Two government projects finished ahead of schedule and you can use them today if you ride the New York City subway. New York Governor Andrew M. Cuomo announced that Wi-Fi and cell phone service have both been installed sooner than planned with the last station going living Monday, January 9, 2017.
Summary: The reader is on a cruise to Alaska - her graduation present from college - when she finds out that she is to marry someone of her parent’s choosing. Can a stranger on the ship help her find happiness and escape her family’s expectations?
warnings: angst, arranged marriage
word count: ~1620
Your mother had texted you another eight times as you sat
silently with Dean watching the land disappear – until the ship was far enough
off shore for your cell phone to lose service.
You finally decided to head back to your room to change for dinner, as you
had a formal meal scheduled in the dining room that evening. With a short and simple goodbye to Dean, you
left the peaceful eighth-floor deck.
It’s not as good as the original but it’s a cute, fun way to spend the evening and after shit like last night’s debate who doesn’t need a fun campy musical night?
It’s a small detail but I kinda wish they would have updated some of the lines instead of just going word-for-word off the outdated script (like say something about how your cell phones don’t have service in the middle of nowhere?)
But I love some of the prop play, especially Columbia’s sucker
Adam Lambert’s cover of Hot Patootie was everything
It’s really cool they got Aaron Carter to play Rocky
Laying your head back as tears begin to fall down your face, you cringe as you see the nurse come back into the room.
Shaking her head was all she needed to do.
Spencer should be here. In bed next to you. Holding your hand through the most trying time in your life.
He had been called away on a case, and apparently didn’t have cell phone service.
Granted, you didn’t plan on having your child 4 weeks in advance, but it still grated at your nerves that Hotch didn’t ask him to stay back at HQ.
“Alright,” the doctor breaks you out of your trance, “You gotta push for me.”
Despite you and Spencer agreeing to go at this drug-free, you had caved to the epidural. Your support boat wasn’t there to keep you afloat, and you were angry.
And you didn’t care.
“He should be here,” you whimper as your legs give way, flopping off of the stirrups as the nurse comes over and wipes the sweat off of your brow.
“We are trying everything we can. We even sent the Red Cross with a message,” she coos.
“Miss Y/L/N, if you don’t push, I’m going to have to intervene,” the doctor says, his eyes darting from your nether regions back up to you.
Pulling your head back up to your chest, you bare down with all of your might, the pressure beginning to build in your pelvis as you feel something tear.
“Come on! Just keep going. One more push!” the doctor encourages.
Screaming out through your teeth as your hands clutch the side bars of the hospital bed, you yell out into the room something that turned everyone’s heads back to you.
Collapsing back down on to the bed, you feel a rush of motion in between your legs as you heave air in to your lungs, the kind nurse wiping at your brow with a wet washcloth as tears pour down your face.
And just as you felt your eyes hood themselves permanently from exhaustion, you hear it.
That beautiful, incredible, breath-taking sound.
Your baby boy crying.
As a smile breaks out over your face, you feel someone standing at your side as you look up to a wrapped bundle, with the sound of a dying turkey emanating from its lips.
“Congratulations, Mom,” the doctor says, smiling down at you as he hands you your beautiful, clean, red-faced baby boy.
Taking him in your arms as you coddle him close, you peel your hospital gown back as you pull his face to your breast, his nose nuzzling in to your nipple as it puckers just before his lips latch on.
Wincing lightly at the sensation, a nurse comes barreling in to the room with a phone.
“We got him! He’s on the phone!”
Whipping your head up as your newly born child suckles your breast, you reach out for the device, pressing it to your ear as your lips begin to tremble.
“S-…Spencer?” you stammer.
“Oh my god. Y/N. Are you alright? Are you in labor? Is the baby alright? OH my god I can’t believe I’m not there. You’re not due for another 4 weeks! Did they stop the labor? Hotch I’m gonna kill you!” he yells back.
Closing your eyes as you smile at his voice, you hear his breathing on the phone as your child unlatches, cooing in the background as he nuzzles in to your bare skin.
“I-…is that him?” Spencer asks.
“Yes, it’s him,” you say.
As silence permeates the phone conversation, you realize that everyone has stepped out of the room to give you privacy.
