abandoned farm houses


Crazy car lady’s house
I watched this house for a few years before I finally got to explore it. The lady who lived here actually just lived in her car and used the house more as a place to store her garbage. My grandma and aunt went exploring with me when we found out she was forced to move into town. She didn’t live in her car because she didn’t have money. She owns three properties and instead of buying a new car when hers rusted out she had the body of a matching one shipped from out east. She also tried to get my uncle to roof this house in this condition. The house was never updated after her parents passed and has no running water. She used a bucket for the bathroom( which now you can only get to from the ladder). I find this lady so fascinating. Things in the house included a 48 star flag, multiple sets of the same shirt still in the shipping package, some of the most beautiful antiques I’ve ever seen, Victorian photos, and a wedding dress.


Most of us have seen the 1941 movie “Sgt. York” about the life of the WWI hero Alvin C. York.   To show their appreciation of York’s heroism during the war, the State of Tennessee presented him with a home and farm down in the fertile “bottomland” that was so much better for farming than the rocky, mountainous land where he grew up. 

This is the actual house and farm that was purchased for Sgt. York.   It’s located in Pall Mall, Tennessee. 

Unfortunately, we weren’t able to go inside the house when we visited it in Februry, 2017, because it was closed for restoration.     We hear that it’s just recently been reopened.

Hero - reid x reader

@amichaelgirl requested: 97 with Spencer Reid

“I don’t need a hero, I need a husband.”

Originally posted by sweetg

Working with your husband made your job worse and better at the same time. Worse because it made you worry uncontrollably for Reid’s safety, but better because you understood each other on a whole other level than most couples did. If there was a tough case, you each had someone to talk to who knew what you meant.

Currently, working together was making your job worse. Spencer was too impulsive sometimes. It could be dangerous.

The case you were working took place in a town in the middle of nowhere, meaning that everyone knew everyone and they all wanted to protect each other. There were also endless amounts of barns, farms, and abandoned houses, perfect for an unsub to hold someone hostage, as they were doing right now.

Garcia was digging like she’d never dug before and found a connection between a man with a record that fit the profile, and the newest victim that had been abducted. She also found that the unsub’s father owned a farm that had been abandoned after he passed away. 

The unsub had been left out and bullied as a child, he was abused and neglected. After taking a look inside his past, it was no wonder he turned out troubled.

The team and others were armed outside of the barn that the unsub was in, along with his victim. You were standing next to Spencer with your gun raised towards the large open doors. 

“I can talk him out of it,” Spencer said to Hotch, “I really think I can. He’s holding a gun to the victim’s head and we can’t get a clear shot, just let me try to talk him out of it.” he pleaded. You kept quiet, of course you didn’t want him to go in, but so long as he was armed and wearing his vest, he knew what to do.

However, after Hotch approved of it, Spencer began to take off his vest and put his gun down. “Spence!” you shouted as he ran closer to the madness, refusing to look at you.

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Some Curse

Originally posted by demondetoxmanual

Words: hair under 1,600

A/N: Obviously my first challenge would need to be for my wife’s and her sister-wife’s celebration. Congrats to @impala-dreamer & @idreamofhazel on your milestones! I don’t know where this came from…thank you to @amanda-teaches for the beta. The quote I chose from the challenge is in bold, and I’d like to apologize to Sam Winchester for using such a profound quote of his in such a ridiculous way.

Warnings: Swears. Imbibing in some adult type bevies. Dean is in a mood.

Paring: Kinda, sorta, not really Dean x Reader. (Sam’s there too in a friend type capacity)


You were going out tonight. Winchesters be damned.

Monster isn’t caught yet Y/N…it’s taking girls Y/N…you’re a girl Y/N…we have whiskey here Y/N…Sam can’t be seen by the cops Y/N…we’re on a case Y/N…blah blah blah.

