The relief traffic map above indicates approximate average density of traffic on the interstate highway system - a dense linear territory between city, state, and countryside.
“Fed by the prosperity of the last decade, the 46,567-mile network of limited-access roads that make up the Interstate System is a linear economy-on-wheels, a distinct and self-sustaining 51st state, in a sense, that generates life and commerce …”
anonymous asked: Can there be a sequel made to Letters?? It was honestly SUCH a good fic and ive fallen in love with your work all together. Seriously!!!
anonymous asked: hey um r u going to do a follow up to letters? if u weren’t going to, can this be a request? like something with the date they were gonna go on or something? idk, but i really love the fic and you byeee
tw: awkwardness, touching, weed mention.
a/n: fingers crossed this shows up in the tag lmao !! i’m not gonna be linking some stuff this time as an effort to try and experiment with what i can and cannot add to ensure it shows up. i finished this in a day??? what the heck???
Making friends this year was an impossible, unachievable goal to you before school even started. You pushed it off as a fever dream, with no hopes of accomplishing or succeeding. You’d be lucky if you interacted with someone or spoke aloud in class. Yet, in a matter of days, you had succeeded in all of those tasks, and maybe even got a little farther.
You had a date.
And this wasn’t a fake date where two friends went out and one of them misconstrued it as something more while the other pushed it off and toyed with the other’s emotions - it was verbally confirmed, texted about, double, triple, quadruple checked that this was going to be what it was.
That was okay for the both of you, however. It wasn’t awkward or weird to ask such things. You were both very anxious people, who needed constant affirmation and confirmation and more information than necessary before heading into a situation to live through it comfortably. That’s what you get for swapping letters with a practical carbon copy of yourself.
So here is the first of what I think is going to be many drabbles for the lovely @geek-fashionista‘s Sidekick!Adrien AU. This one has so much dialogue and I apologize for that in advance but I was just so excited and you know what so is Adrien (and maybe Gabriel?)
Adrien rushes to the door, clutching the paper in his hand. He can barely contain his grin, and his cheeks hurt.
“Come on, stupid, pull it together,” he whispers to himself. He keeps grinning.
Adrien pushes his hand through his hair. Draws his shoulders back. Pulls in a breath through his nose. He closes his eyes, relaxing his face.
“Aw come on,” he whispers, and covers his face with his hand. He knocks on the door, the polished obsidian cool against his knuckles and the gold molding glinting into his eyes.
Bracing his shoulder against the door and pushing, Adrien peeks his head into the room.
Gabriel pauses writing on his tablet. He pulls off his glasses, polishes them, and looks up. “Why hello, Adrien. What are you doing here?”
“I um… I had a kind of weird request.”
Steepling his fingers together, Gabriel arches one lavender eyebrow. “Go on.”
“So um… you know how I’m fixing up the motorcycle? Well, I’m almost done, and I wanted to ride it safely, you know, because that would be very unsafe to ride a motorcycle without a helmet but I wanted to get it… custom made?” Adrien winces. “I know that sounds super bratty, it’s just, I had this idea for the helmet and it would be like—”
“What did I tell you about saying ‘like’?” Gabriel scribbles something on his tablet.
“Whoops sorry. Well anyway, I had this idea for the design of the helmet but you know me I can’t design to save my life, but you’re, you know, Gabriel Agreste and maybe… you could help me?” Adrien smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes dart around the room.
“Well,” Gabriel states as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “why don’t you pitch your idea once you’ve solidified it. Then we can talk about a final design that I can send off.”