“He has your nose,” you say, smiling as you giggle lightly down at your newborn who has just figured out how to open his eyes.
“What else?” Spencer asks.
“His eyes are big, like mine,” you start, “But his head is gonna be big like yours, poor guy.”
Hearing Spencer chuckle brought tears to your eyes.
“His has the chubbiest cheeks,” you laugh through your tears, “I just want to eat ‘em up.”
“I can’t wait to kiss them,” he muses sadly.
“The doctor say that he is just fine for 4 weeks premature,” you reassure him.
“What else?” Spencer urges.
You knew what he was asking.
“He’s 20 inches long, and 7 pounds exactly. And man, he has a head of hair like his dad.”
“Looks like all that heartburn wasn’t for nothing,” Spencer jokes.
“He has my button nose,” you offer, “But your broad shoulders. He got stuck there for a bit.”
“But he-…he’s alright?” Spencer asks.
“He is perfect,” you muse as tears begin to drip on to your child’s swaddling blanket.
“When will you be home?” you whisper in to the phone, your lip quivering.
“Hotch is arranging to put me on a flight in 30 minutes,” Spencer adds.
Sighing with relief, you gather yourself before asking Spencer a favor.
“Can you put Hotch on the phone?” you ask.
Hearing shuffling in the background, there is a pause before he speaks up.
“Hey there, Mama,” Hotch offers.
“You are dead. Do you understand me?” you scorn.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand,” he says.
“He was out of range, and you knew that,” you hiss.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry. He is getting on a plane in the next 30 minutes,” Hotch offers.
“He missed his child’s birth because of your negligence,” you raise your voice.
“I’m so sorry…” he trails off.
“He gets time off,” you state.
“He gets 6 weeks, per his paternal leave,” Hotch says.
“No. Legitimate time. Think of it as your apology.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hotch says.
“Put him back on,” you demand.
After a brief pause, you hear Spencer’s voice once more.
“What did you say to him? He looks like he’s seen a ghost,” Spencer asks.
“Nothing that didn’t already need saying,” you muse.
“I love you,” Spencer says over the phone.
“I love you, too,” you say, watching your child fall asleep in your arms.
“See you soon,” Spencer says.
“I better,” you respond, a cheeky smile breaking out across your lips.
And as the two of you hang up the phone, you hunker down in to your hospital bed as the nurses shuffle around you, cleaning up the mess and changing you over to a recuperation bed as your son snoozes soundly in the safety and comfort of your arms.
“Daddy’s gonna be here soon,” you coo as a tear escapes down your cheek, “He’s gonna be here real soon.”
Many many many years ago, in the early days of cell phones, I worked customer service for a cell phone company, who’s name is just a bunch of letters. This man called in, and I was lucky enough to get him on my headset. “Thank you for calling <redacted>. How can I help you?” Him (screaming) “This fucking phone isn’t working! I can’t make calls and people call me and just get my voice mail! Fix it god damnit!”
Usually, the first thing we do is have to customer power the phone off and then on again. Nine times out of ten, this re-registered the phone on the cell site and made it work again. So I suggest this to him. He just continues to scream. “Fuck you I’m not doing that! I’m a fucking lawyer. My time is very valuable! People pay me hundreds of dollars an hour. You should be paying ME to talk to YOU!”
As he’s ranting, I’m checking out the computer. We had two programs; one that was Windows based, contained all the normal account stuff and a DOS based program that would show you what cell sites they were pinging off of, as well as allow you to deauthorize their phone, basically knocking it off the cell site until they powered the phone off and on (sometimes the phones got hung up between sites). The Windows program could be seen by the bosses, but the DOS one could not.
I check his account in Windows. He’s all paid up and everything’s fine from that angle. I pull up the DOS program and sure enough, the cell sites aren’t picking up his phone. So I tell him again to just turn the phone off and on again, and that should fix the problem.
“FUCK YOU! I shouldn’t have to do that! I shouldn’t have to do anything you dumb bitch! You need to fix this right now. And I want my account credited for every second I can’t use my phone!” I explain that we can’t do that, his service is fine, all he has to do is pick up the cell site again. He continues to scream, yell and threaten to get me fired if I don’t fix his phone and give him credit. I keep telling him he has the ability to fix the problem himself if he just presses that one little power button. After some more cursing and sputtering, he finally hangs up on me.