All valid points. All of which you were blatantly ignoring. The three of you were at a complete dead end; Sam had been pegged as a possible person of interest at the latest crime scene, so he was on lock-down. Dean wanted to go stake out yet another abandoned farm house. You had a brand new shirt that was going to get you free drinks all night and you needed to get away from the brothers for a few hours.

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queenohair187  asked:

So my prompt for Caryl and Sophia is Sophia giving Daryl adoption papers that she has made up. Because I love Daryl and Carol but also love Daryl and Sophia <3

Wow, this one had me … wiping my eyes several times, I have to admit. Thank you so much! ❤️

I’m taking some liberties with timing in this one. The farm was overrun by the herd two days later than in canon, giving Daryl time to go out one last time before that and find Sophia. She has made it to the prison with the rest of Team Family. Everything else is the same.


He was resting on his cot, fiddling with one of the bolts he had just cleaned, pondering whether or not to sit up and fluff up his pillow again, which felt as hard as a board against his back. The bruises from the beating he’d taken in the jail cell and the arena at Woodbury two days before were still making him uncomfortable, and the one splashed across half his back and his left side was acting up. That, he remembered, had been the kick from Merle while he’d been down.

His discomfort won out over his wish to just keep resting for a little longer, and he pushed himself up just as a small shadow darkened the open door to his cell.


The bout of bad conscience that hit him was instant and overwhelming. He’d seen Carol’s face when he’d come up to the prison’s entrance, walking between Merle and Rick, and expressive as it was, it had told him much more than he’d ever wanted to know. He’d seen the pain in it of him leaving without saying good bye, and the relief of seeing him come back again, safe and mostly sound. He’d been back for a day, but they hadn’t spoken yet, and he wasn’t quite sure if she even wanted to talk to him anymore - and if he would have the guts to try.

But what had she told Sophia, the day he hadn’t come back?

Not sure what was coming, he ineffectively kept fluffing his unfluffable pillow far longer than he otherwise would have before picking up his bolt again so he wouldn’t lie on it and finally turning around to face the girl.


She was thirteen now, lanky, tall, thin arms, long brown legs like those of a doe. For now, she was taller than Carl, but he was pretty sure the sheriff’s kid would outgrow her, and soon. As usual, the moment he looked at her he remembered seeing her small, dirty foot, peeking out from behind a few crates in an abandoned farm house for just a moment before she pulled it out of sight in fear; whispering her name; something  shifting behind the crates, and then her tear-streaked face peering up at him. The light weight of her in his arms as he had made his way back to Hershel’s place, panting, muscles cramping, lungs screaming for air, the bolt hole in his side burning.

The look on Carol’s face when she had seen him limping up with her, that look of sheer bliss and overwhelming gratitude, the tears running down her careworn face, her voice as Hershel had taken care first of Sophia and then of him, making sure the wounds in his side hadn’t opened up again and ordering him to stay in bed for the rest of the day.

His face burned with shame as he looked up at the girl.


He wanted to kick himself. He had left her and her mother without a single word, and now he wasn’t even able to answer properly.

She remained standing at his cell door, her right hand curling around the bars, her left behind her back. Her cheeks were flaming. Maybe Carol had forbidden her to come. He knew he wouldn’t have blamed her.

“Is it okay to come in?”

Her voice sounded so small and timid. Was she afraid of him? His heart clenched at the thought. He knew that he hadn’t always been on his best behavior with the girl, but the thought of her being afraid of him … This was not the kind of man he wanted to be. She’d had a man in her life that she’d been afraid of, and he never wanted to replace Ed in that respect.

“Course it is.”

He patted the thin mattress of his cot, and she took a careful step, as if crossing not just a physical but mostly a metaphorical threshold as she came into his cell. She kept her left hand behind her back and he got curious.

“What you got there?”

She brought it out. It was a folded piece of paper, torn from the front or back of a book from the looks of it. His mind automatically supplied the information that they never went for stationery on their runs, and added that they might do that some day so Carol and Lori would have teaching material for Sophia and Carl. He shrugged the thought off.