“Oh! Wait, really? That’s great! Here, let me show you!” Adrien rushes to Gabriel’s desk, sending papers flying. He bends over the desk, slapping the paper down and smoothing it out. “So I wanted it to be all black, you know, and pretty minimalist, with a reinforced glass eye-window, but on the inside of the helmet it will be a liquid crystal display so that it can show like maps and traffic jams or help me look through my emails and then there will also have to be a microphone and voice recognition technology but don’t worry I’ve thought ahead and I’ve been working on that for a while so we can get right to the design of the helmet. Oh and yeah there have to be cat ears on the top. I know, I know, that’s childish. And that way I can hide the GPS sensors in there and who knows maybe I can whip up something else to make them more function forward, like embedding LEDs in there? So it’s similar to a headlamp? Except it wouldn’t look anything like that at all, that would look dumb. And sorry, I know I used ‘like’ I won’t do it again I promise.”
Adrien draws in a breath and looks at Gabriel, who is leaning back in his chair. “So, um, what do you think, dad?”
Gabriel turns in his swivel chair to stare at Adrien. “Don’t you have other school work that should be taking up more of your time?”
Adrien snorts and flaps his hand.
“And why exactly the cat ears?”
“Ahhh, Mom and I used to feed that stray black kitten, remember?” Adrien wrings his hands. It wasn’t exactly untrue….
“Very well. I’m glad to see that you’re trying to expand your repertoire, Adrien. Being my son, it would be very embarrassing if you didn’t learn some basics of design. One of those is contrast. Now, in this case, to contrast the roundness of the helmet and the… cat ears, I would suggest a sharper back to the helmet.”
Pulling out a sketchpad, Gabriel flips through pages of sketches and designs until he reaches a blank page. Studying the scribbles from Adrien’s piece of paper, he sketches the helmet with quick, sure strokes.
“The image I have is that of a cut diamond. Imitating the facets of the diamond, if you will. To go along with that, while the rest of the helmet is matte, the back will be polished to a shine.”
“Oh, and I know! Do you think we could make the ears swivel? And then we can attach cameras to the surface so I could look behind me?”
Gabriel presses his lips together as he continues to sketch. He picks the sketchbook up and peers at it from arm’s length.
“Why don’t you work on that, and I’ll keep working on what I’m good at.” His lips curve upwards slightly. “Let’s make this helmet something to be envied.”
Title: Three Days Ago - part three Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warnings: Fluff, some strong language, following parts will have smut and a lot of more angst. Word Count: 2175 words Summary: You got captured by a Wendigo, three days prior. Dean feared for your life, but was able to save you. The feeling that your disappearance triggers forces Dean to realize that the life as you know it is likely to change. Is he willing to make the change for you? A part where we look at Dean’s point of view and get an idea of what is going on in his mind. Author’s note: Part three already! I know I said in the early beginning that this was going to be a three parter, but I am happy to say that it’s probably going to be more like ten. Enjoy!
Motionless Dean sits on the bench sideways in the motel room. There’s a bottle of whiskey keeping him company on the table next to him, smelling good. He has been in this spot for what seems like hours, elbows on his knees and his fingers forked together. The room is dark, except for the dim light coming from the table lamp. In the double bed you are fast asleep, covered under cotton sheets. After moving from the shower to the bed, where the two of you continued to be intimate with each other in a way only possible when both bare their souls completely, you fell asleep safely in his arms. When he was absolutely sure you were far gone, Dean slipped his arm from under you, grabbed the bottle of Jack from the counter and settled down on the exact spot where he’s sitting right now. Pondering he watches your chest rise and fall, calmly breathing and comfortably warm for the first time in three days. Last night when you retreated into the bathroom, he knew something was off. You’ve had more than your fair share of rough cases, but you seemed to handle it differently this time. Dean sensed you were trying to get away from him, something that rarely ever happens. As he fixed you something to eat, he heard you cry… It broke his heart.
The Winchesters saved you, well… most of you. They saved you and yet they didn’t.
A part of you will always remain in that mine deep underground, hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat, having to endure the agony of not knowing if you were going to live or die every time that Wendigo came back to its layer. A part of you will always remain in that vamp nest up in Detroit, where one of those bloodsuckers took a bite from your neck, almost bleeding you out before Dean could rush you to hospital. A part of you will always remain in the Villisca Axe Murder House in Iowa, where you were pinned to the wall by the ghost that was responsible for the eight-fold homicide in 1912, and forced you to watch the slaughter of two teenagers who dared each other to spend the night in the haunted home.