After he hangs up and my ears stop bleeding, I go to add my notes about the call into the Windows program. I look back at the previous notes and see this guy has been a douche-nozzle to every single operator he’s ever spoken to. So I write his phone number down on a little post-it and stick it to my computer. For the rest of the time I worked there, whenever I had a spare minute, I’d pull his phone up in the DOS program and knock it off the cell site. And I did it completely randomly. Sometimes once a day, sometimes as many as twenty. Petty? Absolutely. But it gave me a certain perverse joy.
Holden’s body is bare and pressed against the floor of his room. Right now, he’s in, what he has recently termed, his break from hell. After texting his entire contacts list in hopes that his pack might just come to him, he only has two replies. One from a cell phone currently out of service and the other is Katya, who, he’s assuming, is currently on her way over. His right leg snaps up and he begins to scream into his hands.
Saw an AU list called “We’re bad at dating” that had the prompt
I got drunk and sent a sexy naked pic to my ex but I sent it to you instead by mistake
So this the product of that.
Beth was cheated on by Jimmy because she wouldn’t sleep with him, so in a wine induced last attempt to make him jealous, she tries to send him a risque picture (credit to EK’s instagram for the picture.) She sends it to Daryl instead.
blurb about riding jacks thigh? idk thats super weird if you don’t wanna write it lol
AN Okay, I don’t know what the anon meant by riding his thigh, and they have not got back to me to reiterate, so I’m just gonna go with what I think they meant. Conversation is between you and Jack and such. Sorry I didn’t write yesterday, guys. I was tired as hell. I won’t write tomorrow cuz I’m spending the night at a friend’s. Also I’m going camping this upcoming weekend, so I won’t be able to write then. Unless I write from my phone, and I have cell service. Which I doubt, but one can try, right? Thank you so much for all your support, and if you want to see where your imagine stands right now in regards to where it is, I made a link (computer - on Tumblr) of all the requests that I have got. So we should be good there. Thank you so much for everything guys, I hope you enjoy it xx
It was Friday night, and my friends left me out again. They loved to go to bars to hit on guys and dance with random people. When I do it with them, they say I do it wrong and usually “forget” to invite me. It’s not my fault I like to make dirty jokes all the time and really terrible puns. I guess that makes me a buzzkill.
There’s one person who doesn’t mind my constant joking, and that’s Jack. Jack is a really great friend, and what I mean by that is we’re essentially fuck buddies. We’re both single and we both have needs. So when Alex introduced us, it was like bam, new friendship.
Just one night we were hanging out on the couch. Jack would tell me he was alone and I’d tell him the same thing. He gave me a look, and I gave him the same one back. He suggested we’d be fuck buddies so we’d both satisfy ourselves and agree to stop once someone found another.
After a week spent on the road, talking about your pasts and getting used to your glasses and thrift shopping for an entirely different wardrobe, you had finally convinced Matthew to allow you to drive the last stretch of the way there so that the two of you could finally bunk in a home for the next few days instead of yet another hotel.
The road trip itself was incredible.
The hotel hopping you could do without.
Flipping on your turn signal and starting down the long, winding, cemented path, you soon watch your mounted cell-phone GPS lose service as you smile inwardly to yourself.
“Perfect,” you mutter.
Slowing to a roll, the numerous trees passing by as the darkness of the midnight hour shrouds the wooded area, the trees finally give way to a large pond, with various houses and docks scattered about across the area.
And there, in front of your eyes, was the wooded cabin.
Pulling up in front of the three-car garage, you leave the car running as you get out of the car and trot over to the side door, opening it up and stepping into the pitch-black garage area.
Feeling for the light switch, you flip it as the fluorescent lighting floods the area, with all of your late-uncle’s toys coming into view.
Striding over to the work bench, you reach up over all of the hanging tools and wiggle your fingers, working the key off of the very top of the shelving unit as it comes crashing down to your feet.
“Got it,” you whisper to yourself.
Locking the garage behind you, you take a look at Matthew peacefully sleeping in the passenger seat and smile to yourself.
He had helped you in spreading your true wings a bit, but you didn’t want the entire road trip to be about you and your downfalls as a growing adult.
