muscle.

If you only knew, Dean thought, resigning himself to an hour or so of pure torture. But it wasn't over in an hour, that was just the overture. The main event was yet to come.

As he followed Cas down the hallway to the steam room, Dean's eyes traced every move the angel made: the subtle roll of a relaxed shoulder, the gentle sway of a hip, long legs that went on forever… All this while garbed in a white robe that pulled tight across his back and barely covered his ass.

'Clothing optional' read a little plaque on the steam room door.

Castiel cast a glance over his shoulder, and let his robe drop to the floor. He stepped inside.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Was that a flirtation? It definitely was a challenge. He swallowed and let his robe join Castiel's on the floor.

“There better not be any security cameras in there,” Dean muttered. The butterflies in his tummy told him things were about to get really steamy, really fast.

#supernatural #spn #suptober22 #day 20 #destiel fanfic

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t3kandson · 2 years

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Ghosts

Wordcount; 773

Fandom; AB6IX

Ratings; Explicit

Pairings; Reader X Jeon Woong & Reader X Park Woojin

Characters; Jeon Woong, Park Woojin, Lee Daehwi & Kim Donghyun

Warnings; Kidnap, Hostage, Slight depression (more despair) & Slight injury.

Notes; chapter 5/12 of second part.

Earlier Chapters & Part One here.

You sobbed in the journey to where ever they were taking you, their words in the car silent. Your mind going over Daehwi and Donghyun’s words, why did you have to lie? No one was going to come save you now, If Woojin wouldn’t come for you knowing you was pregnant, he wasn’t going to come save you when he would think you wasn’t pregnant with his child. Woong would remain blissfully unaware, you couldn’t see his brothers telling him now. Your words, your lies had done so much damage.

You was cradled from the car, the mask around your face stopping you from seeing out. Your hands was released, but you was too scared to move them.

You was placed on a warm bed the sheet pulled to your chest as you laid their whimpering, the door locked as you was left. You waited briefly before ripping the mask off and found yourself in a pokey room. The windows showing a muddy field with chickens and cows in your view. You rushed to the window but found them stuck closed. You rushed to the door the knob refusing to open. Sliding against the door to the cold concrete floor hitting you, despite the clothing it made you shiver from the cold touch.

Tears fell down your eyes as you tried to wonder how you was going to escape. Thoughts of Yuto filled your mind and your tears became sobs. All he had ever done was support you and your unborn baby and he had ended up dead.

It felt like a couple of days had passed, no human contact happened, when someone would enter their faces was covered and no words shared. The food was awful, but you ate it nevertheless. You was left with just a small basin to wash and your muscles cramped from the need of having warm water fall down your skin. The chill in the air with the thin material for a blanket had you wish for conditions of the prison Woojin once held you in.

You felt as if you was losing your mind with hardly anyone for company when you rushed to the door, on the hope it wasn’t locked. You slid down the door when you realised someone left the key in the lock.

You looked around for some paper having an idea sketched in your mind. You found a brochure in a draw by the bed. You rushed to the door slipping it under and with a tooth brush popped the key out. You hastily drew a breath before pulling the brochure back hoping the key was on it.

Your heart shattered when the brochure was empty, it had looked so easy in the movies, yet your attempt not fruitful. You sat on the floor tears running down your face again, feeling trapped.

After getting ready to settle down for another night when you was cleaning your teeth, curiosity hit you when the chill in the air brushed past you. Your body shivering feeling the extra coldness when you realised the toilet roll by the window flapping around was showing a breeze. Your heart thumping as you observed the glass pane had a gap, the glass wasn’t secure in the frame. You noted your size and the gap and you was confident you could escape.

You peeled the silicon back manoeuvring the glass, the corner poking out as you pressed. The glass tumbled and shattered as you pressed against it harder. You closed your eyes listening for movement to the glass breaking. When you realised the night was still, you slid yourself through the glassless window landing on the shattered glass. The pain of the glass cutting your hands, wincing in your wake.

You started to make your way in the dark, anywhere where you could find a form of life. You ran as fast as your feet would take you, the darkening sky and the chill in the air making you shiver. You wasn’t dressed for the winter fall and you began to panic wondering if you would survive the night let alone your life.

It felt like you had been walking for hours your legs hurting, your throat dry and the baby kicking you along the way. You was cold and tired and also scared for how long you could cope with the outside elements. You then saw the light in the distance and you picked up a speed, a car waiting by on a road came into your view. You dashed to the human in the distance.

But as you closed your gap between you, you froze, it was Yuto!