The job is claiming its toll, weighing heavily on you and the weight is becoming more than you can carry. You’re weary, tired even. Tired of this life. The other day Dean found himself on a real estate website which you accidently had left open on your computer. It advertized a small cottage in Bayside, Texas, for reasonable money too. Of course, the $ 119.000 seemed too good to be true for a beach house on Copano Bay, but the pictures weren’t lying. Great view, cozy, peaceful, nice weather, besides from hurricane season. Of course it wasn’t a big place and the property needed some TLC, but he can’t blame you for lingering on this specific page.
Because, truth be told; he is tired too.
Troubled Dean takes another swig of the amber colored liquor, waiting for the after burn to settle down in his chest. He has stood for many difficult choices in life. Choices that were going to mean the difference between life and death, choices that regarded the very existence of mankind. Find his Dad by himself or pull his brother out of Stanford and be together again? Offer up his soul in exchange for Sam’s life or accept his death and stay behind? Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to becoming the vessel of an arch angel? Then there was his interruption of the title fight between Lucifer and Michael at Stull Cemetery. Stopping the youngest Winchester from finishing the trials. Accepting the Mark of Cain. Killing Death instead of Sam, resulting into the release of the Darkness. He made his choice, every time. The moment he was confronted with the dilemma, a strong voice in his mind spoke up so clear, no one could convince him otherwise. Was it his conscience, his upbringing, his lion heart? Or maybe he is nothing but a selfish bastard who couldn’t handle the idea of ending up alone. He doesn’t know, but he still stands by his decisions today.
Because he chose family.
Again he finds himself at a crossroads, but one of a different kind. The end isn’t near, the world is not coming to an end for a change. No dark force was unleashed on earth, no one needs rescuing from hell, heaven or purgatory. Shit, no one even died. Yet, of all the choices he had to make, this one might just be the most difficult.
He guesses that’s what loves does, it complicates things.
He loves you, he’s done denying that. The relationship the two of you have is way past platonic or ‘casual’, no matter how hard he fought it. He pushed the inevitable away as far as he possibly could, but eventually reached that moment of clarity in which he realized that all the angels and demons combined couldn’t stop this feeling. Dean isn’t even sure when it hit him. It could have been almost a year ago, when he felt the urge to take your hand in his while driving down the 101 along the west coast and gave in to it. A leap of faith… Boy, he was scared shitless. But he remembered thinking ‘fuck this’ and did it anyway. You tend to have that effect on him, giving him courage, persuading him into doing things he never thought he had it in himself to do. Your response was even better than he could have hoped for, because you squeezed his hand and smiled at him moved and when the car came to a stop at the next traffic light you kissed him for the first time. Dean smiles at that memory. That was the day this beautiful journey started, three days ago was the day that this same journey could have ended.
You could have died. Fuck, he could have lost you.
He runs his hand through his moist hair, trying to shake the feeling. The thought of never again feeling your touch on his skin or your love in his heart frightens him to a new degree, causing him to ask yourself why he is still living this dangerous life. He, the hunter to the bone, is questioning everything he is.
Before getting involved with you, Dean could never picture himself as a stand up citizen. All he ever did was hunt, it’s the only thing he knows and he didn’t mind doing it either, especially if it meant saving people. But ever since he crossed paths with you, that attitude changed. What else has changed is that nothing is coming from them. The balance has been restored and there is no big bad they need to take out. For the first time in years they have been working simple salt and burns to pass the time, occasionally a shifter or a vamp case, or the Wendigo job they just finished up. There used to be a time that he appreciated those simple hunts, but now they don’t seem worth the risk. Because what if next time he can’t reach you in time? What if next time one of those monsters get to you before he can? What if next case you die?