You also wanted him to have fun. To show him that there had been just as many positive memories that had shaped you for the better.
Rounding around to the front door, you stick the key in and turn, allowing the door to creak open as the smell of the wooded outdoor area coupled by a pine-scented air freshener hits your nose.
When your only uncle had passed, he had left his cabin and all of its property and “toys” to you, and you had vowed to take incredible care of it, hoping that, maybe one day, it would serve as a place you could retire to, or possibly use to escape the crazy life you had intended to pursue.
A place to reconnect with the woman you knew was living deep within your core.
You had time to reminisce later.
Walking back out to the car, you pop Matthew’s trunk and grab your suitcases, your original suitcase being repacked with all of the elements you had purchased in your wonderful day of shopping, and started back into the house. You turned to the left and started up the stairs before making an immediate right and starting down the hallway, dropping Matthew’s bag off in front of the door at the end of it before turning back around and dropping your bag by the only other room on the hall.
Traipsing back down the stairs as you make your way for the open kitchen, you open the fridge and peruse the cabinets, taking a mental stock of what would be needed from town tomorrow before you decide to go wake the beast.
Bounding back outside, a massive smile on your face, you open Matthew’s passenger side door, his head lobbing off to the side as you reach over his body and shut the car off, grabbing the keys and leaning back.
“Matthew…” you lull, leaning forward and kissing his forehead lightly.
“Matthew,” you whisper into his ear.
“Mmmmmph,” he groans, shifting in his seat as you reach over him once more and unbuckle his belt.
“We’re here,” you say lowly, your eyes searching his face as he slowly peels his open.
“We are?” he groans.
“I have all of our stuff inside,” you say as you take his hands, slowly helping him upright as his feet plant themselves onto the ground outside of the car, “we can go get some rest, and then tomorrow we can go into town and get some groceries.”
“Soundsgoodtome,” he murmurs into one statement, earning a light giggle from your lips as you help him to his feet.
“Let’s get you inside and to your room so you can sleep,” you muse.
With his arm around your shoulders as your arm clasps his waist tightly, you slowly make your way into the cabin, turning and locking the door behind you before slowly making your way up the stairs.
“You should gimmeatour,” he slurs.
“Tomorrow. I promise,” you say, patting his chest with your free hand softly as the two of you finally approach the end of the hallway.
“And here we are,” you say, throwing the bedroom door open as you kick his suitcase bag in.
“Smells like woods,” he says, sighing heavily as he drops his body onto the bed.
“Oooo, bouncy,” he murmurs, your hand flying to your mouth as you try hard to stifle your laughter as you pick up his suitcase and put it in a chair in the corner.
Making your way back to the bed, you help a struggling Matthew peel the covers back as he shimmies his body underneath, your hands working to tuck him in as he hunkers down into a pillow.
“Sleep well and I’ll see you in the morning,” you say, leaning in and pressing another kiss to his forehead.
“Stay a little,” he says, his hand reaching out and grasping yours.
“I’m getting a bit tired as well…” you drift off.
“Please?” he whimpers.
And after a brief bout of silence, his eyes already drooping closed as you bite your bottom lip, you nod as a goofy smile creeps across his cheeks.
“Thanks,” he says, wrapping his long arms around you and pulling you down into the bed with him.
Wearing a sweater was a bad idea, the heat was almost unbearable, and it only made me more stressed out. I had been walking around London for the past hour, trying to find the cafe that I was supposed to meet my date at.
I checked the time on my phone, sighing at the fact that I was supposed to meet him in a mere 3 minutes. There was no internet connection or service where I was, so the GPS I had on my phone was useless. I just kept walking, maybe soon I’d recognize where I was.
I had moved to London two weeks ago, and was not the slightest bit familiar with anywhere outside of a one mile radius of my flat. I had one friend who lived here, but he was on holiday. So it was just me, and my now useless GPS.
I walked for about ten more minutes, and soon found an area with cell service. My phone beeped, and looked down at the messages illuminating my screen.
Want to get away from it all? The northernmost national park in the United States (the entirety of the park lies north of the Arctic Circle), Gates of the Arctic National Park is a vast 8.4 million acre wilderness with no roads, no trails, no established campsites, and no established services. Your cell phone is no good here but your survival skills will come in handy.