Previous Chapter. Next chapter

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#kpopidol #fiction #kpop smut #Ab6ix #Ab6ix smut #jeon woong #jeon woong smut #park woojin #park woojin smut #lee daehwi #kim donghyun

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truebloodrandazzo · 2 months

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: American Cars of the 1960s Hardcover Book.

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merrickautomuseum1 · 11 months

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Building Your Dream Vintage Car Collection

Welcome to the Vintage Car Collection page, showcasing the best in classic car brands and models. Our collection includes Sports, Vintage, Muscle, Touring Car Models, and Cadillac Classic Cars. We invest heavily in protecting the historical backdrop of these notorious vehicles, each with its exceptional plan, design, and style.

Our Games Vehicles Assortment includes the most notorious auto brands, like Porsche, Ferrari, and Aston Martin. These vehicles were worked for speed and execution, and we have cautiously organized our assortment to grandstand their power and agility. Our Classic Vehicle Assortment incorporates models from the mid-1900s, exhibiting the development of car designing and planning over the last hundred years.

Muscle Vehicles are one more famous classification in our assortment, highlighting notable American brands like Portage, Chevrolet, and Evade. These vehicles were intended for power and execution, with huge block motors and solid outsides. Our Passenger Vehicle Models incorporate exemplary vehicles worked for solace and extravagance, like Rolls Royce and Bentley.

Cadillac Classic Cars are also featured in our collection, showcasing this classic American brand's iconic designs and engineering. We have carefully restored these cars to their original glory, showcasing their unique style and elegance.

As automotive enthusiasts, we understand the importance of staying up-to-date with the latest automotive news and trends. We offer access to leading Automotive Trade journals and Auto Parts Catalogs Online. Our Old Car Brochure Project provides a glimpse into the past, showcasing vintage car brochures from years ago.

We offer an extensive Auto Parts Online Catalogue for those looking for specific auto parts. Our Automotive Parts Catalog includes everything from engine components to accessories, making finding the features easy. We also offer a Car Part Catalogue and Auto Accessories Catalog, providing easy access to the latest auto parts and accessories.

The Merrick Auto Museum was incorporated in 1992 by Jim and Richard Merrick, and the Merrick's were avid automobile enthusiasts passionate about the industry's hobby and history.

They started the collection with 11 fully restored antique automobiles. Over the years, they grew the group to include 100+ cars, with a complete research library and automobile memorabilia.

Today the Merrick Auto Museum holds the world's most extensive collection of automobile literature from the 1800s to the present day.

In 2020 the museum purchased the Walter Millers' literature collection, growing its library to include a wide range of present-day literature.

The Merrick Auto Museum library contains an extensive collection of automotive research material, including sales literature, owner's manuals, illustrated parts books, automobile magazines, and other promotional information.

Our library staff can perform research for restorers and enthusiasts with photocopies and reports provided. This service fee is $15 per hour (min. one hr.). Photocopies will be charged $0.35 per 8-12" x11 page. We accept Visa, MasterCard, or PayPal.

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mikesavagenewcanaan · 1 year

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Mike Savage New Canaan 2023 WILL BE THE IN 2014 FOR THE OPPOSITION

The Dodge Challenger outsold the Ford Mustang and Chevrolet Camaro in 2022.

- The unavoidable demise of the version is plainly provoking buyers to obtain one of the last versions of the design.

- 2023 will be the last year for the Challenger, with its electrical muscle auto substitute coming in 2024.

We've known for a long time that the Dodge Challenger is retiring after the 2023 model-year, in addition to the Dodge Battery charger four-door cousin. Both are barking off into the sunset to give way for an electrical muscle mass cars and truck in 2024.

Completion is nigh, then, for the Challenger, which made a victorious return in 2008, obtaining the designing of the original 1970 design. The strategy was to provide that version of the model for a couple of years only, yet purchaser passion remained so solid that it stays in the brochure 15 years on.

Mike Savage New Canaan

For the majority of those 15 years, the Challenger sold less than the Ford Mustang in The United States And Canada. The reality that it was aging and not receiving any type of real updates didn't help its cause. However the announced retired life of the version has assisted deliver a rise in rate of interest in the Opposition. The muscle mass cars and truck outsold its large Ford opponent in 2022.

Browse automobiles up for sale offered near you

Especially sales were up 1 percent in 2022. Dodge marketed 55,060 systems of its Challenger in 2022, up from 54,314 in 2021. That's more than a quarter of all the 190,795 vehicles delivered by the brand in 2022. The Dodge Battery charger blazed a trail with 80,074 systems sold, while the Durango SUV marketed 55,433 systems.