“What is it? You scoldin’ me for takin’ off with Merle? You can do that right now, I deserve it. Shouldn’ta done that.”

“No, I wasn’t mad at you, that’s not …”

She blushed furiously, tucking a thick strand of blond curls behind her ear with her free hand. Her eyes were fastened to the bit of paper as if they’d been glued to it.

“Merle is … I mean, Merle was gone for a whole year, and he’s your brother, so I understand why you wanted to stay with him, and if he didn’t want to come back here … No, I wasn’t angry, I was … sad.”

Now she looked up, and tears spilled out of her huge blue eyes and down her cheeks, rushing past her trembling lips and dripping off her round chin.

Daryl’s stomach dropped. Unable to react adequately, he stared at the crying child next to his cot, at the piece of paper she was clutching, and listened to her sobbing. Helplessly, he sat up to reach out for her, but she ignored his hand.

“I had thought -”

Her breath hitched, and she wiped her face with her free hand. Her skin had been dusty, and her wiping left her face smeared with dark streaks. Her hand sank down again to bunch the fabric of her skirt as she continued.

“I’ve seen you and Mommy talking, and I had thought that you liked her, and she liked you, and that the two of you would …”

His heart skipped a beat.

“And that if you got together, you would be my daddy, that I would have a good daddy at last, a daddy who loves me, a daddy who doesn’t yell at me, one who doesn’t hurt Mom.”

Daryl drew in a lungful of air against the weight crushing his chest. What answer could he give her? Why had he ruined it all by leaving? Carol was never going to forgive him for this, for hurting her baby like this.

“Mommy told me that you have a code, that you couldn’t leave your brother out there alone since he’s only got one hand now, and that’s why you couldn’t come back, and I understand that.”

For a moment, Daryl thought he hadn’t heard right. A code? Couldn’t leave Merle alone? Did she know that they had made him choose? He had to force himself to listen to Sophia again, but he’d have to ask Carol about this later.

“So now that you’re back, and with Mommy so happy that you’re here again -”

Surely he had misheard this one, Daryl thought. She had to be mad as hell at him, not happy that he had come back.

“Wait - she’s happy?”

Sophia nodded, blushing.

“She cried, in our cell. And she told Lori how happy she is that you’re back.”

Stunned, Daryl sat back up.

“I’d thought she’d be mad,” he mused.

Sophia rushed on, determined to finish.

“And now that everything is okay again, I had hoped that you … that when you get together you would be …”

Faltering, she handed the folded piece of paper to him, and he accepted and unfolded it. It felt warm from her touch.

“Certificate of Adoption,” he read.

Funny. The letters were beginning to blur, and suddenly there was a lump in his throat.

He coughed and wiped one hand across his eyes. There, better.

“Certificate of Adoption,” he repeated, and then went on, voice slightly wobbly. “I, Daryl Dixon, born on insert date here, hereby declare that Sophia Peletier, daughter of Carol Peletier, born on May 5, 1998, is my adopted daughter from this day forward and that I will raise her as my child. Witnessed by Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes, and Hershel Greene. Signature, date, prison stamp.”

Lowering the “Certificate”, he looked up at her. She looked both eager and afraid, and she was still sniffling. The streaks of tears and dust were drying on her face.

He found he had to clear his throat once more before he was able to speak.

“Sophia, any man would be proud to be your dad, and if your mom is okay with it -”

With a squeal of delight she flung herself into his arms, and he could feel her trembling as she sobbed against his chest.

Stroking her head, he held her, marveling at the emotions filling him. In a way, it very much felt as if he had been adopted into the family by her and her mom, a fact that his mind seemed unable to grasp because it was so huge. They wanted to be his family. She wanted to be his daughter. Something tight in his chest seemed to loosen up.

His home. His family.

This time, he didn’t wipe his eyes.


#Caryl fan fiction

#Daryl Dixon

#Carol Peletier

#LD writes fan fiction