Creepypasta #825: I've Lived In The Backwoods Of Virginia For The Past 15 Years, And I Have A Few Stories Worth Telling (Part 1)
Length: Super long
My name is Brian, and from the time I
was four years old, I’ve lived in the forest in a fairly remote part of
Virginia. I’m obviously not going to disclose the exact location, but I can
tell you I was only about an hour’s drive from D.C., in an area where everyone
swears they’re from Northern Virginia, but really they aren’t.
The main thing
to understand is that I was so far removed from civilization, that I never had
internet access. Even now, there isn’t any available form of cell phone service,
internet, Wi-Fi, nothing. It’s a genuine dead zone in a world full of
technology. Now that I’ve moved away to attend college, however, I have access
to all the bandwidth I could ever desire. During my time in those woods, I experienced a fair
amount of things that I never could explain, and now that I have the means to
share these stories, I’m more than happy to do so. I hope you all enjoy them!
earliest story is from when I was around eight years old. Our house sat just
off the road, but the trees were so thick you would never see it if you weren’t
looking for it. My parents owned 55 acres of land, almost entirely forest, and
our closest neighbors were a pretty good distance away, probably about half a
mile down the road, but only a few hundred yards if you walked straight through
We had dozens of trails leading into the woods around our yard, and
they all converged about 50 yards into the woods in a giant field, surrounded
by forest on all sides, where we had our septic tanks buried. Now, from this
central hub of trails you could see onto our neighbors’ property, so I knew
very soon after we moved in that they kept goats and other livestock in the
fields behind their house.
Frequently, the goats would find their way through
the wire fence, and end up following the trails into our backyard. This
happened every couple weeks, and it was usually the same goat, who we started
calling Bubbles. Yeah. Bubbles. I’m not kidding.
We would usually just yell “Go home, Bubbles!” at it until it
retreated back down the trails and out of sight.
One Saturday, as I was sitting
home alone, I looked out back and saw a familiar shape coming down the trail.
Thinking it was Bubbles, I walked out the back door, prepared to shout like an
idiot at this dumb farm animal until it went home, or at least into the woods
to do whatever goats do in the woods. As it got closer, however, I realized
that I didn’t recognize this goat. Bubbles had grey fur, with a black spot on
her eye. This goat was black as midnight. So much so that I could barely tell
where its eyes were.
Growing tired of these random goats constantly invading my
yard, I decided to walk this goat back home and try to find the spot where it
broke through the fence, so my father could fix it when he got home. As we
started down the trail, I noticed that the usual ambient sounds of the forest
were very quiet. I could hear them, but they sounded distant, like all the
animals had evacuated that section of the forest. We hit the trail hub, and I
noticed that it was now dead silent. No animal noises, nothing. I also noticed that there were no
other animals out on the neighbors’ property.
For the amazing desperationandgin who brings me so much joy, sends me such incredible support and gives me all the feels with her writing. Here you go, my friend. In fulfillment of your request for Little Merida to be talking to the baby when Regina is very pregnant.
He’s late for dinner, something he knows will annoy the hell out of Regina. Of course, it isn’t his fault that David needed a hand when his truck battery died on the outskirts of town, nor could he control the fact that cell phone service was spotty for some reason out by the town line. But reasoning isn’t her forte these days—not when she’s eight and a half months pregnant with swollen feet, an aching lower back and recent leg cramps that have been keeping her awake half the night.
And tonight is lasagna night. Of all nights for him to be running late.
The smell of her signature dish hits him as he mounts the front steps, making his stomach rumble loudly enough for him to pause and take notice. What had he had for lunch today? A bologna sandwich that was supposed to have gone into Roland’s lunch box? Oh well, thank God for microwaves at least. The ability to warm cold food so quickly with the push of a button still excites him.
He unlocks the door and steps inside, expecting to hear the house alive with sound—voices, the television, Roland’s X-box, Regina reprimanding somebody for something. But it’s quiet, almost too quiet save a muted whispering coming from the living room.
He turns the corner, taking care to walk as quietly as he can, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Regina—stretched out on the couch sound asleep, mouth open, shoes off, hands on her rounded stomach with Merida kneeling beside her, reciting a book she knows by heart in a hushed tone.