Enjoyable reality: Dodge marketed 194 Journeys, 4 Darts and one Viper. Those three models are naturally no more generated by the automaker, but obviously a few systems remain to turn up at dealerships occasionally.

Mike Savage New Canaan

The Ford Mustang, 2nd in the segment in 2022, cost 47,566 devices. Chevrolet, meanwhile, offered 24,652 Camaros throughout the same duration.

The Opposition's sales performance goes over, considering its age. At the same time, because the end is near, numerous customers are taking advantage to obtain one now. There may be a lot more buyers following year as several special editions are supplied as well as some enthusiasts will want to get their hands on a Challenger of the really last model-year on the market.

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savagenewcanaan · 1 year

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Savage New Canaan The Fatality Of The Muscle Mass Automobile - My First Situation

How could muscle autos, one of the most powerful budget-friendly autos the world had seen, shed their pizzazz so quickly? What created them to vanish? I'm not a private investigator, not from another location like one, yet this was one instance I had to solve.

It occurred back in the 70's, however the proof was still there. It was the case of the disappearing horsepower and this is what occurred.

In the age of the muscle mass cars and truck power was everything. It didn't matter what it was, sports car, household cars and truck, pickup; it had the most significant V-8 feasible stuffed under the hood. Cubic inches were king and also promoted power was astronomical. These automobiles might kick sand in the windshields of anything else when driving.

But after that horse power appeared to vanish overnight!

Savage New Canaan

Take my favourite muscle auto, the Ford Mustang. The manly models had V-8s, though meeker designs came with an inline 6. The greatest 6 had 200 cubic inches as well as 155 hp in 1969/70.

What did the V-8s punch out? One of the most effective 351 offered 300 hp in 1970 and also the 427 provided a substantial 390 hp in 1968. However by 1973 the most effective Mustang had a 351 V-8 with simply 156 hp. Virtually half what it had in 1970, and also just one horsepower greater than the 200 cu in six of 1970! When it comes to the Mustang II of 1974, we won't even go there.

The tale was comparable with the various other producers. What was taking place? It just really did not accumulate. Could I trust the numbers?

My investigator advisor, Agatha Christie, instructed me that when you're resolving a case you can't rely on anyone. Killers do exist. In this situation it wasn't murder though it was the fatality of the muscle vehicle, and it wasn't a lot of a straight-out lie as not informing the entire reality. And outside pressures were at play.

I had to dig deeper. I had to locate the facts. Why would horse power basically cut in half?

It turned out there were a couple of reasons. Salesmanship was one. Horse power was everything so why not measure it in a salesperson pleasant way? Gross SAE horsepower was made use of. Power was gauged at the flywheel without power-hungry accessories affixed. Only the bare fundamentals were used.

In 1972 SAE Internet dimensions were phased in. Power was still gauged at the flywheel but all the accessories were set up including the full exhaust system, emission controls, all pumps and also the generator. SAE Web can't be contrasted specifically to SAE Gross because there are just a lot of variants in gauging, however it is down around 80%. So power ratings went down. In 1973 horse power rankings went down once again as power sapping emission controls were tightened.

Gross SAE horse power had actually pressed the provided power up. So did the promoted horse power some cars and truck firms used. What's incorrect with a little rounding up of the numbers for the sales brochure? Definitely that would certainly assist sales as well.

All this horse power trotting around obtained noticed and not simply by young people.

Safety lawmakers observed, therefore did insurance provider that started billing much more for insurance. The word on the road is that in 1967 a young person under 25 with a tidy driving record would certainly have paid $700 a year for GTO protection. Ouch! Some automobile business decreased their marketed horse power scores.

Savage New Canaan

Muscle mass came to a head in 1970, and also by 1971 they were starting to obtain flabbier. Engines were being detuned as well as within one more year larger engines were being gone down.

In 1973 lots of muscular tissue cars were a darkness of their former selves. And also they were finished off by the oil dilemma of late '73. Lengthy lines at filling station and also rising rates were a real shock, therefore was a 55 mph national rate restriction. Car were reckless, costly and also unwanted, it really did not matter how much enjoyable they were.

So there you have it. I now understood what had actually taken place to all that brute power. Some exaggeration had pushed detailed horsepower up. A fairer, extra accurate determining system brought it down. Exhaust controls brought it down more, and rising insurance policy prices made ground-thumping power too costly to own. The oil dilemma ended up the muscle automobile off. This case was fixed.