Death is certain, it’s the only thing in life that is. Eventually we all must leave this world. As a Winchester he learned to bend that number one rule of the universe a little, because the boys have died more than he can count, but times are different now. With the last of the Four Horsemen gone, there are no get-out-of-jail-free cards in this game anymore. No more favors from God or Death, no more extra lives left. Who dies now, stays dead. Period. And that’s okay, as long as it gets to mean something. Dying to save your family, to stop the apocalypse, those are causes worth that consequence. But finding your end in a dark alley on a vampire hunt, or in an abandoned farmhouse crawling with ghosts, is not. He, Sam and you shot, stabbed, beheaded, torched and exorcized more monsters than anyone. They killed Azazel, Ruby, Lilith, Dick Roman, the Mother of All, Cain, even Death himself. They jammed the devil back in the box and stopped not one, but two apocalypses.
It’s enough. It’s more than enough.
Struck by that epiphany he stares at the wall in the small motel room. The white wallpaper is completely covered with news articles, police records, wild life reports, traffic cam images, pictures, maps. Red threads run from one thumbtack to the other, connecting dots to evidence they found on the people that went missing in the area. One of those people is you. His focus freezes on your picture, then he gets up from the bench and approached it. It’s the first item he takes off the wall, but after observing the image of his beautiful girl for a couple of long seconds, he returns his attention to the other pieces of paper on the wall and starts taking it down. It’s therapeutic, soothing even. With every piece that comes loose, a tiny bit of the gigantic weight that he has been carrying around for decades, falls from his shoulders. Slowly but surely the dull colorless wallpaper is unveiled again, small holes left by the thumbtacks the only thing remaining. When the wall is bare, he lets a sigh slide off his lips, after which he looks at your sleeping figure. This case is over, yet the contradicting thoughts that race through his mind will not leave him to rest. He has been here before, but never was the voice that tells him to throw in the towel so loud and clear. Never before has the highway to the exit been lit so brightly… Might this actually be his last case?
The thought scares him, because if it would come down to that, what the hell is he going to do next? Dean doesn’t have an answer and he’s quite sure he’s not going to find one by pondering either. The only way of knowing is to experience it, but he isn’t sure if he’s ready for that. Quitting on this life is easier said than done, it’s certainly not something he is going to decide on overnight. But coming to think of it, it dawns on him that this option has been softly knocking on his door for years now.
Dean decides he has consumed too much alcohol and hasn’t had anything near enough sleep to think straight, so he tiredly strolls to the bed and settles down on it. Despite that the old worn down mattress dips deeper than he anticipated, you don’t even stir, so tired from the past three days that even a bomb wouldn’t be able to wake you up. He chuckles, lovingly sweeping a few wayward strands of hair from your forehead. He grants himself a little more time even though his heavy eyelids are trying to force him to call it a night. But how the hell could he possibly shut his eyes when they capture you like they are now? You lay on your stomach, face turned to his side of the bed, right arm under your pillow, your left folded, hand under your cheek. Freshly washed hair drapes down your angelic face, covering your shoulders and back like fallen leafs in the fall. Your expression is peaceful, as if for a little while during your few hours of sleep you are without worry. Slow and calm breaths pass your lips rhythmically, an assuring sight that once again reminds him that despite all odds you are alive and well. Thin sheets wrapped around your body only leaves the skin from the lower back down unexposed. The table lamp is the only source of light left, casting dim yellow rays across the room and leaving plenty of darkness for shadows to form and outline the gorgeous shapes of your figure.
Damn, you are a sight for sore eyes.
He smiles at the thought, then shrugs out of his pants after which he holds the covers up in order to slip under them himself. The moment he turns towards you and lays his head down, the weariness almost instantly forces him to drift off, but when you respond to his touch, he fights to stay awake just a little bit longer.
Long enough to feel how your roll on your side without really awakening, offering him space to come closer. Long enough to take her hand when he wraps his arm around your body as he gently pulls you into his chest, fingers interlocking over your heart. Long enough to press a lingering kiss on your cheek, drawing a smile on your lips. Long enough for him to realize that he has made his final decision.