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p7om7b · 2 years

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Download PDF My Dad Had That Car: A Nostalgic Look at the American Automobile, 1920-1990 PDF BY Tad Burness

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This one-of-a-kind, massive illustrated history of more than 10,000 American automobiles is perfect for the millions of classic car enthusiasts. With more than 1,300 pages and 12,500 illustrations covering 70 years, this may be the most complete visual history of the American automobile ever published. Nowhere else are there so many collector, luxury, sporting and every day cars assembled with fascinating information about original prices, engine sizes, horsepower, and other specifications. The pages are packed with genuine, factory-fresh photographs and drawings taken from contemporary advertisements, catalogs, and brochures. More than 250 manufacturers and hundreds of individual models trace the evolution of the American automobile, from the millions of Model Ts that rolled off Ford's assembly line through the art deco streamliners of the '30s, to the tail-finned land yachts of the '50s and muscle cars of the '60s and '70s up to the early SUVs of the '90s. Throughout author Tad

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motownfiction · 2 years

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your summer in five words

Pink. Will doesn’t care how it makes him sound; when he thinks about the summer he was sixteen, that’s how it begins. Those early June days are made of cherry-red lipstick stains on the collar of every shirt he owns. Everything smells like Lucy’s cotton candy perfume. It makes his head swim, and he can’t get enough. Those early June nights are just as rosy, between the sunsets and Lucy riding shotgun in the Maverick. When Will closes his eyes, everything still looks pink. He thinks the suburban air smells pink. His mother says that means he’s really in love. But he knew he was in love. He just didn’t know it would look like this.

Maddening. That’s how every moment at the little market feels – every moment he wastes bagging groceries instead of living for today. He stares at the clock overhead, trying to make it go faster, and it never does. Time stops in a grocery store, whether you’re the sophomore bagging up somebody’s eggs or the distant friends running into each other in front of the day-old bread. Will watches, but he tries his best not to listen. He has his own thoughts, he assumes, though they’re drowned out by excruciating Top 40 hits. It’s hard to think about what you’re going to do tonight when Culture Club is droning in your ears. He’s not sure how he manages to survive, but somehow, he always does. Always throws his stupid little apron in the backseat of his car and drives home, only to drive back for another shift the next day. It’s a cycle, and he often wonders why it’s supposed to be worth it. Then he sees the pride in his mother’s eyes, the college brochures scattered on his bedroom floor, and Lucy, sitting pretty in the front seat of his car. He sees them all, and he knows. A little bit of maddening is the best part.

Desperate. That’s what it feels like to sneak around in between the day and the night. Will knows he’s just as trapped as he is free, and every movement he makes is crucial. He takes Lucy by the hand and leads her to wherever he thinks they can go. Sometimes, he feels like he’s running. He wonders if he should care – if he should try to be cool, to be normal, to be the guy on the magazine covers he always thought he wanted to be. It never lasts long. He chases exhilaration after exhilaration, not giving a damn about the way he looks. He just wants to feel good. Wants to stretch his muscles and breathe in and out as hard as he can. Wants to envelope the world with Lucy by his side. He’s desperate. Everybody always told him so. With Lucy by his side, he starts thinking of it as a compliment. To be desperate means to want more than this – always more than this. To be desperate is to grow, and Will wants to grow. He’s always wanted it more than anything.

Sweet. Will’s mother wasn’t kidding when she said everything would taste sweeter when he fell in love. His little sisters’ lemonade, usually too sour for regular consumption, is like nectar to him now. The corn on the cob his father makes for their annual Fourth of July barbecue tastes like a vanilla cupcake. Even the tip of his tongue is sweet. Everything is sweeter when he knows who else is out there – who else is waiting for him to clock out of work and pick her up for another desperate day. The sweet is the desperate; the desperate is the sweet. He almost says so when he and Lucy steal away for a rainy night, but he gets caught up in the moment. Always gets caught up in the moment.

Terrifying. That doesn’t come in until the end of August, when the rainy July night comes back to haunt them. After all the maddening, desperate, pink sweetness, Will is left with shaky hands and a heart that won’t stop beating. For a guy who lives in the only moment he has, he spends an awful lot of the next day thinking about the past – the way Lucy came to him with her sweet blue eyes and nervous smile, a look he’d never seen on her pretty face before. She told him the news so breezily, so clinically (I’m pregnant), but when Will remembers it, he thinks I’m going to be somebody’s dad. The thought makes him want to cry, though he’s not sure what kind of tears they would be. He looks around at the college brochures scattered around his bedroom floor, and the terror seeps in all over again.

And that’s what he did on his summer vacation.

(@nosebleedclub july prompts: day ii!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: will o'connor #year: 1983

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